Let's pay them what they're worth

I have a couple of questions for you: Why is a mouse when it spins, how long is a piece of string, and how long can you keep getting your job wrong before you lose it?

Respectively, the answers are huh, as long as you want, and depends on the job.

The last question used to be leveled regularly at weather forecasters. Even I – I, believing patsy that I am – used to wonder about the weather forecasters in Sydney. It could be positively persisting down outside, but the forecast staunchly declared, nay verily trumpeted, that it was indeed sunny. I decided the building in which the Bureau of Meteorology was housed had no windows.

As the years have passed, so did technology catch up with the problem, and now the weather people can tell you within the inch of a bee’s knee if it’s going to sun, rain, hail, snow, pour toads and locusts, or herald the Apocalypse.

Apparently, though, in Russia, things are not so fine and Jim Dandy – or as I’ve heard the Slavic alternative, syuper dyooper (sic) and Boris Bragdanovic. There, I have heard, if the weather forecasters fail to forewarn a cataclysmic meteorological event resulting in loss of property or indeed limb, they are fired.

Not a good place to be – fired, in Russia, or so I’ve heard. Siberia is such an ugly term in the middle of winter, after all.

 Then, as another example, take our newspaper delivery person. Or should I say our sometimes newspaper delivery person. The order is not complicated, truly it isn’t. Up to a little while ago, the papers would be delivered with almost reverent precision on our doorstep without fail. Then obviously something began to become malodorous in the State of Denmark so to speak, and they were delivered with almost wanton imprecision somewhere close to our driveway. Then, we started missing the ones we ordered, but gaining new, unwanted ones.

Now it’s become a betting situation between Sir and I as to which particular brands will be dumped on our concrete each day. It’s got to the point that I think this delivery person has something against us, and certainly against the Sunday New York Times. Now don’t go thinking I’m an artsy snob, I’m not at all. If in fact I could just order the New York Times Magazine every Sunday I would be a very happy subscriber. All I want out of this five pound paper is the crossword page.

So when it doesn’t turn up, with increasingly monotonous regularity, I get a tad peeved to say the least.  The poor gals at the customer service desk know Sir and me very well, and we can hear a resigned *sigh* each time we call.

Fire the bum, is what I say. Have you looked at the classified want-ads lately? Half of them must be for drivers. If I was willing to lurch out at 5am, hell, I’d do it. But this delivery person either has a terrible case of dyslexia (for which I am eternally sympathetic) or a bad case of attitude (for which I’m not). Either way, I’m very sorry, but go away.

So naturally, this brings me to others who are in the category of Those Who Deserve to Lose Their Jobs – 101 and 102.

The Kansas City Chiefs last won a Superbowl some 37 years ago. Their last playoff win was years ago. Hell’s teeth, the last time they won a game was 8 weeks ago, and then 11 months ago before that.

And yet, you – excuse me for being so forward – silly KC Chiefs fans still flock, albeit in ever-decreasing numbers to the games.

I have heard of an increasing number of people refusing to renew their season tickets and bravo, you, I say. All of you should boycott every game from now on until management is changed.

As Sir very rightly points out, Mr. Carl and Mr. Herm produce a perfect bottom line for Messrs. Hunt of Texas – and that is, a profitable one. But at whose expense?

Hey kids – let me let you in on a secret – it’s you, patsies.

Goading Sir into some research for me, he discovered that for the Chiefs vs. Chargers game on Dec. 14 – when it will likely be as cold as a witch’s left nostril – you can buy seats on the upper deck, upper level, 40 yard line for a mere $10,000 each.

Limit of four per order.

Or, if you’re more economical, you can get seats for $10 a piece, so long as you are prepared to wear your hiking books, and are prepared to use the oxygen masks on your ascent in the above-nosebleed section. I’m sorry to inform you that your binoculars are not viable at this height, but small telescopes are available for a small – oh, OK, I’ll give – a large consideration at the gate.

Come on people.

The management of the Chiefs just has to go. Join the ranks at the unemployment office immediately, if not sooner.

Tell you what, I have a deal. You can tailgate in my driveway. I have tickets for $10 in the basement, $50 in the living room and $300 in our bed. All plasma TVs, replay on demand, seat/bedside service. I’ll have the grill going and the beer chilled.

A fair day’s pay for a fair job done. That’s all, quite simple really. Carl? Herm? Newspaper person?

Goo-bye!