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.
Complaining on Saturday
Most people like to complain and bitch about something every now and then. I’m no exception, especially on Saturdays.
My wife and I have been going to yard sales for about fifteen years now. Almost every Saturday we make our rounds and hope to find something cool for a good price. Over the years we have acquired quite a few items for indoor and outdoors. Hence the fact that our interior is very eclectic. Nothing matches and we don’t care. We are comfortable with the environment.
And we also have been able to buy items and sell them on with a profit. Some extra pocket money is always welcome.
The last two years results have been very disappointing. There are considerably less sales than in the past and the quality of the merchandise has gone down as well. Even some of the community sales that have been great in previous years were very disappointing.
It is what it is of course, and I can’t buy what’s not for sale. But I do get somewhat frustrated if five sales in row show nothing but clothes, shoes, and kid’s stuff. That’s not what we are looking for. And we don’t want to see cheap plastic stuff that we could by at a dollar store for the same amount.
But I get upset when we drive for many miles just to find stuff that can be described as pure junk.
Simon
One of my friends was Simon, the only child of a couple that had lived in our small town for only a few years.
Simon was a little older than me and he got his driver’s license before I did. And he managed to get a car too; a small chocolate brown two-door coupe. He quickly gained reputation as a fast, and often reckless, driver. Not something that went over well with people who saw him speeding on the only major through street we had, as well as in the residential neighborhood.
Then I reached the age where I was for drafted for military service. In those days, that system was still in place and some men came up with the silliest excuses trying to get from under it. I approached it more or less with indifference, it was what it was.
But first I had to report for a physical examination and psychological test. I rode the bus into a nearby town and underwent the almost full day long procedure.
It so happened that Simon was there as well and at the end of the day he offered me a ride home. Although it would be easier and faster than taking the bus, I kindly refused with the excuse that I still had some business to take care of elsewhere in the city.