Patience and restraint

Let me set the stage for the letter above. It is Valentine's day, and Saeeda and I decide to go to the Second City theater in Chicago to watch some good comedy (Second City is where many of today's popular comedians got their start). This being the city, parking is a pain, and so we find ourselves following a street sign that says "Second City Parking." Except that, this being the city, the sign leads to a parking structure that gives cars barely any maneuvering room. We see signs for "Guest Parking" and follow the ramps up to the very top floor, park our car, and leave to enjoy the show.

Upon returning later that night, we find that access to this top floor is no longer available from the parking structure. We ask the clueless night attendant, who casually tells us that we parked in the wrong place. Second City parking, as the fading, barely visible, bent-out-of-shape sign clearly states, is on the ground floor. It is freezing cold, Saeeda is pregnant, and I now need to find someone to let me into what turns out to be resident parking for an adjacent building.

Long story short, I manage to get in, and get to the car. And I discover this lovely letter stuck in my windshield wiper. Let us deconstruct this letter together:

"I hope you have enjoyed my parking spot because you will never park in it again."

A strong, bold statement that sets the tone of the message right away. Sinister, because it doesn't quite state how I will be decapitated should I park in that spot again. Sarcastic, because of the "I hope you have enjoyed ..." Brilliant.

"You are welcome for my incredible patience and restraint"

More sarcasm, because I am supposed to be overwhelmed with gratitude at this point. And here's the most poignant part of it all - the writer is declaring their angelic nature by describing their incredible patience and restraint. Incredible, I tell you. Incredible.

Now let us step back for a moment. In sub-zero Chicago winter weather, some sorry, sad, sod of a person took the time to find quality lined paper and a good pen to neatly channel their rage into a two sentence message to me - a stranger who mistakenly parked my car in their spot because of a lack of proper signage. In all fairness, the garage had such low ceilings and tight turns that a tow truck would never be able to get in there to move my car. Which means that the person whose spot I took had nothing they could do about the situation, other than to try to convince me of their incredible patience and restraint that stopped them from ... what? Keying my car? Breaking in my window?

Some people just need to take a deep breath and relax before they put pen to paper.

Exactly how stupid do they think we are?

The other day I read a news report on how United is going to start charging passengers $25 to check a second bag. Yup, that's right. You will now have to shell out money if in case you are unable to pack your life into one regular sized bag. The kicker, however, was some statement from United that went along the lines of, "... by charging for bag checks, we will be able to keep base fares lower and offer more options to our customers." More options? What the $#%!?

This nickel and diming is ridiculous. How stupid do they think we as consumers are? Do they think we'll just sit back and let them rip us off like this?

It's almost like saying that banks should be allowed to charge you, like, $3 to take your own money out of the ATM. Or like saying that digital media companies should be allowed to dictate the device on which you play a song that you purchase from them fair and square. Or like ...

Wait a minute.

Maybe we are this stupid.

Its going to be a ...!

If you haven't heard already, then I have some news for you. Saeeda and I are expecting our first child sometime in June. Yes, exciting stuff, and while we've both been overjoyed these last few months, I didn't realize how quickly our lives are about to change until this past Monday. That's when we visited our doctor for Saeeda's 22nd week appointment, and got to use ultrasound to see our baby chilling in it's mothers womb.

There was something about seeing the tiny hands and feet, and seeing the baby turn this way and that to get away from the annoying ultrasound wand that finally made it hit home. Uh, dude? I heard a voice say inside my head. You're going to be, like, a father.

A father? Me? I can barely remember where I put my car keys, or how to properly slice a tomato, or whether the your bread plate sits to your left or to your right. And I'm going to be responsible for the safety and security of a whole new life? And the child is going to look to me for direction? Uh oh.

But thoughts like that are fleeting. I take solace in the fact that there have been countless other clueless dads throughout time, all of whom have learned to cope. It's not like babies come with an instruction manual. And "What to Expect when you're Expecting" doesn't count.

Our ultrasound technician also told us the gender of the child, which had both of us overjoyed. The problem now lies in the fact that my dad has asked that I not tell him the gender, and that he wants to be "surprised" at birth. The kicker being that my mother has said that she wants to know the gender the moment we find out. Exactly how I'm going to be able to keep this information from one parent and not the other, I'm not sure. Especially since my parents are slowly becoming tech savvy, and my dad at least has started reading this blog (Hello!).

I will try, however. Hopefully this blog post has been gender neutral the whole time...