After all this time

In the weeks leading up to the written exams, one of our teachers made us come back on our regular free Wednesday afternoons and made us complete extra tests.

We weren’t happy about it; didn’t we spend enough hours in the classroom already?

“It’s for your own good,” he said. “You will benefit from it, trust me.”

He sounded like my mother. Whenever she said that something was for my own good it usually meant I had to do something that I hated.

So, while we could see the sunshine through the windows, and other students having fun in the park adjacent to the school, we were slaving away doing our bookkeeping assignment. Trying to finish as fast as possible didn’t make a difference. We were not to leave until the last student had finished. And the slowest ones were always subjects of frustration.

It usually took two long hours before we were dismissed and the sighs of relief could be heard in the other classrooms, I’m sure.

The exams rolled around and every one of us passed. The extra work had paid off, just as the teacher had promised. But we were too oblivious to give credit where credit was due.

Many years later it still comes to mind every now and then, and it still bothers me that I didn’t thank him personally for his effort. He did not just do his job; he went the extra mile because he really cared.

Here is a late “Thank you Mr. Duyker.” Not that it makes a difference. He must have passed away decades ago, but I still wanted to get it off my chest.

Check your tape measure

My dad was in his shop adding a shelf to a small cabinet.

He measured the inside of the cabinet, then measured the board and cut it with the hand saw. I expected it to fit perfectly, after all, he was a skilled carpenter and woodworker.

To my surprise he had cut it half an inch too short. I think it was the first time I had seen him make a mistake like that. He shook his head.

Luckily, he had another board that would work, and he went through the same routine. Measuring the cabinet, measuring the board, and making the cut.

Again, it was half an inch too short. He couldn’t believe it and mumbled something about getting senile.

Then suddenly it struck me, he had used two different tape measures. May be one of them was off.

I suggested to check both, and he did although he was skeptical about the possibility of a fairly new tape measure from a well know brand being inaccurate. But sure enough, one of them was missing half an inch from the hook, clearly a factory mishap.

Dad didn’t care that he had to throw it in the trash. He was just happy that he wasn’t to blame for the mistake after all.

I use tools on a regular basis, and I have never experienced noticeable inaccuracy of a tape measure, ruler, level, or tri square.

However, I will probably never trust tire gauges of any kind. I remember using three different gauges on the same tire and the readings were all over the place. Even using the same gauge a few times successively gave me different values.

Recently I bought a better quality one and even now I’m not sure how accurate (or inaccurate) it is. After three tries I just stick with the average. That’s the safest policy I guess.

No appreciation

Many years ago, I was asked to design a printed catalog for an upcoming art show.

There were twelve artists, each of them had to have an equal number of pages, an equal number of pictures in both color and black & white.

I also had to keep in mind the printing process so costs could be kept as low as possible.

It was a time consuming task and then I took the file and printed mockup to a printing business out of town where I had negotiated a good deal.

And when the catalogs were ready I had to go and pick them up.

The product looked really good and I was sure everyone would be content.

Two of the participants started complaining right away about their pages being in the back of the catalog.

Well, what do you expect?  I placed them alphabetically, the obvious thing to do.

And it’s like riding a full bus, not every passenger can sit in the front.

Nobody showed any appreciation, not a single ‘Thank you’ came my way. 
I was no surprise that I wasn’t offered any compensation either, not even some gas money.

A few years later I had a similar experience when I designed and implemented a web site for a church. No recognition whatsoever and no support at all despite earlier promises.

There and then I decided not to volunteer my time and expertise for free again.

Don’t yell at me

For some time, we lived in an apartment complex with a small playground nearby. Usually, kids are fairly loud when they are playing, but you cannot hold that against them. At that age it is a natural thing and I remember doing my share of screaming when I was that young.

What got to me though was that some of the parents could not be bothered to walk to the park and pick up their kids when it was time for them to come home. Instead, they yelled on top of their lungs from their doorstep, hoping it would be loud enough to attract attention.

And then the kids started screaming even louder in response and a shouting match had started, much to the dismay of those who like some degree of quietness.

I believe a situation like that shows a severe lack of class and common sense. It is often unnecessary; people can communicate in a normal tone of voice if they just take a few seconds and physically approach each other.

Signs of age? I don't think so; I had the same dislike when I was in my twenties. I usually don't respond either if someone tries to get my attention from a distance. If you want to talk to me, you have to come close enough so we can have a conversation without disturbing the peace in the neighborhood.