Holiday Hell: Bellying up to the Buffet

Whenever we go to the International Chain that Doesn't Support Skanky Socialites (affectionately called No-Ho's), I rarely, if ever, hit the breakfast buffet.

The last thing I need first thing in the morning is the fat and cholesterol table, and if I'm there, that's where I'll head to .

I have no impulse control, and I can snarf up bacon faster than Paris Hilton can say "That's Hot!"

What I really want in the morning is a half hour by myself to bathe, dress and run the same pot of coffee through the mini coffee maker 3 times to brew out the last little smidgeon of caffeine and flavor from those coffee pods. Then I'm ready to face the morning.

So hubby usually has breakfast duty.

But since it was just me and the boys, I had to accompany them to the buffet. There's absolutely no way I could let them go by themselves.

You know those people who always ask themselves What Would Jesus Do?

I'm always asking myself What Could Go Wrong?

Plenty, I tell you. Plenty!

I was standing at the buffet examining a big chafing dish full of yellow glop, and trying to figure out what in the heck it was.

Banana Pudding? Wallpaper Paste?

It was next to cheesy scrambled eggs. Could it be Hollandaise Sauce? But aren't Eggs Benedict made with poached eggs and English Muffins?

While my foot was tapping to perky oldies music that was piped into the dining room, I stirred it, and little slices of link sausage drifted to the top.

Hello there. Scratch Banana Pudding. I hope.

Over my shoulder, I heard a small voice say, "I'm sorry, Sir. There's nothing I can do about this."

Then a loud and strident bark, "Well, we'll just see about that!!"

I maneuvered myself behind the fruit and muffin table so I could be nosy and get a look at the big mouth. He, a tanned, late middle-aged asshat in golf attire seated next to his well-preserved and manicured wife, was dialing furiously into his cell phone, while a very petite, very young waitperson stood by and looked a little scared.

Oooh, what was the problem? A tooth in his oatmeal? A hair plug in his prune juice?

At that moment, Little Guy asked me if he could have a cheese danish AND a raspberry one. Eyeballing his piled-up plate, I lost a couple of minutes of the smackdown trying to convince the kid into choosing just one.

I have no idea who Big Mouth was calling. The front desk? The No-Ho Hotel Corporate office? Geraldo Rivera?

When I turned back, all I caught was, "Are you telling ME there's no way to change the station? Because I'm telling YOU that Nancy Sinatra singing These Boots are Made for Walking is completely inappropriate breakfast music!"

I sh*t you not. I almost dropped my plate. Bahahahaha!

BTW---the yellow glop is the hotel chain's version of sausage gravy. It consists of yellow chicken gravy and sliced up sausage links. Blech!

Holiday Hell: Mountain Mom Goes to The Big Bad City

I was "supposed" to get a few days off by myself. That was the plan. A couple of days in a nice hotel room with absolute quiet to unwind my tightly-wrapped-self and recharge my batteries.

No kids. No dogs. No kids fighting with each other. No dogs fighting with each other. No kids and dogs fighting with each other.

No schoolwork. No housework.

No checking a certain someone's body parts for signs of tumors or flesh-eating bacteria.

I was going to visit my mom and get ME a little Mommying time. Even big girls need that sometimes, when things are feeling tough.

Life never seems to work out as planned, does it?

Yes, I know whining is unattractive. Can I at least have a little leeway for a minor pout?

What started out as a "me" weekend, turned into a "me and both boys" weekend. They felt that they too deserved a mental health break, and worked me over like Tony Soprano worked over Ralph Cifaretto before cutting his head off.

There was a concert in The Big City that the Big Kid was dying to go to, and the Little Guy was missing his Grandma too.

How dare I contemplate depriving them?

So I caved in.

Big Kid's Ipod pooped the bed a few weeks ago. Since there aren't any authorized Apple dealers in the Smaller Big City that is closest to us, and we'd be staying downtown in The Big City, I thought there might be a store there so we could get it looked at.

There was one. At Really Snooty Shopping Mall.

I called first to get the skinny. And walked into the Twilight Zone.

"Thank you for calling the Apple Store. This is Thorne speaking."

Thorne? Have I stumbled into an episode of The Young and the Useless?

Hi! I was calling to get some information. My son's Ipod isn't working, and he thinks it might be the battery. Is there someone there who could test the battery before we purchase a new one, just in case that's not the problem?

"Sure! You just have to make an appointment with a Genius."

Huh?

A what?

"You have to make a reservation at our Genius Bar."

Genius Bar? WTF is that?

Uh, I'm coming through from out of town, and I have no idea of when we'll be in the area. If we just came in, could we wait until someone could look at it?

Thorne turned on the snoot. Obviously I was just a yokel who normally shops at bourgeois establishments like Best Buy or Circuit City.

"We're very busy. If you just come in, it could be hours before we could seat you at the Bar."

Seat me? Am I going to be ordering the battery platter with a side of crunchy circuit boards?

I was completely bewildered.

At this point, if Thorne had been infused with the slightest modicum of customer service, he would have realized that I was a neophyte in the world of Apple and taken a second to enlighten a doofus like me. The "Genius Bar" was their "fix-it" desk, and the "Geniuses" were techs trained to diagnose problems in Ipods and Macs.

But no. That might have messed up his manicure.

Oooookaaaay, how about tomorrow at 2pm?

"Certainly! Can I have your name?"

Attila the Mom.

"And your email address?"

I'm going to be traveling, you prat. Think I'm going to be toting along my desktop to check my email for Genius Bar seating plan updates?

None.

"We'll see you tomorrow at 2!"

After a few moments of contemplating our schedule, I called back.

"Thank you for calling the Apple Store. This is Thorne speaking."

Hi Thorne, this is ATM again. Could I change our reservation with the "Genius" to 3pm?

"Of course! Do you want me to cancel your 2pm reservation?"

Well duh. No wonder you're answering phones and not serving computer cocktails behind the "Bar" with the Geniuses!

Long long story short now. Really Snooty Mall is a block long with minimal parking. We ended up paying 8 bucks for valet service. The Genius Bar was manned by peeps wearing fake Ipods around their necks as name tags and precious black t-shirts with one little word on them---you got it---"Genius" (I swear! I am NOT making this up! Click on the picture to make it larger!).

I'm not making fun of the employees. I'm sure that this get-up is required wearing, and it's not their fault.

Of course, Big Kid's IPod warranty expired three months ago. The tech hooked it up to his diagnostic system and said, "I think it's either your hard drive or your circuit board".

You mean your Genius computer doesn't know?

He handed us a business card to a non-Apple company and told us to contact them for repair. How weird was that?

Holiday Hell to be continued...