Breaking News: Stupidity Outbreak at Atlanta Airport

From the “I could not make this shit up files”:

Killing time during a 3 hour layover at the Atlanta airport.  The drunken yabs sillier folks from the SCUBA posse have encamped in the Samuel Adams brewpubbery on Concourse C. 

While continuing our ridiculous alcohol abuse having a relaxing dinner, i was coveting the pub table near the electrical outlet.  As soon as the gentlemen at the table left, i scooted in that direction and plugged in both my cell phone and the power cord on the laptop.

Within a minute of settling in, i was approached by a management-like-object.  i was informed that i could not use the two outlets.  The policy of the establishment was to block off the outlets to prevent transmission of viruses into their system.

Drunk Confused, i repeated her statement back to her – loud enough that my compatriots (and half the people in the bar) could hear:  “Let me make sure i understand this, you don’t let people use this electrical outlet to make sure that you don’t get viruses downloaded into your system?”

She affirmed that this was indeed the case. 

Many astonished glances from the folks nearby… and with a straight face i unplugged both electrical cords. 

Fuck swine flu, folks.  We have bigger problems in the ol’ United States of America…

This land is your land…

Endless frustrations from The Trailer Park last week – regarding Dad’s  tenor sax – which is still MIA – as well as day-to-day operations.  It’s a good thing i’m currently 2500 miles away.  I’m two Hershey Bars shy of unleashing fire and brimstone.

Last Sunday, i stopped by Mom’s to take her out to lunch, and also do some hands-on digging through the decades of life-shrapnel that clutters her house.  No luck finding the saxophone, but that’s an evolving story for another day.

Then there was this little slice of the good life…

After the ice and snow from Tuesday the previous week, i discovered Mom’s driveway still buried.  She’d put some ice-melting chemicals down, to no avail.  There was a path through the snow in her yard out to the mailbox, where she’d walked daily to get the mail and newspaper all week.

She’s 80, walks with a cane.  And has absolutely no fucking business walking on ice and snow.  Oh, and have i mentioned that my niece, DQ, her husband and 14 year old daughter live NEXT DOOR? 

After lunch, i grabbed a shovel, and with the help of some unexpected sunshine, beat through the ice, clearing the driveway.  If the lazy, unemployed DQ couldn’t shovel, or send her hard-working husband over to dig it out, she could have AT LEAST* brought in the mail/paper.  Or sent her daughter over to do it since school was out all week…

Returning inside, i found several light bulbs out – and replaced them.  i’m thinking Mom really doesn’t need to be climbing the stepladder to replace light bulbs, either. 

Trying to keep my head from exploding manage my anger, i shared my frustrations with Mom.  DQ refuses to work so she can stay home and take care of Mom and the 16 month old spawn baby, DQ, III.  Last year, DQ used an emotional blackmail technique, telling Mom that she’ll move some day and have to leave her behind – thus convincing Mom to buy 17 acres in the country.  Mom has also applied for a construction loan so DQ and her husband can build a house, complete with “mother-in-law” apartment for Mom. 

Given that the rest of us aren’t lining up to take care of Mom, and that she’s militant about not moving to an assisted living apartment (which she sees as the first step toward a nursing home), it seemed a sound approach to helping Mom maintain a reasonable quality of life**.  The plan was that Mom would pay for her square footage, and then DQ and BJ would make payments on what they build for themselves.

Works well in theory…  Unfortunately, DQ’s exponentially expanding waistline sense of entitlement drove “requirements creep”, doubling the amount of square footage from the original plan, and the loan application is in limbo.  Nothing is happening, but Mom now owns 17 wooded acres.  Mom explained that she’s frustrated, too, feeling that she has no options… saying that it seems that house will never get built. 

Mom:  I don’t know what else to do – I think I’m stuck here.

daisyfae:  That land is yours, still has value, and can be sold.  We can take the money from that, gut this place, and make it easily accessible and very comfortable for you.  You’ll need to let folks come in and help you, though, but we can get this place fixed up quite nicely for what you spent on that land!  New kitchen, new bathroom…

Mom: Oh, I just figured i’d give DQ the land…

daisyfae:  Why?  For shoveling your fucking driveway?

Brains... if we only had some brains...

Brains... if we only had some brains...

* To her credit, she had been sending over food a few times during the bad weather to make sure mom had decent things to eat.  And she calls daily…  DQ, Jr apparently tried to help clear some of the snow.  With my 80 year old mother…  UGH!

** Despite the obvious benefit to DQ of getting a brand new house built, on 17 wooded acres, and ending up with just a portion of the mortgage, she DOES take care of most of Mom’s basic needs.  To quote Joni Mitchell (“shadows and light”), “The perils of benefactors…. The blessings of parasites…”.   DQ has historically been very clever at manipulation of Mom’s resources, but at the same time, provides much needed support.  So i stand watch.  To make sure the balance doesn’t go too far out of whack…