Not What I Meant

Where's spell check and grammar check when you need it?

I've took to the habit of sending myself texts when I want to remember something. Then, if I don't forget, I can see them later to remind me of whatever is in question.

Yesterday I took a call from a customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who wanted what's called a drop head fitting for his snake cable. I dutifully texted myself that information and went about my business.

This morning I checked my texts. Rather than one saying, Cloyce drop head, I had sent myself the message, Cloyce drop dead.

I mean, we've had our issues, but nothing that serious...

Texting

A customer texted me this morning that he would be later than he expected, closer to 10:30 rather than around 9 as he hoped. I texted back a thank you for the heads up, and see you then. That's when it occurred to be: look at you two old duffers (he's about my age) texting. Pretty soon you'll be lip synching on TikTok or whatever it is the kids do these days.

I must admit it's something I would not have expected not that long ago. Yet technology will have its way, and we all ought to embrace that which improves our lot in life. There is after all that tendency as we age to question the new - why should I do it that way? - when it means altering even basic habits.

Some lament that it reduces the direct personal touch, isolating us all the more from one another. I don't think that that's an entirely unfair criticism. Still, texts allow us to get information in a manner convenient for all involved. If I send a text and the recipient is occupied, he can answer at his leisure. Calling is still an option when time is critical. 

Don't get me wrong. I still believe that you have to show me a good reason to change before I effect it. Change merely to change is rather pointless even where there's no harm. But I can be taught. I'll text you about it after I post my blog.

Mea Maxima Culpa

No, this will not be about religion. It's only Marty employing a little bit of the Latin he knows. Mea maxima culpa translates into through my most grievous fault. In short, it means my bad, my really truly bad.

I found a drip from a radiator hose on my van this morning. As I went to pull away from the curb I saw steam coming from under the hood. A hose had a leak, dripping anti-freeze onto the hot manifold where it burned off as steam. On to my mechanic then rather than my sales trip. Should I mention this was about 4 AM this morning? I'm really quite happy to have discovered it then instead of when the hose would have blown completely several miles down the road in the wee hours of a cold January day. Reading in a warm bed beats sitting by the side of the road in the dark. I can make the sales trip well enough tomorrow.

So I go back inside and at 8 I begin the trip to Sam, my mechanic. He's only a mile and a half away so I figured I could drive that far as it was only a slow leak. But I texted my brother Phil to please pick me up at Sam's around 8:15. He never replies.

Well, he's occupied but he'll see the text soon enough, I figure. I drive down to Sam's and get the repair set up. We're good to go at 8:20, but no Phil to get me. Okay, I was a little put out. But I walk more than a mile and half routinely in the morning. I started walking home. Phil will know which way I'm headed, I reasoned.

Half way home, then three-quarters of the way home, and eventually all the way home. No Phil. I must confess (don't fret, still not about religion) that I was by then kind of upset. About then I got a text...from my friend Mike. He wanted to know who Sam was and why he should meet me at his place. I had texted the wrong person.

I had to walk all the way home from my mechanic. And it was my most grievous fault after all.