Needle, Meet Haystack

It was pointed out to me recently that I tend to make long-winded statements on this site, to the point where it’s less of a blog and more of, well, something else.  Sure, it’s online and contains writing and links and stuff, but there’s a good chance that this little slice of Internet is something else entirely.  Consider your normal blog – full of clever bon mots, a succinct and clear message in every post, and consistency in tone and voice.  Needle, Meet Haystack rarely fulfills any of those criteria anymore.

The closest online presence that I can find that’s similar to what I try to do is the “blog” of Robert Greene, author of The 48 Laws of Power, The Art of Seduction and other big, thick books that take several months to read through and double as flotation devices or mugger deterrents.  Greene’s site is a collection of well-researched essays on a large number of sociopolitical topics that are so dense that one might need a knife to cut through the layers of content to fully understand his theses.  While I’d rather not compare the work of an asterisk-free New York Times bestselling author with a site that peaked creatively in a story about ice cream barf, the broad strokes of our sites are the same.  Neither of us are bloggers because we don’t really blog.

Some of you are probably wondering what donuts have to do with all of this.

It was recently brought to my attention that in a horribly misguided attempt at cross-promotional campaigning, Dunkin’ Donuts released limited-edition Captain America donuts to celebrate the release of the new movie.  Now, when I say “Captain America donuts,” I mean that literally – when I bought my star-shaped, jelly-filled, frosted, star-spangle sprinkled carb bomb, the sign on the rack identified the donuts as “Captain America.”

With my first bite, I expected the tastes of freedom, liberty and bald eagle’s tears, hoping that they weren’t being too literal and had kept the donuts on ice for over 70 years (or however long that would be in Donut Time).  Instead, I tasted high fructose corn syrup, bleached flour, red dye #40, a host of artificial and natural flavorings, a tinge of regret, and a little bit of indigestion.  There was nothing special or remarkable about Cap’s donut, aside from its vaguely patriotic theme that will serve the chain well on future July Fourths.

Conversely, I saw the Captain America movie this weekend, and it was delightful.  Not just because Chris Evans surprised the heck out of me by being fantastic in his leading-man turn, nor due to Joe Johnston proving that The Rocketeer would have been a bigger hit if they’d given him a few more years, but because it was a genuinely good movie, and great Summer popcorn fare.  Aside from the name and color similarities, there was nothing connecting the Captain America donut to the Captain America movie.

The disparity between the two is about as wide as the one between this “blog” and an actual blog.

If I had my druthers, I would probably change the format of the site – increase time between posts for fuller, more in-depth writings.  But then again, having a blog that’s an actual blog might be a good thing – it’s taken me over 500 words in this post alone just to say that I talk too much.  Either way, something needs to change with NMH - if you have any opinions, suggestions or wisdom to offer, sound off in the comments.

One of the nice things about the location of my apartment is that my balcony looks out on the park across the street.  Instead of seeing other apartments, I have a view of green grass and healthy trees, with the added benefit of feeling athletic if there’s a baseball game going on in the afternoon.  Of course, my view would be exponentially better if the tree off to the right of my balcony wasn’t there.  That particular tree happens to obscure a view of the mountains.

When guests come by and take the tour, they invariably make their way to the balcony and comment on the secluded nature of my spot and the view of the park.  ”Can you see the mountains from here too?” they ask.  ”Well, I’ll be able to do that in the fall or the winter,” I reply.  ”Whenever the leaves fall off.”

At least, that’s my guess.  For all I know, it’s an evergreen, or it might have so many spindly branches that even with the leaves out of the way, all I’ll see is a big ol’ plant outside.  I’m not paying for Spectacular Scenic Views as a part of my rent, but I wonder if it would be nicer to have a less foliage-obscured vantage point.

It’s a pretty silly thing to worry about; I could literally walk to the pavement on the other side of the tree and see the mountains.  It’s not quite on my balcony, but only a dozen or so steps would resolve that little issue without waiting for climate or seasonal change.  Or maybe I could borrow a saw from my dad and hack away at a few of the closer bits of the tree.  The fact that 1/4 of my balcony’s panoramic view is obscured by a tree is quite infuriating at times.

Then again, it’s pretty nice to have a bit of extra privacy in front of the balcony, and the shade from the tree happens to hit a few uncovered spots that I’ve used a few times.  If a lack of a complete view is the worst complaint I can make right now, then it’s not much of a complaint at all.  Maybe I’ll have my view in a few months anyway, when the leaves fall off.

Being the first Jewish person that many people meet means that I usually have a lot of questions to answer. I’ve been quizzed on religious practices, philosophical leanings, dietary restrictions and almost every attribute of my faith.  And one of the more common questions regards “Jewish Easter,” which we just call “Passover.”

If you’ve never seen the Charlton Heston movie or the cartoon, Passover is about the freedom of the Jews from Egyptian oppression (and possible pyramid-building, depending on who you ask) and is a bit closer to Thanksgiving in relation to some of its themes.  However, the thing that most people remember about Passover is that it’s The Atkins Holiday.  The rules are as follows: no leavened bread (and rice and beans as well, for certain sects), an increase in prayer, and (sometimes) an increase in consumption of Kosher meals.

When I was younger, this was THE WORST THING EVER.

Without leavening, the bread of choice for most Passover-celebrators is matzo, a Biblical form of cardboard.  While it purports to be made of the same things as bread (sans lifting agents), it’s a lot more likely that it was a really lousy cracker that an ancient Israelite tried to pass off as the fault of Moses.  ”Joseph, I’m telling you that this woulda been bread!  But Mister Split The Red Sea over there rushed me, so I didn’t have time to leaven it.  Take it up with that guy when he comes back from whatever the heck he’s doing on that mountain.”

Life for a kid without leavening means that you can’t have cake, cookies, sandwiches, macaroni, and about 90% of the starchy diet of the average youth.  Sure, there’s an entire industry built around making “Passover-friendly” cake mixes and such, but it’s like having a low-fat donut; it doesn’t taste right, so much as passable.  Of course, this all happened before I realized what Passover restrictions truly were.

One of the best things about living in a global society is that the trade between cultures includes not just culture, technology and material goods, but cooking methods as well.  The Internet helps with that too.

In other words, Passover doesn’t have to be that bad!  Despite the simple-sounding restrictions that can cut a lot of items out of one’s diet, there are many more that observing Jews overlook out of deference to a generations-long tradition of gefilte fish and pot roast.  It simply became a habit to eat these things, and up until a few years ago, I had never even considered that foods like oatmeal, tacos, ice cream, kabobs and barbecue were acceptable under the holiday’s restrictions.

Then again, this practice is hardly unique.  People miss the forest for the trees all the time, on everything from using old passwords on work computers after they were just changed to sticking with brand preferences without investigating alternatives.  Once a routine is set, no matter how unpleasant, it’s hard to break out of it.  Sometimes, it can take an event of monumental importance to shift out of old ways of thinking.  Other times, it’s as simple as someone asking, “So on Passover, you can eat tacos because they’re made with shortening and not leavening, right?”

In a clear sign of the times, all of the Borders bookstores in my immediate area (re: 25-mile radius) are closing down.  As a result of this, they’re offering some pretty nice discounts on books and other reading materials.  This past weekend, I decided to stop in to see what I could snag on the cheap from the picked-over remnants of the closest store.

After perusing the business, literature, music and humor sections, I came to self-help.  And once I had passed through what must be either a poor re-stocking policy or a very odd sense of humor on the parts of the employees (Karma Sutra, a Donald Trump business book and a Garfield treasury, among others), I noticed the book that I worked on last year, in paperback and hardcover.  Having never received an advance (or any) copy of the book, I decided to grab the cheaper paperback.  And that’s when I noticed this:

Remembering that paperback editions can include revisions and updates, I flipped through the pages to find that my pictures were still there.  And I was still omitted from receiving any credit for my contribution.  To explain how I could be completely discounted from any official acknowledgement of writing about 1/3 of a book, we’ll need to dive a few years into the past.

Less than a year after graduation, I was living in Washington, DC, struggling to find a job that could help me pay my absurdly high rent.  I had to leave my previous employer after my contract was up at the end of the 2008 election, and I was desperate.  Desperate enough to enter the Forbidden Zone to all but the bravest and most foolhardy of souls: Craigslist.

It was there that I found a somewhat innocuous job posting for a paid intern/assistant position to someone described as a “Body Language Contributor.”  And unlike many job postings on Craigslist, this one was genuine – I went through three rounds of interviews before getting an official job offer via email (sans contract), where I was informed that I would be getting paid a commission to help book corporate gigs for a motivational speaker with a body language emphasis.  The commission rate seemed solid enough (one gig per month would cover my rent), and I negotiated a low hourly wage for any other duties.  Also, I was told I would get an iPhone.

Instead of working on finding bookings (it turned out that there was a small team doing that already), I found myself doing research, making calls, responding to emails, helping to coach dating and body language seminars, and writing.  Oh, the writing.  When tasked with ghostwriting an article for Monster.com, I churned out a puff piece that my boss thought was amazing.  Suddenly, I was writing her e-newsletters, blog updates, and soon, large sections of the first draft of her book.

It was at this time that I started noticing that I wasn’t getting any time to work on bookings, and had I not negotiated for my pittance of an hourly wage, I would have not been getting paid at all.  Similarly, the costs of transportation to get to and from my apartment in Northwest DC to my boss’ office in Virginia were high enough that by going to work, I was losing money.

During the time of my employment, a second assistant was hired.  However, she was actually billed as an intern, and to my knowledge, only received class credit.  The boss often had me redo her work, whether it was rewriting something or doing further research.

The book itself was a large undertaking.  Despite having found a co-writer, the agreement was that my boss would write the first draft, then send it to the co-writer for “punching-up.”  To me, this sounded more like an extra editor, but I digress.  What this meant was that we needed to create enough content to overfill the projected page count of the book, so it could be pared down through the various revisions and edits to a slimmer volume.  Think of it like someone gorging themselves during the holiday season so they have more weight to lose when they hit the gym after a New Year’s resolution.

When the draft was completed, the book clocked in at over than 300 pages.  Of those 300, I wrote, edited or re-wrote more than 100 of them (including re-writes for almost all of the intern’s content).  A good quantity of the other content was re-purposed from the boss’ earlier ebooks, speeches and articles.  It had become quite exhausting, due in no small part to my dwindling finances and my boss’ inability to pay me with any degree of regularity or consistency.  On the day the book was finished, I gave a verbal two weeks’ notice, and was promptly fired.

This ended my relationship with the book.  Which raises an interesting question: should I get credit for writing any of it?

The only draft that I worked on was a rough draft, and one could easily imagine several rounds of revisions going back and forth from the publisher, editor, co-writer and my former boss.  Despite this, I can easily point to several chapters full of content that appears verbatim from what I originally wrote.

Additionally, I never had any sort of deal with the publisher.  I was hired by the woman whose name is on the cover, and she’s entitled to use what I produced in whatever manner she sees fit.  Monetary compensation was involved.  She did mention the intern in her acknowledgements section, and it could even be argued that I count among the “numerous interns” thanked in that same section.  The only hard proof of my involvement in the book that others could see are two pictures of me demonstrating body language on two separate pages, which could practically double as low-quality surveillance footage from the ’60s:

I know what you’re thinking: Dang, your hair looks terrible, Andy! And I’m not arguing with that.  But the worst thing about contributing to this book, even if the only proof of my involvement is in a couple of grainy photos, is that there’s no recorded proof within the text that I had anything to do with it.  I only found out about the book being a bestseller when I tracked down a copy for myself, grabbing it with a 60% discount over a year after it first came out.

So the real takeaway from the whole experience is this: if you’re going to contribute to someone else’s work or help someone else achieve their goals and dreams in a way that others will see, make sure that you discuss proper recognition.  Otherwise, you might be the only person who knows that you did something great.  Like write a New York Times bestseller.

NOTE: Since I literally just created the group, there’s a pitifully low number of people in it, which means that your chances of winning are ridiculously high right now.

Let’s jump right into it: I did something that I didn’t need to do and was left with more than I needed.  So, I’m going to pass it right on to you, loyal readers!  And I do hope you read, because one of you will win a book!  And all of you will win something!

In the second instance of getting myself published in some fashion over the past two years (the last time, you may recall, was one where I didn’t receive credit for my contribution), I have a few blurbs that made their way into the fantastic book of Jenny Blake, which is called Life After College, based on her blog of the same name.*  In it, Ms. Blake covers everything from employment to finances to relationships, health and home ownership; it’s an excellent guide for anyone looking to get their ducks in a row to organize their life, even if they’re several years removed from the university system.

If you have any friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, hairdressers or other personal relations who will be graduating, taking big steps in their lives, or are looking for motivation, it’s worth your time to pick up a copy, which you can do by clicking this here link.  It’s actually cheap enough that you could buy a whole box of books to hand out as party favors at your next shindig.

In case you’re wondering, I got an advance copy of the book and it is quite good.  It’s very “digestible” – you can pick it up and flip to any of the different chapters if you want to get some great tips on any particular topic.  Jenny has crafted one of the most interactive books I’ve read – as I went through the different chapters and worked through the sections, it was apparent that she had designed everything so that it could be applicable to anyone, and serves as a powerful organizational tool that can be used to paint a clear picture for the reader about how to achieve their goals.

So now that that’s all been said, I should mention that I also pre-ordered a copy of the book.  Which means that I have two of them.  So I’ll  be giving one of the copies away at random to one of you, free of charge.  Although, admittedly, I’ll be shamelessly self-promoting while doing that.

To enter for a chance to win a free copy of Life After College, just click here to join the new NMH Facebook group.  In one week’s time (that’s March 31), I’ll use a random number generator to pick a random winner!

If you don’t remember, I deleted the old group after using it as a way of generating donations to RAINN back in December.  However, I didn’t want any members to feel beholden to me or the group, or that they’d been tricked into “liking” a page out of altruism.  But this time, It’s a contest.

As an added bonus, every fan of the Facebook page will receive a special, exclusive, limited-time prize after the drawing.  And it sort of relates to the book, too.

You see, Jenny Blake is a huge fan of cupcakes (as anyone who’s read her blog surely knows by this point), especially red velvet ones.  And as a former food blogger (sort of), I pride myself on creating new, innovative recipes.  So, I created a special Life After College Book Giveaway recipe: Molten Red Velvet Cupcakes.

Over the course of several months, it has been perfected to the point of being (mostly) foolproof, and to the best of my knowledge, nobody has ever created (or published) a recipe for this ludicrous treat.  If you’re a fan of the NMH Facebook page by March 31, not only will you be entered to win a free copy of Life After College (suggested retail price: $17.00 US), but you’ll be one of the elite few to have the ability to create a culinary masterpiece** (suggested retail price: Eleventy Kajillion Dollars).

This is shameless (book- and) self-promotion at its finest, folks!  So what are you waiting for? Get clicking!

The (New) Needle, Meet Haystack Facebook Page

Life After College (the book)

*Bonus points if you clicked all those links there.

**Confidential to all the guys reading this: it’s pretty much the best thing you can cook for a lady in the history of ever.

Complacency can be a dangerous thing.  When one gets too used to having their life occur in a singular fashion along a set pattern, any deviation, even with proper warning, comes across as completely unexpected; an aberration that occurred without rhyme or reason.

If one were to, say, live in an area of mostly desert landscapes, where the winters are moderate in their cold temperatures to the point of allowing one to wear shorts in February, the expectation over years of repetition becomes one that things must be similar in other areas.  The trend is one of barbecues and pool parties while others shiver in the snow, bundled under several layers of coats and thermal undergarments.  But the shivering masses exist only in the abstract; they don’t exist within the bubble that forms around a very limited scope of distance thanks to years of sedentary locations.

Even vacations and journeys to new places incur this presupposition; it is assumed that nearby cities and states will follow a similar pattern, thanks to their geographic proximity and reputations for pleasant climates.  A cursory search into weather patterns and the discovery of heightened cold and heavy rainfall will only elicit the most insignificant of responses; packing an umbrella and a light jacket, perhaps.

When reality catches up to the imagined scenario, it’s much worse.  How could this happen, one wonders as the rain pours down sideways thanks to cold gusts of wind that shake palm trees to unreasonable angles.  Since when is the weather in Los Angeles this lousy in March? Once again, a travel-sized umbrella flips inside-out, and damp legs shiver as jeans continue to get soaked.  Preparations were made and warning was given, and yet the reality seems shocking and random.  The weather reports were a Trojan Horse, designed to lull travellers into a false sense of security that what they would pack would be enough.  Why bring non-porous cross-trainers?  It’s not like water could easily enter through the vent holes on the top of the sneakers to soak the feet and socks within.

Then, a foot comes down a little too close to the gutter, and water invades what was believed to be a secure housing for one’s lowest extremities.  Suddenly, an evening that started with so much promise is marred by the sloosh sloosh of a soggy sock floating inside of a wet shoe.

Maybe next time the Weather Channel tells me that there will be a 100% chance of rain, I’ll bring better shoes.

In zombie movies, the outbreak is usually glossed over.  Scenes where the shambling masses move from patient zero to the general population to eventually overtake police, the military and society as we know it are left only as inferences as we see the naught but the destruction and remnants in their wake.  After all, it’s the before and after parts that keep our attention; the human drama and existential horror that faces everyday people as they cope with an unimaginable (for some) scenario is much more interesting than herds of moaning wraiths walking like drunks in high heels after the bars have closed.

But if I had to guess how the zombie infection spreads so rapidly, I would bet it has something to do with a lack of common sense.  And it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if it’s already started.

It’s a time-tested fact that people get sick more often in the winter; immune systems are less effective, sunlight is less prevalent, and stress over that f***ing groundhog doesn’t help matters at all.  There are millions of hacking, wheezing, coughing, sneezing, dripping, sluggish, sweating, barfing bags of disease masquerading as humans that clog our streets, our roads, our schools and our offices.  Each of them is armed with a microscopic army of viruses and bacteria and other little creepy-crawlies that the uninfected only discover when it’s too late.  It can strike anyone, from parents and friends to co-workers and strangers, including someone who’s prepared your food in the past week.

Think about your day.  If you can’t recall coming across a single sick person, then it’s probably you.

Over the past month, I’ve borne witness to almost every person in my office, social circle and family falling ill.  Sometimes for days, others for weeks.  And it seems like everyone falls into one of several patterns when they get a serious case of the sniffles, such as:

• Denial and Nonchalance - Coughs and sneezes uncovered, runny noses wiped on hands and sleeves, refusal to take time off to rest or even see a doctor – these are the hallmarks of an individual in denial about their true state of sickness.  Much like the guy who hides his zombie bite from the other survivors, these people are much more likely to snag a bite of your food and wait until you finished eating before mentioning that they’re sick.
• Over-exertion – Operating under the belief that the best way to heal a body is to kick its ass to near-death, they’ll deny every natural impulse and sleep less, exercise more, and do anything that could possibly tax a healthy body at ten times the magnitude in the hopes of burning it off.  Think of the guy who tells the other survivors to go on ahead as he runs headfirst into a swarm of the infected.  Or that ass at the gym who gets snot all over the treadmill and doesn’t wipe it off when he’s done.
• Overly cautious – Taking things a step too far, this WebMD-obsessed lady or fellow already has a medicine cabinet full of medicine, their health care provider on speed dial, and all of the appropriate accoutrements needed in the battle for good health.  But in between spritzes of Purel and switching out face masks, mistakes are made, and the contagion spreads, much like the overzealous, over-prepared zombie fan who falls for movie cliché #2 only six minutes into the film.  Sometimes forewarned is forearmed, but other times, it leads to an arsenal growing too large without a clear target.

I’m one of the lucky ones who’ve managed to avoid getting sick so far, thanks to pathological hand-washing, paranoia and a general sense of unease.  But all it takes is one slip-up from a cubicle-mate who pops by to ask a question, or one dirty hand from the checkout person at the grocer’s.

Maybe the reason that the outbreak gets glossed over in zombie movies is because it gets tedious to watch people getting bitten for an hour and a half.  Or maybe it’s because the way it actually spread was due to someone opting out of taking a sick day.

Wow!  I honestly didn’t think that anyone was going to read this after the headline!  Shoot…

Well, um, there’s no real post today.  Besides this one.  But this hardly counts.

Are you disappointed?  I know that I am.

But that means that you can spend your time more productively!  Maybe you could make a sandwich or write a nice letter or do some work or fix a pot of coffee.  I have no idea what you’re doing.  This is a pre-written blog post, after all.

Say, I’ve got an idea!  Imagine what you wish I’d blogged about today in this spot.  Visualize it and read it right now.  This post you’re reading isn’t that post, but let’s pretend that it is.

Wow, that was a great piece of writing, huh?  I really outdid myself that time!

Wait, you didn’t like the post?  Well, we should be able to blame that on someone else.

You know, you could always go outside and enjoy the weather.  Unless the weather is lousy where you are.  In which case, stay inside and relax.  Maybe read a book or a magazine or something.

I’ve been reading an IKEA catalog.  I’m pretty sure half the names for the stuff in it were made by a small cat walking across a keyboard several times.  I can count on one hand the number of vowels on each page.

Also, I have the theme song to Reading Rainbow stuck in my head.  Between a remix I heard today, last week’s Community, and A-1′s “Levar Burton,” I’ve heard it more in the past week than I have in the past decade.  Good song though.

…and that’s how we all learned that sometimes, headlines are eerily accurate.

Do you ever have that feeling that maybe the plot for The Truman Show wasn’t that far off, and that your life really is a gigantic reality show that entertains the masses?  Have you thought that your relationships and life are all scripted and pre-planned by committee to appeal to the widest possible audience?  Did it ever seem like maybe too many people just happened to be doing something that was beyond coincidence, and were using your life as a part of a game that only you were unaware of?

That all happened to me recently, when a smattering of strangers seemed to be playing the game, “Who can come closest to Andy’s car (while he’s driving) without getting hit?”

It started off in the parking lot after a hike with friends.  A young couple and their toddler were standing near their SUV as I began to back up.  They cautiously moved to the side with their child, and I made a mental note of the good parenting skills that they had exhibited.  But when my car was finally almost all of the way out, I saw them darting right behind the trunk of my car, inches from where I was positioned.  They literally sprinted to get behind my car, as if they wanted to get hit.

The second contestant presented himself two minutes later: an elderly man walking against traffic on a one-way road, positioning himself to the left-of-center side of the street.  As he came more fully into view, I noticed that he was actually walking towards the center of the road, despite this particular stretch of land being nothing but desert and mountain preserve, with no notable features (bathroom, parking lot, rest area, trash can, pet without a leash, etc) on either side.  He stared directly at my car, and as I could not honk my horn and swerve around him in time, I performed the latter task, running slightly off of the road.  He then proceeded to yell and curse at me.  Perhaps I was meant to hit him.

Ten minutes later, I was looking for a spot in the parking lot of a restaurant that my friends had decided to meet at for lunch.  A couple stood on the sidewalk, watching cars pass by and taking notice of my vehicle.  They looked right at my vehicle, and as I made a turn, they ran out and almost sprinted right into the hood of the car.

Four minutes after lunch, a slow-moving bird almost smacked itself against my windshield.

Twenty minutes after that, a bicyclist disregarded a light that had been red for him for at least ten seconds and almost plowed into the driver-side door of the car as I passed through the intersection on a green light.

Seven minutes later, a cat dashed out from my neighbor’s yard and almost caught itself under the front right tire as I went to park in the driveway.

If I had to pick a winner, I’d say that the elderly fellow came the closest.  But really, besides there being an invisible reality show contest that I’m not aware of, what other excuse could there possibly be?

I mean, I’m not that bad at driving.  I hope.

Corporate uniformity can be a good thing – it leverages expectations so consumers can anticipate consistent repeat experiences, creates a strong brand identity, and provides a solid infrastructure for operations.  It’s what makes chain restaurants and department stores so successful, and what keeps their customers coming back for more.

Of course, none of this matters if your corporation is uniformly shitty.

Over the past decade, my friends and I have realized that no matter where we are or what we do, there will always be one constant in our lives: Papa John’s Pizza locations will be managed and staffed by some of the most incompetent, hateful, possibly-insane, grumpy and borderline-racist people on the planet.  And It’s not just limited to one location, either:

- TULSA, OKLAHOMA -

It all began during my Sophomore year of college.  I was at my work-study job of being the front desk attendant for my dorm, and two hours into a six-hour shift.  It was late, and my tummy was making the rumblies.  So, I called up to Papa John’s, conveniently located across the street from campus.  I’d never called them to place an order before (it had always been through some intermediary, like a professor, roommate or organization), so I got to experience the joy of setting up an “account” with the place.  My only request was that they use the front door and call my cell phone, as I would not be in my room.  It was supposed to take 35 minutes.  I sat myself at a perfect spot to watch both doors to the building, and see out most of the windows.

An hour went by without any word.  I called.  They claimed that the delivery person had been by.  I reiterated that I would be in the lobby, and that he should come to the front entrance, not the back residential one.  They said that he would be sent back out.  Another hour passed, and I called again, requesting the manager.

“He came by twice and you weren’t there,” he growled.

“Did he say he went to the lobby?” I asked.  ”I said specifically that I would not be in the residential part.”

The manager exploded.  ”This guy’s one of my best drivers!  been working for me for years!  And you’re calling him a liar?!  F[censored] you!”

At this point, I cancelled my order.  And when I got back to my room, I found two messages from the delivery guy saying that he was waiting at the back of the building.

- WASHINGTON, DC -

I came home from work to find two Papa John’s deliverymen arguing with the front desk attendant at my apartment building (apparently, Papa John’s employees are not fans of front desks in lobbies), cursing and threatening to call the police.  I shot a sympathetic look at the desk attendant, and he quickly performed the universal gesture for “these folks are crazy.”

When I got upstairs, my roommate was eating a Papa John’s pizza and explained that apparently, they’d delivered the wrong pizza, which he accepted.  However, they were late with their delivery and didn’t offer to correct the order.  Compounded on top of this was the fact that there was a pre-made delivery charge on the order (we lived about three blocks away), which led to him not tipping the driver.  Apparently, because he overpaid and didn’t tip on top of that, the driver (and his assistant, we guessed) decided that the best course of action would be to yell at the fellow at the front desk to our building and threaten police action.

- WASHINGTON, DC: PART 2 -

Six months later, my roommate again received the wrong order (one medium pizza instead of two larges), but was this time charged the right amount.  As he had been waiting for over ninety minutes, he paid and ate anyway.  The owner of the establishment called him up to ask why he had taken someone else’s order.

The owner immediately launched into a string of obscenities and slurs that are far too inappropriate for this blog (one included a racial slur referring to black people, despite the fact that my roommate is not, to the best of our knowledge, black), demanding appropriate compensation and threatening legal action.

This was a different location than the one mentioned in the previous story, by the way.

- PHOENIX, ARIZONA -

Ordered pizza.  Was charged for pizza.  Pizza never arrived.  Called to complain.  Was called a liar and hung up on.  At this point, it’s just par for the course.  At this point, any chance of me giving money to this business again is a solid 0%.

—

A single bad experience will sour many people on ever repeating something, be it an activity, visiting a location, eating a certain type of food, or patronizing a place of business.  But when franchises come into play, it’s a bit trickier to determine if the reason that one holds disdain for a business is due to the company itself or a particular owner.  It takes longer to make the same decision that a single bad experience would lead to in a fraction of the time.  It’s confusing and exponentially more difficult to quantify.

Still, there’s something to be said for uniformity, right?