state of confusion

Mrs. Pincus went to the local Walmart to pick up a few things in their grocery department. Elsewhere on this blog, I have discussed my "love-hate" relationship with Walmart. I love their incredibly — sometimes impossibly — low prices, but I hate the caveat of having to go to Walmart to get those prices. I believe that's what called a paradox. The customers and staff at Walmart are equally.... well, what's the nicest way I can phrase this?... moronic. I marvel at the level of stupidity I witness each and every time I visit Walmart. The customers all look like they just rolled out of bed, threw on the closest (and filthiest) Halloween costume they could find and headed out to shop. The employees all seem to be on their first day of work... wandering the aisles in a stupor, as though they were just dropped there from an airplane.

As long as Mrs. P was in Walmart, she decided to trek on over to the cosmetic department. Among the lipsticks and lotions and powders and such, she found a hook with a particular item that she wished to purchase. (Honestly, I don't know exactly what she bought. The reference to "lipsticks and lotions and powders" was just a guess on my part.) The hook that the item — Maybelline Eye Brow Something-or-Other — was on had a lock at the front of it. Who knew that this was such a hot property that it needed to be kept under secure lock and key.... like baby formula and Sudafed. But, sure enough, there it was and it was locked. My wife noticed that there was a small security camera mounted above the item that she desired. She waved at the camera and pointed to the locked hook, hoping that whoever was monitoring the camera would send someone over immediately. Then she remembered that she was in Walmart — land of sloth-like assistance. No staff member was monitoring anything. She looked around the department until she finally spotted an employee in a bright yellow, Walmart logo-emblazoned vest. She explained to the employee which item she wanted and that the lock on the hook needed to be opened. The employee instructed my wife to ask at the pharmacy counter for help. Someone there will have a key, the employee told her. Mrs. P dutifully went to the pharmacy and repeated her dilemma. The pharmacy employee told my wife that they do not have a key to any locks in the cosmetic department, adding that anyone with a yellow Walmart vest carries a key. Mrs. P offered a blank look, turned and set off to find the first Walmart employee... the one with the yellow vest.

Mrs. Pincus tracked the first employee down. The employee said she did not, in fact, have a key. She walked over to the hook with the eye brow makeup, confirming that this was what my wife wanted. Then, she tore the cardboard hole on the product's packaging. "Here you go.," she said with a smile, as she handed over the damaged package. "Well, I could have done that!," responded Mrs. P, "but I guess security would have come right over to me." The employee replied, "No. Probably not." Then she continued, "If you come in again and want to buy this, just tear it off the hook." Mrs. Pincus tossed the makeup in her cart and went to check out.

She selected a check-out aisle and put her soon-to-be purchases on the conveyor belt. The cashier picked up each item, passed them over the scanner and deposited them in a plastic bag. Mrs. P held the eye makeup in her hand, making sure it was the last item. She wanted to point out the torn package and to let the cashier know that the tear was not her doing. Mrs. P displayed the torn box and described the entire scenario to the uninterested cashier. Actually, the cashier reacted, saying, "Well, anyone in a yellow vest has a key to any lock in the store." The cashier wore a yellow vest. Mrs. P frowned. and countered, "The woman who tore the package was wearing a yellow vest." The cashier shook her head and answered, "That was a different yellow vest."

This evoked another blank stare from my wife.

As a footnote to this tale, we just returned from another trip to Walmart this afternoon. That one, however was not our local Walmart, but one that is thirty miles from our house. We picked up some fill-in items in their grocery section, including a package of Polly-O string cheese that retails at Walmart for $6.47. We had been issued a corporate coupon from Kraft Heinz Foods (Polly-O's parent company) for a maximum $8.00 off one package of Polly-O cheese. We took our selections to the self-check out. After I scanned the last item, I scanned the bar code on the coupon. The terminal beeped, prompting a yellow-vested employee to join us. She whipped the coupon from my hand and examined it. "Ugh!," she groaned with disappointment, "This is one of those 'eight dollar off' coupons!" She typed some numbers on the touch-screen and sighed. "I have to ring this at my register." She canceled our transaction, removed the receipt that was spit out and beckoned us to follow her to another cash register. She re-rang our entire order, hit some additional buttons and instructed me to insert my credit card into the card reader. It beeped when the chip had been fully scanned and the employee handed my wife the receipt. We exited the store and my wife read the receipt and laughed. "She took the full $8.00 off for the cheese instead of the actual price.," I was informed.

I love Walmart..... almost as much as I hate it.

Oh, I'm with you, sister.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

let's forget about the stars

I must be a glutton for punishment. I continue to watch awards shows. I have watched the Emmys, although most of my preferred television viewing consists of shows that were produced in the 70s and most of the regular core cast members are long dead. I watch the Grammys, knowing full well that I will be unfamiliar with the names of performers and their songs and will be baffled by the hordes of adoring fans. I watch the Tonys.... well, I actually haven't watched the Tonys in years, since I am positive that I will have heard of none of the Broadway shows that will be showcased. Of course, I watch the Oscars.

Last night, I watched the three-and-a-half hour marathon that was the 92nd Annual Academy Awards... despite having seen only three films that garnered nominations. I will note that the three films were all animated films and one I had just watched a few hours prior to the evening's telecast. Two of the entries — Toy Story 4 and Frozen II — were both nominated for best song. I loved Frozen II while I was watching it, but, for the life of me, I can't remember a single song from it. None of them were nearly as catchy as "Let It Go," "In Summer," "Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" (Jeez! I could name them all!) Toy Story 4 was also nominated for Best Animated Feature. Yes, I enjoyed it. Yes, the animation was stellar, but it didn't live up to the tear-jerking, gut-wrenching level of Toy Story 3, my favorite of the trilogy-plus-one... just my opinion. The third nominated film I saw this year was Hair Love, which was six minutes of pure joy that — goddammit! — brought me to tears. Aside from those, the rest of the nominees were totally unfamiliar to me. So, why do I watch? I watch these lengthy broadcasts for a four-minute segment that is shoved in just before the night's biggest award is presented —The "In Memoriam." Year after year, on awards show after awards show, this segment causes more anger and controversy than when a confused Warren Beatty proclaimed La La Land the winner of the "Best Picture" Oscar in 2016. 

As you might know, I love all aspects of celebrity deaths. I write about them on my illustration blog. I visit cemeteries where celebrities are buried. I report the death of a celebrity as soon as possible to my followers on Twitter and Facebook. At the end of each year, I even compile a list of celebrities that I don't think will be around to watch the ball drop on Times Square the next New Years Eve. So, I sit through each of these grueling tests of celebratory endurance just to keep the various Academies honest. I take these things pretty seriously. (Eh... who am I kidding? I don't take anything seriously!) I brazenly call out the glaring omissions on social media within minutes of the segment's end. And there are always omissions. I do this primarily for my own amusement. But, apparently, I am not alone. At 11:07 PM, Eastern time, I tweeted a brief list of stars that were left out of the 2020 "In Memoriam" montage. At the time of this writing, that post has 128 "likes" and 40 "retweets"... plus a number of comments. I even left some names out of my "left out" list for lack of space. And it looked like this....

 

These seventeen actors and actress passed away between the time of the last Oscar broadcast (which was actually later in February 2019) and the one last night. Each one was carefully considered (by me) for their celebrity status, career length and industry impact (also determined by me). I even left out a few deserving (but relatively unknown and unsung) names, including Joan Staley, Richard Erdman, Larry Cohen, June Harding, Jessie Lawrence Ferguson, John Wesley, Rob Garrison, Josip Elic, Natalie Trundy, Alan Harris and Kevin Conway. (Feel free to Google any of these names.) The seventeen I chose to list were (again, my opinion) the ones who I felt deserved (by the unofficial standards of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) to be included in the presentation. Some had lengthy careers. Others had short or unnoticed careers, but appeared in some pretty significant and iconic films.

Almost immediately, my tweet generated some reaction. Even before I tweeted, I saw this from a follower who knows me all too well...

The "In Memoriam" segment is a tricky thing for all awards shows. The folks who assemble these photo montages have under five minutes to please everyone. In an attempt to be fair to both fans and industry types, the segment has to include a cross-section of all parts of the business — on-screen, behind the scenes and really behind the scenes. They have to include a sampling of actors, directors, producers as well as publicists, marketers, set decorators, key grips, best boys, make-up experts, hair stylists, matte painters and a bunch of other positions I didn't know existed until I saw it printed in small, italic text under someone's smiling unfamiliar face that I couldn't identify. It's not all grand names from the Golden Age of Hollywood or that too-young shocker that blind-sided us last summer, prompting a "Wow! That was this year?!" reaction while shoving a fistful of popcorn into one's mouth. This year's tribute featured such notable passings as Doris Day, Peter Fonda, Robert Evans and Kirk Douglas, who died just four days prior to the Oscar broadcast, most likely throwing a monkey wrench into a completed presentation and causing a few last-minute edits. I'm sure a sound editor and a cinematographer were removed to make room for the Spartacus star and still keep it under five minutes. It is obviously a very tough job and someone — somewhere — will not be happy.

Are you playing my advocate?

As it turned out, a lot of "someones" were not happy. The Twitterverse, as they say, exploded. I saw likes and retweets well into the night and the next morning. There was furious commentary, as well. Some was directed at the Academy. Some, curiously, was directed at me. Some folks questioned the AMPAS omitting Carroll Spinney (the puppeteer responsible for "Big Bird" and "Oscar the Grouch"), Robert Conrad (the star of TV's Wild Wild West) and Peggy Lipton (from TV's Mod Squad). I replied to these people that Spinney, Conrad and Lipton were primarily television performers and the Academy focuses first on an individuals contribution to film. A few people noted that young Cameron Boyce was unceremoniously "snubbed." I will admit, as a 58-year old, I was unfamiliar with Cameron's body of work when his death was announced in July 2019 at the age of 20. It seems the budding actor was a staple on Disney TV, appearing in three made-for-television films, a teen-centric sitcom and providing voice-work the the title character in the animated Jake and the Never Land Pirates. He was featured in small roles in just a few theatrically-released films, including two Adam Sandler movies and his debut in the horror film Mirrors. I explained to someone whose Twitter handle is "Geri.Aspergers | Cameron 💙" that Boyce was primarily a television actor and that is probably why he was not part of the 2020 montage. "Geri.Aspergers | Cameron 💙" was not satisfied with my reply. He countered me with "Please do your research on Cameron. He did so much in his 20 years of life than someone can do in a lifetime. He wasn't just credited for 2 movies so please do your research. It isn't fair. I know Kobe Bryant deserves it but he isn't even an actor and he was still included. Cameron was only 20 when he died and he did so much in his life." This person did not fully read my reply. (I hate that.) I didn't say that he was only credited with 2 movies at all. Then, I noticed that his Twitter profile picture was a photo of Cameron Boyce. This was going to take some "tough love." After doing my best to be as "matter-of-fact" as possible, I bluntly stated: "The Academy hates two things: Adam Sandler and horror movies. That covered Cameron's film credits and automatically eliminated Cameron from inclusion. Kobe Bryant was an Oscar recipient in 2018. Maybe I'm not the only one who should do research." I have not heard a response from this Twitter user. Perhaps he's in gym class or doing his algebra homework.

One of the most surprising omissions was Luke Perry, who co-starred in Quentin Tarantino's Once Upon A Time... in Hollywood, which received a whopping ten Oscar nominations this year. Luke died in March 2019 and the role in the retro comedy-drama was his last. 

Michael J. Pollard was passed over, despite an Oscar nomination in 1968 for Best Supporting Actor in the beloved Bonnie and Clyde. He also appeared in the popular films The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming, Dick Tracy and Melvin and Howard.

Billy Drago didn't make the cut either. He was one of those character actors that Hollywood loves. A menacing heavy, Drago played "Frank Nitti" in Brian DePalma's The Untouchables and a Western deputy in Clint Eastwood's Pale Rider. Just the association with two of the film world's heavy hitters should have been enough to have his name listed among the memorials.

Denise Nickerson's omission was also surprising. Sure, she was only in a couple of movies, but her portrayal of smarmy, gum-chewing "Violet Beauregard" in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory was iconic and her appeal was multi-generational. Her July 2019 death shocked fans of the film, even forcing reflection on their lives and their youth.

The so-called "Awards Season" has come to a close with the Oscars. The Tony Awards are scheduled to be presented in June, so there is still a few months for famous people to die and still a few months for regular people to get mad. And next year's Academy Awards "In Memoriam" segment will forget to include Orson Bean (who appeared in Being John Malkovich and Anatomy of a Murder) and Paula Kelly (featured in The Andromeda Strain and Soylent Green).

You heard it here first.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

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harriet tubman's gonna carry me home

A few years ago, on a particular Sunday in the summer, I was looking for something to do. I realized that I hadn't participated in my favorite hobby — grave hunting — in some time. So, feeling especially lazy, I ventured just a couple of blocks from my house to a small cemetery behind the historical St. Paul's Episcopal Church, one I had passed at least a zillion times in the thirty-plus years I have lived in Elkins Park, Pennsylvania. (I was so lazy, in fact, that I drove there despite it being so close to my house.)

Before I venture out to explore a cemetery, I have to do a little preparation. I scout the grounds with an online map (when available) and a quick search on my favorite website Find-A-Grave, an invaluable resource for the novice gravehunter (and there are a surprisingly large number of us). The results of my search actually left me a bit embarrassed. I have lived in this small, but historically significant, community for most of my adult life, and was not remotely aware of its impact in the development of our country. 

I had passed a sign outside the church that identified one of the buildings as "Jay Cooke Hall." I had no clue who Jay Cooke was. I assumed he was a founder of the church. I don't remember his name coming up in history classes. A bit of research convinced me that my high school history teachers were sorely lax in their duties of educating their students. Jay Cooke was, indeed, a prominent member of the St. Paul's Church congregation, but he also financed the Civil War for the North. Without his contributions, the Civil War would have had a much different outcome. I also found the graves of folks whose surnames grace many street signs and buildings in the area. It's pretty cool to discover that neighborhood landmarks were not just arbitrarily named by a land developer, but were chosen to honor those who shaped a community.

Since my visit to the cemetery at St. Paul's Church, I have looked at the building differently each time I drive by. The Gothic architecture, I learned, was the handiwork of Horace Trumbauer, one of America's premier architects, who constructed additions some forty years after the church first opened its doors to parishioners. Trumbauer also designed a number of residences and commercial buildings in and around the Philadelphia area, including the nearby Keswick Theatre, the main branch of the Philadelphia Free Library and Philadelphia Art Museum, which was a collaborative effort with another architectural firm. 

However, I was still ignorant to a key piece of American history that is buried beneath the church's façade.

At the beginning of 2020, my wife was scrolling through Facebook and came across an announcement for an hour-long seminar about the history of Cheltenham Township, the governing body that Elkins Park lies within. The presentation was hosted by St. Paul's Church and the speaker was a teacher at a local elementary school who, we later found out, did extensive research about the community after wondering why this stuff wasn't taught in school. How pragmatic! I marked my calendar and on Super Bowl Sunday — of all days! — Mrs. Pincus and I walked over to the church for a little schoolin'. I had been wanting to see the inside of the church building for some time and this was the perfect opportunity. Plus, it saved me from lengthy conversion classes.

The main sanctuary is beautiful, boasting high graceful arches, carved wooden augmentation and thirteen stained glass windows created by Tiffany Studios. A portable movie screen was set up in the sanctuary with the first slide of the presentation shining brightly upon it. We took seats among a handful of folks and soon the teacher welcomed everyone. She was excited, enthusiastic, if not a bit tongue-tied here and there. Her presentation was very informative, revealing numerous facts to the crowd — for the first time, by the collective reactions. Of course, she began with Jay Cooke, expounding on the fact that, besides being a financier, he was an ardent and fierce abolitionist. He harbored and transported escaped slaves in the basement of his Elkins Park estate. When he conceived and built St. Paul's Church, he made sure that the plans included tunnels and sanctuary that became a stop on the Underground Railroad system. The teacher noted Cooke's close friend and prayer group colleague Lucretia Mott. Mott was a Quaker who campaigned extensively and tirelessly for the end of slavery. She was also a vocal proponent for Women's' Rights, alongside Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony (with whom she eventually fell out of favor). Mott's family leased land in Cheltenham to the Federal government to be used as a military training camp for freed slaves wishing to join the United States Army in the Civil War. Called "Camp William Penn," it produced many African-American only regiments, where other training camps banned enrollment by ex-slaves. The teacher told of the prominent Widener Family, the Elkins Family and other familiar names recognized immediately by the current community, as well as notable visits by Frederick Douglass, Abraham Lincoln and Harriet Tubman.

When the seminar concluded, guests were invited to descend a set of narrow stairs and navigate an even narrower tunnel beneath the church. We followed the now-forming queue and made our way to the staircase. We passed the actual preserved desk where Jay Cooke wrote and signed numerous war bonds in 1862. The stairs emptied into an impossibly narrow passageway that snaked awkwardly until it revealed a boxy room whose floor was strewn with pale yellow straw. In one corner was a pile of makeshift bedding in an obvious recreation of the accommodations offered to those seeking freedom via the Underground Railroad. The tableau was, at the same time, chilling and inspiring. Just knowing that we were walking the same path that so many walked towards the long, frightening and often dangerous road to freedom gave reason to pause and take in the moment. The group slowly shuffled past the room, minding our steps in the darkness, until the lead person reached the next set of stairs and we began to make our ascent back to the main room.

We thanked the teacher and the representatives of the church for hosting the afternoon session. Mrs. P and I found the door we used to enter the maze of a building and started home. I thought about how much history is just a few steps from my home. I thought about how much of this knowledge is unknown to my neighbors and how much time they have wasted worrying about trivial things (like what will move in to the empty building that once housed the neighborhood co-op). Do they realize — or even care — about the history of other — more significant — buildings in the same proximity? I'm not so sure.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

don't box me in

 * * * DISCLAIMER *  *  * PLEASE READ! * * *
* * * ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVE GIVEN US BOXES * * *
Let me start off by saying the opinions expressed in this blog post are mine and mine alone. Don't not let my angry rants and annoyed disposition reflect poorly upon anyone with whom I share a household or their comparably friendlier and way more grateful character. These are my feelings and my feelings alone. Also note, that I run the risk of getting myself into some serious trouble by what you are about to read. — JPiC

Yes.

Mrs. Pincus has operated and maintained an eBay business for a very long time — around twenty years. (Before you ask, no, she will not sell your items for you.) She spends a good portion of that time packing and shipping items to customers. Packing and shipping those items requires a lot of packing material and packing material costs money. More than you would think. So, for years, we have saved every box, padded envelope, strip of bubble wrap and Styrofoam packing peanut that we received from our own shipped purchases. Of course, this is not nearly enough to cover the volume of shipped items that Mrs. P's eBay business generates. Corrugated boxes, padded envelopes, bubble wrap and packing peanuts need to be purchased on a regular basis. And like I said, that can get expensive. Always looking for a way to cut expenses, Mrs. P began asking friends and neighbors to save their boxes and packing materials. We would either come and pick them up or they could drop them off — anytime of day or night — on our front porch. This was great. Folks looking for a place to dispose of unwanted or excess boxes, lengths of bubble wrap and loads of Styrofoam peanuts now had a place to dump them. For years now, we would arrive home to be greeted by a porchful of various sizes of boxes and bags with bubble wrap and foam packing peanuts. We were happy and appreciative and all was right with the world.

Yes.

We specifically ask for small boxes, as Mrs. P sells mostly small items and large boxes are of no real use to her. On the off chance that a big box is required for a particular shipment, Mrs. Pincus usually has no trouble finding one. But, small boxes were what we were looking for. We are sincerely grateful for the small boxes, but the large ones are just discarded, chopped up and flattened for inclusion in our weekly recycling. Still, we receive a lot of large boxes. An awful lot of large boxes. Despite putting the word out that we do not need large boxes, we get them anyway.

In addition to the unneeded large boxes, we have discovered a wide variety of things on our front porch that do not remotely fit into the "packing materials" category. Among a large number of packing lists and invoices (that contain loads of personal information), we have also found the items that were originally shipped in these boxes, like makeup, bags of nuts, bolts and screws and other odd and unidentifiable pieces of assemble-it-yourself furniture. Once, we even found a package of unused syringes. Recently, we found a credit card laying at the bottom of a carton under some sheets of bubble wrap. After tracing the name on the card to a shipping label on one of the empty boxes, Mrs. P called the person, only to be told that the card was canceled and we could cut it up and throw it away.

Which brings up another point....

No.

We have found trash dumped on our front porch. Yes, actual trash, like used napkins and tissues, wrappers from candy bars, used paper cups, greasy fast-food restaurant bags, boxes filled with crumbs and shreds of torn shrink wrap. Sometimes, trash is mixed in with a grocery bag filled with newspaper, but oftentimes it's just a bag of someone's trash. Plain old trash that someone is giving to us in the name of benevolence.

Yes, your generosity is greatly appreciated. Yes, it really is. But, come on. We are not the township dump. We just want your small boxes, bubble wrap, Styrofoam packing peanuts and even the result of documents that went through your paper shredder. (No, we're not going to piece together microscopic strips of paper to gets your personal information. We can get that from the invoices you leave in the boxes.) All we ask is that you assess the practicality of what you are leaving on our front porch. Ask yourself: "Is this useful for packing or is this trash?" If it has the remnants of food hanging off of it, it's trash. Please take it down to your curb on your predetermined trash pick-up day.

Mrs. Pincus really appreciates what you do. And, on Trash Collection Day, so do I.

By the way, if this snowman head is yours, you can come and pick it up at my house anytime.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

tell me sweet little lies

Having spent most of my career in some aspect of the advertising business, I love and appreciate good and clever advertising, so I pay close attention to commercials during the inordinate amount of television that I watch.

"It's Dad.... and there's no Santa Claus."

About two years ago, Pepperidge Farm rolled out a new ad campaign to promote their line of Milano® cookies. The 30-second spot focuses on a woman alone in the bathroom. She is wrapped in a towel, lounging on the floor in front of a bathtub filled with children's toys. She is savoring each luxurious bite of a Milano® cookie with her eyes closed. Suddenly, she sees the locked doorknob begin to jiggle and a child's voice, from the other side of the door, questions: "Mom?" The woman bolts upright, furrows her brow, clears the cookie crumbs from her throat with a muffled cough and, with a put-on lower register in her voice, she replies: "It's Dad." Satisfied when she hears the pitter-patter of small feet retreating from the other side of the door, she resumes munching her cookies in serene privacy, while a voice-over states: "You gave them your bathtub. Don't give them your cookies. Pepperidge Farm Milano®. Save something for yourself." 

I hate this commercial.

No relation.

Wait. Wait. Wait! The commercial execution is fine, the actress is effective in the role and they certainly convey their message. What I hate is the message. Pepperidge Farm has always positioned their cookie category as being sophisticated and geared their advertising towards adults. I understand this and "positioning" is a key part of effective advertising. By not purposely going after market heavyweights like Nabisco and Keebler, Pepperidge Farm has essentially taken themselves out of the major brand cookie competition by creating the "Distinctive" line of cookies, thus creating a niche category the other brands don't have.

What they have also done is advocated lying. Specifically, lying to your children. Let's imagine, for a second, what happens after the tagline is read by the voice over and the commercial ends. The kid on the other side of the door wanders off looking for Mom — while Mom polishes off the remaining Milanos® in the bag. The kid strolls in to the living room and discovers Dad reading the paper. She is confused. "Dad?," she begins, "I thought you were in the bathroom." Dad looks up from the paper, himself confused. "What are you talking about?," he says, "Why would you think that?" The child explains that when she tried the locked bathroom door and questioned the occupant, a deep voice replied "It's Dad" and I'm sure I heard someone eating. I figured it was you, since you're the only one in this house disgusting enough to eat in the bathroom. Mom would never do that. And Mom would never lie or hide food from me." Dad frowns. He tosses the paper to the floor and stomps off to the bathroom to get to the bottom of this. He pounds on the door, demanding his wife let him in and explain this situation. The wife opens the door and, brushing cookie crumbs away from the corners of her mouth, exclaims that it is none of his goddamn business what she's doing in the bathroom. Then she goes on to explain that if she wants to eat a goddamn cookie in this God-forsaken house, she has to sneak them away from that fucking locust they have for a kid. The fight escalates. The kid cries. Soon the couple considers trust issues in their relationship and are now headed towards divorce. All because Pepperidge Farm forced Mom to tell a lie.

Is Pepperidge Farm happy with creating such familial turmoil is the name of selling a few more cookies? I am calling out Pepperidge Farm for the irresponsible message in their advertising. But, as far as the advertising world is concerned — mission accomplished! I remembered the name of the product.

Maybe I even gave them a new company tagline....

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

that's what you get for being polite

I have a question. What is the correct amount of times one needs to say "excuse me, please" to get the person blocking you to move? One? Two? Six? Is it a trick question, because, oftentimes that person never moves.

Since my wife and I started eating salads for dinner — almost exclusively — about a year ago, I find myself in the supermarket several times a week. I go often to replenish basic fresh salad ingredients — tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, carrots. You know, stuff that doesn't have a very long shelf life. My supermarket trips don't last very long, as I make a beeline to the produce section, pick up what I need and scoot. Sometimes, my "scooting" is not as quick as I'd prefer. Thanks to the arrogance of other shoppers.

This afternoon (Sunday) I left my house fairly early (for a Sunday) to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy. Then, I headed over to the supermarket to grab a few salad items that needed restocking in our refrigerator. In less than five minutes, I had everything I came for in my cart (except for scallions, which a clerk told me: "we are having a hard time ordering." I didn't believe him, as his explanation had that "I'm making this up 'cause I couldn't be bothered to find out" tone) and made my way to the self-checkout. I wasn't about to waste my precious time while a bored cashier examined and commented on every one of my purchases. 

One by one, I scanned each of my items, entering produce codes manually when requested. I bagged my purchases and then slid my credit card into the scanner, removing it when prompted. I loaded my bags back into my cart and prepared to make my exit from the store.

However...

As I was checking out my items, I spotted something in my peripheral vision. A man with a full shopping cart moved into position at the checkout station next to me — approaching from the wrong side — thereby avoiding the customer queue line. Since I only had ten or so items and I scanned them with efficiency and I finished long before my new colleague did. But, my fellow shopper had his cart positioned in such a way that it did not allow me access to leave.  I frowned.

I offered a friendly (well, friendly for me) "excuse me, please." I like to think that, although I am often accused of being a "curmudgeon," I am polite. I am not an instigator. I avoid conflict as much as I can. But, I will speak up if I believe I am right. And, in this case, I was right. This guy was blocking my exit with no regard for anyone but himself. His cart was crooked in the aisle and it was inconsiderate. My "excuse me" was met with absolutely no reaction. None. He made no attempt to move his cart an inch. I frowned again.

"Excuse me, please." I repeated myself, something I don't like to do, especially if I am being totally ignored. Again, this man continued adjust and survey the items in his cart, selecting and scanning. He was doing everything except changing the position of his cart. I thought for a moment. "How many more 'excuse me's will it take until this guy finally acknowledges another human being in his world?" (Unfortunately, I have run into this rude, self-absorbed behavior before. From adults, no less.)

So here we are at an impasse. He entered the self-checkout area from the exit side. He was blocking the aisle with his cart parked across the access lane. And my repeated pleas of "excuse me" were falling upon deaf ears. I repeated my "excuse me" again, this time sans "please." A customer at the terminal across from my rude shopping neighbor pulled his cart closer to afford me some room to slip by. I nodded to the other customer and sarcastically (and loudly) "thanked" the fellow next to me as I pushed my cart past him. He looked up with a scowl, as though I was disturbing him.

I suppose, in his world, I was.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

but these stories don't mean anything

 My dad was a character. He was a hard worker. He smoked a lot of cigarettes. He ate a lot of meat and potatoes. And he made up a lot of stories.

My dad passed away in 1993, long before a quick Google search could expose his stories for the lies that they were. I debunked his long-standing tale of witnessing a Phillies no-hitter in his youth, but the truth was revealed a few years after his death. My mother, however, confronted him regarding the incorrect and misleading information (okay.... lies) he'd given colleagues at his job about my mother's true line of work.

Lies or not, some of my father's stories were pretty entertaining... and funny. I was very young when I first heard them and they were often repeated, usually with more embellishment in each retelling. Here's one that he told often. It's a funny story, but I cannot vouch for its authenticity.

In 1944, my father signed up to join the US Navy. It was the midst of World War II and every red-blooded American boy was convinced that it was his patriotic duty to defend his country against the so-called "Axis" powers. So rather than waiting for his number to come up, my dad happily joined the Navy. (He later told my brother and me that in the Navy, you were guaranteed a bed to sleep in, as opposed to the Army where one's nightly accommodations may be in muddy foxhole with bullets whizzing over your head.)

The butter wouldn't melt,
so I put it in the pie.

My father often treated his family to anecdotes about his two-year stint in military service. He was assigned as a radar signal relayer aboard the USS South Dakota, a battleship that was deployed (for a time) in the South Pacific. A radar signal relayer, according to Seaman First Class Pincus, repeated directional coordinates — that were heard in his headset — to the guy who was aiming the giant turrets towards their determined targets. (This may or may not be true. I don't even know if there was such a position as "radar signal relayer.")

My father claimed that Admiral Halsey, Commander of the Navy's Third Fleet, was aboard his ship for several months, during which the high-ranking officer was spotted by my father only once from a great distance. I marveled at this information, being that my only knowledge of Admiral Halsey was, as per Paul McCartney, he "had to have a berth or he couldn't get to sea." Based on the accuracy of most of my father's stories, it is unlikely that Admiral Halsey was ever on the USS South Dakota. Paul McCartney's claim is also undetermined.

I never meant to cause
you any trouble...

Allegedly, the USS South Dakota was struck twice by enemy fire and my father was hit by shrapnel. The supposed source of the shrapnel was two kamikaze strikes twenty minutes apart. Often, my father would roll up his pant leg and display his bony shin to the delight of my brother and me, pointing out a small, raised length of reddish tissue that he insisted was a scar. There was definitely something on my father's leg. If it was the result of a kamikaze is unconfirmed... as is my dad's claim that the Purple Heart medal that he allegedly received was lost my by grandmother.

My father eventually received an honorable discharge from the US Navy at the end of his twenty-four month stretch. He alerted his parents that he would be returning to their West Philadelphia home soon. And soon he did.

Put another nickel in...

There was a chain of restaurants in the Philadelphia area called Horn & Hardart. Horn & Hardart was unique in its format, introducing the "automat" concept to the United States in the early years of the 20th century. An automat offered simple, "home cooked" fare to hungry customers for a nickel or multiples thereof. Once the correct amount of nickels was deposited in the slot, a glass door could be opened through which food was delivered from the kitchen on other side. (The Horn & Hardart automat is featured prominently in the Doris Day/Cary Grant comedy That Touch of Mink.) It was a novel way to eat and it proved to be very popular. At the height of its popularity, Horn & Hardart was serving an estimated 500,000 customers per day across 157 outlets in Philadelphia and New York. My father numbered himself among those customers. He made sure it was his first stop after arriving home from the Navy.

As my father told it, he went to the Horn & Hardart automat windows with a pocketful of nickels. He made his selections, opening each little window, removing each item and placing them on his tray — meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans and a slice of pie. (Sometimes, with each telling and retelling, the meal components changed.) My dad looked around the crowded dining room for an available seat. He found one and placed his laden tray on the table. He realized he had forgotten to get a cup of Horn & Hardart's famous coffee, so headed over to the wall of coffee urns, sifting through his pocket change for another nickel. He drew himself a cup of coffee and returned to his waiting civilian meal. However, when he returned to his table, there was a disheveled woman in ragged clothing busily munching away at my father's dinner. My father was dumbfounded. He stood — frozen — watching this woman shovel forkfuls of meatloaf and potatoes — his meatloaf and potatoes — into her maw. His mind scrambled. What could he do? If he chased her away, he certainly wasn't going to eat the picked-over scraps that was now his dinner. So, he did the only thing he could do. He went back to the automat windows and repurchased a duplicate meal. This time, he stopped to get coffee before finding a table.

My father loved this story and he told it a lot. It is a funny story. I just don't know if it really happened.

But, honestly.....who cares? That was my dad.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com