| I got a phone call from someone who shall remain nameless, to protect her identity.
Let's just call her *"Mom" for the purposes of this missive. *Mom had somehow lost the "Forward To:" icon in her email program and wanted to know how to get it back.
Simple enough process with Outlook, just a matter of opening the "Customize" toolbar and dragging the "Forward To:" icon back to the main email toolbar. Right?
So, I walked her through the two clicks needed to open the customize toolbar.
Then I steered her to the correct area in the window, and told her to drag the "Forward to:" icon to the email toolbar.
*Ok, how do I do that?
- Just left-click on the "Forward To:" icon in the customize window, hold the button down, and drag the icon to the toolbar Mom.
*Ok, nothing happened, except a little menu opened and it says "What's this?"
-Unh, Mom, I said "Left-click" and drag.
*I did, I did!
-No Mom, you get the little menu when you right-click.
*Oh. OK, which button is the left-click button?
-WHAT? Mom! Are you telling me you don't know your left from your right??!!!
*Of course I do! The right-click button is by the window, and the left-click button is by the kitchen!
-Oh. I see.
OK, "kitchen-click", don't let your finger up, and drag the little thingy up to the top, and let go of the kitchen-click.
*Oh, what happened? OH! Look, the "Forward to:" is back where it belongs!
-Great Mom.
*Thanks, I have to go now 'cause I have email to Forward To: people.
-Bye Mom.
Now before you get to thinking this person is maybe losing her grip, know this...
"Mom" is the same person who half a lifetime ago, told me before I headed out the door to repair a helicopter; "Remember son, Righty tighty. Lefty loosey".
Here's a rant I sent to family and friends while staying in Russell a while back.
***
Greetings from sunny Russell Manitoba. The home of ... Bull.
I'm staying at the fabulous Russell Inn, conveniently located on the outskirts of Russell beside an all night truck stop and beer vendor, and your kids for free.
An hour ago a "family" of 22 moved into the room beside me, and I'm really looking forward to an entertaining evening of ebullient children and the colourful and descriptive language their parents use to discipline them.
The hall that joins us to the rest of the facility has become a playground and runway, and the hotel has thoughtfully left a large gap at the bottom of my door so I can see their little feet dashing by as they exercise their lungs to full capacity.
Oh oh, one just dashed by screaming "I NEED TO PEE MOMMY". But mommy has locked the door. Now all 44 children are shrieking and pounding on mommy's door with sledgehammers!
I see through the window that daddy has been across the parking lot to the beer vendor, and plans on holding a really large party, given the amount of booze he's carrying.
Oh oh. Another little darling is yelling "OPEN THE DOOR" and punctuating the request with a flurry no, make that a blizzard, of hammer blows.
MY GOD! MY GOD! MY GOD! I just got a phone call from one of the little buggers, asking me to come and open the door at the end of the hall 'cause they left the hall passcard in mommy's room and mommy's not answering the phone!!!
Sure, it's clever that they thought to start phoning room numbers close to theirs, but jeez!
I think I have some aspirin around here somewhere...
Yes, I did go down the hall to open the door. And there were hordes of screaming kids aging from freshly popped to 17, but the scary thing is, one of them was carrying a GHETTO BLASTER! I guess daddy wants music at his party.
This really is going to be an entertaining night.
I think I have some codeine around here somewhere...
Shhhh. It's quiet now. I guess they must have gone to Mr. Scoop for supper. (Mr. Scoop is now called the "C Store". ??? (I guess the name "Mr. Scoop" lead people to surreptitiously fill their pockets, but I have no idea what the "C" in "C Store" stands for.)
I spoke too soon. They're baaaaak!
And they brought every kid in Manitoba with them!
I think I have some heroin around here somewhere...
The hall conversations are getting interesting.
"Take your finger out of my nose."
"No! It's my finger and you can't tell me what to do with it!"
And you wonder why I don't like to travel sometimes...
- Dead Man's Room (Caution, this is quite lengthy)
Just finished another tour, this time via Edmonton, Whitehorse and Frozen Hell.
Some people (tourists for instance*) consider spending the night under the Aurora Borealis in subzero temperatures, bliss.
I consider it akin to doing your own dental work.
(*They now sell tour packages in Canada's north, with "real" igloos or tents, for tourists to spend the night in. If any children are conceived, they are considered "special" because they were conceived under the Northern Lights. All the people who do their own dental work say it's true!)
But I digress. You probably want to know what I mean by Frozen Hell, and where this was on my tour.
The hell I'm alluding to comes in the form of room # 300 in the Yellowknife Inn, in Yellowknife, NWT, in winter. 
FrozenPurgatory.com would be a considerably more apt site name.
Check-in at the YK Inn was a bit slow. Forty minutes in line while people are told there is no room at the Inn, Inuit (Eskimos) check-in fish for storage in the hotel freezer (really!), and more people are told there is no room at the Inn.
My turn. I have a reservation. Cool.
Hello Mr. PiffleMaster. Yes, we have a reservation for you for tonight and tomorrow night. (No frosty reception for me!) Please take this voucher to the coffee shop, and redeem it for a coffee. Then come back in an hour, because it's now 7PM and all the cleaning staff have left for the day. And we don't have a clean room for you.
Super, free coffee…
Sorry about the wait Mr. PiffleMaster, how was the coffee?... As it turns out, we're slightly overbooked tonight, but we've managed to find you a room. Um? Managed to find me a room? Reservation anyone? New concept? Hasn't quite made it to the YK Inn yet???
I am assigned room # 300, and proceed to it. I discover it's The Dead Mans Room.
As you probably know, any room at the end of a corridor by the stairwell exit is called the dead mans room.
This is because no one hears a murder take place. Being the last room in the corridor means you have fewer neighbours. So there will be no one to complain when you scream as the knife go in, and you eventually exsanguinate. The killers are never caught because they've slipped out the stairwell exit. Hence, "The Dead Man's Room."
Frozen Hell, night # 1 begins.
Open door # 300. Get covered in a wave of cold air worthy of a Robert Service poem.
Room is dark. Very dark. Feel for hall light switch, find switch, no light. Find bathroom switch, flick switch, low guttering flame type light. The bathroom has two lights, one main, broken, no, I do not mean burnt out. The other is a small fluorescent fixture that flickers and is not much more than a night light.
Navigate down hall, get pushed back by gale coming in open window.
Make determined push into room. Discover window is not open. Like the bathroom light, it is broken. Glass is intact, but 1/4 inch gap on sides and bottom is no match for -26 degree breeze. (Yes Yellowknife does occasionally get windy, even with -26 temperatures.)
Find thermostat, it's already at the highest setting. Feel radiator, it's room temperature. Reach for phone to call front desk, remember line-up, pass.
Leave coat on, too cold in room to unpack laptop, watch TV instead.
11:00 o'clock, bedtime. Undress, get in bed.
11:07 Realize there are not enough calories in my body (or 10) to warm this bed; get out of bed and put on sweatpants, socks and long sleeved shirt.
11:20 Fall asleep. Shivering.
11:40 Awake, neighbours having argument. ...something... prick, etc... something bitch... .. kiss my a...
12:03 Sleep again. Shivering.
12:45 Awake, neighbours from hell having argument. ...something prick, etc... something bitch... .. kiss my a...
02:09 Sleep again. Shivering.
03:00 Neighbours from hell invite in room guest who thinks he's in a mosh pit. The walls shake. Things break.
03:55 Sleep again. Shivering.
05:30 Morning. Shiver out of bed. Ablutions, get dressed. No. Get undressed, get dressed again in clean clothes.
Watch TV, shiver, wait for cab to work at 06:50
Frozen Hell, night # 2 begins.
9:50 Go to bed with clothes on.
9:52 Get up, put on coat inner liner, go back to bed.
10:15 Get up, make vain attempt to plug gaps in window with hotel towel. Open door to hotel corridor to let heat in. Gale from window increases, close door.
10:30 Check TV for temperature, -40. Put on coat outer shell. Go back to bed.
11:00 Fall asleep. Shivering.
11:40 Awake, neighbours having argument. ...something... effing prick, etc... something effing bitch... .. kiss my effing a...
12:02 Sleep again
12:15 Awake, neighbours from hell having argument. ...something prick, etc... something bitch... .. kiss my a...
12:50 Security arrive from 12:15 argument, start pounding on neighbours door to wake them up to tell them to be quiet.
01:15 Sleep again. Shivering.
01:40 Awake, F...ing neighbours from hell having argument. ...something... prick, etc... something bitch... .. kiss my a...
02:05 Security arrive from 01:40 argument, start pounding on neighbours door to wake them up to tell them to be quiet.
02:15 Sleep again. Shivering.
02:30 Awake, F...ing G..damn neighbours from hell having argument. ...something prick, etc... something bitch... .. kiss my a...
02:45 Security arrive from 02:30 argument, start pounding on neighbours door to wake them up to tell them to be quiet.
02:55 Nervous tic sets in.
03:00 Can't sleep with uncontrollable shivering and nervous tic. Get up.
03:05 Turn on every light. Unpack laptop, turn on to produce heat. Fill coffee maker with water, turn on to produce heat.
03:10 Start defragmenter program on laptop to make it work harder and produce more heat.
03:15 Pack.
03:20 Ablutions, turn on shower. Hot water isn't. Isn't hot and isn't water. It's fog. The shower blasts room temperature fog.
03:30 Towel off remaining soap that fog wouldn't wash away.
03:39 Open bathroom door. No. Too cold. Close bathroom door. Get dressed in dirty clothes, go into room, get clean clothes, go back to bathroom, close door, get dressed in clean clothes.
04:00 Check out, night desk clerk tells me to have a nice day. I try to tell him to eff off and die but can't part frozen lips to form speech.
04:05 Get cab, indicate airport by flapping arms at sides.
04:15 Sit in waiting room at airport until flight at 07:25
I am warm now and at home. The shivering has stopped.
Memories of freezing to death in The Dead Man's Room while my neighbours fight and security pounds, are slowly fading...
And the nervous tic is barely noticeable now...
I wrote this from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. Try saying that several times in a row with food in your mouth and everyone around you will move to the other side of the bus, real quick!
You may recall my missive re my last hotel stay in Vancouver, where the towels were hung on towel racks - in the shower enclosure? What an innovative space saving concept! That was the same hotel that I had to get on my knees to rinse the shampoo out of my hair, because the shower-head was mounted at the level of my navel. I blamed that on the hotel designers drinking bottled mountain water. Anyway, I got quite a shock when I went to carry out my morning ablutions in my Saskatoon hotel bathroom this AM.
You recall the TV ads of the 70s where they were plugging these marvelous shower heads that were "adjustable for an invigorating stream, or soothing massage"? Well let me tell you folks, they meant "adjustable for razor sharp needles, or pummeling assault". Either setting is guaranteed to remove not only dead skin cells, but living organs as well. No bottom or middle ground, just shower hell!
I've never noticed in all my years that I was abnormally well endowed in the (ahem) private regions. But, I sat on the toilet seat this morning and instantly discovered how cold the water is in this part of the world. Ahem, get it?
The toilet looks like a standard toilet, operates like a standard toilet, but belongs in the washroom of a grade-school. It blends in because the rest of the washroom is about the size of those on a 737.
It appears the designers of this hotel's bathroom were drinking bottled mountain water when they ordered these toilets and shower-heads...
Gotta run now. (But not to the bathroom. :-) |
