Tinkerings

I like coffee.  I don’t think that’s a big secret.  Some people mistakenly believe that I love Starbucks coffee.  And that simply is not true.  I drink great coffee at a number of different places.  In fact, sometimes I wonder if I’m simply addicted to 12 ounce paper cups wrapped in cardboard rings with plastic lids snapped on top.

Some have asked how I can afford Starbucks every day.  Well, its pretty simple really.  I just drink coffee.  I don’t drink coffee flavored milk.  Or coffee infused with large amounts of steamed air.  I don’t pay for ice to make it cold or drizzles of caramel to make it pretty.  I just want coffee.  I want it hot.  I want it strong.  And I want it black. And on a bad day, I’ll get a coffee with a double shot of espresso.

What I do like about Starbucks is its attention to detail when it comes to their clientele.  Most people that drink coffee there are connected to the world through their wifi.  Not all, of course,  And for those people who aren’t, Starbucks offers various newspapers from around the country.  And with the app on my phone, I am never without money to purchase what I want.  It automatically reloads more money when I get below $10.  And every purchase leads to something “free.”

But other places do a better job of connecting back to me.  And I like going there as well.  My first trip to Lasater’s in Cleveland was recorded on FourSquare, and I immediately got feedback from them to my Twitter account.  They were paying attention to what was being said about them.  The same was true with BonLife.  My first trip there was less than spectacular.  Not because the coffee was bad, but because the seating wasn’t comfortable.  They quickly responded to my Tweet to let me know it was a work in progress, and they hoped I would try them again.  And I have.  And its great.

Yesterday, I went to the Topeca coffee shop at the Hyatt in downtown Tulsa.  There is one in my hotel here at The Mayo as well.  And it came highly recommended as some of the best coffee in the city.  I made a point to get to the Hyatt early enough to enjoy some this spectacular coffee before the Magnet Schools of America Conference kicked off.  I arrived at 6:10.  It doesn’t open until 6:30.  So, I sent out this Tweet on FourSquare:

Yes, I sent it out before I had coffee.  It was supposed to be a joke about their opening time.  So, you can imagine my embarrassment when I got this reply later in the day:

They were paying attention.  Social media, and their presence on it, matters to them.  The same way it did for Lasater’s and BonLife.  I’ve ranted about the poor service at Starbucks and never been noticed.  I complained online about the new furniture they put in two years ago.  Not a peep.

The same kind of thing is true for educators.  If we are online, we have to care about our presence online.  We can’t say we’re on Twitter and never send out a Tweet.  We can’t say we Tweet if we aren’t sharing and having a conversation.  Lurking is ok for a time, but after a bit you have to engage or your presence is meaningless.

This week I’m at the Magnet Schools of America conference in Tulsa, OK.  At the beginning of the day yesterday, they had a slide up that gave the organization’s Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn usernames for us to follow.  It is a great conference because the people who attend it are passionate about Magnet Schools.  And I’m learning a lot.  But I’m also frustrated.

There is no wifi available to attendees.

And it isn’t because they didn’t try.  I was told the hotel did not have enough access points to handle everyone, so the decision was made not to have any rather than pay for something that wasn’t going to work.  I get that, of course.  It makes financial sense to me.  And we will forego the bigger question of why did you have your conference at a place where teachers cannot connect easily?  We’re here.  Let’s make the best of it, right?

So I spent the day hunting for outlets to keep my phone charged as it strained to connect online with only one bar showing.  And, at some point I sent out the following Tweet to the organization:

I’m still waiting on a response.

I fought this battle with TETC (Tennessee Education Technology Conference) in Nashville years ago.  No wifi was available.  At a technolog conference.  I griped.  I complained.  I cajoled.  Then I got invited to the Mid-South Technology Conference in Memphis.  I asked about wifi.  I was told they really hadn’t thought about it.  I was asked if it was important to me.  I explained that a technology conference without easy access to wifi for teachers to connect and share wasn’t worth a six hour drive for me to attend.  Wifi has been available for free at the conference every year since.  Did I make that impact?  Probably not.

The difference was that one conference listened and the other didn’t. And I’ve never been back to TETC.

So, yes, I’m a snob.  I’m one of those people who live online.  I’m connected 24/7.  I respond to most emails within 5 minutes.  I’m updating Facebook and Twitter throughout the day.  Every day.

Maybe most people are ok with no wifi at an education conference.  But not us snobs.

PS: I don’t go to Starbucks because the coffee is better.  Its not.  I don’t go because its prestigious brand.  I could care less.  I go because it opens earlier than its competitors and stays open later.  And, in that regard, it meets my needs.  Because its all about me. And that’s what makes me a snob.

About two weeks ago I finally followed through on a plan I had considered for months.  I had my cable shut down.  I drive over an hour to work and another hour plus home every day.  I often stop to have dinner somewhere.  The only TV I was watching was NCIS, three versions of Law and Order, and Big Bang Theory reruns and The Voice.  I can see all of those online.

So I cut the cable.  It dropped my monthly bill from $150 (with no movie or HD channels) to less than $50.

I walked into their office on a Saturday to find out what my Internet bill would be, and if this would actually save me money (it has).  They told me they would have someone come out and turn it off on a particular day.  I would not need to be home.  So far so good.

I asked about returning the box.  I explained I work out of town and would not be home during their business hours.  Not a problem, I was told.  There is a drop box outside their front door.  I could drop it off there at my convenience.  Wonderful.

I spent the next couple of nights just surfing channels as I prepared myself to say goodbye to a nearly lifelong friend.  The day to have my cable shut down came and went.  I turned the TV on just to see if I would have access to any local channels.  You can imagine my consternation when I still had cable.  I scratched my head and went to work.  When I got home that night I saw a small pink slip of paper stuck in my front door.  The cable company had been there attempting to pick up my cable box.  Hmmm.  I knew then it wasn’t going to be as easy as I was told.

I put the box and power cord and remote in my car and went by the cable office to drop it off.  The sign on the drop box clearly stated to put the box in one of the padded envelopes conveniently left there before dropping it inside the container.  It was more of an order than a request.  The only problem was that there were no envelopes.

The same thing was true the next five times I went by to drop it off.  No envelopes.  But I did get another note on my door.  I was a little aggravated at this point and threw it away.  I went back to the cable office.  Still no envelope.  I was tempted to just shove it down the throat of the big metal box, but I decided not to go that route.

Then the text message arrived.  If they could not recover their box I would be charged $500.  So I called the 800 number on the text message.  They were closed.  Friday I called again, during the hours their voice mail message told me about.  It was no problem they said.  They would connect me with the cable company and I could make arrangements for pickup.  I explained again that unless they wanted me to leave out in the middle of the front yard, pick up was not possible.  I’ll just connect you to the cable office, they said.

“Hi, thank you for calling Charter Cable. My name is Mark, how may I help you today?”

“Hi, Mark.  I’m trying to get my cable box back to you, but as I stated when I had the cable turned off, I’m not in town when you are open.  I’ve made several attempts to drop it off at your Cleveland location, but there are never any padded envelopes.  How do I go about getting one of those?”

“That’s not a problem, Mr. Childers.  Can I just confirm your address?”  I gave it to him.  ”OK, Mr. Childers, I’m going to send out a return authorization sticker and you can just ship that box right back to us at our expense.”

“Wait.  What?  You want me to mail it in?  Its a 3 minute drive from my house to your office.  I would really like to just drop it off and be done with it.”

“I understand, Mr. Childers.  You should have that sticker in 3 to 5 business days.  And again, that will be no cost to you.”

“Yeah, I get that.  But a return label doesn’t do me much good.  Are you sending a box with that?”

“Yes, sir.  We will have a driver drop off a box.  In the box will be instructions on how to pack the receiver and how to apply the label.  Just drop that off at a UPS office.  Once again, that is no cost to you.”

“OK.  Let me get this straight.  You are going to send me a box.  You want me to pack everything up.  Put a label on it, and drive 5 miles past your office to drop it at the UPS depot so they can ship it back to you in the same town?  Can’t you just have your driver drop off a padded envelope?  I’m more than happy to just drop it at your office.”

“I understand, Mr. Childers.  It really is no inconvenience to us to send you a box.”

“But its an inconvenience to me.  But, OK.  You win.  Send the box.  I’ll mail it.”

I’ve often wondered why cable prices have to be so high.  But I never really thought about the high cost of total idiocy, lunacy, and total stupidity it must take to run the cable offices.

Unfortunately, this kind of stuff is everywhere.  Education is no different.  Not only are teachers covered over with rules that lead to total frustration similar to what I experienced at the cable office, but there is a culture that permeates it.  Allows it.  Encourages it.  Teachers fight against it.  They just want to teach.  They are passionate about teaching.

“I understand that, Mr. Teacher,” I hear the system saying. “And we want to help you with that.  So if you will totally change your lesson plans to accomodate these new standards, attend countless hours of professional development on how to make sure your kids do well on these tests, fill out a dozen different forms if you want to go out of town for professional development, and spend many of your planning periods attending parent meetings, we’ll make sure you ware able to enjoy your teaching experience.”

“OK.  You win.  Send the box. I’m obviously not going to encouraged to think outside of it.”

Its part of why I love the job I have now.  Teaching at a 100+ year old train depot causes us to think outside the box everyday.

My principal said something recently that has quickly become a clarion call to me, “I look for a time when our students look at us and say, ‘What box?’”

Years ago I was introduced to a well-worn VHS tape of a concert by Bill Cosby simply called “Himself.”  I can watch it nearly 25 years later and still crack up.  It isn’t just the storytelling.  (Although they are funny no matter who tells them).  There is a combination of storytelling and emotion and facial expressions that are uniquely Coz.

This past Sunday night my brother and I were fortunate enough to get a ticket to see Bill Cosby at the Tivoli in Chattanooga (thanks, mom!).  And even into his 80′s, Bill Cosby still has it.  His stories are still fresh and funny.  And although I heard a few lines from the past (who doesn’t do that?), there were only new stories.

But what caught my attention up front, was the screen over the chair where Mr. Cosby would soon be sitting chatting comfortably with his audience.  As a teacher, I’m familiar with QR codes.  It isn’t something that I adopted in my classroom (but that was nearly four years ago now), but they are seemingly everywhere.  Even on the Volkswagen’s at the dealership where I bought my car.  And Cosby had one.  In fact, he had two.

So, as a member of the audience, with a QR code reader on my phone, I could sit all the way back in row X (almost in the back hallway) and still access the material he wanted people to see.

Not only that, but Bill Cosby now has an app!  The app has a lot of information, but it also has “appisodes” of Bill Cosby doing interviews with kids and adults in the fashion of “Kids Say The Darndest Things.”  The show is called “OBKB,” from his Fat Albert series.  And trust me, they are still funny, too!

If you have a chance to see Bill Cosby live, dont’ miss it.  The man is a genius all by Himself.

I have always been a good test taker.  Even in high school I understood that I could make a B on a test without studying, and if it required study, then an A was over rated.  My 11th grade English teacher told my parents that I didn’t even have to read the novels or short stories to pass the tests.  Putting me in a higher level set of classes only confirmed my suspicions.

I’m a good test taker.

I remember once in college I was taking a class covering a couple of New Testament books.  I want to say they were Galatians and Ephesians, but my memory is not too clear from those days when I was taking a full load and working 3 part-time jobs to support a family and get an education in order to better support a family.

Anyway, our tests consisted of 5 or 6 essay questions written painstakingly across the chalk board by our instructor, a first-year professor whom I had in another class when he was a student doing graduate assistant work.  Nice guy.  Our job was to choose 3 or 4 of those questions (again, details are a bit blurry here).  We would spend an entire class period frantically filling up blue essay booklets with our understanding of the material.

This professor’s modus operandi was to have individual students who had scored very well on a question read their answers in class as an example to us all of what he was looking for.  So, you can imagine my feelings of honor and accolade when, after the third exam, i was asked to read an answer to a question for which I got the full 10 points possible.  I spoke clearly and succinctly.  That part I do remember.  I wanted everyone to really understand the gist of my greatness.

When I was done, and I will never forget this, the professor said these words, “Class, the reason I asked Mr. Childers to read his response today is that his answer was totally and completely wrong.  But he argued his point so well I could not help but give him full credit.”

I remember at the time I felt quite deflated.  My ego was bruised.  My head hurt from being swollen to such large proportions and then suddenly exploded like a balloon just stuck with a very sharp needle.

Later, I realized I was just good at taking tests.  I could offer up bull with the best of them.  My language skills were above average (although written work is far superior to spoken).

Those kinds of tests are much better, in my opinion, than the “I Choose C” assessments we so often give.  And, as I’ve begun observing teachers in classrooms this year, I’ve been more than pleasantly surprised to see extremely deep thinking and problem-solving questions posed to our high school students.  They still take multiple choice tests, but there are questions that require a much deeper level of thinking.

Thinking about all of these things on the drive home last night (an hour and a half is a dangerously long time to let me sit and think), I realized there were questions I would really like to see on tests.  Here are a few that crossed my mind:

• It is said that pizza is the perfect food (OK, I said it, but I’m writing the question, and that’s all that counts).  Think about your favorite pizza (if you don’t have one, imagine that you do).  In a brief essay describe how your favorite pizza can be used as a metaphor for world peace.
• We have a multitude of fried foods.  Fried Chicken, fried shrimp, fried fish, fried butter, fried Snickers bars, and more.  Think about a food you would like to try deep fried.  In a brief essay of 250 words or less, outline why this would be your favorite fried food, describe its preparation, list the production costs, show your plans to market it and make a profit, include all caloric information, and explain why this food should be allowed to be served during school lunches.
• Starbucks.  Why or why not?
• Read chapter 22 in your text book.  Write one easy, one moderate, and one difficult multiple choice question from the chapter (use the guidelines we handed out in class for question difficulty).  In addition, write one short answer question that would require students to analyze, deconstruct, and reconstruct the information in a section from the chapter in a way that requires them to give an opinion with information from the chapter as evidence for why they chose that opinion.  We will use at least one of your questions in the class assessment for the chapter.

I don’t know about you, but I think that would be taking assessment to the next level.

I’m a Language Arts Failure.

There.  I’ve said it.  Maybe its because I came into education late.  Maybe its because I’m one of those teachers the unions berate because I didn’t take the traditional road to the classroom.  Maybe I’m just a lousy teacher.

But one thing is sure, the way people act on Facebook has convinced me that I, and all of my fellow Language Arts teachers, are dismal failures.

Me?  I blame the testing system.  In middle school one of the TCAP standards we are expected to cover is Propaganda.  At least we used to call it Propaganda.  It has a more politically correct title now.

The problem with the standards on propaganda is that we all knew there would only be one or two questions about it on the TCAP test.  It was a minor blip on our radar.  So we pushed it toward the end of the year.  We covered 8 to 10 different types of Propaganda in one or two lessons.  We pointed to the unit in the textbook and told kids to read it on their own.

At least, that’s what I observed.

Now I’m more and more convinced that the entire middle school standardized test for Language Arts should be completely about Propaganda techniques.  It would make my Facebook life so much easier.

Take the image in this post, for example. Its making its way around Facebook.  I’m no fan of MSNBC (no fan of Fox any longer either).  And I have listened to this lady on more than one occasion.  I don’t like her ideology.  That’s a personal opinion based solely on what I have heard her say out of her own mouth.

But listen.  This is not what she said.

I thought I had this out of my system after all the people jumped on the let’s-never-go-to-Starbucks-anymore-because-the-CEO-doesn’t-like-straight-couples bandwagon (a type of Propaganda, by the way…bandwagon).

Look at what this picture purports this woman to say…”We’ll make better investments in government indoctrination of children.” (italics mine).  Wow!  That’s bad!  That sounds like Communism!  Like Socialism!  Quick!  Let’s put her picture on Facebook and attach this awful statement to it so everyone will know what she said!

Oh, if only it were that simple.

You see, the problem goes further than Facebook.  Blog posts have come up.  ”News’ outlets have picked it up.  They show the actual footage of her statement (as an ad for MSNBC).  And yet even with her words clearly available in the video, the writers still say she said this.

This is not a right-wing thing.  The left is just as guilty.  Words are power.  Why do you think government officials change the names of things so often?  Words convey meaning, and meaning drives us.

So what did she say?

Basically, she said that society needs to stop pointing their fingers at parents and saying that the future of civilization (our children) and saying it is totally up to them to raise kids.  Instead, society has a stake in how these kids turn out.  And once we realize that, we’ll invest more.

Period.  Invest more.  Not anything about government indoctrination.

And really, isn’t this exactly what our school boards all across the country tell their funding bodies?  The future of our town, our city, our state, our country, will rise and fall with the education and job prospects of the kids in our classrooms.  We need more investment.

But, of course, if you didn’t twist the words around and make it sounds horribly bad, it wouldn’t have a chance of being passed around on Facebook now would it?

So, I admit it.  I’m a Language Arts failure.  What else would account for the total inability of an entire society to bypass the need for self-checking, for analyzing, for deconstructing and ultimately avoiding propaganda designed to do one thing: breed hatred toward others.

A couple of months ago, I started a friendly competition on FourSquare between myself and my friend, Tom.  FourSquare taunted me at one check-in with the total number of consecutive days I had checked in at coffee shops and told me Tom was just 3 days behind me.  ”You’re not going to let that stand, are you?” FourSquare smirked.

Ater a while, it got to be more than just a little competition with Tom.  It turned into a personal goal for me.  I decided to start the 365 Check-In Challenge.  Could I, I wondered, check into a coffee shop every day for a year?  It wasn’t so much, can I  go to one every day, but would I remember to check-in every day.

The days traveling from home to work and back weren’t tough at all.  There are at least 4 coffee shops in Cleveland that I frequent.  And there are two prominent Starbucks I pass in Knoxville, plus three more downtown.  Finding coffee shops is not  a problem.

I spent part of my Spring Break at a little beach in Florida that does not have a coffee shop.  At least, it isn’t listed as a coffee shop on FourSquare (although technically it is a coffee shop, but I still couldn’t count it).  So I drove 20 to 30 minutes one way, each day, to find a place where I could check-in and continue the game both against Tom and against myself.

It is silly.  Yes.  And it is fun.

I started counting the days until I hit 60 days of check-ins in a row.  Something about numbers that end in “zero” I suppose.  There was a little feeling of glee when I saw that number come up on my check-in.

For my 61st check-in, I decided to hit a new coffee shop.  So I didn’t think much about it when FourSquare didn’t tell me I had hit 61 check-ins in a row.  Nor did it dawn on me to worry when it didn’t register the 62nd check-in.

But when I got to 63…

On my 63rd consecutive daily coffee shop check-in, FourSquare congratulated me on 3 Days in a Row.

What?!?  THREE?!?

It was then I realized FourSquare was only going to count to 60.  I didn’t understand the rules of FourSquare when I started.  I felt cheated.  I felt like FourSquare ought to cooperate with my plan and not force me to fit into its plan.

As a result, I’m losing motivation.

Our students feel this way in problem-based and project-based learning at times.  Here are a few reasons why this might happen:

1. The student doesn’t pay attention well when the instructions are covered at the beginning of the project/problem.
2. The teacher starts the project, but doesn’t explain the scoring rubric.
3. There is no scoring rubric.  At least not yet.
4. The rubric, and therefore the project, is vague.
5. The teacher goes over the rubric at the beginning of the project, but never covers it again until the end of the project (when it is too late for students to realize they did it wrong).
6. Enter your own reason in the comments section below

I’m still checking into coffee shops every day.  I’m trying to decide if it will be the same for me to just count up the number of 60-Days-In-A-Row notices I get.  I’m not feeling it.

And no amount of extrinsic rewards will matter once you’ve lost your motivation.

Several lifetimes ago, in a land far, far away, I worked with my dad, Papaw, and Unca’ Don to build a house in Wynne, AR.  My mom and dad grew up near there in Vanndale and Cherry Valley.  So, when they wanted to start their own business, they made the decision to return to their roots and, hopefully, live in Wynne the rest of their lives.

Life wasn’t so simple, it turns out.

But in the spring and summer of my 10th-going-on-11th grade year, we moved and began to build a house on the top of the ridge outside of town.  This ridge is about 200 feet high at its peak, and is the only bump in the landscape from the Mississippi River about 40 miles away.  I was an aspiring architect.  Only two things stopped me from pursuing this field in college. One, I’m absolutely horrible at math and physics.  And two, I have no design or artistic capabilities.

Neither of those things stopped my dad from asking me to draw up a floor plan for our house.  The assignment was simple.  Here is our furniture.  Design a house around it.  It was a simpler time then.  You didn’t need 17 pages of floor plans.  You just needed a sketch.  And a contractor.  And, as it turns out, we had two.  Both my Papaw and my uncle could have built the house without a floor plan, we were in good hands.

We had a lot of fun building that house.  And frustrations.  It was hot.  So hot that my wire-rimmed glasses melted in two right off my face while I was nailing down shingles.  My jobs were simple.  Mix “mud” for the foundation blocks.  Carry bricks.  Hold stuff up.  Hold stuff down.  And drive nails.  Lots and lots and lots of nails.

Today its easier.  Nail guns have taken over.  Construction is about quick and profitable.  Back then, in 1974, we used something many people have forgotten how to use.  Hammers.  My uncle and I would nail down flooring.  I held things in place while he swung a hammer.  The hardest job I ever had…ever…was nailing furring strips to the ceiling joists.  All day.  Swinging a hammer over my head.  Missing nails about as often as I hit them.

I still remember the joke made about nails.  My uncle told me when we ran out of nails we could quit.  And then he grabbed a handful out of his nail apron and told me that I should do the same.  ”Now,” he said, “Any nail that is turned with its head in the right direction you can use.  But some nails are made backwards, so if the pointed end is at the top, just throw those out the window.”  No, I didn’t fall for that.  But I still chuckle at it from time to time.

Unfortunately, people (specifically non-educators) often view teaching in the same vein.  If its easy, use it.  If its already  set up for you, use it.  If its pre-packaged, use it.  But if it takes work, if its going to be time consuming, if it requires effort…we don’t want it.

But teachers, real-born-and-bred-cut-me-and-I-bleed-lesson-plans teachers, know that good teaching is personal.  It is unique to the teacher.  It requires a connection between educator and educated that can’t be sold in a slickly packaged box with shiny cellophane wrapped around it.

Good teaching is not technology.  It isn’t software.  It isn’t curriculum.  It isn’t Common Core.  It isn’t the latest district-mandated changes.  It isn’t Twitter, or Facebook, or any other of the latest fads or tweaks or silver bullets.

Good teaching is a one-on-one connection between a teacher and his or her student.  Good teaching inspires curiosity.  Good teaching disappears from the space and lets learning take center stage.

You won’t become a good teacher if you spend your time tossing the nails of inconvenient practices.  So pull up your big person pants, strap on a nail apron, grab a hammer, put a big smile on your face, wipe the sweat off your brow, and lets build something.

I’m a fan of FourSquare.  It wasn’t always the case, but in the last year or more I’ve started checking into places more and more.  I don’t check-in  everywhere, and sometimes I check-in “privately” without sharing on my social media sites, but I have fun with it.  Today, for instance, is the 60th day in a row I’ve checked into a coffee shop.  I’ve checked into four different coffee shops this month, and its just the 4th of April.

And every check-in tells a story.  Today, this post is about one of those check-ins.

I love the Bald Headed Bistro in Cleveland, TN.  The ladies behind the counter that wait on me (and Billy when he was there) always treat me as a king.  They know what I drink and often have it sitting on the bar before I even get to a chair.  Its kind of a “Norm!” moment from Cheers, but without the beer.  The food is consistently good.  Not always great, sometimes it is really great.

I started going to the BHB because of Happy Hour.  Not because I can buy more drinks, but because they serve free food.  Even though it is, quite possibly, the most expensive restaurant in our little city, I could eat there for less than $5 not including tips.  So, sometimes I would eat cheap.  Other times I would order things off the bar menu (about $15 on average).  And occasionally, I would treat myself to the $30 ribeye.

FourSquare tells me I’ve checked in at the BHB over 150 times.  I am currently the “Mayor” based on the number of check-ins in the past few weeks.  My point is, I’ve been there.  They know me.

The Bald Headed Bistro uses FourSquare as a marketing tool.  Well, I say they do.  Many employees don’t seem to be aware of this fact.  Every 5th check-in opens up a special deal within FourSquare that qualifies you for a free dessert or appetizer with the order of an entree.  I can honestly say, this has never been a “hard and fast rule” in the past.  Last night, I made the mistake of ordering an appetizer for dinner before I checked in.  So, when I saw I had unlocked the special, I asked if it would be possible to honor it anyway.

To be honest, I was kind of half-joking.  I certainly did not need dessert.  But I am a sucker for their creme brûlée.

I was a little more than surprised when the manager asked to see what it was I had unlocked (almost like he didn’t know what it was).  And I was told, quickly, that it had to be an entree and they would not honor it.

No big deal.  Oh, don’t get me wrong.  I was hurt.  Not mad.  Just hurt.  My customer loyalty evidently meant nothing.  So I went across the parking lot to Menchie’s and drowned my hurt feelings in frozen yogurt covered in pecans, strawberries, and chocolate fudge sauce.

Take that creme brûlée.

So, no, this is not a blog post to launch a boycott of the Bald Headed Bistro (although I won’t be so quick to make it my first stop of preference after a long drive back from Knoxville).  This is a post about stories.

Stories are given meaning from our own experiences.  And individual stories can mean different things to different people.  Or take on different meanings in different contexts.  Let me tell you what I mean by offering up the various meanings of this story that have flittered through my mind since last night.

• There is life and death in every decision.  Getting married, for instance, is a glorious affair that brings the life of a loved one into your home to share experiences with from that moment on.  It is also the death of pieces of your individuality, your “night out with the boys” (or girls), and the process of having to pick up after yourself every day.  There was life and death in the choice of the BHB manager.  He added to the bottom-line of his restaurant (which is his job), but he also is going to lose part of that bottom-line because one customer won’t be there 3 or 4 times a week any longer.
• You can be right, or you can do right.  Certainly, the manager was within his authority to deny my request for a free dessert.  And I, in all honesty, did not have a right to even ask.  But I did ask.  And the rule of law triumphed over the spirit of the law.  Just ask Javert in Les Miserables how that worked out for him.  Grace always triumphs Law.  Grace costs you something (the price of a dessert), but it gains you so much more (continued business and increased profits).  Trust me, I’ve been both in my life.  Only one works.
• Sometimes there is a disconnect between those in the trenches and those on the hill.  I’ve used this reward on FourSquare multiple times in my 150+ check-ins.  And nearly every time I run into someone who doesn’t know the BHB is even offering such a deal.  Some don’t know what FourSquare is.  When you are in charge (the boss, the school admin, the district superintendent), it is imperative that you do not put anything in motion until all of those in your charge (workers, bartenders, teachers, janitors) know what is expected.  If you act before you train, disappointment prevails.
• Our feelings often triumph over our friendships.  I’m friends with some of the people that work at the Bistro.  I know them personally.  I’ve friended them on Facebook.  I like them.  They have always treated me like a king.  We have a mutual give and take.  They treat me as if I ordered a $100 meal even when I ordered something that totaled $4.74.  And I tip with $10 or $15 at times, even when my meal was less than the tip.  And because I’m a good tipper, they treat me like a king. And because they treat me like a king…  You get the picture.  I don’t tip that large a percentage because I’m trying to buy good service.  I tip that way because I’ve sat and watched them get shafted by other customers who demand a large chunk of their time, but don’t compensate them accordingly.  But, I have to admit, my feelings are a bit hurt from being treated as if I’m a newbie by the manager.  And, as much as I like the people that wait on me, and as good a job as they do, I won’t be back for a bit.

I could go on, but I try not to bore you too much with my ramblings on this blog.  Stories are powerful.  Stories are great tools to use in teaching.  To me, the greatest storyteller that ever lived was Jesus Christ. And, to me, the greatest story he ever told began with, “A certain man had two sons….”  In those six short words, the entire story is set up.  And it has been interpreted and preached over countless numbers of ways through the years.

That’s the beauty of stories.  And the most powerful stories we can use in the classroom, or behind the pulpit, or in raising our kids to do right, are the stories we live.

I drive over 80 miles a day, one way, to work.  My car is just 15 months old, and I’m just about to turn over 60,000 on it.  I’m making plans to move closer to work (my car will be extremely happy to have the rest), but for now it can take its toll every now and then.

On occasion, when I know I’m going to be at work really late, I try to make plans to spend the night in a local hotel.  When I’m on vacation, I pay for the “experience” a nice hotel brings.  When I’m spending the night just to save a drive home and back, I look for a bed.  And, using a popular travel website, occasionally I get a night free.

And so it was on Monday, the last day of Spring Break.  I had scheduled myself to be at a meeting at our school Monday evening.  And with that, I also scheduled a night at a hotel.  I spent Monday getting things together.  Had my car serviced…again.  Picked up clothes at the dry cleaner.  Made sure I had all of my computers, iPads, and cables.  I even packed the stuff I would eat for lunch the next day (Tuesday was National Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich Day….decision made).  I made sure I had all of my personal items, grabbed the clothes out of my closet, packed the car, and took off to Knoxville.

It wasn’t until the next morning, some 80 miles away from home, that I realized I had picked out a pair of pants that will only fit after I’ve lost another 10 to 12 pounds.  I couldn’t go home to change.  All I could do was suck in my gut, fasten them, tie a belt around them, and hope I didn’t split them out sometime during the day.

Needless to say, my day was quite uncomfortable.  It felt like someone was trying to cut me in half.  I looked ridiculous.  And, because I had dinner plans when I got back home, it was nearly 8:30 that night before the pain stopped.

Could I do my job? Yes.  Could I still climb the stairs at work? Yes.  Was I going to be rushed to the hospital?  Maybe.  OK, no.

But somewhere along the drive home, it hit me that people operate like this all the time.

• People are often in jobs they dislike.  Sometimes a job they despise.  And it literally feels like something is constricting around them every time they go to work. 
• People are often in relationships that absolutely suck the life right out of them.  They feel “stuck,” as if there is nothing they can do about it.
• Kids come to school and feel that cinched up tightening of the belt from parents or teachers.  They do the required work, but they aren’t happy about it and feel disengaged from school.
• Sometimes even our faith seems constricted.  Our traditions are legalistic and binding.  We long for freedom, but feel guilty when we experience it, so we just tighten things back up again believing that, somehow, this is righteousness and holiness.

Life is messy.  Life is uncomfortable at times.  But if you feel like you are being cut in half day after day after day, and you just don’t see any relief in sight, it may be time to talk to someone.  Take stock of your situation.  Thinking about changing just one thing to see if it gets any better.

My problem of picking out the wrong pair of pants is commonly referred to as a “First World Problem.”  And yet, it served me well to remind me of the real problems people face in life.  I knew relief for me was coming at the end of the day. Some feel as if relief is not possible.  Ever.

There is a huge difference between “life is uncomfortable” and “life is unbearable.”  And my thoughts and prayers go out to those who experience either.

It happens every vacation.  Those crazy moments.  Something you overhear.  Something you see.  Something that causes your mind to leap to other things tucked away in the synapses of memory.

This vacation was no different.  Here are a few of things I’ve noticed along the way this week:

• Walking along the beach one day and finding the head of a dead fish resting comfortably on the sand.  Walking along the beach the next day and finding the body of a puffer fish in nearly the same spot.  Coincidence?  I didn’t think so.  I figured the fish mafia was still trying to find Nemo.
• Sitting at a table on the sidewalk outside a coffee shop in downtown St. Petersburg minding my own business, and a guy walks up wearing a full suit of armor (which I later learned he paid $3,500 for and just decided to wear it downtown to try it out).  And it just happens at that very intersection are a group of middle schoolers out doing interviews with people they meet on the street (with adult supervision, of course!).  After their interview, they decide to do a Harlem Shake video with the armored suit guy taking the lead.  I haven’t found it on YouTube yet, but they said it would probably be listed as “TinMan Harlem Shake,” so I’ll keep looking.  No, I’m not in the video.
• Leaving the Hurricane’s outdoor seating after lunch and happening upon an older woman asking for a table.  When asked how many is in her party, she said, “Three.  No, TWO!  THREE!”  And I immediately went back to the Monty Python’s Holy Grail scene where a Knight of the Round Table gets catapulted off a bridge for not knowing his favorite color (Green. NO! Blue!)
• Walking down the sidewalk on Gulf Boulevard on the way back to my hotel after a long, hard jog/walk up the beach and passing a lady on the sidewalk while she was walking her dog.  It was a small, furry beast, and I smiled as I remembered Inspector Clouseau asking the hotelier if his dog bites.  After being told no, and getting bitten trying to pet him, he says, “I thought you said your dog didn’t bite.”  ”That’s not my dog.”  Truly one of the great comedic moments in film history.  And, as I’m walking away with a slight smile on my face chuckling over the movie scene playing out in my head, it dawns on me that often times we simply ask the wrong questions of our kids in classrooms.  Perhaps their less than stellar answers are more a result of our idiotic questions.  And then I reminded myself I’m on vacation and shouldn’t be thinking about educational stuff.

• Sitting on a bench at the beach enjoying the sun and surf and noticing a guy walking past me with someone I assume is his significant other. She’s wearing a bikini because its finally warmed up.  He’s got on 3 oversized shirts, a baseball cap just slightly too large and cocked sort of sideways on his head, unlaced combat boots, and a pair of capri length pants hanging loosely just below his butt (which he continually pulls up so they don’t slide down while he’s walking). And I think to myself, “Yep. Stupidity is everywhere. Even in Paradise.”
• Enjoying the view of the beach from the rooftop of the Hurricane, and hearing a guy next to me order lunch.  This surprises me because when I was here last year they no longer served food on the rooftop.  So, I asked the waitress what the deal was.  She said, “Yes, we are allowed to serve food up here now.  At least until we’re told we can’t.  And then, they may tell us to have you go downstairs and get it yourself. But I won’t know if we can’t order it until sometime after I order it, because I don’t know how busy they are downstairs, so if I were you I would order something now and get it in, so if they tell me I can’t serve food anymore, at least your order will be in and you can go down and get it if you still want it.  Would you like to order something?”  I’m still processing that one.  I declined.

I know there were several others that flitted briefly across my mind, but I didn’t write them down (or store them in the Notes app of my iPhone).  And I suppose that, in itself, is crazy.  Just crazy.