I'm Still Kicking! - ghostriter's Blog - Bakersfield.com

Yet Another Scam

In this time where everywhere we look is another credit card pitfall waiting to grab us, I have one more for you. WATCH YOUR RESTAURANT RECEIPTS!!! My friend went to Roadhouse Grill on Rosedale last month. She had ordered a drive-up dinner for her family. You know, that deal where you order ahead by phone and someone runs it out to your car without your ever having to get out. No waiter service is involved in this. My friend eats out often, and she is usually a generous tipper, but she did not see the need to tip for a drive-in pick-up. Her bill was $48.23, and she paid with a credit card. Luckily, my friend is the type who keeps receipts, and she's fastidious about reconciling them with her statements. Imagine her surprise when she found that her card had been charged $54.23 for her dinner from Roadhouse. Upon researching, it was discovered that the person who had brought her food to the car had added a six-dollar tip to the bill after my friend had left! She had even written a zero with a line through it where the tip amount is meant to be added; this audacious and self-serving person had written OVER the zero! This is not the first time this has happened to her. She experienced a similar incident at another restaurant in here in Bakersfield a couple years ago.

This makes me wonder; how often has this happened to me? This is a question that we all should ask ourselves. I must admit that I do not keep those receipts, and I have no idea if it has happened to me or not. But it has happened to her twice in the last two years! I would be a fool to think that this is an isolated incident, or aimed only at her.

From now on, I am going to watch this very carefully. When I write a tip amount, I plan on writing it in words also, beneath the numbers. If I am not leaving a tip for some reason, I will write "NO TIP" in big, bold letters in that space.

To the credit of Roadhouse and their manager, he has been very helpful to my friend in resolving this issue. Not only are they refunding the "tip" to her, but they are refunding the amount of the bill as well. My personal opinion is that they should follow up this positive action with a boot in the butt of that waitress. An example needs to be set.

Watch your receipts, people. You never know how much you are REALLY tipping!

What's the Excuse Now?

For a long time now, gas prices have soared to ridiculous levels with no relief in sight. We were told that there was no help for it due to the high price of oil. Still, oil companies and investors reported record profits, and the Bush administration shrugged its collective shoulders and basically said "oh, well, get used to it". Well, now oil prices are lower than they have been in a long time. So gas prices should go down, right? WRONG! They are going up again! This time the powers that be are saying it is because of the hurricane season. Horse hockey! I believe it is because the oil companies have decided that the public has resigned itself to paying astronomical gas prices, and so they can just keep charging us and continue to rake in the dough. And once again, the Bush administration says "oh, well...."
Two questions: why are we continuing to pay through the nose for gas when oil prices have dropped, and why do I seem to be the only one asking that question? The ones who should be asking are too busy either trying to save their legacies before leaving office or trying to get elected. It seems none of our so-called leaders are looking out for us; they are only interested in themselves. Nothing new there.

Holidays

When I was a child, one of the things that I loved about my birthday was that it meant that there were exactly three months until Christmas. That was when my family started planning and preparing. My mom and I would start shopping and baking and making gifts; my dad would begin planning and building decorations. Although my family has never been "religious", Christmas was always a big deal in our house. The family aspect was emphasized, and as both my parents were (and still are) wonderfully talented and creative, our house drew crowds every year, and even merited photos in the newspaper and was listed as a key spot for the Christmas Light tour bus at the local retirement home. It became so popular that my parents began holding an open house every Christmas Eve, when they would open their house to anyone who wanted to see it. It was wonderful. However, until I became an adult, I never realized how bloody expensive this wonderful tradition could be!

Now, whereas I looked forward to both my birthday and Christmas as a child, I utterly dread both. I dread my birthday for reasons obvious to most people in their forties. But I also dread it because it means that Christmas is coming. I still love the decorations, but especially now, when the economy is so bad, we are even more broke than in previous years. Our kids are already talking about what they want for Christmas, and all I can think of is, how in blazes are we going to pay for it? And what makes things worse is that my husband and my father have something in common...they both love those Christmas decorations! My husband is already talking about what he wants to get for the house this year, and all I can think about is the gasoline bill and the electric bill. And with the recent mishaps with two of our cars and my son's engine problems, I truly believe that I am putting our mechanic's children through college. I'm turning into a regular Scrooge...at the very mention of the holidays I cringe, grimace and grumble.

I recently found out that I am not alone in this. On the dry erase calendar in my office, I wrote in red and green letters in the block for September 25th Three more months until Christmas! My co-workers all seem to respond the same way: Oh, no, not that again, or Did you have to remind me?

Maybe the answer lies in my parents' house. They still have all those great decorations, although my dad is often away on business and my mother is in poor health, so they do not go whole-hog as they did before. Maybe we should just pack up and move back in with them. That way, we'd have all the wonderful trimmings and spend less money to boot! My mom really should have someone there at the house to look after her while my dad is gone, and their house is spectacular, even without the Christmas stuff! I was really beginning to like this idea, until my husband reminded me of one crucial point. Yeah, your parents' place is huge, babe, but it still only has one kitchen.

Oops. That won't work. I can barely stand it when my husband walks through the kitchen when I am cooking, which, when I am at home, is all the time. Two women plus one kitchen equals someone getting hurt or killed. But I got an idea for that, too. My dad built most of their house. Maybe if we move in, he'd build me another kitchen, one with a downdraft range and a Subzero fridge and two sinks! I'm not asking for too much, am I?

Okay, okay...I'll supply the Christmas decorations. And free cookies and baklava for life.

Involuntary Dogslaughter

I killed a dog on my way to work last Friday. No, I am not bragging, I am confessing. In truth, the death of this unknown dog haunts me so terribly that it has taken a week for me to be able to write about it. I have never hit a dog or cat on the road before. I used to think that was because I am a good driver, but now I know that I was only lucky. I hope I never do it again.

I have made the commute from Tehachapi to Bako and back on the 58 freeway for years without incident, and I guess I have come to expect only the expected. The dog was decidedly unexpected, especially since it seemed to appear in a remote area, far from the city. It was a golden-sandy color, medium sized. I could not ascertain the breed, but I suspect it was just a doggy-dog, which is my name for a mixed breed or "mutt". The only thing I really know about it is that it was a really fast runner, it was lucky once, and then unlucky forever. Oh, yeah...I also know that it is dead.

The guy in the car ahead of me and to my left missed the dog by milliseconds, but the reason that I hit it is because the other guy missed it. Since the dog was in front of the other car, I never saw it until I watched it go under the front of my brand new car. Almost immediately my car began steaming and producing a horrid banging sound, indicative that the fan and the radiatior had just made contact with each other. I did not really notice, though; my eyes were glued to the rear-view mirror in horror and remorse. I finally pulled over about a mile down the road, and by the time I called my husband, I was nearly hysterical. My mind was filled with the image of the poor dog in my rear-view; I could not stop replaying that awful vision. But by the time my car was being towed to the shop, I was no longer crying; I was livid. What-ifs played over and again in my head; first, it was "what if I hadn't stopped at the bakery on the way to work?" Then, it was "what if I had been watching the other car more closely?" But what I finally ended with, and still stick to, is "what if some moron had not allowed that poor dog to run loose?" and "what if a nameless jerk had not abandoned their pet to the fields?" By the time I heard from my mechanic that my new car needed major front end repair, I was ready to string up the stupid, thoughtless idiot who had left that dog to his own devices. While I feel terrible about being the one to hit the dog in the road, it was only a matter of time. If not I, then someone else would have killed it, and all because of someone else's callous treatment of an innocent pet.

One good thing happened just after I hit the dog. As I sat weeping in my car on the shoulder of the road, a CHP officer pulled up next to me. Usually, CHP's on the freeway are an unwelcome sight, but I was glad to see this one. He asked me if I was okay; I tearfully told him about the dog. He asked again if I was okay, and I told him about my car, and that I was waiting for a tow truck. And then, I finally told him that I was fine, but I asked if he had seen the dog. He hadn't, but he promised to take care of it, and advised that I keep my car doors locked until the truck arrived. He said that he would make a few passes in the area to make sure I was alright. Then he pulled away and made an immediate u-turn in the median, returning to the place where the dog's life had ended. The officer was as good as his word; I saw him four times before the tow truck arrived. Less than ten minutes after he stopped next to me, I saw an Animal Control van heading east on the 58. When I finally went home later that day, I looked for the dog, just in case. It was gone.I felt better knowing that, thanks to the thoughtful officer, the poor animal would not end up as road pizza.

What will it take for people to care for their pets properly, humanely and kindly? What can be done to stop those who decide that a pet is too much of a burden and dump it on the roadside or in a field somewhere? How can we pound home the realization that letting a pet run amok is neglect, and that neglect is a form of abuse? Pets are happiest and healthiest if they are kept in a safe environment; they are not wild animals that "have a need to run free". When we adopt a pet, we have a responsibility to that animal for it's life and health. Pets are not disposable.

I still don't have my car back. I will, however, get it back eventually. The dog will never get its life back. He will live on in my memory, however. I wish we had met under different circumstances. Maybe we'd have been friends.

Calypso, et al....

My little rescued kitten, Calypso, is now a happy, healthy eleven-week-old bundle of love and fun. She is just beautiful! Her big jade-green eyes are so unusual, and she has the softest fur. She runs to me every night when I get home, rubbing her little nose into my neck, purring loudly. I have never seen any cat so ecstatic to see me.

Well, except maybe her brothers and sister....

Calypso is one of a litter of four born to one of the feral cats who were residing in the sump area next door to my office. When they were three days old, the mother decided to move the kittens. But she forgot one, and hence, I adopted the tiny baby, and I named her Calypso. I bottle-fed her, took her nearly everywhere I went, and watched with joy as she thrived. But I always felt sad that I had been unable to do anything to help the three other kittens. Weeks passed with no sign of them, and I despaired that chances for their survival were bleak. I have had to dispose of dead kitties before; such is life in a feral colony. And then one day, I went outside to feed the ferals, and I was greeted by a tiny black-and-white fluffball stuck to the chainlink fence out back. The poor baby was terrified; she had climbed up the fence but did not know how to get back down, and she was mewing pitifully. When I approached her, she spat at me in fear, sounding more cute than threatening. I recognized her as one of Calypso's three litter-mates. After I helped her get four paws safely on the ground, I watched as she ran for the relative safety of the hedges, where the mother and other two kittens joined her, a white one and a coal black one. I noticed that the kittens were pitifully thin, and I resolved to rescue them. A friend helped me catch the kittens the next day, and I took them home to be reunited with their pampered sister.

Upon closer inspection of the kittens, I discovered that they were horribly infested with fleas, and the black one had a bad eye infection. They were all much too thin, and I was surprised to see that Calypso was notably larger than her siblings. They were otherwise healthy, though, and each possessed of a ravenous appetite. It took a week to dispel the flea infestation and infection before I could bring them in the house, but upon reintroducing them to Calypso, it was as though they had never been separated.

Now, it is as though they were different kittens. Whereas they were terrified when I first brought them home, they are now loving, playful little things who take great joy in tearing all over our bedroom and bathroom. Upon my arrival home from work, I am greeted by four little racers crashing into one another in an effort to get to me first. Excited meows drift through the house as soon as I open the back door. I find I cannot wait to get home. It is wonderful to be loved!

We had four cats already before they joined our household. There is no question of my keeping Calypso; I know without doubt that I can never give her up. But the others are up for adoption: Comet, a little cream-colored boy with Siamese-like markings; Cody, the jet-black boy who is still a bit shy; and little Lily, the smallest of the litter, the fluffy little girl whom I first saw stuck to a fence. Alas, I cannot keep all of them. That doesn't mean, however, that I won't lose a piece of my heart when they go.

Auto Insurance Law

I just read a letter to the editor in which the writer calls for tougher insurance laws. He thinks that if tougher laws were passed, many vehicles involved in accidents would not even be on the road. How could the laws get tougher? Already, if you can't afford insurance and are stopped, they fine you two months' rent and your left arm. As with so many other things these days, those who can afford it least are charged the most.

There are many people who drive sans insurance, and raising the penalties will not change that. Unfortunately, many families are forced to choose between car insurance or medication, utilities, food, etc. They cannot, however, refrain from driving because they must drive to get to work and earn the paycheck that allows them to live. It is a catch-22 situation, and the current price of gasoline only makes matters worse. Contrary to popular belief, many people have no choice. Public transportation in Kern county is inadequate and substandard, to say the very least, and many people live in areas that are either too far from their job or too far from the nearest bus stop. The cost of a taxi is astronomical, so that is out of the question.

The problem is that when our illustrious lawmakers signed the insurance law into effect, they gave insurance companies a free hand. They can charge whatever they want. I am sure I could hear the cheering from insurance brokers everywhere when the news was passed that people MUST have auto insurance. But when they pass laws like this, they should think of the feasibility of enforcing such laws, not just the revenue it will bring in for the county, and in this case, for insurance brokers.

The government likes to stress that driving is a privilege, but in this society, it is a necessity. Increasing fines for driving without insurance will only make things harder on families who are already struggling. Insurance does not make someone a safe driver. That comes from experience and common sense. Unfortunately, the government has not found a way to outlaw acting (or driving) stupid. However, I am sure they are working on it.

Calypso part Two

I had a request for photos of my little baby kitty, and remembered that I was at work when I posted my last blog, and did not have pics available. So here are a few, and I will post more as she gets bigger, which she seems to do every day.

Tessa, Tish and Calypso

When I was in my early teens, my mother and I began raising and showing Persian cats. It was something my mom had always wanted to do, and for the most part, that time is one of my most cherished memories. Having been a "cat person" since before my first recollection, I truly enjoyed it, and it gave my mom and me a chance to do something together that we both loved. There was one sad part, however; one of our mother cats died giving birth to her first litter. She had four kittens, but only two survived, and we were suddenly faced with the prospect of raising two newborn kittens. I was twelve years old, and I vividly remember taking turns with Mom for the midnight feedings and general care of the kittens, which entailed two-hour shifts around the clock. I still recall my wonder at their strength and will to live, even though they were so tiny and completely helpless. There were a few sticky situations resulting from our lack of experience, but the tiny orphans survived notwithstanding, and there were never more adored, spoiled kitties than our two "little girls", Tessa and Tish. They remained with us throughout their lives, and were inseparable, even in death; when Tessa died, Tish lingered only a few weeks before following. I was twelve when they were born; when they died, I was nearing my thirty-seventh birthday. They graced and enriched our lives for twenty-four years. To this day, I have a precious photo of them on our living room wall, among the parents, grandparents, siblings and relatives. After all, Tessa and Tish were a part of my family.

Some may remember the blog I wrote a few weeks ago, about a three-day-old abandoned kitten that I had rescued and taken home to raise. Well, I still have her, and she is thriving! Her name is Calypso, and she will be six weeks old this Saturday. It was my experience with Tessa and Tish that gave me the confidence to take on the responsibility of raising her nearly from birth. And I am so glad I did! Little Caly is now six weeks old, and absolutely adorable. She is black and white, and has big jade green eyes and white whiskers. She follows me all over the house now. She is very attached to me, since I've always been her "mom".

A friend of mine said that I have a good heart, and that is is a noble thing to have taken on a three-day-old kitten. But Calypso has done more for me, I think, than I have done for her. I suffer from clinical depression and PTSD, for which I take medication. Even so, there are days when I can bring myself to do nothing but lay on the sofa and stare blankly at the TV. The feeling that life is not worth the trouble and pain, that mine is a worthless existence, becomes overwhelming at times. But this little kitty changed that. After she came, I started getting out of bed before my husband, something that is rare. I began sleeping better at night, the midnight feedings notwithstanding. And now I have another reason to look forward to getting home at night. For five weeks, Caly travelled to my office with me every day, and spent the day in her kitty carrier in the shade on the back patio of our building; I checked on her every hour. I spent my lunch break with her, feeding and holding her. Now, she is eating on her own and is litter-box trained, so I don't bring her to work anymore, which is good since I never could have left her out in the recent heat. This week was her first week home alone. She is so joyfully glad to see me when I come home. Her tiny excited meows and her little paws trying to climb up my leg, her purr against my ear as she rubs her face on my neck, never cease to lift my spirits, regardless of what happened during the course of the day. I feel needed again, and appreciated.

I never thought that, in saving a tiny newborn kitten, I would be doing myself so much good. I like to think that my son somehow put her there for me to find that day, so close to the anniversary of his death, to comfort me and give me a sense of purpose again. It would be so like Jordan to do that. After all, he never wanted his mommy to be sad; he told me that all the time. He often picked flowers or drew pictures for me if I was downhearted about something. And a few months before his accident, Jordan traded one of his toys for a stuffed kitty, which he proudly presented to me when I got home from work one night. It is one of my treasures, and sits on the bookshelf next to the carved box that hold my son's ashes. It is black and white, and Calypso bears it a striking resemblance. But maybe that should come as no surprise.

If I am lucky, Caly will be with me for a long, happy life, like Tessa and Tish were. Regardless how long she lives, she will always have a safe, loving home with me. I could never give her up. After all, she saved me.

Wake Up, People!

Two guys recently drowned in the Kern River, one of whom apparently left home without his brain that day and decided that a child's plastic inflatable pool toy would keep him afloat; the fact that he could not swim must have slipped his mind. Rescue workers are currently working on finding another two unlucky souls who disappeared over the holiday weekend. In other news, someone put his eye out, and someone else set fire to a home, using illegal fireworks.

What is it going to take for people to wake up and smell their own mortality?! I have lived in this area for twelve years, and every year, the headlines are the same. Every summer, we cry over someone's child who has drowned, or we sympathize with someone who has been permanently maimed by fireworks. Use your head, folks! The people who warn against swimming in the Kern River are not doing so just to have the place all to themselves! The river is an annual deathtrap, pure and simple. Likewise for those fun, illegal fireworks. You don't know where they came from or just how long you have after lighting that fuse before it goes BOOM, taking your hands or eyes with it to the wild blue yonder..

If you want to go swimming, there are plenty of options here in SoCal where there is no undertow just waiting for an unsuspecting idiot or a helpless child. If you want fireworks, the ones that are legally sold every July are just as fun, but if you don't think so, the professionals are still setting off the big ones. Go watch them instead of playing Russian Roulette with your appendages.

PLEEEEEZ, Bakersfield, when you go out to have fun this summer, make sure your brain is with you ALL DAY...and don't forget to use it. No, you are not immune to misfortune, and YES, it can happen to you!

Ackstabbing Itches

I had planned on this being a happy blog, and in some ways, it is. However, the inherent callousness of some people has once again reared its ugly mug, and I must change the tone of my writing to match the angry grinding of my teeth.

On Monday, I became a mother again. I adopted a three-day-old kitten whose mother had abandoned it. We have a feral cat colony at my office, which lives for the most part in the fenced sump next door. Some of us have been taking turns feeding them; on the sad occasions when we have found one dead, I am the one they count on to take care of that, too. So no one was surprised when I took this little baby in. My boss even understood that it would be necessary to bring the kitty to work with me; as long as I was discreet and it did not interfere with my work, he had no problem.

When some of the women in my office found out about the kitten, they went kazoo. Just the thought of a cat in the office, regardless of its size or age, was repulsive to them. They automatically assumed that I was heating cat food in the microwave, which I was not. But instead of talking to me about it, they went whining to one of the other bosses, who promptly called MY boss on the carpeting for allowing me to do such a sickening thing as keeping a baby kitten in the office. It was suggested that I "just leave it out there and let nature take its course", and someone even had the temerity to tell me I should drown it! I had no choice but to put the kitty in her carrier outside, behind our building, and go out there every two hours to feed her.

One of these "ackstabbing itches" who complained about my heating cat formula in our microwave heats menudo in that same microwave at least once a week. Just the thought of that stuff makes me nauseous, and it ruins my appetite to watch her eat it. Another one of them actually brought in chitlins! The office reeked for the whole day. But warming kitten formula made of milk, egg yolk, yogurt and corn syrup is repulsive, right?

I have had this kitty for five days now, and she is thriving nicely, the "ackstabbing itches" notwithstanding. They can choke on their chitlins, for all I care. I'll just wait until one of them needs my help for something again. Rest assured, my baby and I will just turn our "acks" and walk away.