Cold Chicken Tenders

Okay, so last Wednesday, my mom and my Aunt Bernice decide to roll 40 miles west of here to a town called Vicksburg. Some of you may know the name from the Civil War chapter of your history books, but others know it for the casinos.

My mom and aunt get to Ameristar Casino and decide to gamble the night away. Although I'm not a fan of gambling, my mom loves the casino. Sometimes I think she's a $5 bet away from calling 1-(800) DONT-BET, but I guess that she's earned the right to have fun. My mom is almost 69 years old and she's retired more times than Brett Favre after 20+ years with GM. Someone who has worked as long and hard as she has deserves to live out her senior years however she wants.

So, after a night of gambling with my aunt, they decide to visit the buffet and grab a plate before heading back to their hotel room. My mom gets countless coupons that entitle her to "free" stays at the casino and she she cashes in on them now and then. She gets some chicken tenders and a roll and she and my aunt head upstairs for the evening.

The next morning, my mom asks my aunt to warm up the leftover chicken fingers in the microwave. Aunt Bernice takes them out of the refrigerator and proceeds to look for the microwave. She looks on the lower shelf of the cabinet and spies what she thinks she's looking for. "Why is the microwave so low?," she asks my mom.

My mom just shrugs her shoulders not really paying attention. My aunt bends over, places the chicken tenders inside of the black box and closes the door. "How long do you want them heated?," she asked my mom.

"About a minute should be fine," she replied.

Aunt Bernice pressed "1-0-0" to start the microwave and then walked over to finish doing her hair. After about a minute, she wondered why she didn't hear that familiar "ding" that you get when the timer is expired. She noticed some letters flashing on the box, so she walked over, bent over and saw the word "Code" written on the device. She opened the box and felt the chicken tenders. "These things are still cold!," she exclaimed. "I don't think this thing works!"

Now my mom comes over to see what all of the fuss is about. She puts on her glasses and then complains that the microwave is too low on the bottom shelf. A few seconds later, her and my aunt are on the floor on their knees trying to find instructions for the microwave. She places the chicken tenders back into the box, closes the door and hits "1-0-0."

The message on the front once again displays "Code" and my mom and aunt are completely confused. She presses "1-0-0" again and the display then reads "Secure." That's when my mom read a small label on the side of the box. That label said, "Safewell Hotel Safe."

Those chicken tenders are still in there.

SN: By the time I post again, I should have reached the 100,000 mark for page hits! I want to thank everyone who visits the page and I most definitely appreciate followers and commenters!

If you can e-mail to me a screenshot of my page hits reading #100,000, then I will do something very nice for you. I'm unsure of what it will be right now, but it will be nice!

Tomorrow Is Garbage Day

It's late in the evening and I'm looking at the clock. 9:46 PM. Do I want to watch a recorded show before bed or just flip on live TV?

So much to do tomorrow. I have a project at work that should keep me busy for most of the morning. Then there is lunch at Broad Street with Corey, a former co-worker of mine. We have to catch up on this past weekend of football and how his LSU Tigers lucked out yet again. Dag, I haven't even had lunch with The Mrs. this week. I need to come correct this evening and treat her to some place nice.



I had lunch at a "mom & pop" restaurant today. A little hole-in-the-wall called the Marquee Fish Hut. A very, very small place. The place is so small that you have to step outside to nod your head. It's take-out only, so there's only a bench to sit on if you're waiting on an order.

I walk in and greet an older gentleman and a younger lady and place my order after perusing the menu a bit. A Philly cheesesteak minus the onions. The onions may be the best part of that sandwich to some, but to me, it may as well be poison. I despise onions.

After placing my order, I sat next to the old man. He is owner of the place. A man in his late 70's, if I had to guess. I pulled out my Tilt 2 and immediately started browsing Facebook. I figured if I had to wait 10 minutes for my food, then I might as well surf on my phone and entertain myself. The lady, who I later learned was the man's daughter, went into the kitchen to prepare my food.

The owner changed the channel on the small 13" TV to "Divorce Court". My attention immediately gazed upward towards the screen. After all, I am a Judge Lynn Toler stalker.



As the show went to commercial, the gentleman turned towards me and started to make small talk. Within 30 seconds, I let out my first of many laughs. Realizing that he was going to be way more entertaining than surfing, I put away the Tilt and started to listen to him tell a story about his morning. The more he talked, the bigger his smile got. He was enjoying being an entertainer. I was making this man's day by just listening.

As he got deeper into his story, I started thinking to myself of how it's amazing that people in the U.S. have gotten away from basic conversation. Here is a man who probably spent many evenings as a youth sitting on his porch and talking to people and I'm over here playing with my phone. I almost felt ashamed that I pulled it out of my pocket in the first place.

I'm old enough to remember being a kid and sitting around the corner of the house eavesdropping on my father and his brothers cracking jokes on the porch. They would sit outside and laugh for hours talking about everything under the sun.

Now, kids can't even ride in the same vehicle with their parents for two minutes without turning on a DVD, playing a Nintendo DS or slipping iPod headphones into their ears. No communication. Just co-existence.



As 10 minutes slipped by, I paid for my food and got ready to head back to work. The old man said that he enjoyed talking with me and that he hoped I would come back. He even said I didn't have to buy anything that I could just stop in and say "hello".

I will definitely be back. For the food, which was delicious, and for the conversation.

Today was a wake up call for me. I'm going to visit my grandmother tomorrow. I haven't seen her in weeks and at 87 years old, I need to treasure every opportunity I get with her. I'm going to sit down and we're going to talk about whatever comes to our minds.

Verbal communication is a lost art. I got reminded of that today. Dag. I also need to set myself a reminder about tomorrow.

Tomorrow is garbage day.