Not a clue . . .

Clue me in, please.

My phone company is Metro. The other day I tried to pay my bill online, as I always do (Note: I used to say ‘like I always . . .’ but it gave Jim the Black Trumpees—can be alarming), except their web site was down. Anyway, I found that Metro has no phones: you cannot call the phone company. Their national toll-free number is of course a robot. No matter how much I insulted their mentally retarded robot, and believe me, I tried, it kept telling me my outstanding balance.

My sister teaches at a ritzy private school in Austin where one of the Spanish teachers is from China. A year later it’s my sister’s turn: she gets the kids for advance Spanish. The kids she gets, however, walk the hair, not the dog, and when they see a hill, they say it’s jealous. You guessed it: the poor lady from China cannot pronounce her ‘r’s.

My daughters question what all these women are doing, demonstrating, marching, and making a fuss, etc., in search for equality. They can’t stand it. “Why would we want to descend to the level of men?” they ask. As it is, they feel so far superior it’s almost scary. I tried to hold them back and do my part for the men’s movement, for us to have an equal chance, but the more I held the less holding I was able to do. The result: all three have a master’s degree and are bossy as hell. Ask Guillermo or Rolando today. Ask Francisco in a few more years . . .

What made me think of this is that today, I pulled behind a fire truck at a red light and in the back panel painted with 3” letters was a warning sign: “Stay back 283′.” Did somebody die at 284′? I asked myself. And how many people carry a tape measure with them or know how to step off this incredibly safe distance? Also, do they realize that it’s hard to read their inspired sign beyond 20′? Is anybody in charge there? Go figure.