I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.
There is great need for a sarcasm font.
How the heck are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
Was learning cursive really necessary?
MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. I'm pretty sure I know how to get out of my neighborhood.
Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
Bad decisions make good stories.
You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? I don't want to have to restart my collection...again.
I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten-page technical report that I swear I did not make any changes to.
"Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this -- ever.
I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Da** it!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voice mail. What did you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?
I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.
I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
I think the freezer deserves a light as well.
I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lite than Kay.
I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.
Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realize I had no idea what the heck was going on when I first saw it.
I would rather try to carry 10 over-loaded plastic bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.
The only time I look forward to a red light is when I'm trying to finish a text.
I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?
I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!
Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.
There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.
Sometimes I'll look down at my watch three consecutive times and still not know what time it is.
Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey -- but I'd bet anything that everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time!
Friday, August 20, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Rogerio
It doesn’t matter how you rationalize it because no matter what you think or say, it’s going to be your fault. Day-shift crew bailed to another airplane? Too Bad. Can’t get a part? Too Bad. The guy who was supposed to troubleshoot the fuel quantity problem went on vacation? Too bad.
So you sit outside at the taxi stand listening to people talk Portuguese around you. The June, Brazilian, fall rain is cold and you see your breath rise. Looking down to the cobblestones and you see a group of ants bringing food into the nest and you chide yourself for calling them the most motivated workers at the facility. The 12 hour day is a blur and then you remember how hungry that you are. Then the thoughts of self-doubt run back into your head…. Did I forget anything? Did I do everything I could do to move the airplane on time? No matter what you do, it’s going to be wrong. The cold rain falls and the seconds on the watch face drag.
Then from down the cobblestones comes a familiar sight. It’s Rogerio. In a bright orange Fiat taxi (number 2124) he comes up to the curb, greets you with a handshake and a smile and away you go back to your hotel. Rogerio came recommended to us by a staff member of the facility because of his knowledge of the English language.
As a US citizen you’re spoiled. I mean really. It doesn’t matter where you go, you expect the people you meet to be fluent in the English language. It’s arrogant, it’s self-centered, and as a citizen of the good old U S of flippin A, by God you expect it. Oh no my friend. Direct you to a toilet? Sure. Get you a beer? Maybe. Get you proper directions to a hotel? Good luck with that. Sure, Portuguese and Spanish may sound similar but they are further apart then you think. And as someone who failed College Spanish I knew that I was going to be deep into it when push came to shove.
So back to the other side of the equator you go. It’s Minneapolis to Atlanta to Rio to Florinopolis and finally to Porto Alegre. You claim your bags and walk into the cool Brazilian air to find your contemporaries with the leasing company. Friends yes but still adversaries. They have their best interests in mind and you have your own. And standing there with a big smile and a handshake is Rogerio. You make your introductions and soon it’s off like a rocket through the crowded streets of Porto Alegre, Rogerio setting you at ease with his humor and easy way. His English is accented and at times difficult to understand, and yet, his laugh sets you at ease like you’ve known him all of your life.
On our first trip down to Porto Alegre we thought it would be self-sufficient and rent our own vehicle. Five minutes into the process we realized that we were in way over our heads. A fifteen-minute trip to our hotel wound up to be a two-hour journey in the hills and the rain. One night going to dinner we wound up following the wrong car for a few minutes and wound up on the opposite side of town. Thank God our cell phone batteries held up as we tried to remain in constant communications with our leasing company contacts. We ate and drank well that night. Lesson learned, next time hire a driver.
Rogerio took care of us. If we were working late and he was going to be off shift, he’d make a phone call and have one of his trusted friends come over and pick us up at the facility or hotel. He was always there with a smile, with a good attitude, and best of all, a clean safe ride. On our rides back and forth to work he would give us some local favor, share dirty jokes, and put us at ease. We always felt better when we got out of the car than when we got in.
For two weeks he was there, and the three of us appreciated his kindness and hospitality. When we shook hands to say goodbye at the end of our project it was bittersweet, as we know that we were saying goodbye to a good friend. The chances of us going back to Porto Alegre are slim, but if we do I know who to call for a smile and a ride. If you ever plan on going to Porto Alegre and need a taxi please let me know.
So you sit outside at the taxi stand listening to people talk Portuguese around you. The June, Brazilian, fall rain is cold and you see your breath rise. Looking down to the cobblestones and you see a group of ants bringing food into the nest and you chide yourself for calling them the most motivated workers at the facility. The 12 hour day is a blur and then you remember how hungry that you are. Then the thoughts of self-doubt run back into your head…. Did I forget anything? Did I do everything I could do to move the airplane on time? No matter what you do, it’s going to be wrong. The cold rain falls and the seconds on the watch face drag.
Then from down the cobblestones comes a familiar sight. It’s Rogerio. In a bright orange Fiat taxi (number 2124) he comes up to the curb, greets you with a handshake and a smile and away you go back to your hotel. Rogerio came recommended to us by a staff member of the facility because of his knowledge of the English language.
As a US citizen you’re spoiled. I mean really. It doesn’t matter where you go, you expect the people you meet to be fluent in the English language. It’s arrogant, it’s self-centered, and as a citizen of the good old U S of flippin A, by God you expect it. Oh no my friend. Direct you to a toilet? Sure. Get you a beer? Maybe. Get you proper directions to a hotel? Good luck with that. Sure, Portuguese and Spanish may sound similar but they are further apart then you think. And as someone who failed College Spanish I knew that I was going to be deep into it when push came to shove.
So back to the other side of the equator you go. It’s Minneapolis to Atlanta to Rio to Florinopolis and finally to Porto Alegre. You claim your bags and walk into the cool Brazilian air to find your contemporaries with the leasing company. Friends yes but still adversaries. They have their best interests in mind and you have your own. And standing there with a big smile and a handshake is Rogerio. You make your introductions and soon it’s off like a rocket through the crowded streets of Porto Alegre, Rogerio setting you at ease with his humor and easy way. His English is accented and at times difficult to understand, and yet, his laugh sets you at ease like you’ve known him all of your life.
On our first trip down to Porto Alegre we thought it would be self-sufficient and rent our own vehicle. Five minutes into the process we realized that we were in way over our heads. A fifteen-minute trip to our hotel wound up to be a two-hour journey in the hills and the rain. One night going to dinner we wound up following the wrong car for a few minutes and wound up on the opposite side of town. Thank God our cell phone batteries held up as we tried to remain in constant communications with our leasing company contacts. We ate and drank well that night. Lesson learned, next time hire a driver.
Rogerio took care of us. If we were working late and he was going to be off shift, he’d make a phone call and have one of his trusted friends come over and pick us up at the facility or hotel. He was always there with a smile, with a good attitude, and best of all, a clean safe ride. On our rides back and forth to work he would give us some local favor, share dirty jokes, and put us at ease. We always felt better when we got out of the car than when we got in.
For two weeks he was there, and the three of us appreciated his kindness and hospitality. When we shook hands to say goodbye at the end of our project it was bittersweet, as we know that we were saying goodbye to a good friend. The chances of us going back to Porto Alegre are slim, but if we do I know who to call for a smile and a ride. If you ever plan on going to Porto Alegre and need a taxi please let me know.
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