We’ve had our boys’ picture taken at least once a year since they were born. We’ve used several studios, everyone from Sears to a local individual, and the procedure is usually the same: They set up two or three poses, and take two or three shots of each pose. We look at the four to nine shots on a 12 inch, table-top computer monitor and choose the best one or two. They show us samples of styles and special effects that other people have purchased for their pictures. And then the wait to pick up the chosen prints is usually two to six weeks. It was all so 1980s—I could do just as good and faster with my Target-bought digital camera and MS Paint. Well, okay, we don’t have the sets, props, backdrops, and good lighting.

This time, we went to a new place: Portrait Professionals—a place that has actually embraced 21st century technology. They set up four or five poses, and took several pictures of each pose. They just ran the camera repeatedly, click, click, click, click. When the shooting was over, we went to a desk with a huge, wall-mounted, flat screen monitor and they showed us all the pictures. We went through about 30 shots, and picked out the one or two best of each pose. They could manipulate the images right there in front of us, enlarging, turning, shading, changing to black and white, composing, etc. They showed us exactly what the prints would look like, full size. And our prints would be ready in 20 minutes. Twenty minutes!

I realize this probably sounds terribly boring and useless to you, but for having gone through the first paragraph about ten times over the past six years, this new place and system is absolutely thrilling. It’s like having pizza delivered right to your door. Talking on a phone without a cord attached to the wall. Recording a TV show to watch at your convenience. Paying utilities bills online. Putting out a mind numbingly mundane story on a world-wide public forum and knowing for sure that at least ten people will read it.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I and our 3 year old picked up our first-grader after school. In talking with the 6 year old, I learned he had been good (“green”) in school all this week. So I thought to reward him, us, with a trip to the ice cream parlor. (Okay, *I* wanted ice cream, and his green status was an excuse.)

Right after I had pulled into a parking spot in front of the ice cream store, my cell phone rang. It was my wife.

“Hey, babe,” I answered.

“Hey, sweety,” she said. “How’re the boys?”

“They’re good,” I said. “6YO was green at school again.”

“Great. Where are you guys? I thought you’d be home by now.”

“Um, yeah, we just took a detour.”

“Bull, where are you?”

“6YO was green at school all this week, so we’re at the ice cream store.”

“Bull, he’s green every week. You shouldn’t go to the ice cream store so much.”

“I know. Just, well. . .”

“They don’t need ice cream. You don’t need ice cream.”

“I know. But we’re already here.”

“Okay. Bring me home some chocolate with brownie.”

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Another woman contacted me about the bed we are selling, and we set up a time for her to come see and/or buy it: 8:00 p.m. She called at 7:00 to ask if we had all the parts for the bed, and if it had any damage. I assured her we all the bolts and nuts, and there was no major damage; it has some normal wear and minor scratches because it’s a used piece of furniture.

The woman, her husband, and their two ~5 year old children showed up on the doorstep at 8:00. I opened the garage door and showed them the bed. The husband just glanced at it from six feet away and was ready to take it immediately. The woman, though, went right up to the headboard, and looked at it closely, running her fingers over ever dent and nick.

They decided to take it, and wanted to write me a check. I asked if they had cash, and after checking their wallets, they didn’t have enough. I had forgotten to specify “cash only” in our sale listing.

“I can show you my driver’s license,” the woman said.

“You can trust us,” the husband said.

My mother always taught me, “trust me” really means, “screw you.” And this situation was just screaming, “rip off.”

I thought for a moment. You know, I don’t want to be suspicious of everyone. Surely not everyone is dishonest. Besides, we really just wanted to get the bed out of our way, more than we needed the money. I agreed to accept a check. It was a conscious decision to take the risk, and if the check turns out bad, I’ll never trust another person. Although, I did write her Arizona driver’s license on the check.

The couple strapped the headboard to the top of their small SUV, put the metal railings inside, and loaded up the kids. I watched them drive away and wondered if the check in my hand was going to clear the bank, or did I just willingly allow myself to be robbed.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

So I was out walking my regular path through the neighborhoods in the afternoon, and I see three kids up ahead: two boys and a girl, probably around 6 to 8 years old. They’re scooting around on skateboards, and when I get to about 20 yards from them, one of the boys waves at me and says, “Hi mom!”

I continue walking, and after three or four steps, the boy says, “Oops, that’s not my mom.”

I have a mustache and goatee. At the time, I also had two days growth of beard. What does this kid’s mom look like?

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com