A milli a milli

For those that don't follow hip hop the title of this post is a reference to a song by Lil Wayne in which the background chorus has someone chanting "a milli" or a million dollars.  Another song has the Yung Joc talking about, "a couple grand".  Last but not least is Travis McCoy singing about how badly he "wants to be a billionaire."  Please note that I've added links to all of the songs if you want some more context.  Anyways in Chile the Chilean Peso exchange rate is 1 dollar to 400+ Pesos.  So the prices for everything are listed in astronomical quantities.  I have 10000 peso notes in my pocket.  You can see where this is heading.  I walked by a store today and I am dead serious the sign literally translated to "Everything inside for 1000 pesos."  In Spanish the sign was even funnier, because 1000 is "mil".  That was a moment I wished I had a camera to show all the cheap stuff that you could get for a "mil".  Somehow the Mil Store doesn't have the same ring as the Dollar Store.  After I walked by I was thinking about the above mentioned songs and how they can't possibly have the same appeal here where you "drop more than a G on a drink".  I laughed to myself with images of rap stars attempting to "make it rain" when "making it hail" is more appropriate given the amount of bills necessary. 

En Santiago

Well I'm in Santiago for a few days so I thought I should put out a few dispatches.  A bunch of random thoughts from the trip and a few about Santiago.

First maybe I'm naive, but I didn't realize that so many people are down with popping some sleeping pills, having some booze, and then getting on a long flight.  I had heard my friends talk about it and I figured it was just them.  At the airport I heard a couple talking about it and saw some others "prepping".  I see the advantage and even attempted to take some sleeping pills, but they were largely ineffective.  I managed to sleep about 4 hrs, which was good solid sleep.  I still had to deal with another 7 hrs of flight time.  Somehow I'm still reasonably awake right now and dreading the crash that will happen later tonight.  I'm not sure how I will manage to stay awake until dinner as many places here don't open until 8 or 9. 

Why are people SO self absorbed that they can carry entire phone conversations while practically yelling into their phone.  Don't know what I'm talking about?  Look around you when you're waiting to catch your next flight.  If you are in any major city during the week you're bound to see the "important and powerful" businessman/woman carrying on a conference call on their Blackberry (on Bluetooth also) while tapping away on their laptop.  Don't get me wrong I have done all of the above (conference call and laptop) in the last month, but I can't imagine I'm as loud as most of these people.  I was in the middle of a terminal in San Francisco where American Airlines had tons of flights coming and going (so massive crowds, kids, PAs, etc.), but I could still hear and follow clearly the conversation this guy was having 10 ft away from me. 

Have you ever noticed some random person in the airport and wondered where they are going or what their story is?  I think about that and how after that moment when I see that person I will almost certainly never see them again in my life.  What I think is most interesting is when I see a person and then they end up on my flight or even more amazingly right next to me.  The story this time was when I went to enter the security line a young Indian kid (early 20s) dressed in street clothes thanked me for visiting the US and wished me a good journey.  I immediately started laughing, because he was doing this to everyone for a reaction.  He immediately started laughing too.  I then noticed that his friend, another young Indian, was laughing and waving to a young kid (their cousin, friend, etc.) whom I presumed they had seen off at the airport (or maybe just thanked for visiting the US).  The kid ended up in my security line and even got in trouble with the security woman.  I didn't pay much attention, because she was just another traveler and there must have been at least a dozen flights leaving in the next hour.  Once my flight started boarding she turned up again.  On the plane she was seated right behind me.  However, the story ends there and at my connection she was no longer there.  I wonder what her story was and more importantly who was the random guy thanking me for "visiting"? 

Santiago is an interestingly mixed city.  It mixes the modern western look with parts of India.  It mixes urban with enormous mountains 40km away.  It mixes European culture with South American culture.  I see a lot of similarities to other places I have been or maybe it's just the more places you go the more they look the same. 

Coming Soon: Superbad IN 3-D!!!!!

Ok that's not really going to happen, but the way things are going it might.  I feel as though EVERY single movie these days is coming in 3-D.  I think 3-D is cool, but I don't need to see everything that way.  I would even like a choice with some of the movies that "are supposed to be watched in 3-D".  The other night we went to see Despicable Me (in 3-D :P) and the funnier part was how amazed some of the people around us were.  I don't consider myself "with the times", but I've seen 3-D movies before in Disneyland or wherever and this was really no different.  I expect the ooing, ahhing, and reaching out to "touch something" from 10 year olds not from a middle aged person.  What's even more frustrating about 3-D is that it's significantly more expensive than regular, which is another reason I think they should be offered both ways.  The HyWy and many other people's problem with 3-D is the damn glasses.  I can't believe it's 2010 and we're using something that is one step further than the cardboard red and blue lens glasses of the past.  We should easily be using some cover that goes over the whole screen instead of crappy plastic glasses.  So there you have it...I hate 3-D (most of the time). 

Hey Joe!

Steven requested a retelling of a classic story from my days at the sporting goods store. 

We had a call in customer who would call to ask about BMX bikes in stock.  The problem was that he never made good on his calls and he took up valuable time that we could be selling on the floor so the all of us would fight to avoid taking his calls.  A typical call would go like this:

Sales Associate: Ski Bike and Marine how may I help you?
Joe (in a rapid fire delivery reminiscent of an over caffeinated or meth addicted individual): Yeah hey this is Joe.What kind of BMX bikes do you have in stock?Do you have any Haros?I love Haros.Do you have any camo bikes?I don't want no pink bikes.Do you have any with pegs on them?
SA: Hey Joe.  Let me see what we have.
(attempts made to solicit other associates to check and take the transferred call at another phone).

This would go on often for 15 or 20 minutes.  One day Joe actually came in and even bought a bike, but I wasn't there to witness this.  I was there to witness Joe return a week later to try to return the bike.  As I stood there I saw a mid 40s black man sweating profusely in shorts and a t-shirt with a shaved head and a sweatband ride up to our department.  He attempted to tell us that he had wrecked on this nice high end BMX and thus wanted to return it.  If we had taken it back then we would have never been able to resell it so my manager was trying to get out of taking it (knowing full well that there was no reason for Joe to want to return it).  We noticed that the bike had undergone an upgrade.  The crankset (pedal and big sprocket connected to the chain) had been upgraded to a very nice 300 dollar crank (probably about half the value of the bike).  We told Joe we'd take the bike as is and he said he needed his crank back and we told him that it gets returned as is or not.  He gave in.  Another time he came in babbling on about how he was an architect and had designed a building down the street so he wanted to buy a 500 dollar gas powered scooter.  He bought it and took it home.  He came back a few days later trying to return it with gas in it claiming that he couldn't store his new scooter in his building.  We told him that we couldn't take a return with gas in it and off he went again.  I wonder what Joe is up to these days.

Excuse me is that a gun in your bag?

An odd title for a post that I'm writing while waiting for a flight,
but that was the scene that played out in front of me in security.
Not quite the way you think though. I watched a young couple plead
with the security staff over a water pistol, that in their defense
looked nothing like a gun, which was in their carry on bag for their
young son. This scene brought back images of another young father
coming back from Arizona with a toy pistol, that incidentally looked
much more like a real gun, for his young son. That was a long time
ago and that young father admitted that he neglected to move said item
to his check in. That was also more than 10 years before 9/11 so
times were less strict, which is why it blew my mind that in this day
and age a passenger would conscientiously try to argue to be allowed
to bring their water gun on the plane. Eventually the mom conceded
and left the toy, which the did not seem to bother the son in the
least. Perhaps when he grows up and sees a similar scene play out
he'll remember his water gun.

Taking a roller coaster ride down memory lane...

On our most recent trip to Atlanta the HyWy and I took a roller
coaster ride down memory lane. I say that instead of the usual
'stroll down', because at one point the HyWy said that it was an
overwhelming amount of memories. In my case I only went to two places
on memory lane, but in her case we visited her high school, one
elementary school, and several apartment complexes from younger days.

After I got out of college I was unable to find employment and worked
at a sporting goods store on and off for a few years. After I
relocated the chain of stores was sold to another company. Since I
left Atlanta I had never been back to the store I worked in, which was
an enormous 3 floor or 60 ft tall building. One night I happened to
be in the neighborhood so I decided to stop by and see whether the
interior had changed under new ownership. I was amazed to see that
other than a few small shifts the store was essentially the same. All
the departments were in the same places and my department looked
unchanged after nearly 8 years. It was a very surreal feeling to walk
the floor that I knew so well. Everything felt familiar, but none of
it felt right. It was a bit like trying on something you haven't worn
for years that you haven't exactly outgrown. Riding in the elevator
and touching the buttons for the floor I could feel myself flashing
back to the end of a long shift. Looking down from the upper floors I
remember hanging out with other associates and shooting the BSing to
pass the time. Those were fun times, but I'm glad that that article
of clothing doesn't feel right anymore.