We're proud of our internal BS detectors. We can weed out the BSers around us. And when we feel we've been wronged, we have no problem tellin' it like it is.
And it doesn't have to be something done to us personally - we will join a cause if we feel something isn't fair or just. And timelines mean nothing.
You can talk to a farmer at the hardware store tomorrow, and you'll mention the hockey playoffs between Arnprior and Renfrew. And trust me, he'll have no problem letting you know where he stands. "That call in the 1981 semifinals was NOT penalty. The Renfrew guy took a dive. That ref, what a sumovabitch."
So, to recap: We Valley folks can pinpoint BS and we'll tell you about it, whether you want to hear it or not. Even years after it happened.
Why the detailed explanation?
To prove to you that it's in the genes. The following rant is not the ramblings of a drunken blogger. (Sidenote: Valley folks also have a high tolerance for alcohol - so the four shots of Crown Royal I had with breakfast are having no impact whatsoever on the following rant)
My rage stems froms something that apparently happened almost five years ago. But I just found out yesterday. And it's my blog. So buckle up.
Am I the only person in the free world who didn't realize that it costs 50 cents to make a local phone call at a phone booth? OK, let's back track a sec - am I the only person who has actually USED a pay phone in the last five years?
I was in Ottawa. My cell phone was at home. Needed to make a call. Let's just say it's easier to find an honest politician in our nation's capital than it is to find a phone booth.
Eventually I found one. The phone. Not the politician.
Bathed the receiver in hand sanitzer. Dropped a quarter in the slot and dialed the number. On the other end was a computerized voice asking for another 25 cents. Now this was a local call, not me calling 1-976-HOT-MAMA (which is $6.99/minute by the way, and they do accept most major credit cards).
Fifty-frickin-cents for a phone call? WTF?
Adding to my rage? Who carries that kind of cash in today's world of Interac?
So I didn't even have the other 25 cents. But, alas, a life saver. You could use your credit card. Pop it in the slot. The fun part? The call then jumps to a dollar. Holy buck!
Has the world gone mad?
When I was a kid, pay phones had three coin slots - a nickel, a dime and a quarter. A nickel for a local call, the dime slot simply ate your coin, and you popped in a quarter if you were making a prank call to someone in Ireland.And the real joy was checking the coin-return slot.
But yesterday was without joy. After rummaging through the ashtray in my car and finding a nickel in the sewer, I scrounged together another 25 cents - so, like an idiot, I caved in and paid the 50 cents. And the person wasn't even at their desk. Got the answering machine and lost my money.
Tried the coin slot and found a chewed piece of gum. And it smelled like watermelon. And I hate watermelon. Whatever happened to Juicy Fruit? This further proves the world has gone made.
So all told, the call cost me 50 cents. I spent about two bucks on hand sanitizer to bathe the receiver and wash up after touching the gum. Kick in about $14 in gas driving around Ottawa looking for a pay phone. And you can't put a price on rage. Oh, the rage.
And a quick Google shows that the phone conpanies jumped the price to 50 cents in June of 2007. But, as noted at the top of this posting, there is no statute of limitations to Valley venting.
And a further peek at the Google find shows that prior to 2007, the last time the price jumped at pay phones was 1981.
Ahhh, 1981. The year that Renfrew player took a dive. That ref. What a sumuvabitch.
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