Larry called out today. He couldn't get to work because he ran out of gas and no stations in his area had any.
Friday night at Garden Ridge seemed like a Wednesday. Three times as many employees as customers. Eating lunch today at McAlister's was like a typical weekday. Only it is Saturday. A block from the mall. It was me and four others. Quiet. Quiet enough that I could hear the girl across the room on her cell phone.
Nobody is going to use gas they may not be able to replace before midweek to go shopping or out to eat. There was even talk of canceling the Alabama-Georgia football game, and if you know anything about football in the south, you'd have better luck asking a preacher to cancel a holiday service.
This all started with hurricane Ike, which caused the shutdown of several refineries in Texas. Atlanta, along with about 14 other cities, require a cleaner grade of gas which is only refined at a handful of refineries, of which only one is in operation. The Governor has persuaded the EPA to temporarily release us from those restrictions, but the gas delivery will still not arrive for some time now.
When stations have received their deliveries recently, the lines begin. My wife waited in line for forty-five minutes the other night. I have heard stories of longer waits and restricted purchases. There have been fights and police. At the very least, we live in a very frustrated and panic filled metro area.
If I wouldn't look stupid on a scooter, I'd get one. I may anyway. At $4.50 a gallon, I can laugh my way to the bank.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Angela
Today was haircut day. I usually go to a stylist about twenty miles from home, but gas is pricey and hard to find, so I decided to get it cut near home.
As I have stated in a prior post, I am a creature of habit. I derive comfort from familiarity. The same girl has cut my hair for a few years, now, and for me to go to someone new was a scary thing.
People say I'm a snob because I won't go to a "fast food" style shop. My reasoning is plain and simple. The ladies (and men) that cut at most of those places have usually moved on by the time the next haircut is due, and the managers will never tell you where they went.
I was smack dab in the middle of a catch 22. My hair was long enough that it bothered me, but I didn't want to hunt and then pay for the gas to go twenty miles one way.
So that's how I found myself parked outside the Supercuts on Baker Rd in Kennesaw. When I went through the door, I saw that aside from two stylists, I was alone. A pleasant woman asked the obvious do you need a haircut question and then guided me to my stylist, Angela.
Angela was a pretty young lady with short dark hair that sported electric blue tips. She had stars tattooed on one forearm, and a very winning smile. She combed her fingers through my hair and asked how I'd like it cut. Then she did something abnormal. She listened.
After she finished cutting my hair, she washed it out (that's my favorite part of a haircut). She gave a fantastic shampoo, massaging my scalp and taking her time. Then she used a great minty cool cream rinse that made my head feel cool and tingly.
All in all the experience surprised and pleased me. I won't think twice about returning. Angela may not be there, but if she reads this, maybe she'll e-mail me when she goes on to someplace else....
As I have stated in a prior post, I am a creature of habit. I derive comfort from familiarity. The same girl has cut my hair for a few years, now, and for me to go to someone new was a scary thing.
People say I'm a snob because I won't go to a "fast food" style shop. My reasoning is plain and simple. The ladies (and men) that cut at most of those places have usually moved on by the time the next haircut is due, and the managers will never tell you where they went.
I was smack dab in the middle of a catch 22. My hair was long enough that it bothered me, but I didn't want to hunt and then pay for the gas to go twenty miles one way.
So that's how I found myself parked outside the Supercuts on Baker Rd in Kennesaw. When I went through the door, I saw that aside from two stylists, I was alone. A pleasant woman asked the obvious do you need a haircut question and then guided me to my stylist, Angela.
Angela was a pretty young lady with short dark hair that sported electric blue tips. She had stars tattooed on one forearm, and a very winning smile. She combed her fingers through my hair and asked how I'd like it cut. Then she did something abnormal. She listened.
After she finished cutting my hair, she washed it out (that's my favorite part of a haircut). She gave a fantastic shampoo, massaging my scalp and taking her time. Then she used a great minty cool cream rinse that made my head feel cool and tingly.
All in all the experience surprised and pleased me. I won't think twice about returning. Angela may not be there, but if she reads this, maybe she'll e-mail me when she goes on to someplace else....
Monday, September 22, 2008
Autumn
At 11:44 am EST today, I will officially become homesick. At 11:44 am EST today, it will officially be Autumn.
Memories flood my mind. Growing up in Maine, this time of year was wonderful. The leaves began to turn (everyone has seen all the puzzles with New England fall landscapes), the air has already taken a turn for the cool side, apples ripen on the trees as the wind starts blowing from a different direction.
I loved sports as a school kid, still do, in fact. Playing sports meant walking home from school after practice. In the fall in Yarmouth, walking home after cross country practice was a beautiful thing.
Walking down main street meant a stop at Vaughn's Pharmacy for a cherry vanilla ice cream cone (cost me a quarter). If it was exceptionally late, Mr. Vaughn would call my mom to tell her I was there, okay, and on my way home.
The last half of my walk took me down Route 88, past the boatyard and the cemetery. The hill on Route 88 was the least looked forward to part of my walk. It seemed a long hill, especially after a hard practice.
As soon as I went under the Route 1 overpass, I could see the boatyard and smell the sardine cannery. Then came that hill. Pleasant Street was a lot more steep, so 88 it would be.
Dusk came early there. The sun began to set as I walked home. At the top of the hill lay Riverside Cemetery. Now, at the back of that cemetery was a path that cut through the woods toward my house, but as I said, the sun was setting.
The next part of 88 was dotted with houses, followed by the darkest part of my walk where the trees hung over the highway as the road dipped toward it's intersection with Princes Point Road. The air would get more crisp, and the smell of the King's pines would fill my head.
Westcustogo Inn sat at that corner, and turning down the home stretch, as I reached the edge of the Inn's parking area, I would often pick a couple of golden delicious apples from one of their trees, and munch one over the last leg of my walk.
The sun was getting lower now. I passed the Millett's, then the Knoop's. I could then see the amber glow from our kitchen window. Major ran out to greet me. I was home.
Memories flood my mind. Growing up in Maine, this time of year was wonderful. The leaves began to turn (everyone has seen all the puzzles with New England fall landscapes), the air has already taken a turn for the cool side, apples ripen on the trees as the wind starts blowing from a different direction.
I loved sports as a school kid, still do, in fact. Playing sports meant walking home from school after practice. In the fall in Yarmouth, walking home after cross country practice was a beautiful thing.
Walking down main street meant a stop at Vaughn's Pharmacy for a cherry vanilla ice cream cone (cost me a quarter). If it was exceptionally late, Mr. Vaughn would call my mom to tell her I was there, okay, and on my way home.
The last half of my walk took me down Route 88, past the boatyard and the cemetery. The hill on Route 88 was the least looked forward to part of my walk. It seemed a long hill, especially after a hard practice.
As soon as I went under the Route 1 overpass, I could see the boatyard and smell the sardine cannery. Then came that hill. Pleasant Street was a lot more steep, so 88 it would be.
Dusk came early there. The sun began to set as I walked home. At the top of the hill lay Riverside Cemetery. Now, at the back of that cemetery was a path that cut through the woods toward my house, but as I said, the sun was setting.
The next part of 88 was dotted with houses, followed by the darkest part of my walk where the trees hung over the highway as the road dipped toward it's intersection with Princes Point Road. The air would get more crisp, and the smell of the King's pines would fill my head.
Westcustogo Inn sat at that corner, and turning down the home stretch, as I reached the edge of the Inn's parking area, I would often pick a couple of golden delicious apples from one of their trees, and munch one over the last leg of my walk.
The sun was getting lower now. I passed the Millett's, then the Knoop's. I could then see the amber glow from our kitchen window. Major ran out to greet me. I was home.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Help? from the SSA
Yesterday, I tried to help my mother in law change banks. The bank part was easy. We got great assistance from both banks. They understood her needs. She is handicapped, and at 80 deserves to have a few conveniences.
The hard part was Social Security. I don't think I have had to deal with a more rude person than Sandy, my agent "there to assist me". From the onset, she was on the attack. When she asked the purpose of my call, I answered that I was calling to assist my mother in law with changing banks, and part of that was changing her direct deposit. I guess she thought I was trying to steal mother's money, because she immediately increased her abusiveness.
She asked if I had filled out any forms. You could feel the snarl, impatience and doubt in her voice. I informed her that I had paperwork to show that I had mother's power of attorney. I further stated that I was primarily looking for instruction.
Sandy then asked "Did you bring her into the office and file paperwork to show you on her account???". Well, when we moved mother here, we took her to a lot of places to set things up, and I couldn't remember if Phyllis had taken her to Social Security, and I told Sandy that. "You took her to a LOT of places?" She wasn't listening or didn't understand, and now I was getting impatient.
"Could you look at her file and see if I am listed?" "Number!" I told her mother's SSN. "No, YOURS." At this point, frustrated, I said "You are being very rude. I am trying to help an 80 year old who can not hear. I waited on hold for a long ti...." "Then go online!" Click.
Sounds like instruction to forge a document to me.
The hard part was Social Security. I don't think I have had to deal with a more rude person than Sandy, my agent "there to assist me". From the onset, she was on the attack. When she asked the purpose of my call, I answered that I was calling to assist my mother in law with changing banks, and part of that was changing her direct deposit. I guess she thought I was trying to steal mother's money, because she immediately increased her abusiveness.
She asked if I had filled out any forms. You could feel the snarl, impatience and doubt in her voice. I informed her that I had paperwork to show that I had mother's power of attorney. I further stated that I was primarily looking for instruction.
Sandy then asked "Did you bring her into the office and file paperwork to show you on her account???". Well, when we moved mother here, we took her to a lot of places to set things up, and I couldn't remember if Phyllis had taken her to Social Security, and I told Sandy that. "You took her to a LOT of places?" She wasn't listening or didn't understand, and now I was getting impatient.
"Could you look at her file and see if I am listed?" "Number!" I told her mother's SSN. "No, YOURS." At this point, frustrated, I said "You are being very rude. I am trying to help an 80 year old who can not hear. I waited on hold for a long ti...." "Then go online!" Click.
Sounds like instruction to forge a document to me.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Career Ministry of Saint Catherine of Siena Church
Caroline. This lady will tell you that she has little to do with your success should you find it from the resources available at the meetings that she facilitates.
Allow me to tell you differently. From April until June, I was a job seeker. While reading the newspaper, I saw an ad for a networking group that meets near my home. I called the number advertised, and Caroline answered.
Caroline told me that I had thereby made the first step toward a new job. She convinced me that I wasn't just going to look for a job, I was going to find the right job. The job I was prepared for, trained to do, and would enjoy.
She told me of the power of networking. It sounded like group therapy, but I was willing to try anything. That night (Thursday) I attended my first meeting.
Caroline stood in front of the group and introduced the topic of the night. Before we did anything else, Caroline asked for a volunteer to pray. This is, after all, a meeting hosted in a church. She said that some of us may not have faith or believe in God, but without Him she didn't "know how you put one foot in front of the other."
What she showed me at that moment was that alone, I may not achieve my goals, but with faith, perseverance, and teamwork, I will. Not might. Will.
This network of professionals soon became a network of friends. Together we learned how to use tools and resources that I never knew existed. The team of volunteers were an abundant resource of knowledge, help and support.
Within four weeks, I had networked my way into a higher paying better job than I expected.
The key experience I drew from St. Catherine's is the loss of feeling alone. We are never alone when we have friends like those I met in those meetings.
Thank you, Caroline, for answering the phone that day. Your calm, soft, positive voice let me know that I was truly going to be alright.
You can visit the group on the first and third Thursdays of the month at 6:30 pm. The church is located at 1618 Ben King Rd in Kennesaw.
Visit their web site at http://www.scsjobs.com/
Allow me to tell you differently. From April until June, I was a job seeker. While reading the newspaper, I saw an ad for a networking group that meets near my home. I called the number advertised, and Caroline answered.
Caroline told me that I had thereby made the first step toward a new job. She convinced me that I wasn't just going to look for a job, I was going to find the right job. The job I was prepared for, trained to do, and would enjoy.
She told me of the power of networking. It sounded like group therapy, but I was willing to try anything. That night (Thursday) I attended my first meeting.
Caroline stood in front of the group and introduced the topic of the night. Before we did anything else, Caroline asked for a volunteer to pray. This is, after all, a meeting hosted in a church. She said that some of us may not have faith or believe in God, but without Him she didn't "know how you put one foot in front of the other."
What she showed me at that moment was that alone, I may not achieve my goals, but with faith, perseverance, and teamwork, I will. Not might. Will.
This network of professionals soon became a network of friends. Together we learned how to use tools and resources that I never knew existed. The team of volunteers were an abundant resource of knowledge, help and support.
Within four weeks, I had networked my way into a higher paying better job than I expected.
The key experience I drew from St. Catherine's is the loss of feeling alone. We are never alone when we have friends like those I met in those meetings.
Thank you, Caroline, for answering the phone that day. Your calm, soft, positive voice let me know that I was truly going to be alright.
You can visit the group on the first and third Thursdays of the month at 6:30 pm. The church is located at 1618 Ben King Rd in Kennesaw.
Visit their web site at http://www.scsjobs.com/
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Bailey's Pub and Grille
This afternoon, my son and I decided to take in a movie. We were hungry, so lunch came first. Just down from the theater, on Cobb Place Lane in Kennesaw, is Bailey's Pub and Grille. We decided to give it a try.
As we step into the entry way, Lillian, a manager, greets us and tells us to have a seat anywhere we like. One good thing about eating lunch late or early is you get to sit where you want. We survey the floor and sit in a booth to the left against the wall. The hostess comes over, explains the drink specials, and we both order iced tea. Our glasses never get empty from that point on.
The bar sits at the back of the room. It is a large square, open at the back. An outer bar parallels the drink bar. It is a bit higher, with seats on both sides. The bar top has built in chess boards.
The large dining room spreads out with ample room between the tables and booths that line the wall (wood from the waist down and beveled glass on top) between the dining room and the billiards room . The room is wide, open and has very high, dark, paneled walls. The dark walls, plush chairs and subdued lighting brings to mind a men's club, sans the animal trophies and monacled, pipe smoking gentlemen.
Our waitress, Jessie, takes our order. Ward gets chicken strips and I get the Philly Cheese Steak. While we wait, I note the music is not overbearing, and we can carry on a normal conversation. There is a digital jukebox that hangs on the wall next to the door to the billiards room, which houses several pool tables, and a few bars to eat at.
Our food arrives quickly, and immediately I see that we have a good bit more food than expected. My sandwich is too big to eat without using a fork. My son has the same "portion shock". His portion is unfinishable.
All in all, the experience has been wonderful, and I will be back.
Until next time....
As we step into the entry way, Lillian, a manager, greets us and tells us to have a seat anywhere we like. One good thing about eating lunch late or early is you get to sit where you want. We survey the floor and sit in a booth to the left against the wall. The hostess comes over, explains the drink specials, and we both order iced tea. Our glasses never get empty from that point on.
The bar sits at the back of the room. It is a large square, open at the back. An outer bar parallels the drink bar. It is a bit higher, with seats on both sides. The bar top has built in chess boards.
The large dining room spreads out with ample room between the tables and booths that line the wall (wood from the waist down and beveled glass on top) between the dining room and the billiards room . The room is wide, open and has very high, dark, paneled walls. The dark walls, plush chairs and subdued lighting brings to mind a men's club, sans the animal trophies and monacled, pipe smoking gentlemen.
Our waitress, Jessie, takes our order. Ward gets chicken strips and I get the Philly Cheese Steak. While we wait, I note the music is not overbearing, and we can carry on a normal conversation. There is a digital jukebox that hangs on the wall next to the door to the billiards room, which houses several pool tables, and a few bars to eat at.
Our food arrives quickly, and immediately I see that we have a good bit more food than expected. My sandwich is too big to eat without using a fork. My son has the same "portion shock". His portion is unfinishable.
All in all, the experience has been wonderful, and I will be back.
Until next time....
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Sidelines Revisited - Sept. 13, 2008
Another Alabama game on pay per view tonight. Let me see, $29 to watch at home, cook my food and serve myself. Or $34 to watch at Sidelines with others, eat a meal that is served to me (by a cute waitress named Jennifer), and have the food at home tomorrow. I went to Sidelines.
The manager came over and said hello. Phyllis asked him if he took much grief for wearing his University of Michigan polo shirt. He does take some, depending on what games are on. Everyone who works there displays their allegiance through the jersey they wear.
The crew was about the same as last time we visited. Our server was Jennifer, who was attentive, attractive and friendly.
At the bar sat the diverse blend of patrons. From aging biker dudes to young men and women dressed to party. The beautiful thing is that nobody seemed to mind who they sat next to.
The food was great, the service just right, and the atmosphere fun.
I no longer think I've found my new sports viewing hangout. I am going to fight to make it just that.
The manager came over and said hello. Phyllis asked him if he took much grief for wearing his University of Michigan polo shirt. He does take some, depending on what games are on. Everyone who works there displays their allegiance through the jersey they wear.
The crew was about the same as last time we visited. Our server was Jennifer, who was attentive, attractive and friendly.
At the bar sat the diverse blend of patrons. From aging biker dudes to young men and women dressed to party. The beautiful thing is that nobody seemed to mind who they sat next to.
The food was great, the service just right, and the atmosphere fun.
I no longer think I've found my new sports viewing hangout. I am going to fight to make it just that.
Cuppy's Coffee - Sept 11, 2008
After taking mother to the doctor, I had some time to kill before work, so I stopped in to Cuppy's for a visit.
As soon as I entered, Alanna smiled and called out my name. Is that not the kind of hello you want at any establishment? Abby (our lady of rainbows and lollipops) was there, smiled and asked me what I'd have. I ordered my scone and coke. As I paid, I saw the tip cup with a sign that said "Instant Karma". I tossed my change in, and told Abby I liked the sign. When Abby told me she made it up, I asked "the sign or the song?".
To my dismay, I was having a difficult time getting Abby to recognize that great song. There was a gentleman at a table near me. He was working on his laptop, and turned it toward Abby, and with the press of a key, John Lennon's voice came through the air. "Ohhhhh I know that song!"
A feeling of age and comradery hit me at the same moment. Abby went on telling me of how she loved the Beatles. How her car was named Lucy and her son's favorite movie is Yellow Submarine. I couldn't help but feel old, knowing that I was alive when the Beatles were still recording.
That man at the next table pitched in, saying how great it was that she was teaching her kids about the history and foundation of modern music. We shared with each other our thoughts of early music, and agreed on most things. We introduced ourselves. his name was Will Underwood. He asked me what I did, and I told him of my occupation and my writing. I asked him what he does, and he told me that when he isn't performing, he works for a fence company. When he is performing, he is a hired guitarist for the Georgia Satellites. Perhaps you know the song "Keep Your Hands To Yourself"?
When Will asked me about my writing, I told him about my blog, and how I wrote of experiences. I explained that I enjoy writing about observations. We talked about how important it is to pay attention to people. How sitting in a coffee shop, you can find out a lot about folks. Alanna pitched in, saying that people come to her shop and end up networking. People have come in, and end up in conversations or light debates with perfect strangers. The strangers then become acquaintances, and some become friends.
We talked about how all too often we are thinking about what we are going to say instead of listening to what others are saying. How we've been given two eyes, two ears but only one mouth.
People have a lot to share if we just let them. We may even learn something.
What have I learned (or re-learned)? Quit looking at the floor. Look people in the eyes. Listen. Listen. Listen some more. Smile and respond when spoken to. Say "How are you?". Care what the answer is. Care in general. All you need is love, love is all you need.
Oh, and, Amanda, that guy Will loves you more than breath.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Dr. Cantrell
Yesterday, I had the pleasure of visiting my doctor, Dr. David Cantrell. My wife sees Dr. Cousins, with whom my doctor shares a practice, but to my mother in law and me, Dr. Cantrell is it.
The building is brick, house-like, and sits on a treed lot off of the beaten path on Vann Street at the far side of the hospital district. Walking in, the cool air hits me, and it feels good. I signed us (mother and myself) in and turned to the waiting room.
The whole interior of the building is colored with earth tones, primarily that old brown reserved for a quiet den or study. The waiting room is like all doctor's office waiting rooms of my childhood. There's a fireplace, easy chairs and country style paintings. It is quiet and well, but softly lit. In the background I hear the soft buzz of voices from the office. The lighthearted office chatter and efficient movement of the staff lends a sense of security, like you're being cared for by mom.
The sample reps in their business suits and perfect smiles come and go while the patients, mostly mid thirties and older (when and why did we ever get away from the whole family seeing the same doctor?), wait to hear their name called.
As soon as my name is called, I knew that I would have to step on the scale. The nurse smiled at my balking and weighed me just the same. When she walked me to the examination room and took my vitals, I realized that everyone I passed had looked me in the eye, smiled and spoke.
I waited only a few minutes, and then in came Dr. Cantrell. He is the epitome of the family physician. Balding on top and microscopically close cut on the sides, his glasses perched on the end of his nose so he can read my chart and look over them to see me. He reaches out with a firm handshake, looks me in the eye and asks "Why are we here?", as if he didn't already know. The real reason he asks is because he wants me to talk. My mother in law, a hard to please retired RN, says she likes him because "he lets you talk and LISTENS when you do". He tilts his head and listens to my whole statement, and then addresses my chart.
Soon, the examination is over, and all is well. Dr. Cantrell's advice is clear, and my questions have been answered.
When checking out, I schedule my next appointment, happy to know that I get to come back.
The building is brick, house-like, and sits on a treed lot off of the beaten path on Vann Street at the far side of the hospital district. Walking in, the cool air hits me, and it feels good. I signed us (mother and myself) in and turned to the waiting room.
The whole interior of the building is colored with earth tones, primarily that old brown reserved for a quiet den or study. The waiting room is like all doctor's office waiting rooms of my childhood. There's a fireplace, easy chairs and country style paintings. It is quiet and well, but softly lit. In the background I hear the soft buzz of voices from the office. The lighthearted office chatter and efficient movement of the staff lends a sense of security, like you're being cared for by mom.
The sample reps in their business suits and perfect smiles come and go while the patients, mostly mid thirties and older (when and why did we ever get away from the whole family seeing the same doctor?), wait to hear their name called.
As soon as my name is called, I knew that I would have to step on the scale. The nurse smiled at my balking and weighed me just the same. When she walked me to the examination room and took my vitals, I realized that everyone I passed had looked me in the eye, smiled and spoke.
I waited only a few minutes, and then in came Dr. Cantrell. He is the epitome of the family physician. Balding on top and microscopically close cut on the sides, his glasses perched on the end of his nose so he can read my chart and look over them to see me. He reaches out with a firm handshake, looks me in the eye and asks "Why are we here?", as if he didn't already know. The real reason he asks is because he wants me to talk. My mother in law, a hard to please retired RN, says she likes him because "he lets you talk and LISTENS when you do". He tilts his head and listens to my whole statement, and then addresses my chart.
Soon, the examination is over, and all is well. Dr. Cantrell's advice is clear, and my questions have been answered.
When checking out, I schedule my next appointment, happy to know that I get to come back.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Cuppy's Coffee - Upcoming Stuff
Just a short note to let you know that in true coffeehouse style, Cuppy's has live open mic on the weekends, and may soon offer poetry readings.
I like this kind of thing. It's an opportunity for perfect strangers to open themselves up to one another. Too often, we walk past people with our eyes on our shoes. We say hello, but couldn't describe the person two seconds later.
I'm thrilled that we have an opportunity to get to know more people by really listening to them.
More to come (practicing my finger snapping and looking for a black beret).
I like this kind of thing. It's an opportunity for perfect strangers to open themselves up to one another. Too often, we walk past people with our eyes on our shoes. We say hello, but couldn't describe the person two seconds later.
I'm thrilled that we have an opportunity to get to know more people by really listening to them.
More to come (practicing my finger snapping and looking for a black beret).
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sidelines Grille - Acworth
On Saturday, Sept 06, Phyllis and I wanted to catch the end of the Alabama vs Tulane football game, which was only on pay per view TV. We decided to drive over to Sidelines Grille on Cobb Pkwy in Acworth.
Before arriving, we were concerned that we might not find a table near the television showing our preferred game. On entering, our fears dissipated. There seemed to be a television every three feet, and a wide screen in our room that was showing our game! Some of the tables had televisions of their own (ours was one that did). We could adjust the volume and hear the announcers without disturbing anyone else.
The restaurant was divided into two rooms. Ours was small with a dozen or so tables in it. That room used to be smoke free and was once glassed in to separate it from the bar. The glass has been removed to make the whole restaurant smoker friendly. The other room housed a good-sized square bar (near our wall) with tables on the fringes and even more tables on the side away from us.
We had a lot of fun. We could follow a bunch of different games, and watch a lot of entertaining people. The staff was primarily young women. The wait staff, most of whom had on very short shorts (ours didn't) and football jerseys rolled up to expose their midriff (ours didn't) seemed to be having a great time. Again I will say that a happy employee generally makes for good service.
Off to my left sat a table comprised of two body-builder guys and their Barbie doll meets South Beach dates. They were paying attention to the Florida vs Miami game, cheering for Miami. Two booths up from us sat two lady Bama fans. Their table did not have a television. They did not choose wisely.
Next to us were three tall tables in the center of the room. A couple of people sat there but soon changed to low tables. Maybe they feel like I do. When I go to a restaurant, I don't want to be on display. Nobody should know when I spill something.
At one low table sat about five guys and another Acworth goes South Beach blonde. They didn't pay any attention to the football, but as soon as Ultimate Fight Club pay per view came on, they went nuts.
At the bar sat a wide variety of people, most of whom were slightly older than the folks at the tables (why is that?). They all seemed to be having a good time. One guy, probably in his forties had his arm around his date's chair. It was fun to watch. He would let his hand slip and try to turn it into a hug, and she would pick his hand up and put it back on the chair.
Two guys, mid thirties, sat at a high top between the bar and our room. They were high-fiving each other every time their team did something of note.
All in all it was a very enjoyable experience. The food was good, the staff friendly and the crowd a very good cross section of people.
I think I've found my new hangout when normal television coverage does not include my game.
Before arriving, we were concerned that we might not find a table near the television showing our preferred game. On entering, our fears dissipated. There seemed to be a television every three feet, and a wide screen in our room that was showing our game! Some of the tables had televisions of their own (ours was one that did). We could adjust the volume and hear the announcers without disturbing anyone else.
The restaurant was divided into two rooms. Ours was small with a dozen or so tables in it. That room used to be smoke free and was once glassed in to separate it from the bar. The glass has been removed to make the whole restaurant smoker friendly. The other room housed a good-sized square bar (near our wall) with tables on the fringes and even more tables on the side away from us.
We had a lot of fun. We could follow a bunch of different games, and watch a lot of entertaining people. The staff was primarily young women. The wait staff, most of whom had on very short shorts (ours didn't) and football jerseys rolled up to expose their midriff (ours didn't) seemed to be having a great time. Again I will say that a happy employee generally makes for good service.
Off to my left sat a table comprised of two body-builder guys and their Barbie doll meets South Beach dates. They were paying attention to the Florida vs Miami game, cheering for Miami. Two booths up from us sat two lady Bama fans. Their table did not have a television. They did not choose wisely.
Next to us were three tall tables in the center of the room. A couple of people sat there but soon changed to low tables. Maybe they feel like I do. When I go to a restaurant, I don't want to be on display. Nobody should know when I spill something.
At one low table sat about five guys and another Acworth goes South Beach blonde. They didn't pay any attention to the football, but as soon as Ultimate Fight Club pay per view came on, they went nuts.
At the bar sat a wide variety of people, most of whom were slightly older than the folks at the tables (why is that?). They all seemed to be having a good time. One guy, probably in his forties had his arm around his date's chair. It was fun to watch. He would let his hand slip and try to turn it into a hug, and she would pick his hand up and put it back on the chair.
Two guys, mid thirties, sat at a high top between the bar and our room. They were high-fiving each other every time their team did something of note.
All in all it was a very enjoyable experience. The food was good, the staff friendly and the crowd a very good cross section of people.
I think I've found my new hangout when normal television coverage does not include my game.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Cuppy's Coffee
It was in March or April I first met Alanna Z. I'll post her last name after she gives me permission. Alanna was pushing a cart through the housewares department of the Target store where I worked. She was looking for some items to help spruce up her new coffee shop. She had a good New England accent, and being from Maine, I was inclined to hear more of the phonetic tones I had missed for so long.
Once her search was over, Alanna told me that I could get a free cup of coffee on my first visit. I am not one to ignore the word free when it comes to food or drink. When I finally had the opportunity to make my first visit, I was in a hurry and got my free cup to go. That was a shame in itself, but that's another segment.
The coffee was great. I'm not much of a designer coffee guy, but I really liked that Mocha. There was no bitter aftertaste that I am so not fond of. Alanna was there, and pointed out the things she and I had put in her cart, smilingly introducing me to her employees as the Target guy who helped her out.
My second visit to Cuppy's Coffee was a good bit more leisurely. I got a chance to converse with quite possibly the happiest barista on the planet. If I remember, she said she had sunshine and rainbows (or lollipops?) for breakfast. I enjoyed a chocolate chip scone and a coke (not a coffee guy so much).
My scone was wonderful! I was prepared for the scone to be handed to me in a paper bag, but got it warm, on a plate, with chocolate drizzle! For the first time, I ate a scone with a fork.
The shop is part of a strip of shops, but being on a corner gives it a stand alone feel. The decor is homey with a New Orleans flair. There is a small platform for open mic night (on Friday and Saturday, they have their own musical showdown). There is a conference room, though I've never seen it, and a small sidewalk cafe style patio.
I came back for lunch once. I used their WiFi and got an incredible Chicken Chipotle Panini served up by two young ladies who looked like they'd been snatched right out of the California sun, pearly white smiles and all. That's another thing. It doesn't matter when I go, every worker seems genuinely happy to be there. That is not so common nowadays. Happy workers make for good service.
Well I'm off to bed. I work late tomorrow, so maybe I'll pay Alanna and her crew a visit in the morning. In case you are wondering, they are at 1600 Kennesaw Due West Rd in Kennesaw, Ga.
http://stores.cuppyscoffee.com/305/ is their url
Catch up with me tomorrow...
Once her search was over, Alanna told me that I could get a free cup of coffee on my first visit. I am not one to ignore the word free when it comes to food or drink. When I finally had the opportunity to make my first visit, I was in a hurry and got my free cup to go. That was a shame in itself, but that's another segment.
The coffee was great. I'm not much of a designer coffee guy, but I really liked that Mocha. There was no bitter aftertaste that I am so not fond of. Alanna was there, and pointed out the things she and I had put in her cart, smilingly introducing me to her employees as the Target guy who helped her out.
My second visit to Cuppy's Coffee was a good bit more leisurely. I got a chance to converse with quite possibly the happiest barista on the planet. If I remember, she said she had sunshine and rainbows (or lollipops?) for breakfast. I enjoyed a chocolate chip scone and a coke (not a coffee guy so much).
My scone was wonderful! I was prepared for the scone to be handed to me in a paper bag, but got it warm, on a plate, with chocolate drizzle! For the first time, I ate a scone with a fork.
The shop is part of a strip of shops, but being on a corner gives it a stand alone feel. The decor is homey with a New Orleans flair. There is a small platform for open mic night (on Friday and Saturday, they have their own musical showdown). There is a conference room, though I've never seen it, and a small sidewalk cafe style patio.
I came back for lunch once. I used their WiFi and got an incredible Chicken Chipotle Panini served up by two young ladies who looked like they'd been snatched right out of the California sun, pearly white smiles and all. That's another thing. It doesn't matter when I go, every worker seems genuinely happy to be there. That is not so common nowadays. Happy workers make for good service.
Well I'm off to bed. I work late tomorrow, so maybe I'll pay Alanna and her crew a visit in the morning. In case you are wondering, they are at 1600 Kennesaw Due West Rd in Kennesaw, Ga.
http://stores.cuppyscoffee.com/305/ is their url
Catch up with me tomorrow...
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