“Farewell, NFL”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-17)

Pro football.

I have literally followed the sport for my entire life. Never completely swayed by basketball, baseball or hockey. Little interested in tennis or golf. I must confess that there is definitely no soccer on my personal radar. Perhaps a nod of bemusement to cricket. A brief encounter at Cornell University with Lacrosse.

American football has ruled my sports consciousness, always. From the time I collected plastic helmets out of the vending machines at W. T. Grant’s. Musing that the team from my native Ohio had no logo on its head wear. And, having been born in Columbus, hearing from some in my family that they would rather cheer for the Bengals.

The accepted truism was always that baseball had been the nation’s pastime. But football reflected the changing social habits of our nation. More speedy, more corporate, more intense. Big hits and splashy product endorsements. The sensibility of TV wrestling on a grander scale. Namath’s ‘guarantee’ of a Super Bowl win. Ickey Woods’ end zone shuffle. Mean Joe Greene trading his jersey for a Coke. Joe Theismann hawking diet products, with glee.

Welcome to the National Football League - an entertainment company with 32 divisions.

Super Bowl dreams grew from birth as the antiquated ‘AFL-NFL Championship Game’ morphed into a national holiday of sorts. Incredibly, the league out-commercialized every other sport. Even NASCAR. Lots of revenue was generated. Literally billions upon billions of dollars. Plenty of champagne and caviar for everyone. Or if you prefer, Budweiser and Buffalo Wings. The league used patriotic imagery to promote its for-profit wares. Literally ‘pimping’ the respected common culture for their own benefit. Red, white and blue and... the register rings, too! The ‘Star Spangled Banner’ brought to you by Miller-Coors and Chevrolet. You deserve a break today!

So there was little fan notice paid when Colin Rand Kaepernick decided to sit down during the national anthem, before a preseason game with the San Francisco 49ers, in 2016. The din of this party-for-pay literally drowned any notes of dissent. The state of our league was sound.

As it has been observed: “Money changes everything.” The flood of football lucre remained overwhelming. Even amid the lone protest of someone attempting to raise social awareness. With league franchises like the Rams, Chargers and Raiders all jumping from city to city, while others literally held their host communities hostage for a ransom of new stadiums and facilities. The NFL proved more skillful at this game of extortion than any other collective.

Some, like myself, grumbled. But we continued to watch. Football had become the opiate drug of choice for America. Particularly in Cleveland, there was plenty of angst over the sport. Yet loyalty to the game kept us interested. Even as we endured losing seasons.

Then, Donald Trump commented on the subject.

The result came like Hurricane Harvey. Forceful and raw. Ranks were joined to the right and left. Facebook, ever the benefactor in such instances, along with Twitter, exploded. One camp stood tall for the flag and anthem. The other rose to lobby for free speech and attention to racial injustice. The divide appeared not unlike the Red Sea after Moses got busy.

Somewhere in this cultural melee, football itself got lost.

Jerseys began to burn. Along with tickets and paraphernalia. Videos posted were so numerous that some appeared on the network evening news broadcasts. Meanwhile, others dramatically ‘took a knee’ to show their support for the protesters. Predictably, both sides spoke in ‘absolutes.’ In black-and-white terms that left no room for actual discourse. In sound-bites that matched the choppy tempo of the game itself.

But for this writer, the chaos yielded a moment of reflection and pause.

Respect for the national flag and anthem was non-negotiable, in my own estimation. A habit every citizen should observe. As was the concept of free speech under our constitution. Liberty of language even for those who foul the air with contrarian views. These concepts were part of our identity as a people.

I feared the idea that any group would symbolically surrender their membership in this grand, democratic experiment by shunning symbols of national pride. America is whole only when everyone has a place at the table. Even those who have no appetite for the meal being served. So the strategy of kneeling seemed to step upon the message.

Still, I pondered over the practical details. Why was the NFL using our national colors and anthem to promote its seedy business interests? Did it not cheapen the value of these emblems with the stain of easy money and hucksterism?

I reckoned that veterans and first responders, the police, firefighters, and those who literally protect and serve our communities were right to wrap themselves in the comfort of ‘Old Glory.’ But millionaire athletes, many of whom have engaged in untoward, reckless and selfish acts? Do they have a right to claim pridefully the status of soldiers and warriors? More to the point – should their employers have this privilege to use the flag as if their own blood had won our freedoms?

As ever, there was more to the story than an Internet meme or a brief clip on CNN. After long hours of consideration, my personal response came like a beam of light, through the clouds.

I turned off my television and began to write.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritseforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

“Home Away From Home”

by Cheryl Kelly

(9-17)

They say the average person spends more time with the people they work with than with their own family members. The relationships we develop with coworkers influence our lives significantly. Sometimes that influence is beneficial and sometimes it isn’t. We all have those people we work with who we secretly condemn and consistently hope to see making the dreaded walk of shame with Human Resources carrying a beat up cardboard box filled with the contents of their desk or locker. In my case, having been at my place of employment over twenty years, there have been several of those. People who make it their life’s pursuit to make everyone around them miserable and their jobs twice as hard as they should be. I used to believe that I couldn’t harbor hatred for another human being, until…let’s just call him Mr. G, but I will leave that story for another article.

But then there are those coworkers who you meet along the way and your life changes, and for the better. Solid friendships are formed and there’s a comfort that is forged very similar to that which is found at home amongst family. A union bound around the commonality of the workplace that often times lingers long after one of you has moved on to other employment. And slowly that bond becomes irreplaceable. It becomes something you depend on to get you through the day and the many challenges that you face from 8 am to 5 pm, five days a week, or for some of us, from 6 am to 6 pm, six days a week. Much like family, coworkers fulfill a need, one that cannot be fulfilled by anyone else. They give us a sounding board and connection to common successes and griefs; a support group if you will. There is nothing better on a Friday night after work than getting together with coworkers for a bitch session over a couple of beers. I highly recommend it!

From family members, to neighbors; from lovers to coworkers, each person that you develop a relationship with satisfies some essential need that you have and plays an important role in your life to help in creating the whole ‘you’. I’m not of the persuasion that one person can be everything to you, no matter how awesome they are. Coworkers are a special breed of people in one’s life. They bring something very unique to the table. They offer a sense of family outside the home, a sense of community, and they offer solace that at times cannot be given by those closest to us. And they achieve this all in short bursts of time with a certain distance that keeps the relationship light and without some of the complications we all too often find in our other personal connections.

Human beings have a natural need to belong to something. That is why we constantly see new groups popping up here and there. Support groups, activity clubs, churches, and the explosion of the Internet with sites such as Facebook, give people the much-needed feeling of not being alone. Of being able to share similar thoughts and experiences. There is power in numbers and people feel less helpless when they hear someone say to them, “I understand”, or “I’ve been there”. Work is no different. It’s just another form of a group with participants that share common issues and goals and it does make you feel better to hear a coworker complain about something that irritates you or celebrate a milestone that you share.

For me, I have worked many places in my lifetime and at each place have forged many relationships with the people I worked with. To this day, I have people whom have moved away from the “coworker” title and straight into being called “friend”. Not every coworker will break into the friend zone but that doesn’t make them any less important or influential. The ability to understand frustrations that rear their ugly heads at work and the opportunity to commiserate with like-minded individuals is priceless. And even though they don’t reside under the same roof, they do affect your life on a daily basis. They may not be family, but they play that role in your home away from home called work.

Editor’s Note: My own relationship with C. K. began in exactly this fashion. She was a high school student who started working at the local ‘Kresse’s Bi-Rite’ supermarket where I had a job, in the middle 1980’s. Our friendship grew and endured, now over 30 years.

“The Old Bait and Switch”

c. 2017 Curvy Mermaid & Chubby Walrus

All rights reserved

(9-17)

Mermaid:

I was surfing the Internet the other evening and came across the following quote by Anthony Robbins, “Do what you did in the beginning of a relationship and there won’t be an end.” I have to be honest and tell you that I had to Google him to find out who he was, but I found the statement to be quite on point; simple, yet very poignant. How true it is that the beginning of a relationship is almost flawless. People are on their A game, showing their best, giving their all…pulling out all the stops to secure another date, another commitment. There is quite a lot of stretching of the truth that goes on, a lot of promises made to each other and catering to one another’s likes and dislikes, much to the detriment of any relationship that may develop.

In a new relationship, people have a tendency at times to present themselves in a way that they feel is what the other wants, and then somewhere along the line, things change. People relax, get comfortable with each other and the charade ends…their true selves come out and at times, it is much different than what was presented in the beginning. Now sometimes that’s not a problem, but often times it’s a deal breaker. Suddenly people find themselves knee deep in a new relationship with someone who isn’t who they thought, a stranger. The old bait and switch. Now there are times this happens honestly without ill intentions. People naturally want to make a good impression and try hard to bend and accommodate every little thing all in the name of finding love. Perhaps some are insecure and afraid that this new person would not like the “real” them. Whatever the reason, honesty at times takes a back seat in lieu of finding a mate. And honesty not just towards each other, but towards oneself.

As human beings, we are constantly unsure of what it is that we really want. We make this list of qualities that we believe are the “must haves” for a significant other from superficial traits like looks and body type to more internal traits like intelligence and trustworthiness. Unfortunately, what we think we want and what we actually want tend to be two different things. I find this to be true personally looking back at the relationships I have been in. I used to think that some of the qualities I have would be attractive to a man; from my independence and ability to take care of myself, to my love of football and beer and my low maintenance personality. However, I have found that men will say that those are things that they have been looking for, but well into the relationship, I find myself defending the very qualities that they stated they found attractive in the beginning. It is frustrating to say the least.

To be fair, I have to say that it does happen, and I include myself in this next section, that qualities and behaviors that start off as being attractive in the beginning of a relationship, can sometimes become a problem later on. What began as a cute quirk becomes an annoying habit. What starts off as highly lovable ends up being the reason you can’t stand one more second with him/her and you end up with a War of the Roses moment. In the end, most people just want to find someone who accepts them, wholly, quirks and all without feeling as though they are somehow compromising themselves or settling for something less than they deserve. I suppose this is easier said than does judging by the dating population and the number of websites devoted to helping people find one another, but certainly not a lost cause. Love, is never a lost cause.

Chubby Walrus:

The Mermaid is on target and insightful. I have heard a fresh relationship being described as the ‘new car aroma.’ Something intentionally put forward as a potential couple strives to impress each other with the best effort possible. Brightest smile, wittiest humor, most heartfelt embrace. Who wouldn’t want their greatest charms to be on display when a romance begins? But as she observes, old habits rarely change. Thus, the divergence between appearance and reality takes over. And often – disappointment overwhelms the attraction.

When both people involved practice this method, romance can flourish only to die in the light of day and truth.

In my own experience, I have sometimes been guilty of the opposite. Not offering a gleaming self for inspection by another. Not looking for someone to impress with a talented act. Instead simply being myself. A lazy strategy? Or one lacking preparation? Perhaps both. The result has been that my serious relationships always came from those I had first treasured as compadres.

“Marry your best friend.’ I have been given this advice in the past. For one already divorced twice, it has become difficult to hear the ‘M-word’ under any circumstances. Yet perhaps this plan is better, in terms of seeking a relationship, than the familiar, theatrical dance of desire.

‘The Old bait and Switch’ left me wondering who my partners had become, in yonder days. When in reality, they had done nothing more than simply reveal themselves.

The Mermaid and I agree - ‘Love is never a lost cause.’

“Do As I Say, Not As I Do…Or Did”

c. 2017 Cheryl Kelly

(9-17)

I was driving with my teenage son in the car the other day, who he, himself is in the midst of achieving his own driver’s license, when I stopped at a red light and proceeded to check my cell phone messages. I glanced up to check the status of the color on the light and noticing it was still red, began typing in a response. My son was quick to reprimand me with a reminder about the dangers of texting and driving. I, of course, responded with, “Well, technically, I’m not driving, I’m sitting.” And he quickly replied with, “Are you in a car Mom?” Followed by, “And are you in the driver’s seat?” Touché I said to myself and put down my phone. Now before any of you jump all over me with telling me what a bad example I was setting for my son, or what a bad parent I am, save it, I get it. And you cannot tell me that there aren’t some of you out there who haven’t done the same thing once or twice yourselves. Anyway, back to my son. He then asked why it was okay that I used my phone while driving, yet he is required to put his promptly in the glove box when he gets behind the wheel. This got me scrambling for a response and thinking about that adage “do as I say, not as I do”. I settled on experience and my many years of driving under my belt, blah, blah, blah. It wasn’t a good answer, I knew that, and I’m sure so did he, but sensing the slight irritation in my tone at having my authority challenged, he decided against pushing the subject.

After dropping him off I got to thinking about that task that we parents have in trying to ensure that our kids have it better than we did, that they have the opportunity to learn from our mistakes and that they experience life in a different way; hopefully less burdened, happier and more fulfilled. And even though “do as I say, not as I do” seems like a thin, even arrogant approach, it rings true, and can be the best way to direct your children at times. I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t want my boys doing some of the things that I did when I was younger. It was a different time when I was their age and the world was much different then. Just as it was when my parents were teenagers. Not that I am excusing any of my poor behavior or choices, I’m just saying that at times, I was damn lucky! And, no, no details will be shared.

Like every situation and argument, there is a flip side, a different view. How fair is it to judge your child’s behavior or decision making if you, in turn, made the same cavalier choices at his/her age? Or perhaps, you made worse decisions…what room do you have to then bring the hammer down so hard on your kids? Like anything in life, there’s a balance that needs to be found. There’s some understanding that you must have as a parent in relating to age and experience and remembering what it was like to be a teenager. Remembering the immaturity and lack of world knowledge that youngsters have and how to gently guide while allowing some independence. It’s tough as a parent to step back at times allowing decisions to be made that you know are poor, but the learning opportunity that comes from the certain consequences far outweighs any real harm that can come. Still, there are those circumstances that arise from time to time that you must step in and say, “because I said so…because I know…because I have been there…”.

Life is full of decision making opportunities and as much as we would like to be able to direct our kids at every single one, that isn’t going to happen. At some point, they will fly solo and you hope that you have given them enough to ensure a straight flight. I tell my boys the same thing all the time; that the moment I chose to have them in my life, is the moment that it was no longer about me. It was about them and how I could make sure that they had chances that I didn’t, that they had more, were able to do more than I had or did. And if I have to tell them from time to time to just “do as I say, not as I do…or did,” in order to achieve that goal, then so be it.

“Conrad Was My Dad”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-17)

William Conrad. My famous father.

In 1971 I was ten years old. Most kids in my neighborhood were collecting baseball cards or building model kits. But I had a different pursuit in mind – setting up my first home office. It was an idea born from the inspiration provided by my dad, who was a scholar, theologian and published author. After years of sneaking into his workspace after hours, I wanted one of my own.

In our Virginia basement, I took a metal trash barrel, topped it with a square of plywood, and stationed my plastic, blue-and-white typewriter on top. A discarded electric motor with a model-airplane propeller served as my fan. For music and talk, I used the family Sears & Roebuck ‘Silvertone’ transistor radio. (AM only.)

The effect was perfect. I felt liberated and focused on my work.

Early writing projects ensued from this humble location. But none more heartfelt than speaking about a television star who echoed my own genetic sire. His character name was Cannon. Frank Cannon. A private detective, ex-cop and amateur chef of some renown.

‘Cannon’ was, like many popular shows of the era, a Quinn Martin Production. In 1971, to see a gruff, pudgy, crimefighting hero with slicked-back hair and a business suit felt glorious. Though he did not look stylish next to Jack Lord or Mike Connors, this plus-sized sleuth represented a familiar image to me – that of my own papa.

My ‘Real Dad’ had suits that were a decade or more out of date. He complained about his knees and lumbered with the gait of one who had done farm labor as a kid, before putting on extra pounds in adult life. But my ‘TV Dad’ could run after criminals, use a revolver with expert skill, and still find time to whip up an exotic recipe to impress lady guests at the end of an episode.

And his quips were perfect. Sometimes witty, sometimes amusingly odd. But much like what I might hear at home:

“Compulsion. I suppose everybody has a compulsion of some sort. Heh. I sometimes think nature invented the pistachio nut as a device to control the compulsion to eat. You know, by the time you get them shelled, you’ve lost your appetite.”

Sometimes while running home from church, dressed in my blue suit (the only ‘good clothes’ I had at the time) my imagination would grow wild. I darted between trees and shrubbery along the street, looking for evildoers. When a big Lincoln automobile would appear, I pretended that it was my car, waiting to cruise in search of evidence.

With my own march toward adulthood, I put away this fascination. Conrad passed through ‘Nero Wolfe’ along with ‘Jake and the Fatman.’ I tried to distance myself from his image. It seemed wise to develop my own signature persona. A unique expression of self.

But after a long struggle as a creative writer, and a retail business manager… there they were again. ‘Real Dad’ and ‘TV Dad.’

I was them and they were me… forever.

I had just turned 56 years old. My knees, left hip and back were shot. Mobility, something I took for granted since first crawling from my crib, became a precious commodity. I had to take early retirement in 2016. Coffee and the computer were my companions. Suddenly, 1971 loomed again over the horizon. But now I was the graying, middle-aged man in a suit. (More literally a work shirt and trousers, but the personal vibe remained intact.)

Like my heroes, I cut a profile swelled by food and caffeine.

My Roku box offered MeTV, a.k.a. Memorable Entertainment Television. A streaming channel from Chicago. There, in the wee hours of morning, I saw Conrad once again. Driving his Lincoln Continental Mark III, joking about his own heft, pursuing lawbreakers from coast to coast and growling bits of randomness with authority:

“When it comes to bluegrass music and a jukebox, I’ve got a memory like an elephant. No joke intended.”

Over four decades had passed. I could not run anymore. The hands on my biological clock spun like a windmill. My business career was over. It was too early to sit on the bench. Yet there I rested. ‘Real Dad’ remained active as an author, having reached his 80’s and more. I could only hope for such longevity. But I felt grateful for his parentage. And for television reruns.

William Conrad. Fat fellow with a jacket and tie. Immortal through the magic of electronic media. And everlasting as the doppelganger of Dad and myself.

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent

"Human After All"

by Cheryl Kelly

(9-2017)

Why is it that it takes heartbreak to spur reflection and tragedy to ignite change? That it takes loss to appreciate one’s haves or that it takes sadness to jump start positive thinking? Is this a basic flaw that we humans have? Would it not just be simpler to start off by appreciating the people and things in our lives from the beginning? Easier said than done I suppose as humans do tend to be a selfish species. In this fast paced world we live in, perhaps it is a tall order. We tend to spend so much time running, trying to keep up with everything – time is of the essence, yet time is the one commodity that most people complain about. That it goes by too fast, that it is not spent wisely, that if only there were more of it in a day. And as we lie awaiting death and whatever it is that comes next, we consistently have regrets for how we spent our time. How much we would give to have more of it to do the things we didn’t take the time to do our first time around this world or to see the people we love just one more time. Regret is a powerful emotion. It can be equally motivational and debilitating. It can empower you to betterment or sink you into deep depression and unfortunately, we all experience it at some point in our lives.

Regret goes hand in hand with mistake. If it’s one thing we humans have no difficulty doing, it’s making the wrong decision. When we get burned and find out the hard way that we have made a mistake and we endure pain and loss, how do we respond? We turn around and do it again…so much for learning from poor behavior. And if it happens to someone else and we sit in the comfort of our own shell, telling ourselves how we will never do that, there are those of us that will, even despite watching others, sometimes those close to us, suffer. Human behavior is fascinating if not frustrating. Now I know why therapists can charge the fees that they do! Trying to sort out why we do what we do and attempting to right these stubborn ships and keep them sailing smoothly is a chore to say the least. Then again, how boring would this world be if we were all perfect? A universe of Stepford wives and husbands milling around complacently and unassumingly with nothing to strive for and lacking the very conflict and constant struggle that makes us human.

I think it is safe to say that, in general, people just really do want to be happy. We spend our entire lives searching for and working toward some form of happiness. It is this pursuit of happiness that we make the most mistakes and in return rack up the regrets. We struggle at first figuring out what it is that will make us happy. Some of us find it in material things and some of us in other ways, and I think it judgmental to say one is in any way better than the other or that there is a right or wrong way to define happiness. Uniqueness and individuality make the world go round, and who cares how you get there as long as you aren’t hurting someone else in the process. Once we do find happiness we then fight with ourselves to maintain it and continue to search for more; a continuous cycle so to speak. I do believe that happiness breeds happiness and is quite contagious which is a positive amongst all of this mistake and regret talk.

So as I sit here with heartbreak and reflect, I am reminded of my own mistakes and of course regrets. And yes, some recurring. The questions come, the internal struggle trying to understand where I went wrong keeps me up at night, and the immediate scramble trying to put together some type of plan to fix it floods my mind. Whether or not I am successful is yet to be determined, but I do know one thing, and that is that no matter what happens, or how this all turns out, I will try to keep my regrets to a minimum, but, I am human after all.

“And Away We Went”

c. 2017 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(9-17)

Welcome to the weekend.

My friend Janis works six days a week. So her Sundays are precious. A welcome pause to catch her breath and get up to date on household chores. A time to remember the comforts of home. But a routine of sorts developed between us as did our friendship, over the past few years. After working an early shift on Saturday, she will take a quick nap to revive herself, then drive the 20 miles or so to my humble hut across the county line, in Thompson.

From there we usually drive north to Madison, for a quick meal. Then shop at various stores including our former workplace, in Geneva. Afterward, we return to my home for relaxation on the ground-level deck in my back yard, or in front of the television for some entertainment via my Roku streaming device. It is a simple, but satisfying way to enjoy a few hours together.

We normally have enjoyed all sorts of food in the area, at a Chinese buffet, the Waffle House, or a 50’s diner nearby. But my side step into early retirement squeezed the household budget. So our habits shifted to fast-food purveyors. At first this presented no issues. Our cost-per-meal was fantastic. And the conversation shared between us was no less satisfying. But then, two weeks ago, we arrived at the local Wendy’s. A familiar spot for ‘old-fashioned hamburgers’ and refreshment. After 15 years of regular visits, it felt very much like the home of a relative. Yet soon after entering, we realized that something was amiss.

A long line of patrons stretched backward from the front counter. I could see that the crew seemed to have changed from our usual group. Lots of young boys were milling around. An older woman seemed to be herding them like sheep. They were polite and friendly. Still, no one seemed quite sure of their responsibilities. As a result, the line had nearly slowed to a complete standstill.

A woman ahead of us was having trouble with her order. She repeated it over and over. Two more salads were needed. The delay had her snorting and pacing around. Not with anger but simply a sad resignation to the fact that dinner for her family would only be prepared after a great amount of patience and supervision of the inexperienced crew.

Behind Janis and myself, customers started leaving the restaurant. I counted them silently. “One… two… three… four.” Right out the front door. The obvious loss of business made me sigh. Particularly because, in my long-term career as a retail manager, I had seen such breakdowns occur, before. No one behind the counter seemed to notice the customers scrambling for escape. I was more than a little bit surprised.

After a long wait, Janis and I got our meals.

I tried to talk about something more cheerful. But our chatter kept turning back to the mess up front. I shook my head as the cattle-call continued. Eventually, enough customers had been served that the rush quieted down. I felt sorry for the adult woman trying to direct her herd of kids.

A week later, Janis and I returned to the Madison Wendy’s location. We honestly reckoned that our previous experience had been an outlier. Not typical of the burger chain. We were also a bit later in the evening, after the normal dinner rush. So we approached the front register with renewed confidence.

This time, an adult woman was supervising a gaggle of young girls. We waited as she had to re-train her employee on how to perform a card transaction. This caused the line to back up a bit. Next was a kid obviously on her break. She chattered with the clerk as the other patrons entered the place and stood behind us, wide-eyed and hungry. The girls sputtered and giggled as menu choices were discussed. Then, something seemed to go wrong. The one on her break started to walk away. “I’ll be right back!” she said. We were all confused. The clerk whispered “I’ll have to ring up these other people and get back to you!” But she did not do this, instead choosing to stare into space as her co-worker ran out the door. Had she forgotten her Money? Was the clerk unsure how to clear the register and start a new order? No one paid attention to us as the adult woman on duty had disappeared. I could hear those behind us becoming restless.

“What’s going on?” Janis wondered out loud.

No one would acknowledge us, as the drive-thru window also seemed to be busy. I had a similar feeling to our visit of the previous week, except that on this occasion, there were no polite apologies. Not even eye contact. I quietly imagined myself trying to handle such a situation.

Finally, my patience was exhausted. “Let’s go!”

And away we went.

None of the girls seemed to notice as we turned to our right and walked out the front door. As we were leaving, the employee on break reentered with a blank look of indifference. I fumbled for the keys to my truck. “Well then, its Taco Bell tonight. Is that okay?”

Janis smiled. “Of course.”

Our $5.00 ‘Cravings Deal’ was actually quite satisfying. A Cheesy Gordita Crunch, Beef Burrito Supreme, Crunchy Taco and Chips & Nacho Cheese Sauce. I got the Brisk Mango Tea to drink.

My friend was happy because her meal box included an offer to win a video game.

The next day, I pondered sending an e-mail about these incidents to the company. Not seeking contrition or any coupons, but simply in the hope that those in charge would be made aware so that they might take corrective action. It was the kind of dust-up I had handled on many occasions during my management career. But the website only provided a corporate number for customer calls or texts. Wanting to form my thoughts carefully, with the discipline of a professional writer, I chose the latter.

“Dear Wendy’s, I am a long-time customer in general and have visited your Madison, OH location frequently over the past 15 years...”

I imagined the local manager receiving my message. It would present a challenge on top of an already busy workload of supervision. Yet I recalled what my own brother had said, after managing a Burger King franchise. “The worst kind of problem is the ‘walk-away’ customer.” he observed. “Because you never have a chance to make things right.” It was an example I had used many times, when thanking someone for calling me with a complaint. Not because I wanted to receive bad news but because… as the one in charge, I needed to know.

Comments or questions about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P.O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

Published weekly in the Geauga Independent