For a long time I’ve said that parents are the worst people to have children. That much seemed obvious. But the burning question remained. Why?
I was pondering the current state of the National Football League (NFL) when it hit me. On second thought, perhaps “hit me” isn’t the best turn of phrase in conjunction with the NFL these days.
First there was the Ray Rice video where he punched his then-fiancée in the face. That shined a stark light on the issue of domestic violence within the league. The video hasn’t changed the reality of what has always been a very serious matter but now, thanks to the virality of the video, the issue is finally being taken more seriously.
News media took the ball and ran with it. The journalists scurried to look under rocks and ask probing questions like, “Who else might be doing stuff like this?”
With the NFL under a microscope suddenly all bets were off. I’m not sure how but the next big thing in NFL umbrage was the Adrian Peterson who was arrested for child abuse after “whooping” his four-year-old son using a “switch.”
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Did I mention poop yet?
This is the story of a stranger doing all of the travel planning for the final day of our vacation. And we owe it all to poop.
Quick history lesson: It all started on the second day of this blog. I wrote a post entitled Gold Nugget Economics where I espoused the commerce philosophy held by most bosses that everything they produce is a solid gold nugget and everything made by anyone else is poop.
I didn’t set out with a poop agenda on my new blog but there it was on Day Two. What can I say? It fit my economic theory perfectly. Before long the word had been used in several posts. It became a trend. Eventually it became my #1 tag. It was officially a thing.
At that point I did what anyone would do. I vowed to do whatever it took to make sure it stayed #1. Forever. And I would literally move mountains to keep that promise to my loyal reader.
Fast forward to our vacation in Seaside, Oregon this week. We rented a beach house with good friends. We were walking down the main drag. The women folk were shopping. We men were wandering, lost and bored and wondering, “Why the hell aren’t there any fucking benches in this town?” It’s almost like they didn’t want people sitting when they could be spending their money on the quintessential beach crap like fudge, salt water taffy, wind toys, plastic implements of sandcastle construction and nautical-themed nicknacks.
It was then I spied the shirt hanging in front of the cheesy t-shirt shop. “I pooped today.” Houston, we have a problem.
All the way from international waters comes today’s impromptu Top Ten list.
Top Ten Things Wrong With The Beach
4. Too many dogs.
5. Too few cats.
7. Attracts small children.
8. Proof of the circle of life scattered as far as the eye can see. See: exoskeleton.
9. Smelly wind.
10. All sandy lumps are potentially dog poop repositories. Step lively.
Bonus: Slowsand. (Swallows far too few people.)
Pro Tip: When you first arrive at the beach excitedly go for a five-mile walk beside the waves. This will effectively cripple you for the rest of your stay.
Living in Oregon we don’t know much about sales taxes. That basically means we’re idiots. We’d rather pay a higher income tax than allow tourism pick up a part of our tab. You know, like we do when we visit most other states. Oregonians are rabidly opposed to the concept of a sales tax, which is understandable, but it only ends up shooting us in the foot. Some would actually consider a sales tax if it was accompanied by offset of equal amount on our income taxes. Unfortunately no one trusts the politicians that much.
I have to admit, it is pretty nice to be given a receipt and pay what’s show on the receipt. Too bad all states don’t do it that way. If my bill in an Oregon restaurant is $19.73 then that’s exactly what I pay. And I tip on that amount. Simple. Easy.
Occasionally we make a kibble run across the Washington border. It’s just a hop, skip and a jump across over mighty Columbia River. We don’t do it often, though, since it is means making a cash contribution of 8.4% to our neighbors to the north when they don’t do the same thing for us.
Correction: The current sales tax in Vancouver, WA, is 8.400 percent. Isn’t it funny how sales tax are one of those things that always get calculated to that fifth digit of precision?
This morning, though, I decided to grab some breakfast in downtown Vancouver. I’ve reproduced our ticket from the meal in the image to the right. Yes, I used the Comics Sans font because the situation fucking demands it.
- $1.75 for a cup of diner coffee? Pro: Free refiles. Cons: That’s the same price as a small black coffee at Starbucks except it was barely quaffable.
- Note that the location for “tax” is left blank even though we’re in a taxing situation.
No tax shown? What’s up with that? Don’t they have to tell you?
Then comes the credit card receipt. Although we were told our meal was $19.73 the amount on the receipt is $21.39. What magic is this? Logic and math skills dictate that the amount of tax must have been $1.66. I can’t quite do the division in my head but that pencils out to be a tax rate of 8.4316 percent.
What the hell? Turns out the actual tax was $1.65732 so they rounded it up to the nearest penny. Voila! A higher tax rate is born. As far as I’m concerned the great State of Washington now owes me $0.00268. Can I put on a lien on their ass?
That, however, is not the point. Take a careful look at that receipt. What, exactly, is being asked of me? If one isn’t careful, one might assume that the tip is supposed to be a function of $21.39. Remember, that’s the price of the meal bloated with the added taxation.
Is this some sort of VAT situation? (Just like the food?) What’s “value added” here? Not only did you get me to offset your income taxes with my sales tax donation, but you expect me to voluntarily pay extra for the privilege? Is this a vigorish? Is some guy named Guido in the back going to break my legs if I don’t comply? Does the house always have to win?
In this particular situation I tipped 20 percent. Based on my sales volume, the difference between tipping on the pre-tax amount (or not) is only 33 cents. Either way, it’s not a big deal. But, to me, it’s the principle of the thing. I tipped 20 percent. But if my server looks at it the wrong way, she’ll be thinking it was only 18 percent.
What do you think? Do you tip based on the overall total or the pre-tax amount? Or, like me, are you simply going to shun all states with sales taxes?
If you can’t be popular, here’s the next best thing: Appearing popular. This post also illustrates quite nicely the perils and pitfalls of embedded content. I can’t even remember what kind of image was supposed to go in that now gaping hole. I guess I should have stolen it rather than doing it the nice way. Live and learn!
Originally posted on Shouts from the Abyss:
If you’re lucky maybe it’ll be a little bit of both.
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I laughed uproariously at this so it’s my no-brainer Reblog Of The Week. Oh, the writing is sublime. “All wearing outfits straight off a Nordstrom’s mannequin.” Squee! If you are intelligent enough to click the link and visit the site a real treat lies in wait-er. Even the post tags made me laugh.
Originally posted on finewhininganddining:
It’s a Saturday night, weeks ago. The night is going well. Tables are nice, everything is running smoothly and everyone is happy with their experience so far, myself included.
Until the table of Fuckers came in.
I capitalize “Fuckers” because these five people were not a family, but they all embodied the same kind of shitty fuck yourself-ness that I hope would be linked genetically to only one unfortunate bloodline, so that we could kill them off and not have to worry about them ever reappearing. Like Hitler, or the Kardashians. Or Kanye West. But now there’s a hybrid Westashian that we need to watch out for. There’s evil all around, and that kid has already conquered the North, West, and Northwest regions. So. Just look out for that.
I forgot what I’m talking about, so I’ll mention that Katy Perry’s “The One That Got Away” is actually a really…
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