The Curious “Courtesy Flush” Concept

Recently I was in the bathroom of a coffee shop — give me a break, I’m a 58-year-old guy whose bladder capacity for coffee apparently has shrunk to thimble size — when I noticed a sign above the toilet paper roll that stated, in pertinent part:  “If you must go #2, please courtesy flush — DO NOT OVERLOAD TOILET, IT WILL BACK UP!!”

There’s a lot to digest in that one, somewhat menacing sentence.

IMG_7558_2First, apparently “#1” and “#2” references have moved from childhood to the adult world.  I haven’t heard someone use “#1” and “#2” to describe bodily functions since our sons were little boys, and I wouldn’t expect to see them used in a sign in an adult establishment.  But is there really universal understanding of these slang terms in the United States — much less the world?  In France, for example, do parents speak to children of “nombre un” et “nombre deux”?  What would a coffee-loving foreign visitor to our shores make of the sign’s likely baffling statement about “going #2”?

Second, the sign tacitly assumes that there is some element of choice involved in “going #2” in a public bathroom, as if people decide to do so on a whim, or to enjoy a comfortable seat and a rewarding view, rather that in response to an imminent biological imperative.  Retail businesses should understand that no rational person would want to plop down on their public toilet seat unless there is no immediately available private alternative.  In short, people who unfortunately have to “go #2” in a coffee shop bathroom inevitably “must go #2″ this instant — and having avoided disaster no sign is going to discourage them from doing so.

And finally, there is the curious concept of the “courtesy flush,” which is a phrase I’d not heard before.  The context suggests that flushing should proceed in stages, with a dainty-sounding initial “courtesy flush” to be followed by the ultimate, keep-your-fingers-crossed-and-hope-to-avoid-a-clog final flush.  The concept seemingly presupposes an element of bodily control beyond the capability of all but trained ninja warriors, who probably wouldn’t understand the “#2” reference in the first place.  Or perhaps the “courtesy flush” notion asks the user to initially disregard the adage that “no job is finished until the paperwork is done”?

The Christmas Deceptions Begin

Kish and I stopped in a FedEx office this morning.  We apparently just missed Santa, or one of his elves, who had been there Xeroxing “elf on a shelf” messages.  This message acknowledges the assignment of the elf Maxy to one family, where he will keep an eye on behavior and report back to Santa himself.

Merry Christmas, indeed!  As any former kid knows, the post-Thanksgiving period in when you really need to toe the line, else you end up on the dreaded “naughty” list.  And Maxy will be there, watching.

Family Time


 It’s Thanksgiving, the quintessential holiday for American families.  
It’s a holiday where each family tends to develop its own rich trove of traditions.  Maybe it’s a family football game before or after the feast.  Maybe it’s a particular food, like Aunt Gertrude’s oyster stuffing or cranberry sauce still maintaining the shape of the can from which it came, sliced to produce red hockey pucks.  Maybe it’s the rickety, riotous “kid’s table” where everyone under the age of 30 has to sit because the real dining room table can’t accommodate the whole clan.

But one of the biggest and most closely held traditions has to do with time — as in, when do you sit down for your meal?  Newly married couples learn to their astonishment that not every family eats at the same time.  Some people eat at noon, right after the parades end.  Some people eat at four, squeezing the meal in between the football games on TV.  So the newly married couple might eat two meals, one with each family, until they start to establish their own traditions.

I’ve never heard of anyone waiting until a more standard dinner time — say, 7 p.m. — to eat their turkey.    By then, most of us are chowing a cold turkey sandwich, pounding down a second piece of pumpkin pie, and groaning at our gluttony.

Wherever you are, and whenever you eat, Happy Thanksgiving!

Double Oven Dreams

Lately, when I go into our kitchen, I am drawn to the shiny, aluminum-clad appliance in the far corner, next to the outside wall.  I look at it, and think about possibilities.  Happy, hopeful, heated, holiday possibilities.

It’s the double oven, of course.

IMG_7516_2A double oven may not be a big deal for those who’ve always had  one, but I’m not in that category.  I’ve only had a single oven, which has been . . . sufficient.  There aren’t many times when you really need two ovens.  But the holiday season is one of those times.  And now, with Thanksgiving only two days away and the Christmas cookie season right behind it, I think of what I might be able to accomplish with deft use of the double oven.

For Thanksgiving, the benefits of a double oven are obvious.  The turkey can be cooking away in one oven, perhaps with one or two other dishes, and the other oven can be used for warming pies, candied yams, rolls, a green bean casserole, and on and on.  No more desperate attempts at oven space management, trying to jam every course into the nooks and crannies around the turkey in a doomed bid to get everything hot and ready to serve at the same time.  In short, the double oven affords the luxury of ample space.

For Christmas cookie baking, the potential benefits are different.  The double oven should allow me to maximize efficiency and eliminate the down times, when I’ve got a sheet of cookies ready to bake but I’m waiting for those in the oven to finish.  I look at the shiny aluminum facing and I think of Dutch spice cookies turning a rich golden brown in the top oven as I’m loading a tray of Cranberry hootycreeks into the bottom unit.  An efficiency expert would undoubtedly be able to calculate how much time I might save by deft use of the double oven options.  It will require careful planning and sequencing, of course, but I’m eager to tackle the challenge.

And now I wonder — do I have enough counter space for all of these cookies?

Full Avoidance Mode

There was a football game played on Saturday, but I’d rather not talk about it.

It’s kind of embarrassing, really, but when it comes to unfortunate results in the sporting events that I care about I take a child-like, total ostrich approach.  I go into full avoidance mode.  I don’t read about it, I don’t want to see anything about it, and when people start to talk to me about it I feel like putting my fingers in my ears and saying “blah, blah, blah” until they go away and leave me to my sports solitude.

fingers-in-earsIt’s embarrassing behavior, because it’s juvenile.  An adult should be able to cope with a sports team loss, reading the different analyses of the game, listening to the pundits explain why things went sour, and so on.

I guess I’m just not an adult.  I still lose sleep over the bad losses and feel crushed by the dashed expectations.  If I go into full avoidance mode, at least I can prevent the news reports from exacerbating my distress.

So I’ve got my head in the sand for a few days.  The fact that Thanksgiving is this week will help — not because giving thanks for good fortune puts a sports loss into its proper perspective, which should be the case, but because a holiday always is a point of focus that makes things that happened before the holiday seem remote.  It’s the calendar equivalent of sticking your fingers in your ears and going “lah, lah, lah.”

Kowtowing To The Rich And Famous

Nobody likes traveling through the LAX airport, one of the many airports serving southern California.  It’s crowded and hectic, jammed with luggage-toting people heading east and west and crammed with the fast food outlets and franchise shops you find in every airport.

So, nobody likes traveling through LAX.  But you know who really doesn’t like LAX?  Movie stars.  Star athletes.  The random celebrities who have somehow become famous in America despite their apparent lack of any discernible talent or known accomplishment.  They hate rubbing elbows with the hoi polloi, being recognized despite their ever-present sunglasses, being photographed by paparazzi and the masses alike, and being pestered by fans for an autograph.  God forbid that they should have to hobnob, unprotected, with the common folks who buy the tickets to their movies or games or watch their reality TV shows.

paris-hilton-walking-through-lax-airportSo what do you do if you’re on the Board of Airport Commissioners that controls LAX and you learn of the evident dissatisfaction of the rich and famous with LAX?  Tell them, sorry, but they’ll just have to suck it up and endure an occasional interaction with the plebes when the celebs pass through a facility built largely with public funds?

Nah!  You vote to authorize the construction of a private lounge for the glitterati in a converted cargo facility, where the celebrities and sports stars and one-percenters can use a private parking lot and access area, sip wine and eat brie in posh, ultra-private suites, and be whisked off to their boarding areas in private shuttles if they’re unfortunate enough to be traveling by a commercial flight.  Of course, they’ll pay for the privilege of being shielded from the smelly, bustling peasants, and the operators of LAX will earn additional millions in revenue from the fees paid by the VIPs and the company that will run their special little enclave.

It’s just another example of the trend toward kowtowing to the rich and famous and allowing them, for a price, to be removed from any of the unseemly disruption that is part and parcel of everyday life for the common man.  They can pay to skip lines at amusement parks, pay to bypass the standard security screening at airports, watch movies at private screenings, sit at private boxes at sporting events, avoid buying their own groceries, hire private assistants to handle their daily affairs, and otherwise avoid the hassles that are all-too-familiar to the rest of us.

There’s nothing to be done about it, because money talks, and airport commissions and sports franchises and restaurants and other businesses are perfectly happy to honor the celebrity desire for separation . . . for a hefty price.  But just remember, the next time a celebrity tells you who to vote for, or offers their confident, all-knowing assessment of how to cure the country’s or the world’s ills — the speaker is someone who probably has only a hazy understanding of the realities of everyday life and who would rather shell out thousands of dollars than walk through an airport concourse with the likes of you and me.

So why in the world would we listen to what they have to say?