Boys in uniforms

Yes it's Memorial Day. I remember well marching down Main Street in Hackensack proudly wearing my Cub Scout uniform. A few years later I marched down Main Street in my Troop 5 uniform. In high school I was in band and wore a marching uniform while attempting to play the trombone.

My brother did the same. One year,  having finished my gig at the parade, I watched the high school band play before the court house. It must have been hot because a girl in the band fainted. Then two of the ponies fainted. It's the one thing I remember about those parades.

One year, my father put on his VFW uniform and marched in the Bogota Memorial Day parade. Then he went to the VFW and, according to my father, ate six hot dogs, and according to my mother drank far too much beer.

That night Dad was a little tipsie and my brother and I did the honors on the grill. The folks bickered a bit and the old man slept on the couch downstairs. Memorial Day in America.

Now as an adult I don't get to wear a uniform, march in a parade, or even go to a hall. I am now a civilian. I wish I was a fireman or a policeman. They have all the fun.

Editor's note: A pony is an attractive high school girl who wears a uniform, carries a baton, and adds flavor to the day.

Where do you go to the restroom?

Right now there is a big debate going on in this country about where transsexual people should go to the bathroom. Apparently in the South there is a belief that the bible spells out that men have to go to men's rooms and for ladies, women's rooms.  Just like the bible spelled out the need for colored bath rooms in the fifties.

I have come up with a tentative solution to the issue but it involves a new government agency, perhaps one that could be funded by a tax on toilet paper.
When a child reaches their fifth birthday, more or less the time when parents can no longer bring opposite sex children with them in the restroom, they would go to the Motor Vehicles bureau. The child would lower their trousers and a photograph would be taken. After analysis by the staff a swipe card would be sent to the family with either a blue or a pink color.

When people go to the restroom they would swipe their card at the door. If the sex of the facility matched the sex of the person, they could enter the room.

If someone wanted to change their sex, they would go back to Motor Vehicles, lower their trousers, and a clerk would determine their sex. If they didn't like their designation they could have their case adjudicated, and a determination would be available within six months. It's amazing how government intervention can solve the most difficult of problems.

Getting your license renewed

For the second part of my trilogy starting with waiting for the blood test I now move onto getting your driver license renewed. In a presumably safer and pre terrorist world (the world the Republican nominee says he can bring back) you could mail in your drivers license fee and get a new license a few weeks later. New Jersey, unlike most states, didn't have pictures on the licenses and everybody was as happy as clams with the arrangement.  

Then we entered the 21st century and everyone became security conscious and now most of us have to schlep down to motor vehicles to get a new picture and present proper credentials. Choosing which identification to use is sort of like a group dinner in a Chinese restaurant. You get one from column A, one from column B and one from column C. Those of us with passports like to use them (to show off) and state employees like to use their state id's. The people at Motor Vehicles seem to like the state id's, choosing mine over my passport. 

But here is where I experienced the shock of the new. When you go in a receptionist asks you for your phone number. They will then update you via text message on how soon it will be before you are called. I was 20th century, and, not thinking, gave them my home phone number.

Even not using this feature I did get to look at the screen and it listed the last four digits of every one's phone number and an approximate wait. I could follow my progress from an hour and ten minutes to zero minutes. I heard my number over the intercom, happily walked to the driver ID booth and had to wait for her to get through five other people. 

Getting through that I thought I would then walk to the picture booth but I was disappointed. I was told to go back to a seat. I looked at the screen and found out I had another hour to wait for the final step. 

This last bit went faster though, and soon I had a new picture, paid my twenty four dollars and got (a bit slowly I thought) a new picture driver licence. I don't look bad, grumpy, but not bad for an old fart. 

Editor's note: It's not often you get the shock of the new in a government agency. The blood test people should put in such a system.

There are things men don't need to know about

Recently I was watching television and lawdy, I came upon Samantha Bee, those two Jewish girls from Brooklyn, and Amy Schumer. My oh my, things were different in my day. In those ancient times women didn't talk about tampons, bodily functions, or the baser things in life. Women were angelic things, well mannered, and deferred to their boyfriends on matters of politics and where to go out. 

I think I could spend the rest of my life not watching a television show about minstrel cycles and farting and not miss a thing. What is so funny about tampons anyway. Things have changed since my day. No wonder women have to work. No man would want to support them. 

Editor's note: Another blog from Aunt Agnes.

Charley couldn't get off of that lane

Just came back from a nice trip through Pennsylvania. Rode on the famed Lincoln Highway, saw Valley Forge, Gettysburg and a couple of historic towns off of Route 81. I read in a travel guide that Carlyle had a "hippie vibe". It definitely had a hippie vibe. Lots of antique stores, craft shops and Victorian architecture. Went to a luncheon spot that looked like someone's living room. Sort of a poor man's New Hope.

One development I noticed off the PA Turnpike is that they have EZ Pass only exits. I hope that trend doesn't come to the Garden State. It reminded me of the Kingston trio sixties hit "The MTA".

When he got to the exit it said EZ pass only Charley couldn't get off of that lane.

Postal rates went down

Yes, today postal rates on a letter went from 49 cents to 47 cents. For the millions of us who boughts stamps in bulk because the Forever stamps would always mail a letter no matter how high postage got, we are now losing money. If we bought first class stamps tomorrow we would only have to pay 47 cents. Gotcha!

Waiting to get a blood test

I was asked the other day to think of the one place I'd like to be. I thought of watching a sunset at Key West, watching football at at Super Bowl party, hanging at the bar with male friends, hanging out in an art museum with female friends?  Walking around in downtown Lisbon? No, I decided, the place in the world I love the best is the waiting room at Labcorp.

I can think of no other place in my travels where you meet a happier group of people. Everybody is hungry, since most of them are fasting. The drinkers are starting to get irritable because they could use a drink about now. The old people are wondering if at the end of the day, this blood test will put them in a nursing home. The television is on too loud and appears to be aimed at the lowest level of intellect. Loud with clowns and lots of cheering. What's to cheer about at ten o'clock in the morning?

I walked in and wanted to fill in my name and the time. I couldn't find a pen. The clerk pointed at the daisies. Apparently the pens are disguised as flowers. They probably beep if you walk away with them. Some people cheat on the time. I guess they figure if they write an earlier time than it is you will get in earlier.

A scream, "help wanted in room one!"  Two staff people run into the crisis room where perhaps the patient is gushing blood. I think to myself, "Golly I hope this doesn't tie things up" instead of praying for the possibly dying person in room number one. It's every man for himself at the blood test office.

Now I am at the service desk. "No blood work done unless you can produce a current credit card!" is the sign on the desk. It is nice to know we live in a trusting society. I am given a small yellow plastic receptacle. That is for "you know what". At least nobody said the "p" word.

Soon I am out of the place. I can have a greasy breakfast of eggs and Canadian bacon and a few beers after 5. Suddenly the world is a happier place. At least until I get the results.