Posts Tagged ‘park slope food co-op’

“Taking A Knee”

October 17, 2017

I’m sure you’ve been following the latest dust-up between our president, our moron-in-chief (MIC), and National Football League players who are protesting social and racial injustice by kneeling during the National Anthem. Somehow a guy who dodged the draft, boasts about not paying taxes and has shown himself to solely “live in the eternal present of his own immediate desires” has made himself the arbiter of what’s patriotic

But the NFL players are not the only ones taking a knee; so has my doctor–my surgeon. And not just any old knee . . .  he’s taken one that used to be mine. (That should read: MINE!!!) Fortunately, he swapped that one out with one he got from Home Depot that’s made with titanium, plastic and chrome.  You see, about two weeks ago I had a total knee arthroplasty which, as bad as that may sound, is actually a lot worse. I’d try not to bore you with the details, but what then would I have to write about.

This is my second joint replacement just this year.  About nine months ago, my surgeon, Dr. M., also replaced my hip. As a result of this latest go around, he and I are gradually warming to one another. But the truth is, I can think of several thousand better ways to go about improving our relationship. A cocktail after work is one that comes to mind immediately.  But at this point, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards. However, I’ve one more hip and one more knee available . . .  so I’m not ruling anything out.

I’ve begun my rehab with a physical therapist, Adrianne, who also worked with me after my hip replacement. She’s a really lovely person who seems dedicated to her job. As of now, she comes to my apartment daily. Instead of limiting my rehab to various exercises or stretching, with the mild weather, my therapy has also included our taking slow walks around the neighborhood. Which is fine with me. But as nice as Adrianne is, as we take these walks together, I find that we don’t have a whole lot to talk about. Mostly our conversations are banal chit-chat.  Or we say nothing at all.

Which has struck me as incredibly ironic. After all, just within the last several weeks I wrote about a nightmare I regularly have about working at the Park Slope Food Co-op and having the job of escorting shoppers who use the Co-op’s shopping carts. Walking through my neighborhood making banal chit-chat. Or saying nothing at all.

Yet another instance of life imitating art.

 

 

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Hobson’s Choice

October 2, 2017

One of things I like most about writing this blog is I get to do some research and learn new things.  Or I re-learn stuff that I once knew but have forgotten.  And then, in about two weeks or so, I forget everything all over again; as a result, I’m always learning things. Very cool!  So when the situation I find myself in recently developed, I did some noodling around and was able to find the precise term that I was looking for, which is the title of this essay.

Some of you may not know what a Hobson’s Choice is.  Essentially, it is an option that’s given to someone where the alternative is so bad, it’s no choice at all. (The derivation is somewhat interesting but you can follow up that on your own.) The relevance here is that recently, a Hobson’s Choice has entered my life.

As you may remember, the new owners of the real estate office formerly and presently know as Garfield Realty, Luap and Zil, have been, ever so gradually, upending my status in my former office; moving me a little closer to the front door in incremental ways. It started with the downsizing of my desk. Not long after that, there was the indignity of placing it so that I faced a blank wall. I had mostly gotten used  to all that but now . . . now I’m being told that Garfield Realty is going to be re-branded (or so they say) and the office is being reconfigured to a place with fewer desks, none of which shall be mine. What’s being offered to me is the use of a shared conference room style desk. Now, that would be bad enough, but it’s going to be at the front of the office which means that whenever anyone comes in I would be the first person they would encounter.  In other words, I would be the OFFICIAL GREETER!!! (that’s me SCREAMING!!). Engaging in idle CHIT CHAT with whomever shows up!

If you know me at all (and why wouldn’t you want to?), you’d know that this kind of circumstance is probably the essence of every third nightmare that I have. Sometimes that nightmare includes an episode in which I’m working at the Park Slope Food Co-op where one of the jobs is to escort shoppers who are using the Co-op’s shopping carts to their home or car and then bring the cart back.  I see these twosomes all over my neighborhood, very often chatting away as if they go back to grade school together. In my dream, I’m the guy wearing the Co-op’s yellow vest walking with and making inane conversation with a total stranger. Saying the same stuff over and over with different shoppers. Sometimes there’s a variation of the dream where instead of repeating myself endlessly, I’m more or less mute as I walk the streets of my own neighborhood. Either way, I wake up in a cold sweat.

So being up front, right there by the entrance door is, I think, the real estate equivalent of walking someone home with the shopping cart. The only meaningful difference is that I won’t be wearing the yellow vest. Otherwise, just the same.  It seems that the only alternative available to me may be to set up a very small work station in the bathroom.  A Hobson’s choice if there ever was one.