This next story is for the benefit of those readers who are not Knitty Coffeeshop regulars:
"Do I love R more than I hate his dad? It's getting tougher to answer that question.
Little bit of background info - my husband R and I married four months after our Beebie was born, against my FIL's advice. This was the only time I've ever seen R do something that his father told him not to do. FIL has never liked me. For years he had not one kind word to say to me or about me. Until fairly recently, he honestly believed that I got pregnant on purpose to trap R and make him marry me. Yeah, like I was really hoping to take on R's $20K of credit card debt (which we've since gotten out of, thanks in large part to my parents).
Two years later, R and I were looking to buy a house. Why? Because FIL thought we should, and R didn't want to admit to his dad that we were in a huge amount of debt and we really shouldn't have been looking for houses then anyway. But what do we do? We put a offer in on a house.
My parents were thrilled for us. R called to tell his parents that we "were looking at a house" (didn't tell them we'd already made the offer), and R's dad ripped him a new one, saying that we hadn't done enough research, the area where the house was a bad area (even though it was where R himself had grown up), blah blah blah, bottom line was we rescinded the offer because it didn't have FIL's stamp of approval.
That story still pisses me off, not only because FIL was able to destroy the happiness we might have had, but because R allowed the whole thing to take place and then didn't have the fucking balls to tell FIL the truth. R should have either told him that we couldn't really look at houses at this point in time, or he should have told ME that this maybe wasn't a good idea.
In fairness, yes, I'm glad we didn't buy that particular house, but the way R went about the whole thing was just horrible. And at that point very early in our marriage, I had no idea that I had an entire lifetime of FIL bullshit ahead of me.
Fast forward to now. R and I have been actively looking for a house for the last year and a half or so, and there's something wrong with every house we can afford. R's trying harder to see things as critically as his father would, which, on the one hand, I respect, but I'm getting really effin sick of it. God bless our realtor, she's really been stellar.
At the root of the problem is the fact that I want to stay in the school district that we live in now. Beebie is in the gifted program, which is outstanding. She also has good friends here, and after her best friend died two years ago, it's really important to me that she is able to maintain her friendships. I also really like the area of town that we live in. I like the library, the boys' preschool (which I've already paid for), the proximity to the important stuff, all that.
And if we want to stay where we live now, we have two choices of school districts, and R knows that I prefer one to the other. I thought he was with me on that. He said he was. I told him that I was sorry to be stubborn about this one point, but that I felt very strongly about staying in the district. He said that was fine and that he agreed with me. Many times, he said this.
Last night, during R's weekly call to his parents, I was sitting beside him on the bed and I heard him say "Well, Sarah's pretty adamant that we stay in this district..." then he got up and left the room. Hmmmm.
I spent the next hour trying to keep the kids quiet so he could talk on the phone, and then I walked out to the kitchen and saw that he was on the computer, researching area school districts. Even in areas that he knows I don't want. And I didn't think he wanted them either.
I'VE ALREADY DONE THAT. He KNOWS I have.
Honey, what are you doing?
Well, I think maybe we should start looking at other districts... look, this one has a good gifted program...
I don't want to live there.
I thought it was all about the gifted programs and if we found another one we liked...
It's about the gifted program AND it's about staying close to where we are now. I thought you and I were in agreement on this. I DID the research to confirm that I feel strongly about staying here.
My parents just think we could get a better house for our money if we looked at other districts. My dad sees a house as an investment.
I understand that, but I see my children's education as an investment too, and I kinda thought you had my back on that.
Well, I'm SORRY! I don't know what else to say!
I told him that I wished he had just ASKED me how I felt about looking at other areas before he went behind my back, insinuating that I hadn't done enough research (I had), simply at the behest of his father. He could have approached it with me in a way that made it less of a Sarah vs. Dad situation. I also told him that I felt horrible that he was in a spot where he had to choose between his dad's wishes and mine. It's an impossible position for him, I know.
And finally, I said to R that I don't want him to have to decide where his loyalty lies, BECAUSE I KNOW IN MY HEART THAT I WILL NEVER WIN.
And what did R say to this?
Nothing. Didn't dispute it for a second. That absolutely broke my heart. I'm crying now, as I type this. Aren't I his family too?
We went to bed angry. I got up in the middle of the night and sobbed on the sofa for hours. I needed a Middle of the Night Friend. I just felt sick.
I want to feel like he's in my corner, and I don't. I feel like he's turned on me and abandoned what I thought was a goal we came up with together. I can't remember ever feeling so deeply hurt by him.
And he apologized for the wrong thing. He apologized for the looking at other school districts part, not the hurting my feelings part. I believe not only in apologizing for the action, but also for the effect that the action had on another person. There's a huge difference, to me. He doesn't seem to get that.
He's under a huge amount of pressure at work, and obviously from his family, so I know he's stressed out. But so am I. I seriously don't think I can take being married to R's dad anymore.
Just to clarify a few things - my inlaws do not support us financially whatsoever. They gave us $2000 for our wedding, which they probably intended us to use as a down payment on a house. We used the money to chip away at the mountain of debt they knew nothing about. They also gave us $500 several years later when R and I were both unemployed for four months, during which time my parents (who I must remind you are NOT wealthy people, by any stretch of the imagination) paid our rent. That was right before the Easter Brunch Epic Debacle, should you wish to refresh your memory of one of the worst experiences of my life.
R and I have actually been to counseling together before, and I continue to go to the same counselor (whose name is Penny), who's been with us for years. She gets it. She's heard all the stories. You almost can't believe that a person can be that bad, and yet, he is. And he will never, ever change.
I feel as though I personally have made progress. And honestly, R has also made progress. And in general, the FIL situation has improved since he and I first got married, but just when I think FIL has turned a corner, he pulls the same manipulative crap and I've come to learn what R has had to live with his entire life - it really is easier on everyone to just go along with whatever he says and not rock the boat.
I totally know there's no way to change him, and all I can do is change how I respond to him. And I have to pat myself on the back because I have come a long way in that regard over the last 10 years. I am finally able to see that he does mean well, in his own fucked-up way. And his own father died when he was 13, so he's kinda been the boss of his universe since then. It doesn't give him the right to be a dick, of course, but it does kinda help one understand him a little bit.
I still don't know for sure if he's aware of the effect he has on other people, or if he even cares. Doesn't matter, really.
What sucks the most is that I know I'm a strong person, and he makes me feel like a worthless idiot. I feel like he erodes my self-esteem and R's every chance he gets, which is obviously the complete opposite of what a parent is supposed to do. It's a control thing. It's also clearly an abusive situation.
It's very interesting to me that FIL has NEVER pulled his manipulative crap to my face. It's always in private with just R. It makes me think of how abusive husbands isolate their wives from the outside world. I think maybe it's because FIL knows that I have absolutely no loyalty to him, and that any normal human being wouldn't allow another human being to have the amount of influence he has over our family. And I'm sure I don't hear all of the details of their every conversation because R knows that it will probably just piss me off. It could be even worse than I realize.
R is a filter that goes both ways, and I really do feel bad that he's in the middle of two extremely stubborn people. He has to decide who is going to be happy at the end of the day, and no matter what happens, he's the one who's most unhappy, and he doesn't deserve that. I worry that R thinks that I think he's a puss for not telling his dad to FRO (eff right off), and I used to think that but now that I've experienced FIL, as much as I'd love to tell him to go eff himself, it's really not an option.
I mostly hate bitching about him to R, because, even as big an ass as FIL is, he's the only dad R has. That's the worst part. R deserves better. Perhaps that's why God sent him Me.
---- End of Spleen Vent ----
So anyway, R was in the doghouse for a couple of days, but yesterday he redeemed himself when he fixed the brakes on the car for about $250 less than it would have cost us to take it to be serviced. And I got to help. I helped him change the rotors and calipers, top off the brake fluid and bleed the brakes. It was very empowering. And afterwards we all went to Beeb's PSR fundraiser for The Heifer Project.
Here's another reason why R rocks. He shares my ability to see inherent delicious beauty in irony. I can ask him to stealthily take pictures with his phone of me everyday things in amusing juxtaposition, and he'll do it. He sneaks fantastic pictures. Here's a great example. Here's me, in my Nine Inch Nails concert shirt and the Church Nazi in the background, just over my left shoulder. I absolutely love this picture. And P.S., she did come up and say hello to us. I avoided eye contact.
And here's yet another reason why I'll keep R around - yesterday we were looking at this house that we like (in the school district that I want, thank you very much), and the realtor/owner was there to answer our questions. He totally reminded me of Lt. Jim Dangle of the Reno, Nevada Sheriff's Department, minus the uniform. He had the posture, the mannerisms, the voice, the whole (ahem) package... and thank God R and I didn't make eye contact while the dude was talking because after we left we discovered we were both thinking Holy shit, that dude is Lieutenant Dangle.
I totally want to buy Lieutenant Dangle's house.
But I should probably let R and FIL go look at houses and give me a list of the top three pre-approved choices (WITHIN MY SCHOOL DISTRICT) and I'll select from them. Y'know, since my opinion is only a tertiary factor in where I get to live.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
This next story is for the benefit of those readers who are not Knitty Coffeeshop regulars:
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
I want you all to know that I have managed my priorities. A crazy week won't keep me from watching my shows.
Monday on Hell's Kitchen, Jen almost served spaghetti that she retrieved from the trash (or as Chef calls it, "the bin"), but Julia the Waffle House cook stopped her. I give Jen credit for admitting her mistake to Chef when she otherwise may have gotten away with it, but there's the Five-Second Rule (which I fully advocate) and then there's George Costanza picking the eclair out of the trash, YICK! I thought that Jen should have been sent home along with Joanna, who was a bit of a diva and not a team player.
Julia teared up when the girls' team found out they were serving breakfast to the Army, while Joanna giddily informed the audience about how much she likes guys in uniforms. That just kinda summed up Joanna's motivation, and it made me want to see Julia the underdog kick everyone's ass. And while I didn't want to see Aaron get sick, I did want to see him leave. All in all, it was quite a stellar episode.
And then last night was America's Got Talent.
Meet Boy Shakira, y'all.
This isn't last night's performance, but here's Boy Shakira in action.
I have mixed feelings about Boy Shakira. I give him a 10 for entertainment value, but talent? In my definition, if my 5-year-old son could put on a fringed bra and a curly blonde wig and skip like a jackass from one end of the stage to the other without one minute of practice and do your act just as well as you can, then it's not a talent. But that's just me.
That said, there were some brilliant performers last night. There was a ventriloquist whose puppet sang EXACTLY like Etta James. There was a magician who appeared to accidentally drop the head of a miniature Charlie Chaplin dummy he was building inside a box, and then the dummy magically turned into a real dude! That was wild!
I also enjoyed Butterscotch the BeatBox girl, the guy who could break stuff with his butt (hey, I break stuff with my butt too - when I sit on a rickety chair) and Kashif who danced like Napoleon Dynamite in an oxford shirt and khakis. But my absolute favorite was Cas Haley. He sang Walking on the Moon, and Piers said he sang it better than Sting. I found Cas's MySpace page, via Google - give him a listen.
Anybody else watching Pirate Master? I'm about to give up on it.
Pie is LOVING his camp. Today was Tennis, and tomorrow is Kayaking and Mud Day. Doesn't that sound like a blast? Meanwhile, at Summer PSR, Beebie was one of six kids chosen to sing in front of the whole church! She was so excited, she didn't even notice when we asked her if the music director was deaf. And Tito got a bike for $10 at Goodwill today, so he was happy.
This Saturday is the Hometown Parade that goes right in front of our house. So, this afternoon I performed my yearly yardwork so that the entire town doesn't think we're a bunch of schleps. The only thing I suck at more than housework is yardwork. I was trimming the front hedge (for the first time since the last parade), and I got stung on the thumb by a wasp. See if I ever do yardwork again. I'll show that wasp. Nyaah!!
This Saturday is also a baby shower for the wife of one of R's cousins. She's cool. It's going to require some creativity on my part to let the kids watch the parade and then drop them off at the sitter and get to the shower, because they shut down the streets and I won't be able to get my car out. I'm carpooling with MIL, Aunt Huggy, her daughter, Mrs. Aldi, and hopefully Aunt Drama. I will certainly let you know if anything interesting occurs. I've got my fingers crossed for a Mrs. Aldi wardrobe atrocity.
There's a ton of other shit going on, I just can't remember it all. I still have to give a proper update with photos from the Rendezvous at Fort Des Chartres and other such noteworthy events.
Beeb's going to visit Nana and PopPop again for a week in July, like last summer. She's excited. And I need to start planning her birthday party soon. She wants to take her friends to the Harry Potter movie for her party. I think I can swing that. But 50% of the guest list is comprised of her friends The Triplets, so their availability, obviously, is key.
As far as upcoming summer plans, I'm hoping to make a trip out to the Drive-In soon, but each of the double features include a movie that sucks, and I'm not willing to settle. I'm also hoping to go to the Stitch N' Pitch thing in August but I want a pal to go with. Any volunteers? I'll buy you some nachos or something. And I'll try not to embarrass you in public.
I can't type anymore. My thumb hurts.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Yesterday, as you know, was Father's Day. And, of course, that means a pilgrimage to Chez Inlaw. The Inlaws live on a lake and they recently purchased a paddleboat. The Aldis, the inlaws, R and the Apes and I all walked down to the dock. While Reverend Aldi, Aldigirl, and the Apes were out in the boat (leaving myself, FIL, MIL, Mrs. Aldi and Aldiboy on the dock), FIL said,
"Hey, Sarah, did you want to go out in the boat?" Which would have received a simple Um, no, thanks from me. But instead, he added,
"It's reeeeeeally good exercise..."
No, he didn't offer skinnyass Mrs. Aldi the opportunity to exercise. Just me. So just to fuck with him, I said (only a little sarcastically),
"Are you suggesting that I need the exercise???"
He was visibly shaken - and he apologized. Score one for me. And I wasn't even wearing my Power Panties. Perhaps through osmosis I've got some residual Power Panty Power in my ass. I mean, hell, there's plenty of surface area.
The day before, I had driven about 45 minutes to the Outlet Mall that's not really an Outlet Mall, and when I got out to my car, it wouldn't start. Great.
Pie panicked momentarily - "What are we gonna do???"
"Well, first we're gonna call Triple A. Then we're gonna call PopPop. Then we're gonna call my friend Tom the Mechanic. Then we'll send Dad a text message."
I was supposed to get Beebie to some PSR thing at 4, so I was also gonna have to call the Church Nazi and explain that I had planned to leave the mall at 3 to allow myself plenty of time to get there, but here I was in a mall parking lot with three kids and a dead battery. God would understand, but I wasn't so sure the Church Nazi would.
But first, I had to call Triple A. I have to say, I love Triple A. The rescue truck arrived within about twenty minutes. The kids were such troopers, I was really proud of their patience.
So, after determining that the problem was that I hadn't replaced my battery in the last seven years (oops), Jeff the Supercool AAA Dude hooked me up with a brand spankin' new battery, complete with a 6-year warranty, and we were on our way.
As we were leaving, Tito asked in his tiny voice, "But Mommy, when is Chick-Fil-A gonna come?"
"You called Chick-Fil-A on the phone. When are they gonna get here?"
Perhaps Chick-Fil-A should team up with Triple A on service calls. I'm sure anybody who's stranded would appreciate a snack.
This week has been officially dubbed Self-Inflicted Insanity Week. For the next five days, I'm dropping Beebie off at church at 7:45am, then driving 23 miles to drop Pie off at his camp, then picking Beebie up again at noon, then driving the 23 miles back to pick Pie up at 4. I'm lugging Tito around with me, and today Tito was awesome. You know how sometimes they're just so damn cute you can't get enough of 'em? Tito was in the zone.
Why did I agree to let Pie attend a camp 45 minutes away? Because I'm either the best mom ever or the biggest sucker in the world. Perhaps both. This camp is actually for disabled kids, but he was invited to attend by Kelly the director who used to be his aquatherapist before she went to work for this organization full-time. She's so cool, and I really admire her work. So I'm doing it because I know Pie will love it, and to be supportive of Kelly and DASA.
I don't really think of Pie as being disabled, because his day-to-day life isn't really affected by his birth defect. But the reality is that he does such a good job of conpensating for the muscles he doesn't have, we don't even realize how hard he's working. So while I feel a little bad that someone else who needs more help could be going to the camp instead of him, I have to remind myself that he's just as entitled to attend, benefit from it and enjoy it as much as any other kid.
So anyway, I'm not real familiar with the area of town where this camp is located, so I left myself plenty of time to find it. I made a wrong turn on Bumblefeck Rd and took it until it dead-ended into East Egypt.
These are the moments when I'm reeeeeeeeally happy I'm on medication.
I turned around and eventually found it with plenty of time to spare. And Pie had the BEST time. It was totally worth it.
Thus Spake Penny Karma, aka the F-Bomb Mom at 12:33 PM
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Monday, June 11, 2007
I think my blog has peaked. I'm losing popularity. At one point it had 46 blogs linked to it. Now I'm down to 36. I suspect my blog's getting boring. Hell, my life is boring. And when it isn't, I'm either too busy or too tired to write about it.
I try to keep a variety of topics going - parenting, knitting, general stuff, Oh well, if I get too many readers, Bezzie won't read me anymore. Maybe I need to get back into WPN Wednesdays. Maybe I need to update more.
(I know I'll always have at least one fervently loyal reader. Hope you enjoy your candles, by the way.)
I'm sorry that my updates have become weekly. It's summer. Whoever came up with the concept of Summer Vacation obviously didn't have three Apes to entertain every day for three months. We've had a lot going on, as usual. I'm going back through the pictures stored on my camera to remind myself of all that I haven't written about. I have an assload of photos I still have to go through in order to properly update you on the goings-on at Chez K. Chez K - I like that.
First though, I have to discuss a few things.
Oh, you won't even believe this.
This morning I found chocolate sauce on my bra.
No, I didn't eat ice cream in my skivvies (although that sounds delectably kinky), I had washed it and hung it up on my bedroom doorknob to dry, and when I took it off to get dressed today, there was a funky brown spot on the side of it. So I sniffed. No doubt about it, it was chocolate. In my illustrious parental career, I've encountered many strange stains in many strange places, but chocolate on my bra, that's a new one.
Several hours of reflection brought me to the conclusion that one of my Apes (most likely the one who's eye-level with the doorknob) must have snuck a chocolate Reisen candy from the bag on R's nightstand and, to conceal his crime, wiped the tell-tale chocolate drool on whatever was closest. My BRA.
I suppose it's comforting to know that right now The Apes are not quite clever and cunning enough to pursue lucrative careers as criminal masterminds. At least not until they learn how to destroy critical evidence.
Next topic - I hate swimsuit shopping. I mean, really, what's worse? Ok, shopping for a swimsuit for Beeb was actually just as bad, what with every designer thinking a 9-year-old girl needs to look like a skank prepping for Girls Gone Wild Junior Miss Spring Break, but I can think of very few things I wouldn't rather do than try to cram my lily-white dimpled ass into swimsuits and try to decide which one looks the least repulsive on me.
I found one at LB which I actually really liked. I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to break down and get a skirted one (just like my mom has worn my entire life and which I swore I would never, ever be caught dead wearing). Swimsuits are damn expensive, but they're also damn hard to find, so I went ahead and forked over $77 for the one I liked, and planned not to wear it until I had looked everywhere else I could think of.
The next day, I went to Marshalls and found one I liked for $25. Then I also bought myself the biggest wide-brim hat I could find, because I love great big obnoxious hats, especially at the pool. I feel like I should have an umbrella drink melting in my hand. Remember the TV show Gidget, with Sally Field? The reason I bring it up - Gidget's best friend LaRue, in a memorable episode, went to the beach wearing a hat almost as big as the one I bought. I love it. It's my LaRue hat.
We haven't been swimming too much yet. It hasn't been warm enough, and the Apes are going to VBS this week (which Tito calls Occasion Bible School), as they did last week. It's lovely. I get a few hours to myself and they get to learn about God and I feel a little better about the fact that we don't go to church.
VBS is great, but after a little while, I must confess, I miss those little shits. Oh, but get this, Beebie suddenly turned all girly on me. The same child who I have to remind to brush her hair every single morning is suddenly asking me for a scrunchie. Ok, I am soooooo not a scrunchie person. I wonder if she's not a wee bit boy-crazy. Following in her mother's footsteps.
Next week Beeb goes to Summer PSR. I've had a little heart-to-heart with Beeb on my bitterness toward the Catholic church. She knows I wasn't raised Catholic and how difficult it was for me emotionally to convert. I hope to raise her with a sense that Catholics aren't the only Christians out there. I fear that my disdain for this particular church, the Church Nazi and certain aspects of the Catholic church in general has affected her. Oh well, I kinda want her to question her religious beliefs and not just be a parrot.
I got my hair cut today. I have bangs now. This is a major thing. I have spent the last several years with my bangs in various stages of the "growing out" phase. And now, they're cut. And I actually like them.
Still house hunting, still trying to save up for down payment and whatever. I don't think I'm very good at the saving money part, but I honestly am trying.
I'm still on my yarn diet and doing awesome. I'm also doing well on my garage sale diet. Last weekend I went to two church rummage sales, and at one I found a bag of superwash Shetland wool that looked interesting. I always forget which is thicker, DK or sport. It's whichever is less thick. And it might even be fingering weight, which I've never tried. Anyway, I got ten same-dye-lot skeins for $15 - about 1000 yards (give or take) of it in a pretty dusty pink and I don't know what I could make with it. So yes, I cracked. I bought yarn. But I prefer to view my falling off the wagon this way - I supported the church.
Still, $15 after spending $0 on yarn for more than 3 months still breaks down to an average of $5 a month on yarn - pretty respectable for a yarn diet, yes?
Oh, I sounded like Chef Ramsay just then.
Have I mentioned how much I love Hell's Kitchen? I love it. You know on the first episode when the new chefs have to prepare their Signature Dishes? I think it would be funny to show up with one of those Snackmaster machines that makes the little triangular sandwiches and tell Chef Ramsay that's my signature. A triangular grilled cheese sandwich. Maybe he'll look me in the eye and scream, "YOU DONKEY!!" I daresay I might actually be a little bit turned on by that. I love accents, and I don't mind a little intimidation within a certain context.
And, I also love the return of the Hoff on America's Got Freaks! What do I like best about this show? Sharon Osborne. Why? Because I do a spot-on impression of her. Perhaps I'll record a sound clip for you. I don't do a lot of celebrity impressions, but I do a really good Sharon, Suzanne Pleshette, and Edie McClurg.
I love having a blog because I can ask things I've always wanted to know and someone out there will answer me. Trillian, I think, enlightened us all about Pork Butts once. Tactless Wonder recently explained what Xanthan Gum is. I think it's so cool that you all help me out when I wonder stuff out loud. So here's my next question -
Corn: Why can we see it in our poop? I think they should make the Black Boxes on airplanes out of it. Wouldn't that make sense?
Thus Spake Penny Karma, aka the F-Bomb Mom at 3:31 PM
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Found this in Yorkie's Den of Iniquity. I needed a wee nip o' courage before I head out to Casa Inlaw with the kids this afternoon. Wish me luck. Power Panties... ENGAGE!
|You Are An ENFP|
You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends.
You are also unconventional, irreverent, and unimpressed by authority and rules.
Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives.
You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're quite the storyteller!
In love, you are quite the charmer. And you are definitely willing to risk your heart.
You often don't follow through with your flirting or professed feelings. And you do break a lot of hearts.
At work, you are driven but not a workaholic. You just always seem to enjoy what you do.
You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist.
How you see yourself: compassionate, unselfish, and understanding
When other people don't get you, they see you as: gushy, emotional, and unfocused
WHAT THE??? I can't believe those jerks think I'm emotional and un - oooh, look! Something shiny!!
Thus Spake Penny Karma, aka the F-Bomb Mom at 12:50 PM
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
An interesting news story caught my attention last week.
Perhaps you saw it.
The Chili Sauce Incident
MIAMI - A Wendy's manager was shot several times in the arm early Tuesday trying to protect the restaurant's chili sauce, authorities said.
A man in the drive-through argued with an employee because he wanted more of the condiment, police said. The worker told the customer that restaurant policy prohibited a customer from getting more than three packets.
The man insisted on ten packets, reports said. The employee complied, but police said the customer wanted more.
When the manager came out to speak to the man, the customer shot the manager, Miami-Dade police spokeswoman Mary Walters said. He was taken to Ryder Trauma Center at Jackson Memorial Hospital with non-life threatening injuries, police said.
The shooter fled with a female passenger.
"I did not know I got shot," store manager Renal Frage told WTVJ-TV in Miami. "When I went back to the office, I saw blood pumping out of my arm, and I was shocked. I was checking myself out and couldn't believe I got shot over some chili sauce."
Frage added: "I got shot over chili sauce. I was trying to figure while in the hospital why someone would shoot me over some chili sauce."
First of all, why is there a corporate-written policy that no Wendy's customer can receive more than three lil bitty chili sauce packets? Have there been incidents in the past? What's the big deal? Would giving someone four or five chili sauce packets get you fired from Wendy's? Is it that much of a threat to Post-9/11 National Security that some Fast Food Restaurant Manager would take a freakin' bullet to protect us? If so, we probably need to be kissing Renal Frage's ass right now.
I've never tasted Wendy's chili sauce. I'm not a big fan of chili sauce, but I personally kinda love it when the McDonald's folks put a big ol' extra handful of ketchup packets in my to-go bag. Makes me feel special. But whatever.
Second of all, we don't know from the story exactly what the dude ordered, but why would anybody want TEN? Is it commonly used to make meth or something? Here's a list of the ingredients: Water, corn syrup, salt, distilled vinegar, natural flavors, xanthan gum and caramel color. I didn't do well in Chemistry, but I certainly don't see Bleach and Ammonia or pseudoephedrine in there. And what the hell is Xanthan Gum?
The only thing I can think of is that maybe the dude wanted to empty all the packets into a squirt gun and use it like mace or something. But why would he do that if he already had an actual gun in his possession?
If it really was innocent, just some dude wanting more Chili Sauce simply because he was craving the taste of Water, corn syrup, salt, distilled vinegar, natural flavors, xanthan gum and caramel color, seriously - what would you possibly order from Wendy's that you'd need ten packets of Chili Sauce to go with it? At that point, it wouldn't even taste like whatever it was anyway. Plus, your tongue would melt off and you wouldn't be able to taste anything else for a little while.
Why not go just buy a bottle of it at Publix and take a big ol' sloppy swig like it was Jack Daniels? What's that? Don't want to pay for it? Dude, YOU HAVE A FUCKING GUN. If you weren't above shooting a Wendy's employee over some hot sauce, I can't imagine that just plain robbing the store wouldn't have crossed your mind. Why couldn't you just say, "I'll be taking this hot sauce, and uh, whatever cash ya got..."?
Perhaps Wendy's will rethink the Chili Sauce Policy for the safety of its employees. Or perhaps they know something that the rest of us don't - that too much Chili Sauce in the hands of an unstable person is far more dangerous than we would like to believe.
RUN!!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!!
HE'S GOT TEN PACKETS OF CHILI SAUCE!!!!!!!!!!!
Thus Spake Penny Karma, aka the F-Bomb Mom at 7:47 AM