It's not exactly that I can't place the face

This past Saturday, the boys and I marched in the semi-famous Hollidaysburg Halloween parade with the group from the Library. One of the Library ladies was dressed as a faceless ghoul, similar to the image below (but without the sickle).

Mrs. Ghoul introduced me to her husband, Mr. Ghoul, who wore a matching costume, also faceless.

"Actually, we've met before," he said, gesturing to Ethan. "I was an assistant coach on one of Ethan's Pee Wee teams."

Pee Wee was a long time ago, so it would have been hard enough to remember this man, but on top of that, I had no face to go by (due to his costume). So I took his word for it.

After we chatted for a few minutes, Mr. Ghoul ambled over to Ethan.

Ethan looked up.

I guess you had to be there, but it was pretty comical when Mr. Ghoul said (forgetting that he had no face): "You don't remember me, do you?"

Ya Ghoul! I mean, Ya Goof!

Emmett loses his shoes to the Man

Here is Hippie (Emmett) being menaced by Tiger (Emmett's buddy Michael) before they go out to trick or treat. Notice Hippie's guitar case. That's where the treats go!

Also notice Hippie's shoes. Dad's pricey dress shoes! Hippie, Ya Goof! Wrong look! Bad Hippie! (Hippie changed footgear.)

Aftermath: The guitar case filled up nicely.

And the facial hair washed off!

Happy Halloween!

P.S. Note that I'm posting this on October 27. Halloween hasn't come yet, but in our area, Trick-or-Treat Night has. It happens by town decree on the preceding Thursday. I never realized until moving here that you could tamper with holidays!

Juice on the loose

This week, Ethan and Emmett both took part in an all-day music workshop at at Roosevelt Junior High School. All students were to dress in black and white, and the boys left the house in the morning with their clothes and shoes carefully packed away.

Well, in Ethan's case, not so carefully. He filled an empty soda bottle with orange juice and threw that in, too.

Not far into the morning, he found out that the juice found its way out of the bottle. He called me at work to let me know I'd need to bring him another set of clothes. I'd been planning to work late and drive straight to Roosevelt. Instead, I had to leave work a little early, drive home and backtrack fifteen minutes.

Here's your shirt read to go into the wash, Ethan (Ya Goof):

I know why your drawer won't balance tonight

I stopped at Dollar Tree this evening for some poster board (3 for a buck!) and owed $1.06.

It was a small pleasure to find a dime and a penny in my pocket to hand over along with the George in my wallet.

The clerk (let's call her Missy ... yeah, Little Miss MISS-y) handed me my receipt.

But no nickel.

In that situation, even a cheap ________ like I am doesn't say, "I gave you $1.11." Not that I didn't require a tick of time to check my natural reflex to do so before I went on my way.

Here's another small pleasure: Missy, Ya Goof!

Take your pills ... aboard

A friend who I'll call G. (because I don't want to identify him, okayyyy?) mentioned the other day that he recently flew to Japan. He took care to put his blood pressure medicine inside his briefcase so it would be handy during the flight.

But he forgot the briefcase.

G, Ya Goof!

Put down the scissors and nobody gets hurt

It's okay if you didn't know that the tag on a mattress or pillow is also called a law label.

But if you think that means that it's against the law to remove it from a purchase, I have to say: Ya Goof!

Proof? Here.

A signature mistake

You hardcore baseball collectors know this already. I only learned it recently:

Don't offer a player a Sharpie for an autograph on a baseball. A Sharpie signature will bleed into the baseball. The weapon of choice is a blue ballpoint pen. Not black ballpoint, because that could be mistaken for a printed-on signature. So if you bring a Sharpie to the baseball stadium, I have to say: Ya Goof!

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

I've committed all of these at work recently:

520. Accidentally ruin the settings on your ergonomic desk chair.
519. Forget to put your lunch away in the refrigerator. Yuck! room-temperature yogurt.
518. Answer the telephone wearing a headset receiver but fail to hit the headset button--so you sound like you're speaking into the telephone from across the room.

Plus this one that I've committed before but not lately:

517. Answer the telephone only to find that it was ringing only in a television program.

The bald facts

A story from my baby sister Kimberly about her older son Tyler (with a mention of her husband Herman):

A couple of months ago, Tyler wanted me to pick up a "buzzer" at Walmart so he could start cutting his own hair. Tyler's too cheap to spend $$ on going to a salon to get his haircut, although we were still paying. In his opinion it was a big waste. Can you see where this is going?

He used it the first time, and I was there to supervise. All was good. I trimmed up the back for him, did the sideburns. Maybe he was right ... maybe this was a good idea.

It had only been about a month, and he wanted to cut his hair again. I told him that his hair was fine, it didn't need to be cut yet. Herm and I were watching the news in the living room and in comes Tyler.

"Mom?" He turns around then facing away from me. "Does the back of my hair look okay?"

What he had done was, he buzzed his hair to its normal length, taken the guard off to trim his sideburns, thought the back could use another "go over" with the buzzer and--OOPS!--forgot to put the guard back on!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There was this two inch bald strip from the top of his head to the bottom of his neck. Needless to say, I now have a 16-year-old son WHO looks like he just joined the Marines.

By the way, I'm not writing what I said after he showed it to me. I will say, I did rub in the fact that I had said his hair was fine to begin with. I can laugh now though.

Then Kimberly adds this comment directed to our big sister Tina, referring to our niece Bethany's wedding next summer:

Don't worry Tina, Tyler will not be getting near any buzzers anytime near Bethany's wedding.

And may I add ... Tyler, Ya Goof!

One thing about your ring ...

I owe a deep debt of gratitude to my friend and co-worker Tammy for showing me just how filthy and disgusting I really am.

Or was. On one of my digits.

It started with this email that she sent this morning:

Jewelry Cleaning Offered for a Limited Time!!

I brought my jewelry cleaner in today… isn't that exciting! So today and today only I'm offering a free ring cleaning service to my Pigger family. If you want your rings cleaned, drop them off (around lunch time) and I'll clean them for you. Your satisfaction is 100% guaranteed. Check out the sparkling rings on Bridget, Jenn, Lisa and Doug.

I wandered over to Tammy's desk. She held out her palm, but I held my ring hand out of view.

"I'm not sure I can go through with it," I said. "I've only ever taken my ring off once in the seventeen years I've been married." That was a for a photo shoot at work when I possessed the only pair of hands available but I couldn't wear a distracting ring.

"You won't believe the difference," Tammy said. "You should have seen Steve's* ring before and after. People don't realize that gold tarnishes just like other metals." She motioned for my ring again. "Fork it over."

I did.

And woman, was she right! She below for a picture of the grime she pulled off my ring.

Now I'm spreading the gospel. To everyone out there wearing junked-up jewelry (a.k.a, guys), if you have a chance to get it cleaned ... don't hesitate, Ya Goof!

* His real name

Wet beggars can't be choosers

Another YMCA-in-the-morning story ...

A few weeks ago, I forgot my towel. It happens from time to time, and not only to me. The Y keeps a supply of towels at the front desk to lend out. You use the towel, take it home, launder it, bring it back. A friend let me in on this one day when he noticed I was drying off with paper towels from the bathroom area.

Except on this day a few weeks ago when I discovered (while still fully clothed!) that I'd forgotten my towel, Darlene at the front desk was fresh out of loaners.

"Wait, I do have these," she said.

"I'll take 'em!"

A set of washcloths, each with a bunny on it! I threw them in on a shelf in the basement after they came out of the wash. I gotta take 'em back on Monday.

Keith, Ya Goof!

Wardrobe malfunctions

I'm coming off a bad week in terms of dressing myself on mornings when I swim.

I wear my swimsuit and sandals out of the house--and my shirt for the day--and take everything else that I need in my gym bag so I can leave right from the YMCA to go to work. Otherwise, I first have to backtrack home.

On Monday, I forgot that I'd need a belt.

On Wednesday, I forgot my shoes.

On Friday, I packed with utmost care and determination. Not until I reached the locker room did I notice that I wasn't carrying anything. I'd forgotten my gym bag entirely.

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

523. Mistakenly buy runny original Yoplait instead of nice, thick custard-style Yoplait. Mmm.
522. Throw ketchup packets in your purse and forget about them until they burst.
521. ,ods;omh upit gomhrtd pm upit lrunpstf (Translation: Misalign your fingers on a keyboard.)

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

529. Assemble furniture incorrectly.
528. Stay on hold on the telephone for an hour and then accidentally hang up.
526. Cut up your new credit card that just came in the mail rather than the old one that it replaced.
525. Spill maple syrup on the pants you're about to return.
524. Carefully crease paper to make it tear neatly and then rip it in the wrong place.

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

537. Roll down your window inside a carwash
536. Wait in line for a carwash and discover that you don’t have any money
535. Leave window open going into a carwash
534. Go to the dentist or doctor when you don’t have an appointment
533. Send back a Blockbuster movie in a Netflix envelope
532. Mis-remember your long-ago high school mascot
531. Reply to the wrong person in email
530. Put your keys in the pocket of your fold-up canvas chair while watching the Little League game and then lock the car (and the keys) in your trunk

Just call me the boss of sauce loss

Forgive the ugly picture below. I'm trying to impart an important reminder:

Trying to save time sometimes costs you far more time than you'd ever save.

In this case, I was attempting to save the precious seconds lost in extracting barbecue sauce from a bottle that was getting low. I stored the bottle upside-down in one of the shelves in the fridge door. I've always gotten a kick out of bottles made to be stored upside down. The idea is great and simple. Simply great!

Note: My big sister and her husband have complained to me that ketchup spurts or even explodes from a bottle designed for upside-down storage, but I've never had that happen. Maybe it's due to higher air pressure in their house. Completely plausible, given how this sister can talk. Oops, did I type that out loud?

Anyway, the barbecue sauce bottle that I stored for speedy use wasn't made to be stored upside-down, but it would have done the job just fine IF I'd made sure that the cap was on tight.

Don't get ahead of me now. Let a couple beats go by to denote that two weeks passed before I next reached for that particular bottle.

That's when I found that all of the sauce had flowed out of the bottle through the loosened cap and onto the bottle's shelf ... and the shelf below that ... and the shelf below that. Like so:

The picture doesn't show the bottles that had been stored in that column of space. I took them to the sink to scrub off their tangy, sticky covering.

All I can say is: Keith ...

Armstrong un-goofs!

Hey! The story from yesterday continues! Look at the email that I discovered after lunch today:

I would like to personally respond to your comments posted yesterday relative to your being on hold for four hours with Armstrong. My name is Charles Wrightson and I am responsible for Customer Service in our Floor Products Operation. This is totally unacceptable customer service and we sincerely apologize for your extended inconvenience. Our caller experience is extremely important to us and we take the process very seriously.

We do track metrics specific to phone calls with all departments. Our records indicate the longest hold time for yesterday in any department for Flooring Products was 9 minutes 28 seconds. Our corporate communications team also ran a query for all 23 incoming queues for the entire Company and the longest hold time was 17 minutes ( which is used for internal vendors and retirees ). So your experience leads us to believe that we may have a problem with our systems. Would you please do us a favor and tell us which phone number you used to contact us and most importantly we want to help you with your question regarding the floor in your church.

From your message , it is difficult to determine how we can best reach you, other than by e mail. My phone number is xxx-xxx-xxxx. I will be travelling the rest of this week, so please leave a message if I don`t answer , or you can reach Kathy Mallinson at xxx-xxx-xxxx.

Again, we apologize and are extremely embarrassed by your experience. I can assure you it is not how we want to be perceived, nor how we normally conduct business. Thanks for giving us the opportunity to recover from our goof.

Nice! Here's how I replied:

Now *this* is encouraging! Not only because it looks like I'll get some information but because Armstrong is hip enough to watch even little-read blogs (and fewer blogs are littler-read than this one!). I assume you watch the net for mention of your company with Google alerts or other means. Way to stay current, AWI! I'll post this on the blog in a way that will give you heaps of credit but protect your privacy.

I was calling from xxx-xxx-xxxx. Please let me know what your log shows for that number, if anything. I'll try calling you now. Thanks.

And a little later, I added:

Satisfaction at last! I tried your phone, got your voice mail, called Kathy, and she transferred me to Jennie Kapwell, who gave me solid answers! I'm once again strong on Armstrong! As mentioned in my previous email, I called from xxx-xxx-xxxx and hope to hear back as to whether that number shows up in your system. And I'll give you kudos on YaGoof.com tonight! Thanks.

I really have to hand it to Armstrong. I'm not completely surprised, though. I attended a work seminar some years ago where there was a very interesting speaker who spoke about how seriously Armstrong takes customer service. As I recall, the speaker said that Armstrong had a product that customers regularly damaged by using the wrong type of cleaner, apparently because they weren't reading the directions, and the result was many unhappy customers. Armstrong turned the situation around by beginning to print their support number right on the product, which made customers have to call up to ask how to get the !@#$ printing off--which created the opportunity to tell the customers the correct type of cleaner to use! Satisfaction soared! Brilliant! The speaker's point was that complainers (like moi) can become among the most loyal of customers if you treat them right.

There's no doubt that the next time I need to think about flooring, the first brand that I'll consider will be Armstrong. Armstrong World Industries is our first official Un-Goof.

Charles Wrightson, thanks so much for your email! I do hope to hear back about whether my phone number shows up in your system--and maybe you can verify or correct the details of the "how do you remove the printing story."

Just hold on an afternoon now, ya whippersnapper

I set a personal record today.

I waited on hold on the telephone for four straight hours. Yep, 12:30 until 4:30, when the company I was calling closes and anyone who happens to be waiting on hold is just ... let go.

The company: Armstrong World Industries

The situation: Our church just had new flooring installed, and we received some advice to apply wax. I researched it on Armstrong.com--which has lots of great info--and it doesn't look like we should apply wax (just cleaner and polish instead), but I wanted a technical rep to confirm that, so I called the support line.


Let's see, since I heard it about 800 times, maybe I can recall what the recorded voice kept saying every so often ... It was something like ...

Thank you for your patience, but we don't have anyone to talk to you, so please go to our website instead.

Okay, okay, it was a little nicer than that, but the result was the same: No live help.

The reason I held on so long: I had a bunch of (relatively brainless) design to do at work today, and I have a headset that plugs into my phone, so I just refused to hang up. After the first hour, it became a challenge. I had kind of hoped to listen to an entire Stephen King audio novel this afternoon, but hey ... the on-hold message from Armstrong World Industries is nearly as entertaining.

Nearly.

People of Armstrong ... Ya Goofs!

Dire dairy dollars

Ethan and Emmett are in Vermont at Camp Grammie.*

*Translation: Our sons are making their annual summer stay with my parents for two weeks.

Janet and I have the house to ourselves back here in Pennsylvania.**

**Yippeeeee!

I drove the boys up on Thursday; Janet needed to stay home. Needless to say, every stop for food involved bacon. And we found every opportunity to stop at creemee*** stands in Vermont.

***Soft-serve ice cream, for those of you not from New England.

My older sister, Tina, said to be sure to stop for creemees at one particular stand in Jeffersonville, Vermont (everyone up there usually just calls the town Jeff). So the three of us did stop at that particular stand.

The signs featured messy handwriting but neat prices for the creemees:

$1.00 baby
$1.25 small
$1.50 large
$1.75 extra-large

I'm genetically very chea--er, thrifty, so that list made me downright weepy.

Creemee stands give you big servings. Tina wouldn't have recommended this place if they skimped on the product. I ordered a small size, knowing that there would be plenty to lick--and indeed there was.

Ethan and Emmett wanted milkshakes. The price wasn't listed, but--oh, it pains me to say it--I figured that if the creemee prices were so favorable, I would find the milkshake prices the same.

Oh, dread and fatal flaw.

The guy at the window was manning the place alone--it was a slow night--and he handed out my creemee and then went to work on the milkshakes. It was a warm night (perfect creemee weather), so I licked my entire treat away before he was done, with time to spare. With a light heart, I jauntily took the time to lay out my money for speedy payment: a five, four ones and a quarter all lined up so that I could choose the best combination for paying. I expected most of the currency to go back in my pocket.

Mr. Window Man finally handed out the goods and toted up the bill, which he announced as ...

$9.25

Oh, evil stake through a penurious heart.

I numbly gathered up my entire monetary display and transferred it through the window. I don't remember the walk to the car; I simply found myself behind the wheel. I put the car in gear. I checked both ways. I motored onto the road with a heart as heavy as if I'd accidentally driven over the cake that won the blue ribbon at the state fair.

I fumbled about in my mind for comfort. I wouldn't have batted an eye at $2.00 apiece for the milkshakes. Perhaps even $2.50. So I would easily (I couldn't go so far as to say gladly) handed over as much as $6.00. But to have miscalculated by 50% was bitter, bitter, bitter.

"Let this be a lesson to you," I told the boys. "ALWAYS know the price beforehand." I drew some courage from the thought that the experience had been valuable for my offspring.

Still ... it was hard to sleep.

To say "Keith, YaGoof!" does little justice to my mental anguish. I can only hope to get over it in time.

1002 ways to goof up

539. Drop your keys and credit cards into an automatic toilet.
538. Show up at a Saturday event on Friday.