Sauce-a Huh?

We had a store coach. A fellow BNI member, with tons of enthusiasm.  He and Jeff got together once a month to brain storm. Jeff would bring him our ideas, and our monthly advertising budget. How much we spent didn’t exactly have a direct correlation to how much we earned. Mostly, we spent more on inventory than marketing. Some months, we’d spend more on advertising and less on product.

Jeff was super excited when I got home from work that day. In the meeting they had dreamt big. Then bigger; then bigger, yet. As he talked, it became clear he wasn’t really thinking budget.

The idea we had agreed to investigate further was to invite as many local non-chain restauranteurs as possible to a salsa meet-and-greet. Of course, there’d be tastings. Hopefully, some bulk sales, too. Serving salsa wasn’t an issue, we were licensed for that having taken the Lenawee County Health Department’s Food Safety course.  

When Jeff mentioned a local wine-maker and declared we could give samples of that, too, I had to stop him. “Um,” I said. “We don’t have a permit for that.” “I’ll check that out,” Jeff made a note. “Maybe he could do the samples for his own stuff.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “That’s not all of it.” He shuffled some papers around. “Here’s what I think we should do.” The title of the hand-written (almost illegibly scribbled, truly) was Sauce-a-Palooza. “I’m not sure we can use the ‘palooza’ part.” I interjected. “Might be copyrighted.”

“Ok,” he waved his hands. “But, that’s not all of it.”

“All of it” entailed tents, tables for crafters or businesses, a homemade salsa contest, hot sauce eating contest, bounce houses, live music, a live radio broadcast, and 20 different kinds of salsa for a vote-for-your-favorite American Red Cross fundraiser.  Each salsa would have a mason jar next to it. Each vote was 25 cents, but folks could put as much as they wanted over that in, too. The salsa with the most money in their jar would be the winner.

“The winner of what?” I asked. “No, wait… never mind that. Do you have any idea how much it costs just to rent tents? Do we need a permit for that? Live music? Where would we get a power source? I have no idea how much those bouncy things cost.  Do you?”

“Well,” Jeff was getting ready to explain, when I cut him off, again.

“Do we really want to serve homemade salsa from people we don’t know? We can’t just set out jars of salsa and let them sit there all day. We’d need to keep them cool. We’re gonna need to hire help for all this.” I took a deep breath. “Oh, no.” I reported. “We can’t possibly afford all that.”

“Well,” Jeff started.

“Maybe next year.” I emphatically ended the conversation, before adding, “So, what’s for dinner?”

Quote for the Week:

10 29 2018 There are only two types of business people jakorte

 

How to Miss a Wedding (part 3)

Here’s the thing. One person’s prolonged wrong can turn into another person’s wrongs, multiplied.

It was an unpaid ticket for which he’d received multiple notices… at his mom’s address. Sally had been safely tucking them away. She’d given Jeff a few; might have misplaced one or two. Jeff never took them from her while I was there. In any case, he had an inkling. A very strong inkling. Strong enough to make him want to hide his suspended license in my purse.

So, that explained a lot. He’d planned on taking care of it, but had ‘forgotten’ until the flashing lights did not pass us by. But, the extra excuses – 

That he didn’t have the money because I did our banking, and watched it like a hawk…

That he never had a chance because we were always together…

That he didn’t want me to know because I’d be upset … – were the ones that irked me even more.

I don’t know how Jeff talked himself out of being handcuffed and taken in, because that is where the officers told him he was headed. Or why they didn’t take into account his shady evasion tactics. Or even why they believed him when he’d told them I had no idea that he’d shoved his card into my purse. They just gave him a multiple-fine ticket to add to his already outstanding charges and told him to take care of it within three days.

‘Three days’ would mean mid-week. Mid-week would require both of us taking a day off. Jeff argued that I didn’t have to go with him. I countered with the thought it would be a very bad idea for him to drive himself since his license was worthless, at that point.

We emptied our savings of cash, because none of our credit cards would be able to handle the full amount. I didn’t know if they would run multiple cards. I wasn’t going to ask, and we weren’t going to be taking any chances. Jeff suggested we could borrow money from his Mom, if needed. This is where my parental influence kicked in.

It never kicked in on the advice to save money, or plan for the future much, but it somehow stuck with me that borrowing money was the lowest thing you could do. It would show the world your failure and absolutely ruin relationships. I told Jeff that I would never agree to stooping so low, and insisted that nobody really needed to know, anyway.

We’d just have to deal with it like adults. Money was going to be very, very tight for a few months, and I decided we were going to get through this on our own.

Quote for the Week:

2018 06 12 One persons prolonged wrong jakorte

How to Miss a Wedding (part 2)

Jeff and the first officer walked toward the driver’s door. I took that as a good sign that we would be driving off soon. He was rooting around for something on the floor, then exclaimed, “I got it!”

I was watching; trying to figure out what was going on. Just as I realized he must have retrieved his license from my purse, a voice from behind startled me.

It was the other officer, informing me he had a few more questions:

“How long have you known Mr. Korte?”

“What does Mr. Korte do for a living?”

“If Mr. Korte were to not have a license, how would that affect his job?”

The last was an interesting one, because, well… he obviously had one. My mind sped ahead. Why wouldn’t he have one? Is it possible he wasn’t going to have one soon,? Like (oh, no) very soon? It was a very unsettling inquiry with an even more unsettling answer. Jeff carried a CDL, and he needed it to do his job.

Seemingly satisfied by my answers, my  interrogator gave me a nod, and returned my license. “Come with me,” he directed. Because my mind works the way it does, I figured I probably wasn’t going to be arrested. Otherwise he’d probably be walking behind me, instead of beside me.

When we met up with Jeff and officer #1, Jeff handed me the keys and said, “You’re going to have to drive…”

“Ok.” I replied, and kind of questioningly waited for a beat.

Jeff’s officer stated, “You’re free to go.” I wasn’t sure if he was saying I was free to go or if we were free to go.

“Um,” I pointed at Jeff, “Is HE coming with ME?”

Jeff’s eyes opened wide in shock in disbelief that I would even ask that question. “Yeah,” he huffed, emphatically shaking his head up and down. “I’m GOING with YOU…” That exchange made both officers crack slight smiles.

As I got into the driver seat, I heard the officer admonish Jeff. “Mr. Korte, you KNOW what you have to DO…”

It’s a little nerve-wracking to start-up a car and pull away from a police stop. I had no clue what the protocol for that was. Do I pull away first; do they pull away first? So, the first thing I did was turn to my now passenger and repeat, “What the hell, Jeff?”

“Just drive away, please,” he requested. “We gotta find a gas station fast. I gotta pee…”

It seemed the occupied police car was waiting for us to move. They followed us until we got back to a main road, and then, thankfully, turned the opposite way. Jeff and I drove in silence, except for the slight sound of Jeff’s legs bouncing and the steady drumming of his fingertips against his knees.

I pulled into a gas station, dropped him at the door, and sat in the car waiting. Jeff came back with two Mountain Dews, two hot dogs, a bag of chips and a sleeve of mini donuts, sheepishly admitting he didn’t think either of us would want to stop for dinner after our impending talk.

Quote for the Week:

2018 06 05 unattended small problems inevitably jakorte

How to Miss a Wedding (part 1)

Roger told Jeff: Call me whenever you’re down or lonely.

He visited Jeff while I was at work. He helped Jeff get to medical appointments. Jeff told me that Roger had said that Jeff was being unfair to me by not trying harder.

He did try harder. Did he try hard enough? Not hard enough for me. I was critical. Often.

Probably just as often as I was lenient. If he wanted a new diecast, I’d say, “Yes.” When he wanted more cable channels because he was getting more bored, I said, “Yes.” As time went on, I said, “Yes” a lot more. I’d do anything to help him be a little happier. Money was tight, but, somehow that came to matter less and less.

That had a lot to do with another day when I’d said, “No.” It was mostly out of anger and somewhat to do with how I was raised. One weekend afternoon, we were driving home from a trip to Jackson.  Jeff had an ex-coworker friend who lived nearby, so he thought it would be nice to stop and see him.

Jeff was driving and I had no clue where we were, so I wasn’t paying that much attention. Until the police car sped up behind us, siren blaring. I think we both thought they were just trying to get by, but when we pulled off to the side, the police car pulled off behind us, too.

Suddenly, Jeff appeared panicked. He grabbed his wallet, took out his license and thrust it into my purse. “Don’t tell them it’s in there,” he pleaded.

“What?” I asked. “Shhh. I’ll tell you later,” he answered without looking at me. When asked for his license, Jeff took out his wallet, opened it, and remarked, “Hmm, I guess I don’t have it on me.” The officer asked for his personal information and went back to his car. “What the hell, Jeff?” came out of my mouth, probably not as quietly as he would have liked. “If he asks tell him we work together… and shhh.” he repeated, still not looking at me.

I was looking at him, though, and he was sweating bullets. The next thing I knew, the officer was back on Jeff’s side and another policeman was standing on my side. The one on my side asked me to get out of the vehicle. “Me?” I asked, stunned. “You want ME to get out?”

The answer from the officer was, “Yes, and I’ll need to see your license, too.” So, I grabbed my wallet, leaving the purse on the floor between our seats, where it had been. I handed over my license and was told to stay there and to remain outside the car.

By this time, Jeff was out, too. He and the other guy were having a conversation at the back. When the second officer joined them, they all seemed to get a bit more animated. 

After a few minutes, my officer came back to me, and asked me how I knew Jeff.  Because I was now terrified, I decided to sort of go with Jeff’s request “We work for the same company,” I told him, adding, “… and…we’re .… friends… too.” Just in case Jeff might have mentioned that

Quote for the Week:2018 05 28 2018 In certain situations jakorte

 

Keto-Train (-ing)

First Step: on-boarding due diligence: review counsel reading list. 

I checked out Amazon for Kindle for availabilities and costs. Post-perusal, I contemplatively pursed my lips and rerouted my research to the www.

The first pop-ups included ads and what seemed to be sensationalistic attention grabbers. There’s a real search engine war out there in internet space. The good-for-you camp is as well attended as the ridership on the bad-for-you bandwagon. Eventually, I refined my search to “ketogenic recipes,” and happily hit a deep vein.

These super friendly, language casual, photo enticing and aiming to-grow-readership sites simply and thoroughly listed exactly what could be eaten with very little variation. That’s because the almost verbatim lists of can-do are infinitesimally smaller than the don’t-do. 

Despite the fact that these groups were a bit kinder, the echo of my first reaction returned loud and clear. “What? No. ” I moved on to the next logical level.

Second Step: Ignore a day or two or four, then revisit, and try to imagine physical behavioral compliance….

Despite studies and testimonials, I still dragged a dejected soul. From regular work lunchroom brown bagging to full-on celebrations, so much of life is about socializing with food. Going along for the fun and having an iced-tea would make me feel less left out. But, could I truly resist the ordering influenced by delicious aromas? Plus, not eating during these excursions would mean money could be reallocated from ‘dining out’ to ‘groceries.’

Yes, my budget is that specific. If you’ve been with me for a while, you know this. If you haven’t been with me for a while, well, now you know. I have yet to cover this topic in Knabble, although I have in previous forums. I think a side-track from this side-track may be in order, soon.

Quote for the Week:2017 11 28 just because something is good for you doesn_t jakorte

Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:

Lifestyle: Motivation

Lifestyle: Explaining Ketogenics

Lifestyle:  = Diet + Nutrition

 

 

Good Measure

When I picture our couples decision-making conversations, I realize I did a lot of pulling.

Carpet Outlet Plus was just down the road from our new home. We’d first gone in to look at possibly replacing the blood red carpet. Realizing it wasn’t going to be immediately affordable, Jeff was still convinced I’d grow out of my dislike.

Jeff got sidetracked in the carpet-tile section by an enter-to-win opportunity. He never missed an opportunity to enter a raffle.  If there was a box to put your name in, he’d put his name in. “You can’t win if you don’t enter,” he’d say. He’d also happily field the predictable sales calls that usually followed.

We wandered around a little on the way out just to be sure we hadn’t missed something, and we had. A small section of the warehouse displayed a few all assembly required Sauder line samples.

I had been thinking maybe a book shelf or two would solve the laundry room’s no-cabinets dilemma. There weren’t any book cases, but there was an armoire that seemed even better because it had doors to hide the supplies behind. We knew it would be a discount flooring warehouse with

Picturing it, I immediately had my heart set on a white one. Jeff preferred the wood faux-finish. Of course, there were only light and dark wooden finishes in the size I thought would fit. “It just looks nicer,” he said, politely trying to sway me. “Oh,” I responded, bluntly. “I think the fake stuff looks cheap.” “Oh.” he said. “Hmmm.”

Around the next bend there was a much larger, white double cabinet.  “Hey, look! It’s white!” Jeff smiled, assuring me that it would fit where it needed to fit. I didn’t think so. I argued that it would stick out too far into the doorway and crowd the space. We realized we’d have to go home to measure.

On the way out, my chicken radar activated. My swiveling eyes locked on a chicken clock. It was a rather large, regular round clock with a chicken feed motif, metal movements and an antique finish. It was $52 dollars, though, which was about half the cost of the large cabinet.  We considered that, then, left empty-handed with a “maybe someday” agreement.

Off we went to Lowe’s. They didn’t have what we wanted, either. But, as long as we were there, we went in search of lampshades for the bedside lamps that came along with the bedroom suite. It’s funny now that we didn’t know we’d need to know what size shade we needed. We didn’t have a clue, so we gave up shopping, went home and measured for both items.

The following week, Jeff received a call from the carpet store, informing him that he had the won the weekly drawing. The prize was a gift certificate. We took our measurements with us and came to the conclusion that the larger cabinet would fit nicely, giving us more storage space.

As we were completing the sale at the cashier desk, I pointed out to Jeff that the chicken clock was no longer where it had been.  “The chicken clock?” the woman behind the desk asked. “Yes,” I said. “It was hanging in that space right behind you.”

“Oh,” she pointed. “You mean that chicken clock over there? That’s the last one and it’s been marked down.”  Jeff asked me if I wanted it. I replied, “I don’t know…” “Well, how much is it?” he asked. It was $28 dollars.

Jeff nodded his head and told the lady we’d take it. “We will?” I squeaked. “Yeah.” He went on to  adamantly explain, “We were gonna buy a cabinet anyway, so we’ll just use the gift certificate for it. It’s like a little bonus!”

We stood in the parking lot a moment shaking and scratching our heads. Somehow, we stuffed the flat-boxed armoire and the chicken clock into the Neon, and headed home.

Quote for the Week:

2017 03 14 lucky enough to enter jakorte

Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:

Furniture:  Good Measure

Carpet :  Good Measure

Carpet Outlet Plus:  A Very Good Measure