It turns out that Oregon State had a little more up its sleeve on Wednesday than just the plans to finish the Reser Stadium expansion. In fact, it's now pretty obvious why they feel confident they can fill the extra seats.
Though I will admit that I was not initially very excited about the hiring of Gary Anderson from Wisconsin, I have come to realize that my apathy was due mainly to ignorance. Not only did Gary take Utah State from 4-8 to 11-2 and their highest AP rank in school history in only four seasons, he actually had a better career win percentage than beloved Coach Alvarez did at Wisconsin.
But then Oregon State isn't exactly Utah State or Wisconsin. While the football history of the two State schools is eerily similar, something tells me it is a bit easier to win games in the WAC and MWC than it is in the PAC 12. And though he has proven he can succeed in a power conference, can Coach Anderson succeed in one when he has to start from scratch?
I guess we will have to wait and see. In the meantime, I do hope that he is the perfect hire; my due diligence tells me he is. If he can combine even a modicum of his ability to take a conference doormat to the top with his proven success in a power conference, there is no telling how high Oregon State can climb.
Though some around the country see the move as lateral at best, Coach Anderson obviously missed the West Coast. Here's one better educated Beaver fan who is thankful he did.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Friday, December 5, 2014
Hip-Hip Hooray!
Careful what you wish for Beaver fans...
Good Luck to you, Mike, you will be missed!
If you care remotely about College football you have, by now, heard that Mike Riley slipped out the back door of Reser stadium and hopped a flight for Lincoln. Waiting for him there? Nothing short of an opportunity to prove that he is as good a tactician and coach as he a builder of men.
I was a fooled as everyone. No ONE saw this coming. Ignorantly we mistook the chapstick and bubble gun smacking, hip-hip hoorayer for someone who cared only about securing his retirement. We all missed the simple truth: underneath the kind exterior still beat the heart of a competitor beginning to see the horizon.
How else can you explain Riley leaving a low pressure job in a town he has called home for most of his life for one of the most pressure packed jobs in all of the FBS?
How else can you explain Riley leaving a low pressure job in a town he has called home for most of his life for one of the most pressure packed jobs in all of the FBS?
Maybe it was our fault. It wouldn't surprise me if, when the phone rang, Riley picked up the phone thinking it was another booster calling to complain. I wonder at what point during his conversation with Shawn Eichorst it hit Riley, "Well, shucks. Though I love it here, these people just don't seem to grasp how difficult it is to recruit here. There are more four and five star recruits on Nebraska's current roster than I've ever seen here in Corvallis, even if I throw in all the guys that came on a recruiting visit. And a pay raise?".
It's easy to forget how difficult the OSU job actually is, especially when playing in one of the nation's toughest conferences. If you've never been to Corvallis, the only PAC12 school that remotely compares in terms of "middle of nowhere" is in Pullman, Washington. There is a reason both schools are highly regarded agriculture schools.
Before Riley, OSU was in the middle of TWENTY-SIX consecutive losing seasons. The most wins they had in any single year during that stretch was five; Riley reached five wins in his second season and was rewarded with an NFL contract. On his heels came a coach (Dennis Erickson) that many Beaver fans revere simply because he had one good season. I guess it is easy to forget that after going 11-1 with a team comprised of mostly Riley recruits and one and done JC guys, Erickson came into the following season ranked as the #1 team in college football and promptly went 5-6.
Before Riley, OSU was in the middle of TWENTY-SIX consecutive losing seasons. The most wins they had in any single year during that stretch was five; Riley reached five wins in his second season and was rewarded with an NFL contract. On his heels came a coach (Dennis Erickson) that many Beaver fans revere simply because he had one good season. I guess it is easy to forget that after going 11-1 with a team comprised of mostly Riley recruits and one and done JC guys, Erickson came into the following season ranked as the #1 team in college football and promptly went 5-6.
For anyone who thinks "if the Ducks can do it, so can the Beavers", spend a day in both towns and try to imagine yourself as a an 18 year old. Not only is Eugene three times the size, but it's vibrant, diverse downtown is a bit more appealing to kids who want to do more than crowd a Buffalo Wild Wings. Throw in Uncle Phil's money and it's like comparing Iron Man to Napoleon Dynamite.
Though our negativity may have contributed to his departure, nothing we may have said can tarnish what Riley has done for OSU. The sheer number of two and three star guys he has helped into the NFL is beyond the scope of his record. Truly though, the heart of Riley's legacy at OSU lies in how great his influence has been throughout the lives of the guys he's coached.
How will Riley fare as the head of a program that he can actually recruit to? Guess we will have to wait and see. My prediction? If Riley can win 9 or 10 games in a season at OSU, he can surely reach 11 or more in Lincoln.
Good Luck to you, Mike, you will be missed!
Hip-Hip Hooray! Hip-Hip Hooray! Hip-Hip Hooray! Hip-Hip Hooray!
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Is Riley's contract fair to Beaver fans?
If, as a member of Beaver Nation, you have yet to hear about John Canzano's article regarding Coach Riley, allow me to give you a quick summation: though he can find no fault in coaching or recruiting, Canzano wonders if Riley's "lifetime contract" has affected the coach like it does most NBA free agents after they sign a multi-year deal. In essence, does giving Riley security (through a guaranteed contract extension of one year for every 6 win season) create complacency?
Now, before too many Beaver Believers get riled up, Canzano does bring up some valid arguments that should cause us all ponder: win total in the years pre-"lifetime" contact: 10, 9, 9, 8; Pac-12 record post contract: 18-22 (including 1-8 in the last 9 games). His likening that sweet of a deal to what happens when any free agent not named Bryant signs a big deal, well, let's just say that there is evidence abound in EVERY sport. The truth is that all but the most driven of competitors would lose a least a little of their drive when what they have been chasing is suddenly secured. As sad as this fact may be, loyalty to team no longer exist. Instead, the only true loyalty we regularly see is to self.
I contemplated this while arguing whether Riley is good or bad for OSU with some friends and ultimately came to understand that Riley, so long as he keeps the Beavers bowl eligible, is good for Corvallis. You see, if you lived here during the tenure of the Erickson days you probably recall with fondness what it felt like to win week in and week out, but I wonder if you remember that he went 5-6 the next season when most of Riley's recruits were gone? His 8-5 record the year after that? Riley matched it upon his return.
You see, Erickson was a high profile coach like many Beaver fans are currently coveting. He understood that to "win now" he had to bring in JC transfers. But how well did this work? More important, can you recall how the attempts to appease this athlete changed the landscape of Corvallis?
We know the type of kid Riley recruits, and their potential level (as evidenced by the 37 ex-Beavers playing in the NFL recently). How he finds these kids, especially knowing very few will ever come from an inner city (small town Corvallis doesn't quite have the same appeal) sets him and his staff apart. I will agree with Canzano though, it would take a rare competitor to keep battling when the carrot is removed from the end of the stick and placed so readily at their feet.
Here's hoping Riley remains diligent and that his passion to produce wins stays as fueled as his passion to create good men. If not, I for one hope that the OSU administration recognizes the changing landscape as well as its town did.
SEC + ESPN = SPENCES (which, not so ironically perhaps, is defined as a monetary allowance)
I guess some would call me a conspiracy theorist but, as I look over the current AP top 25, I am left to wonder how exactly one conference could be THAT dominant. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not going to attempt to argue that the SEC isn't and hasn't been one of the strongest conferences in the past decade, that would be idiotic. But strong enough that the 2nd AND 3rd place team are ranked higher than the BEST team in the PAC 12 and Notre Dame? What's worse is that according to the supposedly unbiased pollsters, the best of the Big 10 wouldn't even place fourth in the SEC and the best of the Big 12 wouldn't even finish 5th.
The conspiracy aspect of all of this comes further to light when one starts to dig a little deeper. You see, the SEC network is owned and operated by ESPN, and ESPN owns the rights to the FBS playoff through 2025. Makes one wonder how this system could be viewed by any to be fair, but it does make it easier to understand how the parity that existed in the preseason polls became so heavily skewed towards the SEC by week 4. Week 7 gave us the true intent of those in power. Even though multiple teams tasted their first defeat, only the SEC fared the storm well (they actually strengthened their place). Not only did Mississippi State jump from 13 to 3, they now found themselves in a tie with an Ole Miss squad that leap frogged a still undefeated Baylor team. What's stranger still was that even though Oregon was ranked higher, and lost to an Arizona team the pollsters saw as a top 10 side, somehow they fell ten spots while Alabama fell only four. Couple that with the fact that sitting ahead of Oregon, and yet still somehow behind Alabama, was a Michigan State team Oregon had previously dismantled.
Clever how all of the works, huh? With every other major conference "voted" to positions on the outside looking in, it seems that now only FSU stands in the way. DOn't worry, ESPN is working to handle that. Don't believe me? Examine two examples of college football players in recent weeks. While I appreciate the article outlining FSU's Karlos Williams and possible domestic violence charges, I am left to wonder why ESPN neglected to cover with anywhere near as much zeal Alabama TE Kurt Freitag's drug deal involving 100 grams of marijuana and $4600 in cash?
The answer is simple if you truly want to look. The powers that be have shown us their plan. In week 10, three of the top five teams in all of college football are from the SEC. Not only that, but there are also two more cleverly sitting in the top ten should any of these stumble.
Whether one chooses to accept it or not, the world of college football is never going to be free of corruption, not with that many zeros at stake. The only saving grace is that there is finally a playoff. Here's hoping the other conferences use the opportunity to shut out the SEC. I hope more thought that the "unbiased" selection committee does it's job more honestly than the pollsters.
What's up with Seattle?
Well it looks like the Percy Harvin debacle has inspired the Seattle front office to clean house. If one believes the rumors, Marshawn is taking his Skittles (and fat contract) back home to the sun and fun of California. I guess his need for more money, coupled with his apparent lack of understanding what it meant to truly be a teammate, finally wore thin with the front office. I wonder though, does the 4th round draft pick he is slated to be traded for indicate that he is indeed past his prime and a real distraction, or is the trend of trading of obviously talented guys for next to nothing a bigger indicator of something broken in the front office?
Let's face it, in one off-season Seattle has gone from league best to (honestly) just above average, and it is bound to get worse before it gets better. After signing a starting secondary to contracts that eat into roughly 20% of the overall space cap space (and watching as that exact secondary repays the love by giving up 50 yards more per game) one has to wonder how the front office will manage the extension of Russell Wilson and the rumors that he is looking for around $25M per season. I would like to remain optimistic and believe that Russell is grounded enough to realize that no one individual can win a championship. If not, hopefully he realizes that, at $25M, he would be far and away the highest paid QB in the league, an honor he is not yet deserving of (not with guys like Manning, Brady, or even Rodgers still playing). Mostly, I would like to believe that he is wise enough to calculate that if QBs with far better credentials routinely take pay cuts in exchange for wins, that maybe he too should do the same.
Regardless of what Russell chooses, I hold onto the hope that this season's turnaround opens the eyes of the front office about how to build (and keep) a contender. If you need the blueprint, look to Denver. Maybe the front office can also convince the Seahawk players that the title of highest paid isn't as catchy as multiple time Super Bowl Champion.
Thursday, July 31, 2014
My delving into Economics (with a lot of help)
So I have a very good friend, Nick Rosson, who is a dual degree undergrad (econ and chemistry) that decided to drop out of a doctoral program in chemistry to pursue a career in finance (overall point: he's fairly bright). He and I love to talk finance and investing (though, truth be told, it is more so him talking and me gleaning as much information as I can out of the conversations. Needless to say, I wish I had more money to invest....) and I thought the conversations warranted our sharing some thoughts.
Since he has some great ideas about what is not only wrong with our current economic climate, but also what the average American can do to gain a slice of the ever growing pie, Nick has written some blog posts (NREconBus.blogspot.com) that I rewriting here (as much to promote his ideas as to tone down what I feel is a lecturish format). Know that I am not giving you info out of my own mouth (as I am certain many of you would wonder what in the world I know about finance), rather I am rewording from a very informed source.
The first conversation we'd like to have is about saving accounts, specifically how investing through them is actually costing you money every year. Yes, you read that right, having money in a savings account is actually causing your investment to depreciate in value every year.
(HUGE DISCLAIMER: I - and on behalf of Nick - want to stress that ALL investing means ownership and understanding of inherent risk)
How Banks work, just not for you:
Banks operate as the middlemen in our world, matching buyers and sellers while making sure to take a rather generous cut for themselves for their efforts. Though the buyers and sellers vary depending on the product, most times the sellers are the common American hoping to save a few bucks (for a rainy day fund, that new car, or a down payment on a new house) and who do so by putting their money into savings accounts. Banks collect and then pool all of this money by offering people interest on their "investments" (usually somewhere in the realm of .01%). The bank then turns around and loans this money out to buyers (usually those same Americans looking for a loan to cover any shortfall they may have between what they have saved and what they need to purchase their dream) at an interest rate somewhere in the realm of 5%-15% above and beyond the principle.
(Quick lesson, just in case: Say you take out a loan of $10,000 to buy a used car. This amount is now your principle. If you are charged 5% (a "good" interest rate) you will be expected to pay $500 per year in interest should you never make payments (principle now becomes $10,500 after year one). Every time you make a payment interest is paid off first, then the remaining payment (if any) goes towards your principle. Since most "minimum payments" rarely go above what is owed in interest every month, those people paying only the minimum usually notice that their principle amount rarely changes.
What seems like a fantastic idea on the surface, having a place to "save" money for say a 2014 15" retina MacBook Pro, actually turns out to be a bit of false advertising. Though convinced that banks are great places to safely save for a purchase we foresee making in the next six months to a year, the only thing a bank is truly good for is storing a catastrophe fund (three to six months of bill should something catastrophic happen to you or your family). What's worse is that many people actually are lured into believing that savings accounts are not only the best way to invest, but often the only way. This is almost always untrue, especially long term.
To show why, first we need to understand a little bit about our economy and the banking system. As mentioned before, banks pay people an incredibly nominal amount to "save" their money in their institutions. This amount is your interest rate. Let's say that you have a fairly good amount of money in your savings account and you qualify for the highest interest paying account (It appears for Wells Fargo that amount is: a minimum $100,000 to receive a 0.05% Annual Percentage Yearly and Bank of America: min $250,000 for 0.04% - Please keep in mind that the AVERAGE savings account pays less than .02%).
Using the Wells Fargo data, since it pays slightly more, and based on the calculator found here (https://www.bankofinternet.com/calculators/apy-interest-calculator), we can run some values. For kicks and giggles, lets just say we all have an extra $100,000 which we invested in 2009 through Wells Fargo at 0.05% over a five year (60 month) timespan. Using the compounding daily option (this means getting interest on a daily basis, which, to be fair, is VERY optimistic) we can calculate that, in five years, our $100,000 would be worth $100,250.31. That seems pretty fantastic; you've made just over $250.
Remember when we told you that banks are actually costing you money....? Well, this is due to inflation, a factor of economics that is essentially "set" by our nation's top bank, the Federal Reserve. Though how it is done is beyond the scope of this article, know that the Fed currently tries to keep inflation at about 2% yearly.
This means that, every year, your money actually loses 2% in "buying power" (means that what was once say $1 costs, a year later, $1.02). For an example, and in comparison to our $250 earned over our five years of "saving", let's say you had put that $100,000 in your mattress in 2009. Using the calculator here (http://data.bls.gov/cgi-bin/cpicalc.pl) we can see what inflation, over the course of five years, has done to the buying power of our money. As you can see, that $100,000 now has a value of $111,096.45. Though this sounds awesome, what this shows is that what you could have bought for $100,000 in 2009 (cars, groceries, gas, clothes, electronics, etc) now would cost you $111,096.45 due to inflation.
And therein lies the problem. While you "saved" your $100,000 from 2009 and added $250.31 in profit, by the time you actually want to use it your money is actually worth $10,846.14 less in 2014 dollars. You are actually significantly worse off saving your money in banks, and the $250 you got from the bank is only slightly better than saving it in your mattress!
So, the question becomes, why do so many people invest in banks, and what are the alternatives? The answer to the first question usually surrounds safety (ironically maybe the only justifiable way to call them "saving"s accounts) in that, so long as the global economies don't crash, your money (up to $200,000 per institution) is protected. With the volatile market, many people don't want to take the risk of the stock market.
There are however, many "safer" options, namely CDs and money market accounts that have a higher paying interest rate than a bank. To truly get ahead though, you must start to look into bonds for a small, real return (greater than inflation), or stocks and mutual funds to actually generate profits.
If you want to never think about it, to trust that your money will always be there, go ahead and keep it all in a bank, just know that "saving" money in a bank is only making one person money, and that person is not you. If you want to start to delve into the world of actual investing, we will begin, over the course of a few articles, explain a little more clearly the world of investing and finance.
If you are truly nervous to do it yourself, ask around within your friend groups, we can guarantee there is at least one who has a lead on a good financial manager or advisor. Though the idea of giving 1% of your investment to someone may seem contradictory, when they return 5, 8, even 12% or more, 1% becomes nothing (especially since you are making far more than .02%).
Since he has some great ideas about what is not only wrong with our current economic climate, but also what the average American can do to gain a slice of the ever growing pie, Nick has written some blog posts (NREconBus.blogspot.com) that I rewriting here (as much to promote his ideas as to tone down what I feel is a lecturish format). Know that I am not giving you info out of my own mouth (as I am certain many of you would wonder what in the world I know about finance), rather I am rewording from a very informed source.
The first conversation we'd like to have is about saving accounts, specifically how investing through them is actually costing you money every year. Yes, you read that right, having money in a savings account is actually causing your investment to depreciate in value every year.
(HUGE DISCLAIMER: I - and on behalf of Nick - want to stress that ALL investing means ownership and understanding of inherent risk)
How Banks work, just not for you:
Banks operate as the middlemen in our world, matching buyers and sellers while making sure to take a rather generous cut for themselves for their efforts. Though the buyers and sellers vary depending on the product, most times the sellers are the common American hoping to save a few bucks (for a rainy day fund, that new car, or a down payment on a new house) and who do so by putting their money into savings accounts. Banks collect and then pool all of this money by offering people interest on their "investments" (usually somewhere in the realm of .01%). The bank then turns around and loans this money out to buyers (usually those same Americans looking for a loan to cover any shortfall they may have between what they have saved and what they need to purchase their dream) at an interest rate somewhere in the realm of 5%-15% above and beyond the principle.
(Quick lesson, just in case: Say you take out a loan of $10,000 to buy a used car. This amount is now your principle. If you are charged 5% (a "good" interest rate) you will be expected to pay $500 per year in interest should you never make payments (principle now becomes $10,500 after year one). Every time you make a payment interest is paid off first, then the remaining payment (if any) goes towards your principle. Since most "minimum payments" rarely go above what is owed in interest every month, those people paying only the minimum usually notice that their principle amount rarely changes.
What seems like a fantastic idea on the surface, having a place to "save" money for say a 2014 15" retina MacBook Pro, actually turns out to be a bit of false advertising. Though convinced that banks are great places to safely save for a purchase we foresee making in the next six months to a year, the only thing a bank is truly good for is storing a catastrophe fund (three to six months of bill should something catastrophic happen to you or your family). What's worse is that many people actually are lured into believing that savings accounts are not only the best way to invest, but often the only way. This is almost always untrue, especially long term.
To show why, first we need to understand a little bit about our economy and the banking system. As mentioned before, banks pay people an incredibly nominal amount to "save" their money in their institutions. This amount is your interest rate. Let's say that you have a fairly good amount of money in your savings account and you qualify for the highest interest paying account (It appears for Wells Fargo that amount is: a minimum $100,000 to receive a 0.05% Annual Percentage Yearly and Bank of America: min $250,000 for 0.04% - Please keep in mind that the AVERAGE savings account pays less than .02%).
Using the Wells Fargo data, since it pays slightly more, and based on the calculator found here (https://www.bankofinternet.com/calculators/apy-interest-calculator), we can run some values. For kicks and giggles, lets just say we all have an extra $100,000 which we invested in 2009 through Wells Fargo at 0.05% over a five year (60 month) timespan. Using the compounding daily option (this means getting interest on a daily basis, which, to be fair, is VERY optimistic) we can calculate that, in five years, our $100,000 would be worth $100,250.31. That seems pretty fantastic; you've made just over $250.
Remember when we told you that banks are actually costing you money....? Well, this is due to inflation, a factor of economics that is essentially "set" by our nation's top bank, the Federal Reserve. Though how it is done is beyond the scope of this article, know that the Fed currently tries to keep inflation at about 2% yearly.
This means that, every year, your money actually loses 2% in "buying power" (means that what was once say $1 costs, a year later, $1.02). For an example, and in comparison to our $250 earned over our five years of "saving", let's say you had put that $100,000 in your mattress in 2009. Using the calculator here (http://data.bls.gov/cgi-bin/cpicalc.pl) we can see what inflation, over the course of five years, has done to the buying power of our money. As you can see, that $100,000 now has a value of $111,096.45. Though this sounds awesome, what this shows is that what you could have bought for $100,000 in 2009 (cars, groceries, gas, clothes, electronics, etc) now would cost you $111,096.45 due to inflation.
And therein lies the problem. While you "saved" your $100,000 from 2009 and added $250.31 in profit, by the time you actually want to use it your money is actually worth $10,846.14 less in 2014 dollars. You are actually significantly worse off saving your money in banks, and the $250 you got from the bank is only slightly better than saving it in your mattress!
So, the question becomes, why do so many people invest in banks, and what are the alternatives? The answer to the first question usually surrounds safety (ironically maybe the only justifiable way to call them "saving"s accounts) in that, so long as the global economies don't crash, your money (up to $200,000 per institution) is protected. With the volatile market, many people don't want to take the risk of the stock market.
There are however, many "safer" options, namely CDs and money market accounts that have a higher paying interest rate than a bank. To truly get ahead though, you must start to look into bonds for a small, real return (greater than inflation), or stocks and mutual funds to actually generate profits.
If you want to never think about it, to trust that your money will always be there, go ahead and keep it all in a bank, just know that "saving" money in a bank is only making one person money, and that person is not you. If you want to start to delve into the world of actual investing, we will begin, over the course of a few articles, explain a little more clearly the world of investing and finance.
If you are truly nervous to do it yourself, ask around within your friend groups, we can guarantee there is at least one who has a lead on a good financial manager or advisor. Though the idea of giving 1% of your investment to someone may seem contradictory, when they return 5, 8, even 12% or more, 1% becomes nothing (especially since you are making far more than .02%).
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
How FIFA can save soccer
It is very simple to see why the average American sports fan hates soccer. In a country where football dominates and MMA gains popularity yearly, there is little patience for a bunch of fully grown men acting like babies.
When did soccer turn into this?
I suppose, if I were to look back decades, I would find players flopping in an attempt to win a free kick, but at no time can I recall such a prevalence of this disturbing trend. Today, instead of actually reacting to a foul, it seems that the slightest touch means the end of the world for some of these players. The graze of an opponent's leg, an elbow a mere six inches from one's face, all of these are presently turned into episodes so full of writhing and wailing that anyone watching would be left to expect that there must be a broken leg or nose.
There is a simple solution to this epidemic, in fact there are a few.
You see, as a part of a supremely wired generation, we have more access to information than ever before. This means that we no longer have to accept what our eyes, at full speed and from a singular angle, saw; now, through the advent of instant replay and an army of high resolution cameras, we are able to see, from every angle, exactly what transpired.
This makes the answer very simple. If you want to stop the flops, fine the floppers. If FIFA were to have an individual watch a replay of every game and fine any flopper $25,000, how long do you think this epidemic would persist? If this is too harsh, how about imposing a five minute penalty for any player needing the "magical" water or medical attention during the course of a game? Simply take them off the field and have them watch as their team plays down a man while they recover. How fast do you think the writhing and wailing would last then?
If it were up to me, I would take it a step further. Since the referees are connected via microphone to someone, have FIFA place a referee upstairs who is watching the same feed as the average viewer. After any call, as the center ref is walking slowly towards the player down, quickly relay whether it was a foul or a dive. If it was a foul, play it as is; if it was a dive, instant yellow. If the ref upstairs cannot determine which it was by the time the center referee arrives at the spot, then play it as called.
As a fan of the beautiful game I am not asking FIFA to callously overlook protecting their assets. What I am asking is that they move soccer back to a time when it was a game of equals battling it out with skill, athleticism and drive, not acting lessons.
When did soccer turn into this?
I suppose, if I were to look back decades, I would find players flopping in an attempt to win a free kick, but at no time can I recall such a prevalence of this disturbing trend. Today, instead of actually reacting to a foul, it seems that the slightest touch means the end of the world for some of these players. The graze of an opponent's leg, an elbow a mere six inches from one's face, all of these are presently turned into episodes so full of writhing and wailing that anyone watching would be left to expect that there must be a broken leg or nose.
There is a simple solution to this epidemic, in fact there are a few.
You see, as a part of a supremely wired generation, we have more access to information than ever before. This means that we no longer have to accept what our eyes, at full speed and from a singular angle, saw; now, through the advent of instant replay and an army of high resolution cameras, we are able to see, from every angle, exactly what transpired.
This makes the answer very simple. If you want to stop the flops, fine the floppers. If FIFA were to have an individual watch a replay of every game and fine any flopper $25,000, how long do you think this epidemic would persist? If this is too harsh, how about imposing a five minute penalty for any player needing the "magical" water or medical attention during the course of a game? Simply take them off the field and have them watch as their team plays down a man while they recover. How fast do you think the writhing and wailing would last then?
If it were up to me, I would take it a step further. Since the referees are connected via microphone to someone, have FIFA place a referee upstairs who is watching the same feed as the average viewer. After any call, as the center ref is walking slowly towards the player down, quickly relay whether it was a foul or a dive. If it was a foul, play it as is; if it was a dive, instant yellow. If the ref upstairs cannot determine which it was by the time the center referee arrives at the spot, then play it as called.
As a fan of the beautiful game I am not asking FIFA to callously overlook protecting their assets. What I am asking is that they move soccer back to a time when it was a game of equals battling it out with skill, athleticism and drive, not acting lessons.
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Amtrak - destined to fail (another letter to Amtrak)
I just returned from a 30 day trip across this great country of ours and, while I enjoyed the scenery that can only be provided by the train, I was dismayed and annoyed to find a lack of organization, courtesy and overall competence from the Amtrak staff I encountered throughout. The following are ideas that I feel Amtrak should really heed if they want to stay in business, especially since 80% of the people I talked to about train travel have an Amtrak horror story (and only 25% of those involve delays).
My biggest complaint stems from how I was treated at the end of my trip. Having purchased a 30 day/12 segment pass I was told in Portland (at purchase) that, so long as I was on my final train (meaning I was not switching trains), I was okay if I went over the date. Turns out I was incorrectly informed. What made it worse was the constant answer of, "Nope, you messed up. There is nothing I can do to help you" that I was bombarded with by Amtrak employees. I heard this from conductors, ticket agents and in numerous calls to customer service. Worst off, when I finally convinced the people at Amtrak I needed customer RELATIONS, I was put on hold for an hour and ten minutes before I finally gave up. I guess that is one way to deal with a problem.
Only one individual out of the nine I talked to even cared to listen, and he suggested I detrain in SLO to see if the ticket agent there could help. Not surprisingly, I was met with the same response I had grown accustomed to by now. Not only was the slightly balding overweight guy with the porn 'stasche behind the counter rude and unhelpful, he also almost made me miss my train when he decided to answer the phone and talk for five minutes while in possession of my credit card, id and the my ticket home.
It makes no sense to me that, after paying $679 for a pass in which I only used 10 of 12 segments, my 13 hours over my 30 day end date (even though I was still on the SAME train) meant that I was charged $113 just to get home. Again, I guess Amtrak has to make money...
Here's my solution: take heed from companies like REI and Costco (If you don't know them, there is plenty of info on-line), specifically regarding their customer service policies. You see, they still believe that the customer is ALWAYS right but, more accurately, they realize that pissing off one customer will do far more damage (word of mouth, on-line complaints, lack of repeat use) than just taking a one time loss.
Which leads me to a list of things I believe Amtrak MUST change if they want to remain in business:
1) Hire friendly and helpful people. I cannot count the number of conductors I came across who not only never smiled, but were also rude when asked questions. This is their job, train them how to do it properly.
2) Put in place a consistent system for boarding all trains. Some trains we hopped on and grabbed our own seats, some we were issued boarding passes on the door, some we had to obtain from the respective station's lobby. How difficult is it to have a set system, one that minimizes confusion and stops people from having to run back to the station for a ticket they thought they were getting at the door?
Here's an suggestion: Have a conductor at the station tell people which cars are available (they should alway know how many seats are available at each station if they do their job properly) and let the people find their own seats. Once everyone is situated, check their tickets and readjust your seat count for the next train. If that is too stressful, at MINIMUM, have one conductor outside of each stop directing people where to go. If, as was the case in ABQ, there are close to 80 people trying to board, have more than one conductor manning the doors.
3) Don't let conductor and ticket sales personnel laziness win out over consumer comfort. Of my 10 segments, 6 times I was placed in a full car with a seat mate when many of the other cars were 50-70% empty (I know this because I went up to sleep in them). Why would Amtrak not want their customers to be comfortable? How difficult is it to allow people to spread out and find their own seats?
4) I know Amtrak needs to sell food and beverages to have any chance at profitability, but why must all of the personnel (conductors and cafe/dining car attendants) constantly get on the intercom to relay the EXACT SAME message every few minutes; especially at 7am when people are trying to sleep? Have one message every 30 minutes, and stay away from the people who just love to hear themselves talk (one cafe attendant took three minutes every time she was on to tell us stories no one but her cared to hear...).
The nitpicky:
1) Update the bathrooms, at the very least.
2) Ensure that the overhead lights are off at 11pm every night, for every train.
3) Why does Amtrak have a smaller train running in denser populations (Chicago to Cincinnati vs Chicago to Seattle)?
4) Put wifi on ALL trains (talk about a way to make money).
5) When and if the chairs are ever updated, remove the hard plastic partition in the center. People do enjoy lying down when possible.
If you waded through all of this, I appreciate you taking the time. I hope you see the benefit of the complaints and ideas rather than just my bitching. Though I would love to ride Amtrak again, I truly feel I am owed $113 before I would even consider it.
My biggest complaint stems from how I was treated at the end of my trip. Having purchased a 30 day/12 segment pass I was told in Portland (at purchase) that, so long as I was on my final train (meaning I was not switching trains), I was okay if I went over the date. Turns out I was incorrectly informed. What made it worse was the constant answer of, "Nope, you messed up. There is nothing I can do to help you" that I was bombarded with by Amtrak employees. I heard this from conductors, ticket agents and in numerous calls to customer service. Worst off, when I finally convinced the people at Amtrak I needed customer RELATIONS, I was put on hold for an hour and ten minutes before I finally gave up. I guess that is one way to deal with a problem.
Only one individual out of the nine I talked to even cared to listen, and he suggested I detrain in SLO to see if the ticket agent there could help. Not surprisingly, I was met with the same response I had grown accustomed to by now. Not only was the slightly balding overweight guy with the porn 'stasche behind the counter rude and unhelpful, he also almost made me miss my train when he decided to answer the phone and talk for five minutes while in possession of my credit card, id and the my ticket home.
It makes no sense to me that, after paying $679 for a pass in which I only used 10 of 12 segments, my 13 hours over my 30 day end date (even though I was still on the SAME train) meant that I was charged $113 just to get home. Again, I guess Amtrak has to make money...
Here's my solution: take heed from companies like REI and Costco (If you don't know them, there is plenty of info on-line), specifically regarding their customer service policies. You see, they still believe that the customer is ALWAYS right but, more accurately, they realize that pissing off one customer will do far more damage (word of mouth, on-line complaints, lack of repeat use) than just taking a one time loss.
Which leads me to a list of things I believe Amtrak MUST change if they want to remain in business:
1) Hire friendly and helpful people. I cannot count the number of conductors I came across who not only never smiled, but were also rude when asked questions. This is their job, train them how to do it properly.
2) Put in place a consistent system for boarding all trains. Some trains we hopped on and grabbed our own seats, some we were issued boarding passes on the door, some we had to obtain from the respective station's lobby. How difficult is it to have a set system, one that minimizes confusion and stops people from having to run back to the station for a ticket they thought they were getting at the door?
Here's an suggestion: Have a conductor at the station tell people which cars are available (they should alway know how many seats are available at each station if they do their job properly) and let the people find their own seats. Once everyone is situated, check their tickets and readjust your seat count for the next train. If that is too stressful, at MINIMUM, have one conductor outside of each stop directing people where to go. If, as was the case in ABQ, there are close to 80 people trying to board, have more than one conductor manning the doors.
3) Don't let conductor and ticket sales personnel laziness win out over consumer comfort. Of my 10 segments, 6 times I was placed in a full car with a seat mate when many of the other cars were 50-70% empty (I know this because I went up to sleep in them). Why would Amtrak not want their customers to be comfortable? How difficult is it to allow people to spread out and find their own seats?
4) I know Amtrak needs to sell food and beverages to have any chance at profitability, but why must all of the personnel (conductors and cafe/dining car attendants) constantly get on the intercom to relay the EXACT SAME message every few minutes; especially at 7am when people are trying to sleep? Have one message every 30 minutes, and stay away from the people who just love to hear themselves talk (one cafe attendant took three minutes every time she was on to tell us stories no one but her cared to hear...).
The nitpicky:
1) Update the bathrooms, at the very least.
2) Ensure that the overhead lights are off at 11pm every night, for every train.
3) Why does Amtrak have a smaller train running in denser populations (Chicago to Cincinnati vs Chicago to Seattle)?
4) Put wifi on ALL trains (talk about a way to make money).
5) When and if the chairs are ever updated, remove the hard plastic partition in the center. People do enjoy lying down when possible.
If you waded through all of this, I appreciate you taking the time. I hope you see the benefit of the complaints and ideas rather than just my bitching. Though I would love to ride Amtrak again, I truly feel I am owed $113 before I would even consider it.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Coming Home (Train pt 15)
Waiting in the Albuquerque train station for a train that was already late, I sat back and thought a little bit about my trip. Though I had not been blessed with the epiphanies about life that I had hoped for, I knew by now that the trip was good for my soul. Contemplating my last 28 days, I casually scanned around the lobby and was struck by the sheer numbers of people waiting with me. I knew that this leg, back into LA, would not be a relaxing one.
Two hours late the train finally pulled into Albuquerque and there was a mad burst of energy as bodies old and young flew into motion in a desperate attempt to be the first to board. I never could quite understand this phenomenon. Though I know that it is solely experienced during train travel, I always wonder why people are in such a rush to sit back down, especially since this new seat will be their prison for the next umpteen hours.
To make matters worse, even with the delay, there was zero organization out of Amtrak out on the platform and people milled about in hopeful confusion, hoping they were at least close to the correct car. One conductor did decide to check a few people onto the last car but, minutes later, he had a change of heart and left a large group still standing by the open door. As he made his way to the next car he did nothing to quiet the confusion amongst the riders milling about on the platform when he casually told all of the LA passengers that they were supposed to be on the unattended car he came from.
Now standing in front of this door, in line but with no real idea of what was going on, I wondered what exactly he expected people to do. Humorously, left with no specific directions, people decided to do exactly I expected tired, cranky travelers to do and boarded on their own. Of course, by the time I hoisted myself up the narrow staircase of this car the only seats available were the ones left spare due to the stink, size or abject craziness of the person in the neighboring seat. Knowing that there would be empty seats in another car, I did what any rationale individual would and bee-lined it forward. Got to love Amtrak's idea of comfort.
Spying an empty row I stashed my gear and settled in, but deep down I knew that the vacancy of the seat next to me was just a tease. I knew this not only because my luck seemed to be less than stellar right now, but also because I noticed the group of people milling about, who, like me, seemed a bit unsure of what to do.
Shortly after we started rolling westbound for California, a conductor came by and asked where everyone was seated. Collectively he was told that no one had any idea.
You see, instead of just allowing everyone to find their own seat or at least having enough conductors to actually do the job (or, God forbid, have someone outside directing traffic), we all were pleased to bear witness to a conductor trying desperately to quell his rage over the disorganization he directly caused. Finally drawing his attention to me, the scrawny Mexican man shook his head at my boldness to enter a train without a boarding pass (even though this was common in 80% of my travels) and told me to move to make room for the family of four that was now addressing me with a shared look of stifled disbelief.
Finally getting a grasp on everyone's seating (the irony being that he only had to move two of the 30 people who found their own way), the conductor briskly walked me up to the front of the car and directed me to a seat next to an older lady who looked completely comfortable enjoying her twilight years. As soon as she saw me eyeing the seat next to her though, this woman of about 60 moved with a grace and speed usually reserved for bendy teenagers and switched to a seat next to her friend. A touch offended, but glad to be in my own town, my joy was short lived as I looked up and saw a youthful looking blond lady in a long black skirt hesitantly lowering herself into the seat next to me.
Two hours late the train finally pulled into Albuquerque and there was a mad burst of energy as bodies old and young flew into motion in a desperate attempt to be the first to board. I never could quite understand this phenomenon. Though I know that it is solely experienced during train travel, I always wonder why people are in such a rush to sit back down, especially since this new seat will be their prison for the next umpteen hours.
To make matters worse, even with the delay, there was zero organization out of Amtrak out on the platform and people milled about in hopeful confusion, hoping they were at least close to the correct car. One conductor did decide to check a few people onto the last car but, minutes later, he had a change of heart and left a large group still standing by the open door. As he made his way to the next car he did nothing to quiet the confusion amongst the riders milling about on the platform when he casually told all of the LA passengers that they were supposed to be on the unattended car he came from.
Now standing in front of this door, in line but with no real idea of what was going on, I wondered what exactly he expected people to do. Humorously, left with no specific directions, people decided to do exactly I expected tired, cranky travelers to do and boarded on their own. Of course, by the time I hoisted myself up the narrow staircase of this car the only seats available were the ones left spare due to the stink, size or abject craziness of the person in the neighboring seat. Knowing that there would be empty seats in another car, I did what any rationale individual would and bee-lined it forward. Got to love Amtrak's idea of comfort.
Spying an empty row I stashed my gear and settled in, but deep down I knew that the vacancy of the seat next to me was just a tease. I knew this not only because my luck seemed to be less than stellar right now, but also because I noticed the group of people milling about, who, like me, seemed a bit unsure of what to do.
Shortly after we started rolling westbound for California, a conductor came by and asked where everyone was seated. Collectively he was told that no one had any idea.
You see, instead of just allowing everyone to find their own seat or at least having enough conductors to actually do the job (or, God forbid, have someone outside directing traffic), we all were pleased to bear witness to a conductor trying desperately to quell his rage over the disorganization he directly caused. Finally drawing his attention to me, the scrawny Mexican man shook his head at my boldness to enter a train without a boarding pass (even though this was common in 80% of my travels) and told me to move to make room for the family of four that was now addressing me with a shared look of stifled disbelief.
Finally getting a grasp on everyone's seating (the irony being that he only had to move two of the 30 people who found their own way), the conductor briskly walked me up to the front of the car and directed me to a seat next to an older lady who looked completely comfortable enjoying her twilight years. As soon as she saw me eyeing the seat next to her though, this woman of about 60 moved with a grace and speed usually reserved for bendy teenagers and switched to a seat next to her friend. A touch offended, but glad to be in my own town, my joy was short lived as I looked up and saw a youthful looking blond lady in a long black skirt hesitantly lowering herself into the seat next to me.
One of those women for whom looks assuredly made life simple, Dell was a sweet down to earth Texan out on a girls' vacation with her fellow retirees, the fast moving Shari and the devilish Bev. Traveling to LA for a coastal three day road trip, these ladies took a little while to warm up to me but, once they realized that I was gentleman (a good show if I do say so myself) and that I was not quite as homeless as I looked, they finally settled in to enjoy the trip.
It was fun learning how these three women had met and why they had remained friends for years. I guess yearly adventures really do help. As I heard all of their back stories, Dell filled me in on her life as a saleswoman and her bonding with Shari over a shared grief of losing children. As we were sitting there (blame it on the wine freely flowing between the three) Dell grabbed her friend's phone and decided to take a picture of the two of us.
"For a single friend who decided last minute she couldn't make it. Gonna make her jealous."
Now I am not sure how a picture of a graying middle aged man can elicit jealousy, but I am glad to know that the friend they were wanting to set me up with was at least my age. While I was trying to figure out how a yoga teaching 40 year old befriended three women of retirement age, Dell and I started talking religion.
Iinitially hesitant to delve too deeply with my questions to the self professed devout Christian seated next to me, I was happy to note that in spite of the fact that Dell believed that her religion was the right religion, she was wise enough to note that this meant "for her" rather than for everyone looking for salvation. She did however have a difficult time reconciling to me how only people who belief in Jesus were allowed into heaven, but at least she was open minded enough to note that this was just her opinion.
After a horrible night's sleep in which we both intermittently woke to make sure we weren't up in each other's business, we decided to finally embrace the early morning hours and turned our attention to filling the remaining hours until LA with chatter. Arriving at the LA's Union Station, I noted that I had an hour to spare before my connection; turning to the ladies I thanked them for the entertainment and wished them well on the rest of their journey.
Back in the marble lobby I now knew well, I walked up to the information board to figure out the when and where for my train home. Finding the Coast Starlight on the board I was confused to note that there was no information about time or track yet posted. Looking behind me at the abundance of people milling about, I realized I was not the only one.
A half hour after scheduled departure, and taking consolation in the fact that none of my fellow train mates seemed to be going anywhere, information about our train was finally up and I hoofed it, along with most of the now restless crew, down to track 11. As I summited the ramp, my car in sight, I was stopped by a conductor asking where my boarding pass was. Hmm... Why had no one relayed this to me or anyone else boarding this train? Why would so many people be left to stand around in ignorance while waiting for a train that mandated a boarding pass that only a select few knew about. Wouldn't it have made sense to have the ticket agent step out and pass along that information when they saw the abundance of people milling about?
It was fun learning how these three women had met and why they had remained friends for years. I guess yearly adventures really do help. As I heard all of their back stories, Dell filled me in on her life as a saleswoman and her bonding with Shari over a shared grief of losing children. As we were sitting there (blame it on the wine freely flowing between the three) Dell grabbed her friend's phone and decided to take a picture of the two of us.
"For a single friend who decided last minute she couldn't make it. Gonna make her jealous."
Now I am not sure how a picture of a graying middle aged man can elicit jealousy, but I am glad to know that the friend they were wanting to set me up with was at least my age. While I was trying to figure out how a yoga teaching 40 year old befriended three women of retirement age, Dell and I started talking religion.
Iinitially hesitant to delve too deeply with my questions to the self professed devout Christian seated next to me, I was happy to note that in spite of the fact that Dell believed that her religion was the right religion, she was wise enough to note that this meant "for her" rather than for everyone looking for salvation. She did however have a difficult time reconciling to me how only people who belief in Jesus were allowed into heaven, but at least she was open minded enough to note that this was just her opinion.
After a horrible night's sleep in which we both intermittently woke to make sure we weren't up in each other's business, we decided to finally embrace the early morning hours and turned our attention to filling the remaining hours until LA with chatter. Arriving at the LA's Union Station, I noted that I had an hour to spare before my connection; turning to the ladies I thanked them for the entertainment and wished them well on the rest of their journey.
Back in the marble lobby I now knew well, I walked up to the information board to figure out the when and where for my train home. Finding the Coast Starlight on the board I was confused to note that there was no information about time or track yet posted. Looking behind me at the abundance of people milling about, I realized I was not the only one.
A half hour after scheduled departure, and taking consolation in the fact that none of my fellow train mates seemed to be going anywhere, information about our train was finally up and I hoofed it, along with most of the now restless crew, down to track 11. As I summited the ramp, my car in sight, I was stopped by a conductor asking where my boarding pass was. Hmm... Why had no one relayed this to me or anyone else boarding this train? Why would so many people be left to stand around in ignorance while waiting for a train that mandated a boarding pass that only a select few knew about. Wouldn't it have made sense to have the ticket agent step out and pass along that information when they saw the abundance of people milling about?
And so began the journey BACK to the lobby towards the ticket office. On my way I periodically stopped the people I recognized and told them to follow me if they did not have their boarding passes. By the time I made it to the desk I had six people in tow and we all waited as the young black woman flipped through seating charts to find us seats. I swear, watching her work I could feel life pass through me as easily as I could sense the apathy and disdain emanating from her.
Finally boarding the last train I would be riding for awhile, my elation to on my way home was quickly subdued when I saw that I was in possession of the worst seat on any train. Located in the middle of each car, directly across from the stairs that EVERYONE uses, I always looked at the people in these seats with empathy and compassion as I walked past them. These seats were the epicenters of each car, not only for their stairwells leading off and on the train and to the only bathrooms, but also because they were across from the trash cans. Thankfully, a month of train travel had taught me a few tricks capable of drowning out extraneous noise (though most notably, it was my deaf ear that worked best).
Weary and disappointed, I realized that I still did not have a ticket all the way back to Albany and I set about rectifying that situation. Dialing Amtrak I delved into inquiring why they thought it was ethical or moral to charge a repeat customer $113 to remain on a train he was already aboard. It took me explaining my situation over and over again to three people in customers service before the third finally realized that, I did indeed need to be transferred outside of his department. "You see, I need Customer RELATIONS, not Service. Yes, I said that a few minutes ago. No, I would not like to take a survey right now, nor do I think you want me to...."
The most frustrating part of it all is that, while it took me no more than two minutes to be connected to each of the first three people, I was put on hold for an hour and ten minutes when it was finally determined that I needed to talk to Customer Relations. By this time I had reached my boiling point, but it was not solely my anger that caused me to hang up.
As each new passenger passenger entered the train and eyed the seat next to me, I could feel the anger inside of me growing. That is, until I saw the tight floor length floral skirt and looked up at the cute young Mexican woman warily looking between her ticket and the empty seat next to me. I was glad I shaved back in Albuquerque.
After getting over the shock of having to sit down next to a man casually reclining in fleece pants and a long sleeve T, she sat down and set about making herself comfortable. Wanting to set her at ease I dove into my treasure trove of ice breakers to gain a better background into who this pale skinned Latin woman was and what made her tick. Thankfully that gentleman charm I sometimes possess worked and within a few minutes I could see the stress and hesitancy evaporate from her face. As we bonded over soccer and our belief that the higher education system is a joke if you don't know what you want to study, Janet and I killed the brief time we had before she detrained in Oxnard to spend time with her new boyfriend.
The distraction of good conversation gone, I used the next hour to readdress my tenuous situation with the two conductors periodically walking through my car. I knew it was useless though as I was told, again, that there was nothing they could do about getting me to Albany without paying the extra charge. Only one person, out of the nine Amtrak employees I talked to face to face and on the phone, took the time to acknowledge that my situation was indeed a shitty one and that there should be some way to make it right. Thank God at least one person possessed enough common decency to go against the mandated Amtrak customer service response of, "sorry, nothing I can do".
Trusting his judgement I ran into the San Luis Obispo station for some help and spent five minutes trying to persuade an unwilling employee to listen and another five minutes waiting for him to get off of the phone so he could give me back my credit card, license and my $113 ticket. I was barely out the door when the ALL ABOARD was given and the train started to move. To add further insult to injury, I was now in possession of a blank destination card used to show where each passenger was slated to disembark, a token left over by my fit traveling companion now off galavanting in Oxnard.
As it turns out, Janet had never been officially checked in on the train. It would have been the perfect ruse... Write ALY on the back of the blank card now in my possession and convince the conductors that I had a ticket. Sadly, after doing just that (though in possession of a valid ticket), both conductors looked at the ALY and said, "oh, good, you got it all taken care of" without even asking for or looking at my ticket.
Looking back I am left with a feeling that I should trust my gut as I had a premonition about using a spare card to save me money. I guess I really to need to listen to the universe more.
As daylight faded to dusk, I could feel the darkness and I was reminded of the black ball of anger smoldering inside me. I was tired of traveling by train. I was tired of dealing with idiots. Most of all I was tired of dealing with rules and policies that made the journey far less spectacular than it could have been.
I just wanted to be home.
Waking up in Southern Oregon the next morning, I looked out the window to admire the beautiful, cloudless blue sky sitting in wait for the bright morning sun to crest over the desert hills. As I sat there staring out over the landscape slowly coming into focus, I thought about where I had been and all I had seen and was stuck by just how beautiful Oregon really was. I knew that if I ever left the Pacific Northwest I would miss the green of the trees and the majesty of the mountains, but it was precisely this beauty that made me realize that this may be the only reason I still lived here.
Is that enough?
Finally boarding the last train I would be riding for awhile, my elation to on my way home was quickly subdued when I saw that I was in possession of the worst seat on any train. Located in the middle of each car, directly across from the stairs that EVERYONE uses, I always looked at the people in these seats with empathy and compassion as I walked past them. These seats were the epicenters of each car, not only for their stairwells leading off and on the train and to the only bathrooms, but also because they were across from the trash cans. Thankfully, a month of train travel had taught me a few tricks capable of drowning out extraneous noise (though most notably, it was my deaf ear that worked best).
Weary and disappointed, I realized that I still did not have a ticket all the way back to Albany and I set about rectifying that situation. Dialing Amtrak I delved into inquiring why they thought it was ethical or moral to charge a repeat customer $113 to remain on a train he was already aboard. It took me explaining my situation over and over again to three people in customers service before the third finally realized that, I did indeed need to be transferred outside of his department. "You see, I need Customer RELATIONS, not Service. Yes, I said that a few minutes ago. No, I would not like to take a survey right now, nor do I think you want me to...."
The most frustrating part of it all is that, while it took me no more than two minutes to be connected to each of the first three people, I was put on hold for an hour and ten minutes when it was finally determined that I needed to talk to Customer Relations. By this time I had reached my boiling point, but it was not solely my anger that caused me to hang up.
As each new passenger passenger entered the train and eyed the seat next to me, I could feel the anger inside of me growing. That is, until I saw the tight floor length floral skirt and looked up at the cute young Mexican woman warily looking between her ticket and the empty seat next to me. I was glad I shaved back in Albuquerque.
After getting over the shock of having to sit down next to a man casually reclining in fleece pants and a long sleeve T, she sat down and set about making herself comfortable. Wanting to set her at ease I dove into my treasure trove of ice breakers to gain a better background into who this pale skinned Latin woman was and what made her tick. Thankfully that gentleman charm I sometimes possess worked and within a few minutes I could see the stress and hesitancy evaporate from her face. As we bonded over soccer and our belief that the higher education system is a joke if you don't know what you want to study, Janet and I killed the brief time we had before she detrained in Oxnard to spend time with her new boyfriend.
The distraction of good conversation gone, I used the next hour to readdress my tenuous situation with the two conductors periodically walking through my car. I knew it was useless though as I was told, again, that there was nothing they could do about getting me to Albany without paying the extra charge. Only one person, out of the nine Amtrak employees I talked to face to face and on the phone, took the time to acknowledge that my situation was indeed a shitty one and that there should be some way to make it right. Thank God at least one person possessed enough common decency to go against the mandated Amtrak customer service response of, "sorry, nothing I can do".
Trusting his judgement I ran into the San Luis Obispo station for some help and spent five minutes trying to persuade an unwilling employee to listen and another five minutes waiting for him to get off of the phone so he could give me back my credit card, license and my $113 ticket. I was barely out the door when the ALL ABOARD was given and the train started to move. To add further insult to injury, I was now in possession of a blank destination card used to show where each passenger was slated to disembark, a token left over by my fit traveling companion now off galavanting in Oxnard.
As it turns out, Janet had never been officially checked in on the train. It would have been the perfect ruse... Write ALY on the back of the blank card now in my possession and convince the conductors that I had a ticket. Sadly, after doing just that (though in possession of a valid ticket), both conductors looked at the ALY and said, "oh, good, you got it all taken care of" without even asking for or looking at my ticket.
Looking back I am left with a feeling that I should trust my gut as I had a premonition about using a spare card to save me money. I guess I really to need to listen to the universe more.
As daylight faded to dusk, I could feel the darkness and I was reminded of the black ball of anger smoldering inside me. I was tired of traveling by train. I was tired of dealing with idiots. Most of all I was tired of dealing with rules and policies that made the journey far less spectacular than it could have been.
I just wanted to be home.
Waking up in Southern Oregon the next morning, I looked out the window to admire the beautiful, cloudless blue sky sitting in wait for the bright morning sun to crest over the desert hills. As I sat there staring out over the landscape slowly coming into focus, I thought about where I had been and all I had seen and was stuck by just how beautiful Oregon really was. I knew that if I ever left the Pacific Northwest I would miss the green of the trees and the majesty of the mountains, but it was precisely this beauty that made me realize that this may be the only reason I still lived here.
Is that enough?
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Life in the ABQ (Train pt 14)
As we were waiting in line to grab our seating assignments, arrogance gained from a month of train travel lead me in the wrong direction. Standing in line behind a twenty something whose heavy midsection and remaining 12 teeth made me feel the years had been a bit too unkind to her, I was struck by the marvel of genetics when I noticed her cute as a bug 3 year old daughter. Unfortunately for the mother, it seemed the older Edward James Olmos look-alike in front of her had noticed the girl (I say unfortunate because his fixation became apparent after his ninth time mentioning how "all kids are angels”). As we stood there, moving along at a snail's pace, he took every opportunity to chat with this mother about her child and I eavesdropped just in case.
Overhearing where she was headed, and not realizing that this eastbound train did indeed stop off in Southern Colorado, I mistakenly told her that she was about to get on the wrong train. Thankfully I was smart enough to inform her to trust the ticket lady over me. Even with this fiasco, or perhaps due to it, I learned shortly after that the universe was not done with my helping this obviously weary traveler and her daughter. You see, after grabbing an unnecessary (but still damned tasty) last "real" meal of a Subway club, I headed back down the long tunnel passing ramp after ramp and came upon the same exhausted woman now pulling two large suitcases unsteadily behind her. Though her daughter tried to help, I believe the constant uttering of the phrase "are we there yet?" was doing little more than creating frustration.
Seeing a chance to make amends for my earlier snafu, I asked her if she would like some help and a look of relief washed over her face as she handed me the heaviest bag to pull. Feeling a little better about giving bad advice, my ignorance about rail travel again smacked me upside the head when I confidently strode up our ramp on the wrong side of the corridor from our cars. I guess the universe wanted us to get more exercise.
Finally onboard, I was dismayed to again notice that yet another lazy Amtrak employee had put everyone in the same car; thankfully this time I at least had a pair of seats all to myself. Though a direct cause of the issue, I am beginning to think that this conspiracy to ruin the comfort level of travelers is not totally the fault of lazy ticket agents and conductors. I have come to adopt the belief that it is instead the result of an asinine Amtrak policy geared towards always leaving empty cars for "future travelers". It begs this question though, if you keep pissing off your current clients, will you ever actually have a future?
Being that we left LA at 6pm and were slated to arrive in Albuquerque at noon, I was excited that this 18 hour trip was going to feel like eight. Of course, my excitement tapered when I realized that the only early arriving train on my whole trip lined up nicely with the one time my ride was not readily available to pick me up.
Stepping out into the Albuquerque warmth I quickly shed layers of clothes mistakenly left on after weeks of near zero Midwest cold and decided that it was a great day to hoof it. Sadly, my sense of direction must have scampered off earlier along with my awareness of train routes and I was a half mile into my trek before I realized I may be headed in the wrong direction. Thank God for google.
Finally aimed properly I skirted past the sketchy folks calling the bus and train terminal home and was overjoyed to see that the first three quarters of my trek would be all uphill. Its a good thing my ankle isn't throbbing... Oh, wait.
At the top of my Olympus the scenery regained a familiarity, and not just because I was back on a college campus. Eye balling the brown buildings tucked in amongst brown trees and browner grass currently being fruitlessly watered, a shortcut learned during my last trip to New Mexico flashed through my mind and I bee-lined it across the campus. A short while later I found myself on the front step of Amberlee's cute pueblo styled house.
Knowing it would be 45 minutes before Amberlee would be here, I pulled up a chair on her porch and set my gear down. Plopping myself down, exhausted, on her front step, I stared off blankly into the neighborhood until I was startled back to reality by a curly haired woman who looked like she could hog tie me in about 30 seconds. Turns out, the more I learned about Robin, the more I realized that I my rash judgement would prove to be prophetic if I offended her in any way. Thankfully she was down to earth and had a sense of humor almost as open as mine. I could see why she and Amberlee got along.
After coming to the conclusion that I was not just some drifter on her front porch, that I was indeed Amberlee's friend here to visit (albeit earlier than expected), Robin showed me through the front door and I was immediately met by Scotty, a terrier who's resemblance so closely mirrored Snowy from the Tin-Tin adventures that I yearned to take him on an adventure. Bounding along with the unbridled enthusiasm only a puppy could bring, I also met Jack, a cuter than should be allowed blue healer. Getting past the requisite licks and pats of attention, I asked Robin if she wouldn't mind me taking a shower, the train stink by this time feeling like it was permeating my very being.
Overhearing where she was headed, and not realizing that this eastbound train did indeed stop off in Southern Colorado, I mistakenly told her that she was about to get on the wrong train. Thankfully I was smart enough to inform her to trust the ticket lady over me. Even with this fiasco, or perhaps due to it, I learned shortly after that the universe was not done with my helping this obviously weary traveler and her daughter. You see, after grabbing an unnecessary (but still damned tasty) last "real" meal of a Subway club, I headed back down the long tunnel passing ramp after ramp and came upon the same exhausted woman now pulling two large suitcases unsteadily behind her. Though her daughter tried to help, I believe the constant uttering of the phrase "are we there yet?" was doing little more than creating frustration.
Seeing a chance to make amends for my earlier snafu, I asked her if she would like some help and a look of relief washed over her face as she handed me the heaviest bag to pull. Feeling a little better about giving bad advice, my ignorance about rail travel again smacked me upside the head when I confidently strode up our ramp on the wrong side of the corridor from our cars. I guess the universe wanted us to get more exercise.
Finally onboard, I was dismayed to again notice that yet another lazy Amtrak employee had put everyone in the same car; thankfully this time I at least had a pair of seats all to myself. Though a direct cause of the issue, I am beginning to think that this conspiracy to ruin the comfort level of travelers is not totally the fault of lazy ticket agents and conductors. I have come to adopt the belief that it is instead the result of an asinine Amtrak policy geared towards always leaving empty cars for "future travelers". It begs this question though, if you keep pissing off your current clients, will you ever actually have a future?
Being that we left LA at 6pm and were slated to arrive in Albuquerque at noon, I was excited that this 18 hour trip was going to feel like eight. Of course, my excitement tapered when I realized that the only early arriving train on my whole trip lined up nicely with the one time my ride was not readily available to pick me up.
Stepping out into the Albuquerque warmth I quickly shed layers of clothes mistakenly left on after weeks of near zero Midwest cold and decided that it was a great day to hoof it. Sadly, my sense of direction must have scampered off earlier along with my awareness of train routes and I was a half mile into my trek before I realized I may be headed in the wrong direction. Thank God for google.
Finally aimed properly I skirted past the sketchy folks calling the bus and train terminal home and was overjoyed to see that the first three quarters of my trek would be all uphill. Its a good thing my ankle isn't throbbing... Oh, wait.
At the top of my Olympus the scenery regained a familiarity, and not just because I was back on a college campus. Eye balling the brown buildings tucked in amongst brown trees and browner grass currently being fruitlessly watered, a shortcut learned during my last trip to New Mexico flashed through my mind and I bee-lined it across the campus. A short while later I found myself on the front step of Amberlee's cute pueblo styled house.
Knowing it would be 45 minutes before Amberlee would be here, I pulled up a chair on her porch and set my gear down. Plopping myself down, exhausted, on her front step, I stared off blankly into the neighborhood until I was startled back to reality by a curly haired woman who looked like she could hog tie me in about 30 seconds. Turns out, the more I learned about Robin, the more I realized that I my rash judgement would prove to be prophetic if I offended her in any way. Thankfully she was down to earth and had a sense of humor almost as open as mine. I could see why she and Amberlee got along.
After coming to the conclusion that I was not just some drifter on her front porch, that I was indeed Amberlee's friend here to visit (albeit earlier than expected), Robin showed me through the front door and I was immediately met by Scotty, a terrier who's resemblance so closely mirrored Snowy from the Tin-Tin adventures that I yearned to take him on an adventure. Bounding along with the unbridled enthusiasm only a puppy could bring, I also met Jack, a cuter than should be allowed blue healer. Getting past the requisite licks and pats of attention, I asked Robin if she wouldn't mind me taking a shower, the train stink by this time feeling like it was permeating my very being.
Once clean we took the dogs out back to play and I set about inquiring into what brought this tall rancher girl to UNM law school. A spirited conversation about beliefs and a love of law quickly turned its attention to the death penalty and we were so engrossed in conversation that I did not notice Amberlee's entrance until I heard a perfectly high pitched "Andreeeeew" and turned to see the beaming smile and outstretched arms of one of my best friends.
Dressed in scrubs that hung a little too perfectly I was left to wonder for a brief second how in the world doctors got anything done around women like this and was engulfed in a long overdue hug before becoming too lost in thought. I had missed my friend, this ex-player I ran into outside of a local Corvallis bar eight years ago and instantly knew would be a part of the rest of my life.
Though we both wanted to chat and catch up, we decided that a nap was a reward we had both earned. So, after a tasty lunch of sandwiches, we headed off to bed. Now, I know some of you are thinking that I am smitten and we napped together but, alas, that is not true. You see, not only does Amberlee have boyfriend of three years, but she and I already had our go at dating long ago. Though it was very brief and, though it was probably mostly due to timing, we decided that it was our friendship that would endure and not romance.
Waking up a few glorious hours later we set about making dinner, a delicious and overly healthy meal of salad, whole wheat pasta and chicken along with various other organic delights, and washed it down with some red wine and bourbon. As always we talked for hours about nothing and everything all at once and it dawned on me that this, being in Albuquerque for a whole weekend with nothing on the schedule except to hang out with my friend, was the perfect ending to my trip.
Dressed in scrubs that hung a little too perfectly I was left to wonder for a brief second how in the world doctors got anything done around women like this and was engulfed in a long overdue hug before becoming too lost in thought. I had missed my friend, this ex-player I ran into outside of a local Corvallis bar eight years ago and instantly knew would be a part of the rest of my life.
Though we both wanted to chat and catch up, we decided that a nap was a reward we had both earned. So, after a tasty lunch of sandwiches, we headed off to bed. Now, I know some of you are thinking that I am smitten and we napped together but, alas, that is not true. You see, not only does Amberlee have boyfriend of three years, but she and I already had our go at dating long ago. Though it was very brief and, though it was probably mostly due to timing, we decided that it was our friendship that would endure and not romance.
Waking up a few glorious hours later we set about making dinner, a delicious and overly healthy meal of salad, whole wheat pasta and chicken along with various other organic delights, and washed it down with some red wine and bourbon. As always we talked for hours about nothing and everything all at once and it dawned on me that this, being in Albuquerque for a whole weekend with nothing on the schedule except to hang out with my friend, was the perfect ending to my trip.
The next morning I was up around 9 to write and kill time until a noon date with Robin and a law school lecture. Though I was dreading listening to a high priced lawyer tell a room full of prospects why they needed to go into energy law, his talk actually applied more to my life than I could have hoped for. It seems that the universe was continually slapping me upside the head with the message "just take a job and figure out life from there" as I felt his words resonate a little too deeply in my soul for it to just be coincidence.
As we walked I learned more about Robin and was happy to note that she was, like me, completely candid about her life and her opinions. It wasn't long before I learned that this intelligent, strong as an ox woman likes older men; her 50 year old husband who, at 18 years her senior, may just be my new idol.
Though she and her husband are very much in love, it seems her mother does not exactly share her opinion. Now, I cannot tell if it is an age thing (mom wanting to protect daughter) or a jealousy thing (mom wanting to be daughter) but after a ten minute lesson into family history (including learning that her sister lives with her husband and two kids deep in the Alaskan wilderness in a 20'x10' hut) I am relieved to know that Robin will be alright.
Arriving back at the house around the same time Amberlee returned from her teaching gig, we sat down for another healthy meal. I was beginning to sense a theme. Tired after a 5am wake-up call following a late night talking to me, I could sense the conflict in Amberlee and reminded her that it was quite alright if she wanted to take another nap.
Later that night, after she was rested and I had caught up on some of my writing, we grabbed a couple of bikes from the stockpile in her front room and peddled our way to Marble, a brewery across town, to grab some beers and hang out with her friend Marsha. Riding a bike with a seat just high enough to render sitting (and maybe babies) almost impossible, I learned later than night why biking was a necessity in this town if one planned to drink.
As we rode through picturesque neighborhoods full of houses Amberlee dreamed of one day owning (the apple, in this case, falling very close to her real estate empire of a father's tree), I joyously gave my nurse friend fits as I wove in and out of my lane with no hands or helmet. I quickly learned that the old adage that most people take their jobs home with them was true as Amberlee shared numerous stories of trauma patients whose lives were shattered by accidents in the hopes that I would be scared into at least keeping my hands on the handlebars.
Pulling into the brewery, me thankfully for us both no worse for wear, we locked our bikes up and were amusingly greeted by a female pit bull squatting on her two front paws to relieve herself. I could tell that it was going to be a strange night.
Upon entering the dimly lit wooden room I was amazed at how many people could fit into such a small space. Standing in line waiting to place our order, we turned when we heard a shriek of joy behind us and I saw the most bubbly blond rushing over to tell us she had found a booth.
Sliding into the wooden seats we threw our gear down beside us and set about to a night of drinking. Being that I was in Albuquerque, and embracing that this trip was about friends, I hit up another ex-player of mine by the name of Aaron who was in PA school just up the road at the University of St. Francis. Settling in, my confidence soaring with a combination of alcohol and me looking like a stud with these two women, I slowly got to know this perky, full of life ball of energy that Amberlee loved and could instantly see why the two of them got along so well as Marsha's energy actually surpassed her friend's.
Lost in conversation I looked up and saw a familiar face. Dressed in an oversized flannel, backwards Dodgers cap and diamond earrings, Grossy (Aaron's nickname, more applicable to the shortening of his last name than anything appearance or mannerism wise) still made me laugh. How a shorter than average Jewish kid from Corvallis gets away with dressing like a thug is beyond me, but at least I knew he wouldn't get away with much at this table, especially not after he relayed to us that his ideal woman was, as he described, a "bad bitch".
It was precisely as these words were trailing off his lips that I knew things were about to get interesting and hilarious. Watching two down to earth women try to decipher what those words even meant was fun, but not nearly as much fun as watching as the realization that he was up against his match intellectually spread across his face; the light in his eyes dimmed a little when he saw that he would be receiving no quarter from his adversaries. After a few minutes of squirming and prodding, it was finally revealed that a "bad bitch" was a woman so confident in herself she does whatever she wants.
Did I mention that this was going to be an entertaining night?
After ordering a pizza from next door (yes, as in no actual food being served here but still cool enough to allow pizza delivery), we chatted more about women and relationships as we devoured the our slices of meat and veggie bliss. A discussion of toppings was short-lived, the only length to it stemming from a debate into whether or not to put hot chilies on whole, half or none of the pizza. Thankfully we were able to convince Amberlee to get them on the side, that way she and her boyfriend could have their fill while Marsha and I avoided the burn.
A few slices in, as we were scanning for women that would make Aaron grovel, I saw Stephen walk in through the front door, fresh off of a long shift at REI. A taller than average Mexican with a definite hipster vibe, Amberlee's boyfriend is a nice guy, albeit one that is very hard to read as his social awkwardness lends to an aura of aloofness. There is definitely something about Stephen I cannot peg. Maybe it is the fact that I always feels like I am pulling teeth when talking to him, or maybe it is witnessing Amberlee go from incredibly confident woman into a smitten school girl around him, but I admit that sometimes I wonder why such an outgoing girl likes someone so quiet. I suppose maybe it is just jealousy, or maybe it is just a true lack of understanding into what makes him tick (the product of limited meetings and our vastly different upbringings), but it really doesn't matter as it is readily apparent how happy he makes her. That is all anyone can hope to find.
Shifting my focus back towards reliving my college days, Aaron and I set about finding him the woman of his dreams, much to the delight of our table mates. I have to say I felt my age that night, as my unkempt grey beard and unruly hair did nothing to elicit interest from any of the crowd I was used to. It is amazing though what tenacity can accomplish; after being shot down nonverbally by a table of XC runners, my art of forced conversation meant that we were soon chatting up the whole team. Leaving Aaron with a blond English girl who shared his love of soccer, I was saddened to learn minutes later that she did not rank high enough on his bad meter to warrant further topics.
As the evening came to a close I asked Marsha if she wanted me to drive her home, but a belief that I was trying to take her home caused her to politely decline. After a night of drinking beer (which, along with Facebook, she had given up for lent two weeks ago) I wish she had not misread that. Escorting her to her car, I must have alerted the gods of irony when I told her to drive safe.
Loading the bikes into the bed of Stephen's grey Toyota we drove off, unaware that the night was about to take a very negative turn. Turning left at the light we saw the DUI checkpoint and it dawned on us that Marsha must have taken the same left. Our hopes that she made it through were quickly vanquished when we noticed her car parked and saw her standing on one leg by the side of the road in the middle of a field sobriety test.
Rolling through the checkpoint, Stephen recited the only acceptable answer at an Albuquerque DUI checkpoint, "no, sir, I have not been drinking". (Now I will throw out a caveat here, as I am certain there are some people reading this aghast that I might be condoning the heinous act of drunken driving: Albuquerque has one of the nation's highest rates of drunken drivers, so the checkpoints have assuredly saved many lives. The caveat comes from the knowledge that, due to the high volume of stopped drivers, I've been told that around 20% of the city's residents have a DUI on their record. Now, while I am certain many people out there are thinking, "serves them right", think to your own friend group and ask yourself the question, is one in five accurate?)
After quickly passing through the checkpoint, we made our way to another bar so Stephen could make an appearance at someone’s party. After 20 minutes of standing around, the goal seemingly to be seen, we left to grab some grease from a dive of a late night restaurant known as much for its food as it is for the reason it now closes its doors at 2. I guess one too many assaults/homicides (the product of different walks of bar life craving the same late night grease) will cause any owner to reconsider their employee's safety.
Though damned tasty after a night of drinking, my wolfing down two huge bean and cheese burritos and a cheeseburger from a dive like this probably wasn't an ideal move (more on that later). The next morning I awoke to the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen and and walked in on Stephen cooking while discussing Marsha's fate with Amberlee. My friend, the eternal optimist, still hoped that since Marsha hadn't been booked by our 230 bedtime that maybe she made it home unscathed. A call to the Detention Center the next morning quickly put that to rest and Amberlee and I decided that a day of hiking definitely needed to be replaced by rescuing her friend.
Located in the middle of endless dust and tumbleweeds the Detention Center was a half mile from a worn race track that probably split the inmate population in two with its incessant whining of engines and squealing of tires. Turning the corner we came upon a brand new building that looked more at home downtown than as a home of criminals. Personally I have a hard time understanding how wasting taxpayer's money to create an aesthetically pleasing prison makes any sense. I guess I mistakenly thought that the goal was to create a place that no one would want to visit.
After filling out paperwork given to us by a black man sporting an Alabama ball cap who looked like his playing days were fading quickly, I wondered how much a laid back approach by employees to pretty much everything wreaked havoc on businesses. Reading closely every word on a document transferring all responsibility for Marsha's court date over to the person brave enough to sign it, Amberlee at least wasn't in any hurry. Learning that we had an hour or so to kill (infinite prison wisdom means releasing or transferring all eligible inmates at the same time instead of as rides arrive), we headed out to the car to relax.
Around 1230 a metal door hidden amongst all of the stone covering the facade of the building opened and we watched as bubbly, bouncing Marsha stepped out into the light with three other offenders probably caught in the same sting. Shocked to see us, but eternally grateful to not have to be riding again in the prison wagon, somehow Marsha was still chipper. How anyone could be remotely happy after a night of zero sleep on a concrete floor, I told Marsha that she needed to bottle whatever made her this way so she could pay off her fines. A DUI isn't called the $10,000 mistake ironically.
Unfortunately taxpayer's frustration doesn't stop with a shimmering building, not in this town known for New Mexican cuisine and drunk driving arrests. In addition to being arrested for blowing .10 (a half a beer over the limit to legally drive herself home), we found out that Marsha's car would have to stay in the lot until at least Monday as they were not open for pick up on weekends. Not only were all of the impound lots closed, but the police station and courts were as well.
Though I know she wanted nothing more than to drive home and go to sleep, it was more her cell phone and house keys currently in her car that she was more concerned with grabbing. Does anyone else find it odd that they can tow a car to an impound any day of the week but not allow anyone to take theirs out? I wonder if that has anything to do with the $200/day fee?
After realizing that there was nothing else we could do, we headed off to Marsha's house to drop her off. Just in time too as I had been noticing a rumbling in my gut over the last hour or so and knew that last night's late meal was catching up to me. You ever notice that the closer you get to a bathroom the more desperately you sense that you have to relieve yourself? Well, that weird phenomenon was one that I experienced a few to many times that day. Another reason I guess I am not destined to live in the Southwest.
After lunch, and in between the trampoline practices currently being run between my gut and colon, Amberlee and I decided to take Scotty for a walk around the University golf course. As we continued our constant discussion of life and dating it dawned on both of us just how much time we had spent together in the last three days while never running out of things to say. It reminded me again why I kept her around.
After an afternoon spent lounging on the couch watching movies we both recalled to like more the first time, Stephen returned from work and I asked them to pick a spot for dinner so I could thank them both for putting up with me for a weekend. After a meal of tasty individually sized pizza pies sporting chunks of mozzarella, we made our way back home and talked of continuing the night at another brewery across town. Knowing that my intestinal fortitude would soon be bombarded by meat, cheese and tomato sauce, but also because I knew that I had spent more time with his girlfriend than he had in the last three days, I politely declined. I figured a night to themselves would be a better gift than pizza while selfishly hoping that a low-key night would calm my stomach down.
As we walked I learned more about Robin and was happy to note that she was, like me, completely candid about her life and her opinions. It wasn't long before I learned that this intelligent, strong as an ox woman likes older men; her 50 year old husband who, at 18 years her senior, may just be my new idol.
Though she and her husband are very much in love, it seems her mother does not exactly share her opinion. Now, I cannot tell if it is an age thing (mom wanting to protect daughter) or a jealousy thing (mom wanting to be daughter) but after a ten minute lesson into family history (including learning that her sister lives with her husband and two kids deep in the Alaskan wilderness in a 20'x10' hut) I am relieved to know that Robin will be alright.
Arriving back at the house around the same time Amberlee returned from her teaching gig, we sat down for another healthy meal. I was beginning to sense a theme. Tired after a 5am wake-up call following a late night talking to me, I could sense the conflict in Amberlee and reminded her that it was quite alright if she wanted to take another nap.
Later that night, after she was rested and I had caught up on some of my writing, we grabbed a couple of bikes from the stockpile in her front room and peddled our way to Marble, a brewery across town, to grab some beers and hang out with her friend Marsha. Riding a bike with a seat just high enough to render sitting (and maybe babies) almost impossible, I learned later than night why biking was a necessity in this town if one planned to drink.
As we rode through picturesque neighborhoods full of houses Amberlee dreamed of one day owning (the apple, in this case, falling very close to her real estate empire of a father's tree), I joyously gave my nurse friend fits as I wove in and out of my lane with no hands or helmet. I quickly learned that the old adage that most people take their jobs home with them was true as Amberlee shared numerous stories of trauma patients whose lives were shattered by accidents in the hopes that I would be scared into at least keeping my hands on the handlebars.
Pulling into the brewery, me thankfully for us both no worse for wear, we locked our bikes up and were amusingly greeted by a female pit bull squatting on her two front paws to relieve herself. I could tell that it was going to be a strange night.
Upon entering the dimly lit wooden room I was amazed at how many people could fit into such a small space. Standing in line waiting to place our order, we turned when we heard a shriek of joy behind us and I saw the most bubbly blond rushing over to tell us she had found a booth.
Sliding into the wooden seats we threw our gear down beside us and set about to a night of drinking. Being that I was in Albuquerque, and embracing that this trip was about friends, I hit up another ex-player of mine by the name of Aaron who was in PA school just up the road at the University of St. Francis. Settling in, my confidence soaring with a combination of alcohol and me looking like a stud with these two women, I slowly got to know this perky, full of life ball of energy that Amberlee loved and could instantly see why the two of them got along so well as Marsha's energy actually surpassed her friend's.
Lost in conversation I looked up and saw a familiar face. Dressed in an oversized flannel, backwards Dodgers cap and diamond earrings, Grossy (Aaron's nickname, more applicable to the shortening of his last name than anything appearance or mannerism wise) still made me laugh. How a shorter than average Jewish kid from Corvallis gets away with dressing like a thug is beyond me, but at least I knew he wouldn't get away with much at this table, especially not after he relayed to us that his ideal woman was, as he described, a "bad bitch".
It was precisely as these words were trailing off his lips that I knew things were about to get interesting and hilarious. Watching two down to earth women try to decipher what those words even meant was fun, but not nearly as much fun as watching as the realization that he was up against his match intellectually spread across his face; the light in his eyes dimmed a little when he saw that he would be receiving no quarter from his adversaries. After a few minutes of squirming and prodding, it was finally revealed that a "bad bitch" was a woman so confident in herself she does whatever she wants.
Did I mention that this was going to be an entertaining night?
After ordering a pizza from next door (yes, as in no actual food being served here but still cool enough to allow pizza delivery), we chatted more about women and relationships as we devoured the our slices of meat and veggie bliss. A discussion of toppings was short-lived, the only length to it stemming from a debate into whether or not to put hot chilies on whole, half or none of the pizza. Thankfully we were able to convince Amberlee to get them on the side, that way she and her boyfriend could have their fill while Marsha and I avoided the burn.
A few slices in, as we were scanning for women that would make Aaron grovel, I saw Stephen walk in through the front door, fresh off of a long shift at REI. A taller than average Mexican with a definite hipster vibe, Amberlee's boyfriend is a nice guy, albeit one that is very hard to read as his social awkwardness lends to an aura of aloofness. There is definitely something about Stephen I cannot peg. Maybe it is the fact that I always feels like I am pulling teeth when talking to him, or maybe it is witnessing Amberlee go from incredibly confident woman into a smitten school girl around him, but I admit that sometimes I wonder why such an outgoing girl likes someone so quiet. I suppose maybe it is just jealousy, or maybe it is just a true lack of understanding into what makes him tick (the product of limited meetings and our vastly different upbringings), but it really doesn't matter as it is readily apparent how happy he makes her. That is all anyone can hope to find.
Shifting my focus back towards reliving my college days, Aaron and I set about finding him the woman of his dreams, much to the delight of our table mates. I have to say I felt my age that night, as my unkempt grey beard and unruly hair did nothing to elicit interest from any of the crowd I was used to. It is amazing though what tenacity can accomplish; after being shot down nonverbally by a table of XC runners, my art of forced conversation meant that we were soon chatting up the whole team. Leaving Aaron with a blond English girl who shared his love of soccer, I was saddened to learn minutes later that she did not rank high enough on his bad meter to warrant further topics.
As the evening came to a close I asked Marsha if she wanted me to drive her home, but a belief that I was trying to take her home caused her to politely decline. After a night of drinking beer (which, along with Facebook, she had given up for lent two weeks ago) I wish she had not misread that. Escorting her to her car, I must have alerted the gods of irony when I told her to drive safe.
Loading the bikes into the bed of Stephen's grey Toyota we drove off, unaware that the night was about to take a very negative turn. Turning left at the light we saw the DUI checkpoint and it dawned on us that Marsha must have taken the same left. Our hopes that she made it through were quickly vanquished when we noticed her car parked and saw her standing on one leg by the side of the road in the middle of a field sobriety test.
Rolling through the checkpoint, Stephen recited the only acceptable answer at an Albuquerque DUI checkpoint, "no, sir, I have not been drinking". (Now I will throw out a caveat here, as I am certain there are some people reading this aghast that I might be condoning the heinous act of drunken driving: Albuquerque has one of the nation's highest rates of drunken drivers, so the checkpoints have assuredly saved many lives. The caveat comes from the knowledge that, due to the high volume of stopped drivers, I've been told that around 20% of the city's residents have a DUI on their record. Now, while I am certain many people out there are thinking, "serves them right", think to your own friend group and ask yourself the question, is one in five accurate?)
After quickly passing through the checkpoint, we made our way to another bar so Stephen could make an appearance at someone’s party. After 20 minutes of standing around, the goal seemingly to be seen, we left to grab some grease from a dive of a late night restaurant known as much for its food as it is for the reason it now closes its doors at 2. I guess one too many assaults/homicides (the product of different walks of bar life craving the same late night grease) will cause any owner to reconsider their employee's safety.
Though damned tasty after a night of drinking, my wolfing down two huge bean and cheese burritos and a cheeseburger from a dive like this probably wasn't an ideal move (more on that later). The next morning I awoke to the smells of breakfast wafting from the kitchen and and walked in on Stephen cooking while discussing Marsha's fate with Amberlee. My friend, the eternal optimist, still hoped that since Marsha hadn't been booked by our 230 bedtime that maybe she made it home unscathed. A call to the Detention Center the next morning quickly put that to rest and Amberlee and I decided that a day of hiking definitely needed to be replaced by rescuing her friend.
Located in the middle of endless dust and tumbleweeds the Detention Center was a half mile from a worn race track that probably split the inmate population in two with its incessant whining of engines and squealing of tires. Turning the corner we came upon a brand new building that looked more at home downtown than as a home of criminals. Personally I have a hard time understanding how wasting taxpayer's money to create an aesthetically pleasing prison makes any sense. I guess I mistakenly thought that the goal was to create a place that no one would want to visit.
After filling out paperwork given to us by a black man sporting an Alabama ball cap who looked like his playing days were fading quickly, I wondered how much a laid back approach by employees to pretty much everything wreaked havoc on businesses. Reading closely every word on a document transferring all responsibility for Marsha's court date over to the person brave enough to sign it, Amberlee at least wasn't in any hurry. Learning that we had an hour or so to kill (infinite prison wisdom means releasing or transferring all eligible inmates at the same time instead of as rides arrive), we headed out to the car to relax.
Around 1230 a metal door hidden amongst all of the stone covering the facade of the building opened and we watched as bubbly, bouncing Marsha stepped out into the light with three other offenders probably caught in the same sting. Shocked to see us, but eternally grateful to not have to be riding again in the prison wagon, somehow Marsha was still chipper. How anyone could be remotely happy after a night of zero sleep on a concrete floor, I told Marsha that she needed to bottle whatever made her this way so she could pay off her fines. A DUI isn't called the $10,000 mistake ironically.
Unfortunately taxpayer's frustration doesn't stop with a shimmering building, not in this town known for New Mexican cuisine and drunk driving arrests. In addition to being arrested for blowing .10 (a half a beer over the limit to legally drive herself home), we found out that Marsha's car would have to stay in the lot until at least Monday as they were not open for pick up on weekends. Not only were all of the impound lots closed, but the police station and courts were as well.
Though I know she wanted nothing more than to drive home and go to sleep, it was more her cell phone and house keys currently in her car that she was more concerned with grabbing. Does anyone else find it odd that they can tow a car to an impound any day of the week but not allow anyone to take theirs out? I wonder if that has anything to do with the $200/day fee?
After realizing that there was nothing else we could do, we headed off to Marsha's house to drop her off. Just in time too as I had been noticing a rumbling in my gut over the last hour or so and knew that last night's late meal was catching up to me. You ever notice that the closer you get to a bathroom the more desperately you sense that you have to relieve yourself? Well, that weird phenomenon was one that I experienced a few to many times that day. Another reason I guess I am not destined to live in the Southwest.
After lunch, and in between the trampoline practices currently being run between my gut and colon, Amberlee and I decided to take Scotty for a walk around the University golf course. As we continued our constant discussion of life and dating it dawned on both of us just how much time we had spent together in the last three days while never running out of things to say. It reminded me again why I kept her around.
After an afternoon spent lounging on the couch watching movies we both recalled to like more the first time, Stephen returned from work and I asked them to pick a spot for dinner so I could thank them both for putting up with me for a weekend. After a meal of tasty individually sized pizza pies sporting chunks of mozzarella, we made our way back home and talked of continuing the night at another brewery across town. Knowing that my intestinal fortitude would soon be bombarded by meat, cheese and tomato sauce, but also because I knew that I had spent more time with his girlfriend than he had in the last three days, I politely declined. I figured a night to themselves would be a better gift than pizza while selfishly hoping that a low-key night would calm my stomach down.
Now Albuquerque is not all brown trees, stifling heat and oppressive police; I learned, as we drove past endless rows of new and used vehicles shining in the sun, that it is also a mecca for car sales. As we drove back from Target, my stock up of train supplies purchased, I could sense something was wrong and asked Amberlee how she was feeling about having me around. Preemptively apologizing for anything I may have done to make her or Stephen feel uncomfortable, she reassured me that she I and nothing to apologize for. After talking for awhile, I began to believe that her demeanor had changed, especially when around Stephen, solely for his sake.
I spent that afternoon cleaning and packing while my gracious hosts attended a birthday party for one of Stephen's nephews. Though it wast the way I envisioned spending my last few hours, I could tell by now that Stephen was done having another man in his house. Sensing this, I asked Amberlee take me to the train station a little earlier than necessary as I knew they both had an afternoon and night free from work and further entertaining a guest was the last thing on their mind.
Stepping out of the only car I had ever known her to own I grabbed my gear and thanked her for the weekend. Making her way around the car, Amberlee said goodbye with a simple hug and a promise to call.
I was again very thankful that whatever power at work forced me to save this leg for last.
I spent that afternoon cleaning and packing while my gracious hosts attended a birthday party for one of Stephen's nephews. Though it wast the way I envisioned spending my last few hours, I could tell by now that Stephen was done having another man in his house. Sensing this, I asked Amberlee take me to the train station a little earlier than necessary as I knew they both had an afternoon and night free from work and further entertaining a guest was the last thing on their mind.
Stepping out of the only car I had ever known her to own I grabbed my gear and thanked her for the weekend. Making her way around the car, Amberlee said goodbye with a simple hug and a promise to call.
I was again very thankful that whatever power at work forced me to save this leg for last.
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