Heard On the Radio, Read on the Net

A radio announcer said she’d read a survey of millennials between twenty-one and thirty-seven years old. The results said that fifty-three percent of them expected to be millionaires and the average millennial expected to retire by age fifty-six.

I read today that millennials are the worse tippers. Ten percent of them don’t tip at all when they eat out. Their average gratuity is fifteen percent.

Guess they’re saving up to be millionaires.

The Writing Adventure

I slipped into the groove today when I was writing. It’s a fun, satisfying, and rewarding place to be. Words fly and the story unfolds with that amazing sense that I’m transcribing what I’m watching. Finishing is a little sad because it was so enjoyable. I sit for a while, reading what I’ve written, thinking about it, and considering what I know comes next. I’m doing that to kill time because I wrote so fast, with such focus, that most of my coffee remains. I only wrote for about fifty minutes, but wrote fourteen pages, about three thousand words.

My fingers are tired. Looking around the coffee shop, I feel disconnected from this place¬† and uncertain if it’s real. These people and this place aren’t as dynamic as the characters and setting that I just left, but then, these folks are concerned about seeing plays, the weather, and what to eat. None of them seem intent on saving someone else. Maybe they’re hiding it well.

Good day of writing like crazy. Time to return to life’s mundanities.

A Scavenger Dream

I’d just begun new employment. I wasn’t the age I now am, but I was middle-aged and experienced in office environments.

The office building was one of those old San Mateo buildings used by start-ups. It was dark and cramped inside. I don’t know what the company was doing or what my position was.¬† Those things were being explained but a haze covers that part of the dream. Then my boss, a director, said, “Here comes the CEO.” All present, except for me, started gravitating around the CEO and his words.

Beginning to sort the situation, I discovered a huge collection of parts. Looking at them, I realized it was a stockroom of one part. I don’t know what the part was. Taking one apart, I found batteries inside. Then I found and read paperwork, and spoke to others. The gist of what I understood about the company was that it was struggling and going through a re-organization. Resources were scarce. Investigating, I learned that the parts were old stock. They’d set it aside to get rid of it. I decided I’d remove the batteries, test them to see if they worked, or recycle them. Then I go find something to do with the parts.

The CEO came along while I was in the middle of doing this. “What are you doing?” he asked. I explained my plan.

My initiative impressed him. “This is the kind of thing we need to be doing until we get on our feet,” he told the others in a little speech.

I shrugged all of that off and kept going about my business. In another room, I discovered food being thrown away. I couldn’t understand that at all. Like the parts and batteries, I decided that wasn’t appropriate, so I began going through the food, checking the dates and packaging, and organizing it by its food group. Others entered while I was doing that. Many asked, “What are you doing?”

I explained myself each time. People most often replied, “That’s too much work.”

I didn’t argue with them or explain myself. I was settling in and had the time. It was a unique time and exercise; once it was done, it wouldn’t be needed to be done again.

I knew that, so I kept at it. As I worked, the food, battery and parts disappeared, as though I was seeing it through a time-lapsed recording. The office became brighter.

In the end, I paused. I was holding an armful of food containers. Looking around, I thought, I’m scavenging energy for re-use.

Understanding that, I went on, and the dream ended.

Monday’s Theme Music

It seems like I’m staunchly streaming 1971. I’d heard “Every Picture Tells A Story” on the radio the other day and awoke with Rod Stewart singing “Maggie May” in my head.

With that, I thought about that year. Wasn’t watching much television that comes to mind. I listened to music, wrote, and drew. Infatuated with cars, I bought sketch pads and designed cars. I thought I might go into car designing, but things changed.

1976 found me in U.S.A.F. and stationed at Clark AB in the Philippines with the 3rd TFW. I was nineteen, and one of the guys I worked with was thirty-four. We were having a San Miguel beer at an office-sponsored BBQ when “Maggie May” came on the radio. He said, “Oh, I love this song.”

That surprised me. Before his confession, I’d only heard him listen to country and western music, so I started talking to him about music. We had a wonderful conversation, one that was eye-opening for me about judgments and the slide of time.



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