​
Sometimes, when I’m in the middle of my second hour with customer support and I’m rattling off my account number for the 40th time, I’ll think about the appropriate penalty for the person who set up the system in the first place.
 
I’ve often said that the guy who invented speed bumps should be strapped to the bottom of a sports car chassis and driven over a few of those monsters at high speed. For the people who design websites and medical forms, we need to come up with something decidedly more severe.
 
We’ve all been through the drill. We try to open an account and the system rejects our password because it doesn’t have an ampersand, or because it does, or it has no caps or too many caps or not enough irony. Or we call customer support and we have to enter our account number at least twice before a human being picks up the phone…to ask for our account number.
 
As the customer service rep reads her required script, I try to shorten the process by answering all the questions I know she’s going to ask, but she still goes through the recitation of data points—or risk being fired. I’ll tell her I know she didn’t make up the rules, or the script, but I really, seriously, desperately want to get my hands on the person who is responsible for the extra 35 minutes I’ll spend on this nonsense.
 
It’s the same thing when we’re offline in the doctor’s office, where they hand you four pages of questions to answer while waiting for your appointment. Yes...

...all the information you’re about to give them is the same thing they asked when you contacted them the first time and...

...all of it is already in the portal they made you sign up for when made the appointment, and...

...it’s absolutely certain the doctor will not look at the form after you fill it out,...

...but that’s no reason to let it slide.
 
There’s no way to fix it, as we know, because the nameless and faceless drones who put the hamster wheels in motion left the company a long time ago. Since then, there’s no one on the payroll with a career interest in making their processes more user friendly, or efficient, or sensible.
 
Strapping them to the bottom of a sports car and driving over a speed bump is too good for them, but they aren’t the only ones who come up with rules that make no sense. For instance, who was it that decided:

• All caps in an email is yelling?

 

• People who breathe through their mouths instead of their noses are cretins?

 

• A preposition is something you cannot end a sentence with?

 

• Black and blue clash, but black and green is fine?

 

• All theater rows should be 2.7” higher than the row in front of them, as if everyone was the same height with a 2.7” forehead?

 

• We can only wear white pants, or shoes, between Memorial Day and Labor Day?

 
The world is filled with arbitrary rules that we follow as if they flowed logically from a font of wisdom, including rules we have to comply with in order to get support from the doctors and businesses we frequent. If you know who came up with any of these gems, let me know how to find them. I know a guy with a sports car.
 
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Why I want to be like Theda Bara, plus my brush with the most dangerous pop-up on the internet, among the items rattling around in my dormant mind these days…

1. Did you ever notice that all the really good junk food ends in an O? Cheetos, Doritos, Tostitos, Oreos, Fritos… Is there an official rating organization where the food companies apply for admission to the Esteemed Order of O? And how did pizzo miss the cut?
   
   
2. It’s my one goal in life to become the answer to a crossword puzzle clue. I want to join the ranks of Clara Bow, Ernie Els, Theda Bara, Bela Lugosi, Ruby Dee, and Isao Aoki, among the many people who will live on in the crosswords long after their careers are forgotten. Now all I need is a career.
   
   
3. I’m really upset with the airlines for their new restrictions on service animals. I was almost ready to launch my Rent-a-Python app and now they’ve killed my small business. Wait, are we still allowed to have snakes on the train?
   
   
4. From my apartment in Chicago, I can see more than 1,000 other apartments around my neighborhood. I don’t know these people, don’t know their dreams, don’t know their challenges; actually, I don’t know anything about any of them. Sometimes I think I’m pretty aware of what’s happening around me and, other times, I recognize how much I’m in the dark.
   
   
5. I used to see a guy walking down the street in a pair of flip-flops and wonder what his story was. Now I see a guy with a suit and tie and a briefcase and I wonder, what the heck is his deal?
   
   
6. The people who live next to the train tracks think they’re luckier than the people who live next to the expressway, who think they’re luckier than the people who live by the airport… We all need to feel that we’re better off than the next guy, no matter where we are in the pecking order.
   
   
7. I’ve been thinking about all those friend recommendations I get each day from Facebook. I’ve never heard of most of these people, but Mark Zuckerberg might (might????) know something I don’t. Maybe Facebook knows these people are so desperate for connections that they’ll agree to be friends with an absolute stranger. Or maybe Mr. Zuckerberg realizes that I’m just as desperate.
   
   
8. The most dangerous pop-up I’ve seen reently is the one at the top of this post, asking me if I want to banish news that doesn’t agree with my prejudices. It’s way too easy to fall into an echo chamber without thinking about it. Now we’re invited to become less informed, less open and more polarized. What could possibly go wrong?

 
We’ll never ask you to banish anyone from your news feed at Dad Writes, because we encourage our subscribers to be as well rounded as possible. Join our subscribers by clicking here and we promise to broaden your horizons, sorta.
 

​​Dining out is pretty close to normal again, which is a continuing source of joy for a guy who’s energized by a noisy joint and really tired of doing his own dishes. Part Two of our celebration…

1. Compared to delivery services in Chicago, going to a restaurant is a gigantic bargain. By the time I’ve paid the delivery fee and the service charges and the tip for the driver, my $15 pizza costs $57.50, and it’s cold.
2. I am comfortable enough with my gluttony to be the only person who orders dessert, so it’s irritating when the waiter comes back with six spoons. Did I say I wanted to share?
3. Alcohol is much better in restaurants and bars than it is at home. I get more lively and animated when I’m drinking in a bar, but having a drink with dinner at home can be kinda sad. That doesn’t stop me, of course, but it’s a bummer.
4. One really great thing about meeting friends for dinner at a restaurant: I don’t need to clean the apartment before they arrive. When we get together at a restaurant, I can leave the laundry basket on the dining room table and I can leave my leftover bagel on the recliner. And they’ll never know what a slob I am, unless they happen to read this post.
5. Is fine dining still a thing and should it be? Could we gush over a perfectly steamed hot dog the same way we do with a flinty wine?
6. I saw a restaurant promoting their brunch with about 200 items, which sounds great until you realize you only like 12 of them and you only have room in your stomach for five. Mostly, you’re paying for the dream.
7. At some places, I always order the same thing because they have a recipe I like and I can’t get anywhere else. There’s probably something else on the menu I’d like, but why take the risk?
8. One thing I’ll never understand is how excited people get about restaurants that serve breakfast all day long. Breakfast food is usually a choice between fried eggs and fried dough, with maybe a bit of fruit on the side for variety. And people want more of this?

 
 
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Now that almost all the restrictions have been lifted and outdoor dining is available pretty much everywhere in the country, I’m rediscovering the joys of never, ever, ever cooking my own food. I’m also rediscovering some of the fascinating questions that come with restaurant visits, including…

1. I used to think I went to restaurants because somebody else did the cooking for me. After eating in for the past year, I now realize the best thing about restaurants is that somebody else does the dishes.
2. Whenever I order something and the waiter tells me, "That’s my favorite entrée," I wonder if he expects me to offer him a fork so he can dig in.
3. We need a six-month moratorium on schools and park districts and churches hitting up their local restaurants for donations. Pretty much every local joint is under water and behind on at least a million payments at this point, so let’s give them a chance to breathe for a while. Actually, let’s make the moratorium 12 months, not six, and require that people eat at the restaurant at least ten times before asking for a handout.
4. The great divide in dining out is whether you want your plate picked up before everyone else is finished. If I'm the last guy eating and everyone's plate is gone, then I'm a pig at a trough. But if everyone sits with dirty plates while I finish…actually I am still a pig at a trough. Never mind.
5. Sometimes, I need to stifle the laughter when the waiter explains, “Tonight, Chef has combined caviar, foie gras and truffles into a puff pastry that tastes exactly like Cheetos. For $57.”
6. In a fancy restaurant, they pick up the appetizer plate and then hand back your dirty knife and fork. But only after the busser has fondled them.
7. Speaking of which, bussers are paid by the plate, not the hour, which is why they keep asking if you are done with your food. At least I hope that’s why they’re asking.
8. I’m really miffed when the server refuses to write down my order and assures me he’ll remember every detail. At my age, I can’t remember anything I’ve said, so I’ll have to take his word for it when he comes back with the kale waffles.

 
While you’re thinking about all the reasons restaurants are the world’s greatest invention, take a moment to subscribe to Dad Writes for our next take on the topic. Just click here and we’re BFFs.
 

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On behalf of the university, its staff, and all the alumni of our fine institution, I bid a warm welcome to the graduating class of 2021.
 
What an exciting year to be completing your studies at our university. Yes, I realize that you didn’t exactly complete your studies “at” our university, but we did include the school colors in all our Zoom backgrounds and we did insist that you rent space in our dorms even when you couldn’t be here, so it’s really the same thing.
 
At first, I was a bit nervous about speaking to such a large group, even on Zoom, but I remembered that incredibly sensible advice that I should imagine all of you are just sitting there in your underwear. And that’s easy to do, since I can see so many of you actually are sitting there in your underwear. Also, it turns out that Spiderman underpants come in adult sizes.
 
Of course, you didn’t travel all the way from your kitchen to your dining room table to listen to a long presentation about the glories of our university or the traditions we uphold. You want to hear about how special you are and how bright your future is, and you especially want to hear that you’ll be able to pay back your student loans before you die.
 
I am delighted to tell you that I can answer all your questions in the affirmative. Yes, you are a truly special class, a group of immensely gifted students who mastered the art of packing, again and again, while we announced and retracted our campus opening plans 42 times over the past 15 months. You completed more than 35,000 hours of distanced chemistry lab with only 17 homes burned down in the process. You made your school spirit known when you hacked into the scoreboard at the stadium to Rickroll the football team. And you certainly made your mark when you voted to replace our school mascot with a CBD gummy bear.
 
We know this past year has included a number of disappointments for you as we canceled many on-campus experiences. Many of you were upset you were unable to make out with your bae in the library and you couldn’t play Frisbee on the quad. You’ve told us you feel cheated because you didn’t spend enough time in our hallowed halls, partying with your friends in the dorm, and sharing meals in the cafeteria. (Well, actually nobody said they missed the cafeteria, but the staff there is very sensitive, so we are including them here.)
 
We feel your pain, but our attorneys want you to see this in the most positive of lights. When you return for your class reunions, it will be as if you are here for the first time. You’ll be energized and inspired as you experience the university in 3-D. And, of course, you’ll be surprised as you sample the unique offerings in our cafeteria. (Not pleasantly surprised, we know, but at least you’ll be grateful that you didn’t spend all four years dining on this stuff.)
 
Most important, our distanced journey over the past year has prepared you better than any other graduating class for the world you enter as adults. Working in isolation is now the number one job skill that almost every employer seeks. Whether you’ll be picking produce in the grocery store for Instacart or lubricating the self-driving cars for Uber or dropping Amazon boxes in somebody’s yard, your ability to thrive without human contact will make you even more valuable to the handful of companies that will still be hiring humans in the coming years.
 
For those of you who will be entering the white collar professions, your year of remote learning has prepared you for a lifetime career of working from home, sitting at the same dining room table where you have been based since early in 2020. While earlier graduating classes developed such obsolete skills as personal contact and team building, your graduating class is uniquely equipped for the brave new world of isolation, two-dimensional colleagues and, of course, working from home while wearing Spiderman underpants.
 
Yes, honored graduates, you are the most special, most prepared, most likely to succeed class in history. While many of the adjustments we made to your education over the past year were forced on us by the pandemic, we now recognize that they are the model we should follow from this day forward. Clearly, the incredible value of your remote education justifies the 27% tuition increase we implemented last September, and we look forward to increasing our distanced learning, and tuition, for many years to come.
 
And, no, we don’t give refunds.
 
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I can’t tell you how excited I am to file my tax return this year, along with all the other PATRIOTS who say the United States is the BEST COUNTRY ever. Tax Day is such a great holiday, an opportunity for all REAL AMERICANS to step up and be counted in the GREATEST DEMOCRACY with the GREATEST CONSTITUTION and the GREATEST PEOPLE. (Well, the greatest people if we exclude you-know-who from that other tribe.)
 
Frankly, I’m surprised the IRS site doesn’t have a tab to give them a tip when we e-file our payments. I tip the guy who brings me my cheeseburgers, so I should be able to tip the fine folks at the IRS who are handling my contribution to democracy. Maybe next year.
 
In the meantime, I’m excited to learn that our national government is an even bigger bargain than in the past, thanks to some really key new deductions that are available to selected taxpayers. (Readers will want to check with their own advisors to see if you qualify, of course.) Some of the new deductions are incredibly generous, just what you’d expect from your favorite Uncle, including:

1. Work from Home parents can now deduct the cost of toys, games and the extra IPad you bought your pre-schooler to keep them occupied while you made your remote sales pitches. Just submit form 1087-GOPLAYSOMEWHEREELSE
   
   
2. All expired memberships, tickets, coupons and fresh fruit can be deducted against income for 2020, although this special item excludes 20% off coupons from Bed Bath and Beyond. Even the federal government can’t print money fast enough to cover the potential hit from all those Bed Bath discounts. Consult Schedule 928-NOREFUNDS.
   
   
3. If you were quarantined for 14 days, your subscription to Netflix is deductible, but only if you didn’t chill. If you chilled, you broke the quarantine and the expense will be disallowed. Of course, if you were chilling with a customer, it’s an allowable entertainment cost. For further details, consult Schedule 14X-TIGERKING
   
   
4. If you tipped your delivery driver more than 30%, the tip is deductible as a charitable donation, but only if you ordered from a local company with less than 12 employees and the delivery was made by a teenager on a bicycle. Be sure to use form 4982-PIZZA
   
   
5. If you broke your touch screen while trying to find a vaccine appointment, a replacement device is deductible as a medical expense, but only if you actually obtained the vaccine. Refer to Schedule 2789-MAYBENEXTYEAR.
   
   
6. If you gained 50 pounds and finally decided to buy a Peloton bike, you can deduct the cost of the bike and subscription, but only after you’ve lost the 50 pounds. Don’t bother checking the schedule, since this is never going to happen, pal.  
   
   
7. If you looted a grocery store, a police station or the United States Capitol, any items you removed must be declared as income, even if you subsequently were forced to give them back. Be sure to provide proof of your involvement by attaching time-stamped videos and social media posts to Form 24601-FBI.
   
   
8. If you’ve been working from your dining room table for the past 12 months, the cost of the table, chairs, nearby light fixture and popcorn bowl are all deductible home office expenses. The deduction is reduced if you’ve used the dining room to entertain guests, but nobody does that anymore, so 100%, baby. Just complete Form 9881-DEATHBYZOOM.
   
   
9. Hip techies who gave up their spaces at WeWork to work from home can deduct the monthly rental even if they stiffed the company, utilizing the GameStop exemption for companies backed by hedge funds. Just fill out form 2087-SCREWU and you’re home free.
   
   
10. Speaking of which, if you held on to your Gamestop shares at least one year, but sold them before the stock jumped to $483, you can claim your lost profit opportunity as a casualty loss, but only if you reinvest your proceeds in a coal company. Consult Schedule 49-GREATERFOOL.

 
I’m taking advantage of all of these special deductions and it looks like I’ll be getting a big refund from the BEST COUNTRY EVER. Not only am I scheduled to receive of $2,813,938, but my accountant thinks it’s pretty certain that the U.S. government will give me secure housing for the next 15-20 years, or maybe even my entire life.
 
Is this a great country, or what?
 
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