Don Knotts (1924 - 2006)

Some sad news today.

Actor Don Knotts, best known for his role as Deputy Barney Fife on "The Andy Griffith Show," died of pulmonary and respiratory complications at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center in Beverly Hills, California. He was 81.

On a lighter note, today I will be scratching Don Knotts' name from my celibrity death list!


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Here is a link to when I first talked about the Death List: LINK

In the past year I have predicted the deaths of two other well-known figures: The Tonight Show's Johnny Carson and Catholicism's Pope John Paul II. With three of the twenty names on the list now deceased, that equates to a 15% accuracy rate. Sure, most of the people on the list are old, and given enough time, I will have a 100% accuracy rate -- but 15% of the list in under a year? That's pretty impressive -- in a... morbid kind of way.

I have a feeling Andy Griffith will be the next to go. After seeing his former co-star die, he'll begin to question is own mortality. He'll stop taking "unecessary risks," become a shut-in, do one final interview for Larry King one night and then croak.

Kirk Douglas? Dude was born in 1916! He can't have much of a shelf life left. Ernest Borgnine has got to be declining, too. He was born in 1917 and I read in his biography that he was involved in an "air crash" in 1996, and that he had both his knees replaced in 1999. Hugh Downs, number eleven on the list, also had his knees replaced some years back. His time is near.

But it's kind of sad to cross off Don Knotts. He seemed like a friendly guy. If Bob Barker, Larry King or Dick Cheney had died (numbers 7, 17 and 19), I wouldn't have cared in the slightest. They seem mean. But Knotts seemed really good natured. I should have included a space for Dick Cheney's hunting pals, though. Ha. But I guess most of them wouldn't be celebrities.

I WORK WITH RETARDS

When I began the two-week training period for my current (sucky) job some months back, the sight of my soon-to-be-co-workers depressed the hell out of me. There I was, in a room with a bunch of computers, whiteboards and -- well, people that looked like they had been rounded up at a bus stop... near a mental hospital... in a bad part of town. (Come to think of it, is a mental hospital ever located in a good part of town? Real Estate Agent: "You'll be just two blocks from the grocery store and three blocks from the bank. You've got a public school down the road, and conveniently, that's a mental hospital right next door! Don't worry, the screams quiet down at night.")

We had all been hired to work at a call center. I had never worked at one before, but I was relieved to learn that I wouldn't be making outbound calls. Everybody hates those people, who call you at dinner. No, we'd be receiving calls as customer service agents.

Anyway, I could immediately tell that one trainee in particular was going to be very annoying. At around three-hundred pounds, she was hard to miss. She was your typical trailer trash type and would use words like, "yous" and "aint." "Yous gonna eat that? You aint?!" *Scarf scarf!*

We'll call her Shyanne.

She really made me laugh a couple of times, though. No, I didn't talk to her and discover she had a heart of gold and a great sense of humour --- she just said some things that were fucking retarded.

When Rick, one of the managers, came in and gave the class a little introductory presentation, Shyanne would not shut up. She would keep interrupting, saying things like, "I'm gonna work real hard and get to the top, cause that's what I'm like in life. If there's something I want, I just go for it. I aint no quitter!" Rick was clearly annoyed, but he didn't lose his focus. I guess he was used to dimwits. Walking to the white board, he began drawing a patronizing little pyramid to illustrate "how the call center worked."

"You guys," he began, "are right up here at the top!" His marker squeaked as he underlined the top section of the diagram. "Without you, this organization cannot function. My job? Frankly, guys, I'm an expense. They pay me a salary to ensure that things operate smoothly, but without you guys... (Pausing for effect) I don't have a job. So you're right here at the top of the food chain. Me? The other managers? Down here." Squeak- squeak.

This proved to be a little too confusing for Shyanne, who raise her flabby arm in the air. Rick took a slow sip from his Starbucks cup, staring at her. Gulp. "Question?"

"Uhh, yeah. Like I said, I aint no quitter, and I want to get to the top. But... according to you're diagram there, we're... already at the top. So to get ahead, I'm going to have to work my way down?"

Dead silence. Well, except for my suppressed laughter.

Another idiotic comment of hers came a few days later, when Rick interrupted the class to give a talk on inappropriate office behaviour. He went though the whole gamut: sexual harassment, religious sensitivity, racism, proper attire, avoiding strong scents -- you name it. After a lengthy Q and A from a few stupid homies (yes, they actually wore their thugged out clothing) regarding what comments they could make about a girl without it being "sexual harassment" (and an ensuing discussion regarding the assertion that Rick was "trippin'"), the topic moved towards what we'd actually be doing on the phones.

Shyanne was once again concerned, because at her "old job," it was mandatory for the agents to try and actively "up-sell" the caller to better services, and also to show them that they were valued customers by making price concessions whenever possible. She asked Rick if we'd be doing any of that.

"You'll be happy to know, Shyanne, that up-selling is not required here. Also, because we are contracted out by a parent company, we don't have the authority to negotiate pricing."

Shyanne thought a moment. "Okay, but what if a customer is really trying to Jew you down, though?"

Ha ha ha. Wow!

After over an hour of sensitivity training, the dumb bitch hurls a racial slur at the guy who undoubtedly fires people for much less. Remarkably, he pretended as though he didn't hear it.

When I saw her later on I sarcastically commented, "Nice job with the 'Jew you down' comment to the head of the HR department!" She must have understood my tone.

"Oh, to 'Jew someone down' just means that you want to get a lower price on something, that's all."

It was actually pretty sad she didn't know that it related to the stereotype about Jews being cheap, so I quickly explained it to her. She didn't believe me. So I explained it again... a little more slowly. She said she understood, but I don't think she did.

It's no surprise, but she was fired a few weeks ago. She called in sick a lot; greased up her computer keyboard with fatty foods while she was at work; was "less than eloquent" when talking to clients. An all-around worthless human being.

Smoking

It all began in 2001, on a school art trip to New York City. Our class was staying at a hotel in New Jersey, and a few of us decided to take advantage of the cigarette vending machines. Camel Lights. Soft packs.

I was 18 at the time - the minimum age to buy cigarettes in the U.S. In Canada -- Ontario, at least -- the age is 19. So in a way, buying cigarettes in the hotel lobby was a kind of rebellious; something I could get away with there, but not at home. But I also found it interesting to see how accepted smoking still was in the States. I hadn't seen a cigarette vending machine in Ontario in over a decade! Yet in New Jersey, they were wedged in between the Coke and candy machines.

In Canada at the time, the law dictated -- again, in Ontario, at least -- that cigarette manufacturers section off at least one third of the exterior packaging on their tobacco products for health warnings to the consumer. In bold, white letters on a black background, the packages read, Smoking will kill you! and, Cigarettes cause lung cancer! Since then, the writing has been replaced by graphic pictures of yellow teeth, blackened lungs and various statistics. Oh, and now these warnings have to cover half the package!

In the U.S., these warnings didn't exist. Instead, their packages had stickers you could peel away to reveal smoker points, which you could mail in for fashionable smoker-wear and other prizes. So in a weird way, I guess I kind of convinced myself that smoking didn't pose a threat in the U.S.

When I got back home, I still had my pack of Camels, which I brought to the fast food place I worked at. It was then that I gained an appreciation for the post-shift wind down with co-workers. Still, the smoking remained pretty casual.

A few months later, I was off to University, where I arrived a "non-smoker." (That's what my residence application said, anyway.) And to be fair, I didn't smoke for a month or two after arriving. But soon, the porch, which my room had the luxury of being closest to, became a frequent hangout on those crisp fall evenings, where I would often break for a DuMaurier with the people from my floor. Soon afterwards, though, the "breaks" included smoking while walking between classes... mid-class intermissions... the walk back from class. Et cetera. Before long, I had made friends who were smokers, which of course led to more smoking.

Add another summer of fast food smoke breaks, and another school year of smoking between classes and sometimes on the porch of the place I lived. In third year, I stopped. Same thing for almost all of my fourth year.

But now, after having worked at a job where cigarette breaks seem almost necessary for the past six months, it is the first time I have stepped away from the on-again, off-again "casual smoking" and become a genuine smoker. Not very heavy, but definitely consistent. And I've decided I don't want to be on this path. So I'm quitting. I don't want to associate with cigarettes anymore. For the past few days I haven't had one, and that's how it's going to be from now on. Cold turkey. I basically had one nerve-wracking day where I really wanted one, and I caved and bummed a couple from people at work. But since then, I've developed a cold, and with my system all clogged with phlegm, the last thing I want right now is to smoke.

What I plan on doing is replacing the cigarettes with the odd cigar. With spring a few weeks away, the barbeque will be fired up just about every night, and a weekly post-meal cigar would be okay by me. It's a lot more civilized and celebratory, anyway. Another masculine hobby that will go well with the straight razors.