Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
Never Enough...
So I look each day at my list of blogging friends, in high hopes that someone has blogged something for me to read. I know that everyone is busy, has their own lives going on, but sometimes, a sister just needs something new to read...
With that said, you are looking at the date of my last post, no doubt. I know, I know, I'm not one to talk, considering my last post was a week ago. The thing is, my life is boring. Everyone else's out there MUST be more intriguing than mine...right?
With that said, you are looking at the date of my last post, no doubt. I know, I know, I'm not one to talk, considering my last post was a week ago. The thing is, my life is boring. Everyone else's out there MUST be more intriguing than mine...right?
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Bragging Rights
I definitely have bragging rights on my half baked niece. Dressed in these, she's going to be the cutest gal ever! (Okay, she'll be the cutest regardless of what she's dressed in, but you know...)
Monday, September 12, 2011
A Little Perspective
I borrowed this from The Lysser, who borrowed it from someone else. Definitely worth the repost.
**
And That's What It's All About
I stole this opinion column from the Minneapolis' StarTribune. I've flown with the author; he looks like Minnesota. He also made me tear up with this:
The radio crackled in my headset as we passed over a tranquil Lake Calhoun. Downtown Minneapolis drifted outside the cockpit window. The landing gear was down.
Everything was as it should be. Outside, the skies were clear and the air was refreshingly less humid than it had been the previous month. I briefly looked down at the passing homes and schools of south Minneapolis.
School was back in session, and bright-yellow buses were busy transporting children, as they would on any other Tuesday morning. But this wasn't any other Tuesday morning. This was Sept. 11, 2001.
As I was completing what would be another uneventful flight, there were four other airplanes whose final destiny would be anything but normal.
That day has forever changed our lives, whether because of enhanced screening at the airport or, heaven forbid, the loss of a friend or family member in the attacks on domestic soil. We all have stories about what we were doing on 9/11.
Most, like mine, aren't anything to write home about, but everyone remembers where they were when American Airlines Flight 11 hit the World Trade Center's North Tower, and what happened afterward is something to write about.
It's what we did after 9/11 that changed America and its people.
Maybe you watched the television with disbelief. Maybe you cried for the loss of fellow Americans. Maybe you called your parents and told them you loved them. Maybe you held your children extra long before they went to bed that night. Maybe you thanked a police officer or firefighter. Maybe you bought a traveling soldier dinner before your flight home.
But what did you do two years afterward? What did you do eight years after 9/11? I don't think people will ever forget that dreadful day, but it has definitely slipped into the back of our memory bank.
For someone like me, an airline pilot who is constantly dealing with airport security and working with federal air marshals, I am reminded of our post-9/11 world on a regular basis.
But for the insurance salesman driving around Kansas or the schoolteacher struggling with a lack of funds, telling your kids you love them one more time before they go to bed or thanking the police officer for what he does after he just wrote you a citation may not be the first thing on your mind.
This past week, just seven days short of the 10-year anniversary of 9/11, I was sitting in Terminal B at Newark's Liberty Airport, waiting for my flight home. I noticed a group of TSA officers wearing honor guard regalia.
With them was a U.S. Army master sergeant. I learned that the master sergeant was escorting a fallen soldier on a final flight home. I didn't ask for the soldier's name, or even if the soldier was male or female. I honestly didn't know what to say.
After the airplane arrived, the honor guard and master sergeant went outside. I stood at the window, along with many other passengers, watching in silence as the honor guard stood at attention while the fallen soldier was loaded on to the airplane.
Through the tears in my eyes, I looked out at the New York City skyline, and it all hit me. Ten years ago, when I was flying over that school, where kids were playing outside -- maybe, just maybe, one of those kids was this soldier who gave everything for our country.
So, when you see a soldier at your regular lunch spot, tell the manager that you'll take care of his or her bill. Call your parents and tell them you love them.
Thank police officers for all that they do. And when you come home from work today, hold your kids for a few extra seconds. As a matter of fact, that was the first thing I did when I got home from that trip. I forgot about the bills, forgot about the oil change the car needed. I held my little daughter in my arms for as long as she'd let me.
After today, we each have one day less. Make the most of it.
* * *
Paul Holte, of Rosemount, is a Boeing 757/767 first officer for a major airline.
**
And That's What It's All About
I stole this opinion column from the Minneapolis' StarTribune. I've flown with the author; he looks like Minnesota. He also made me tear up with this:
The radio crackled in my headset as we passed over a tranquil Lake Calhoun. Downtown Minneapolis drifted outside the cockpit window. The landing gear was down.
Everything was as it should be. Outside, the skies were clear and the air was refreshingly less humid than it had been the previous month. I briefly looked down at the passing homes and schools of south Minneapolis.
School was back in session, and bright-yellow buses were busy transporting children, as they would on any other Tuesday morning. But this wasn't any other Tuesday morning. This was Sept. 11, 2001.
As I was completing what would be another uneventful flight, there were four other airplanes whose final destiny would be anything but normal.
That day has forever changed our lives, whether because of enhanced screening at the airport or, heaven forbid, the loss of a friend or family member in the attacks on domestic soil. We all have stories about what we were doing on 9/11.
Most, like mine, aren't anything to write home about, but everyone remembers where they were when American Airlines Flight 11 hit the World Trade Center's North Tower, and what happened afterward is something to write about.
It's what we did after 9/11 that changed America and its people.
Maybe you watched the television with disbelief. Maybe you cried for the loss of fellow Americans. Maybe you called your parents and told them you loved them. Maybe you held your children extra long before they went to bed that night. Maybe you thanked a police officer or firefighter. Maybe you bought a traveling soldier dinner before your flight home.
But what did you do two years afterward? What did you do eight years after 9/11? I don't think people will ever forget that dreadful day, but it has definitely slipped into the back of our memory bank.
For someone like me, an airline pilot who is constantly dealing with airport security and working with federal air marshals, I am reminded of our post-9/11 world on a regular basis.
But for the insurance salesman driving around Kansas or the schoolteacher struggling with a lack of funds, telling your kids you love them one more time before they go to bed or thanking the police officer for what he does after he just wrote you a citation may not be the first thing on your mind.
This past week, just seven days short of the 10-year anniversary of 9/11, I was sitting in Terminal B at Newark's Liberty Airport, waiting for my flight home. I noticed a group of TSA officers wearing honor guard regalia.
With them was a U.S. Army master sergeant. I learned that the master sergeant was escorting a fallen soldier on a final flight home. I didn't ask for the soldier's name, or even if the soldier was male or female. I honestly didn't know what to say.
After the airplane arrived, the honor guard and master sergeant went outside. I stood at the window, along with many other passengers, watching in silence as the honor guard stood at attention while the fallen soldier was loaded on to the airplane.
Through the tears in my eyes, I looked out at the New York City skyline, and it all hit me. Ten years ago, when I was flying over that school, where kids were playing outside -- maybe, just maybe, one of those kids was this soldier who gave everything for our country.
So, when you see a soldier at your regular lunch spot, tell the manager that you'll take care of his or her bill. Call your parents and tell them you love them.
Thank police officers for all that they do. And when you come home from work today, hold your kids for a few extra seconds. As a matter of fact, that was the first thing I did when I got home from that trip. I forgot about the bills, forgot about the oil change the car needed. I held my little daughter in my arms for as long as she'd let me.
After today, we each have one day less. Make the most of it.
* * *
Paul Holte, of Rosemount, is a Boeing 757/767 first officer for a major airline.
Friday, September 2, 2011
My Own Waiter Rant
If you can't or won't read a menu, please don't go out to eat. And if you do anyway, please don't complain when the food comes out AS IT SHOULD, because it's not "how you like it." Read the menu, buddy. If you have certain things you don't like, double check with the server to make sure what you ordered doesn't have those things. And when it comes out with them because you didn't take the time to READ THE MENU, don't blame me. I'm not a mind reader.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
The Waiter and the Spoon
Taken off Waiter Rant, from a post in 2004. Apparently, someone sent him the story, so I have no problems re-copying it!
************
A timeless lesson on how consultants can make a difference for an organization...
Last week, we took some friends out to a new restaurant, and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket. It seemed a little strange. When the busboy brought our water and utensils, I noticed he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket. Then I looked around saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets.
When the waiter came back to serve our soup I asked, "Why the spoon?"
"Well," he explained, "the restaurants' owners hired Andersen Consulting to revamp all our processes. After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour. If our personnel are better prepared, we can reduce the number of trips back to the kitchen and save 15 man-hours per shift."
As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he was able to replace it with his spare.
"I'll get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right now."
I was impressed. I also noticed that there was a string hanging out of the waiter's fly. Looking around, I noticed that all the waiters had the same string hanging from their flies. So before he walked off, I asked the waiter, "Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?"
"Oh, certainly!" Then he lowered his voice. "Not everyone is so observant."
That consulting firm I mentioned also found out that we can save time in the rest-room. By tying this string to the tip of 'you know what', we can pull it out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash our hands, shortening the time spent in the rest-room by 76.39 percent."
"After you get it out, how do you put it back?"
"Well," he whispered, "I don't know about the others, but I use the spoon."
************
A timeless lesson on how consultants can make a difference for an organization...
Last week, we took some friends out to a new restaurant, and noticed that the waiter who took our order carried a spoon in his shirt pocket. It seemed a little strange. When the busboy brought our water and utensils, I noticed he also had a spoon in his shirt pocket. Then I looked around saw that all the staff had spoons in their pockets.
When the waiter came back to serve our soup I asked, "Why the spoon?"
"Well," he explained, "the restaurants' owners hired Andersen Consulting to revamp all our processes. After several months of analysis, they concluded that the spoon was the most frequently dropped utensil. It represents a drop frequency of approximately 3 spoons per table per hour. If our personnel are better prepared, we can reduce the number of trips back to the kitchen and save 15 man-hours per shift."
As luck would have it, I dropped my spoon and he was able to replace it with his spare.
"I'll get another spoon next time I go to the kitchen instead of making an extra trip to get it right now."
I was impressed. I also noticed that there was a string hanging out of the waiter's fly. Looking around, I noticed that all the waiters had the same string hanging from their flies. So before he walked off, I asked the waiter, "Excuse me, but can you tell me why you have that string right there?"
"Oh, certainly!" Then he lowered his voice. "Not everyone is so observant."
That consulting firm I mentioned also found out that we can save time in the rest-room. By tying this string to the tip of 'you know what', we can pull it out without touching it and eliminate the need to wash our hands, shortening the time spent in the rest-room by 76.39 percent."
"After you get it out, how do you put it back?"
"Well," he whispered, "I don't know about the others, but I use the spoon."
Monday, August 22, 2011
New Year, New Attempts
So we're off to another school year. My friend and fellow co-worker has re-inspired my feeble attempts at blogging with her new, freshly minted blog post. You can read it here.
Over the summer, I served full time at a local restaurant. And became addicted to a little thing called Waiter Rant. I might even use my posts here to do my own waiter rant. I, however, may not be as nice as The Waiter. Here's one for starters:
If you allow your teenage children to dine at sit down restaurants by themselves...for the love of everyone, teach them how to act. And how to tip. I came extremely close this weekend to asking a group of seven high school girls if they grew up in the zoo, because no one around them enjoyed being there. Yelling, screaming, and playing games at the table is NOT appropriate. Neither is leaving a $1 tip on a $27 tab. Thankfully, my managers have noticed these ladies before, and have noticed the trend of them playing the system to get free/discounted food. No more, girls. Taco Bell is just down the street.
Over the summer, I served full time at a local restaurant. And became addicted to a little thing called Waiter Rant. I might even use my posts here to do my own waiter rant. I, however, may not be as nice as The Waiter. Here's one for starters:
If you allow your teenage children to dine at sit down restaurants by themselves...for the love of everyone, teach them how to act. And how to tip. I came extremely close this weekend to asking a group of seven high school girls if they grew up in the zoo, because no one around them enjoyed being there. Yelling, screaming, and playing games at the table is NOT appropriate. Neither is leaving a $1 tip on a $27 tab. Thankfully, my managers have noticed these ladies before, and have noticed the trend of them playing the system to get free/discounted food. No more, girls. Taco Bell is just down the street.
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