How Common is Common Sense?

What’s wrong with people? Don’t they have any common sense? I’ve heard this said many times. I’ve said this recently, but it made me wonder. Is there such a thing as common sense that is truly common to everyone in the world? The term, common sense, implies that it’s knowledge known worldwide. It’s common, therefore everyone should be aware of it.

     Common sense is a learned ability. A newborn doesn’t have it. They learn that fire is hot, ice is cold and a knife is sharp. They can learn this the hard way or the easy way, but after awhile this falls into the category of common sense.

     If you live in a household that doesn’t have electricity, you might not know that sticking a metal object in an electric outlet will give you a shock. To most people this is common knowledge, therefore your common sense tells you not to do this.

    Your upbringing, experience and social status contributes to what you believe is common sense. It all comes down to what is common among the entire world population. The only things common among all the people of the world are our basic needs: food, water, shelter and self preservation. Common sense is not included in our basic needs.

     If you agree that common sense is a learned ability then, you will understand that it’s different for each of us because we have had unique learning experiences. Men and women with the same background will have a different common sense. So what I’m saying is there is really no such thing as common sense because we are all different. We should call it, good sense. If it’s good, then it makes sense to do it.

    There are people that chose to ignore their good sense. We may have all done this at times. It’s when you do something, then say to yourself. Well, that was stupid. Each time you throw your good sense to the curb, you increase your chances to unlearn this sense.

    Although the question about common sense sounds simple, I believe it’s more complex than it seems. So from now on when I wonder why someone doesn’t have any common sense, I’ll need to consider their background, upbringing or if their just making bad choices. If it’s my next door neighbor with a similar background then my initial question maybe valid, but if it’s someone in a foreign country or even the kid living in the inner city my judgement could be off.

     These are my personal beliefs so you are free to disagree. Your opinion is valuable to me. If mine is welcomed by you then we have that in common. “Just Saying . . . “
   

Smart Food

We were at the grocery store yesterday doing our weekly shopping. I noticed ground chicken was advertised as organic smart chicken. I understand that organic means free range and no antibiotics, but I’m struggling with the term smart chicken. Especially, when it’s now in the ground meat section of the grocery store.

     Doesn’t seem like it was smart enough since it didn’t evade the meat market. Maybe the chicken needed more smart water. I’ve always associated smart with intelligence, but apparently my thinking is skewed because you can buy many different foods that are labeled smart. Interesting that it started with smart popcorn. Who knew popcorn would garner the the term smart as a moniker?

     We have many smart devices these days including phones, TV’s, plugs, doorbells, light bulbs, etc. but smart seems to be more appropriate for those than they are to food.  Smart foods imply healthy, but I guess smart is a more marketable word, so they changed the definition. Of course, why not screw with the English language, no one will notice. Many of the smart foods are snacks, so not typically on the healthy chart. Eating healthy is smart, but I question that eating snacks are smart, so if we call them smart snacks that makes them okay.

     I snack now and then, but I don’t think I’m any smarter because of it. You might be a smart-aleck or smarty-pants, but you probably came by that naturally. “Just Saying . . .”

Squirrel

I had setup an interview with the lady who ran a retirement home. Her name was Shirley. Since it was a nice day we decided we would do the interview outside in the garden.

     “Tell me Shirley, what is the most difficult part of running a home like this?”

     “Well, that’s easy. You become attracted to the people who live here, so —Squirrel.” Shirley pointed to the squirrel that was running up the tree trunk. Then she continued the conversation without missing a beat. “when they pass it’s really difficult. It’s almost like a close relative has died.”

     I ignored the random comment about the squirrel and asked a second question. “What is the favorite activ—.”

     “Squirrel.”

     I tilted my head and started again. “The favorite activity of the residents?”

     “We’ll, that’s more difficult — Squirrel, — since we have so many. I think going to an outside activity like a ball game would be on top. She turned her head toward the bird feeder. “Squirrel.”

     “You seem to be fascinated by the squirrels. Tell me about that?”

     Shirley frowned. “What makes you say that?”

     “You keep mentioning them.” 

     “When? I’m not sure —Squirrel, Squirrel— what you’re talking about.”

     I decided to change the subject. “What’s your background? How did you end up running a retirement home?”

     “I worked at a taxidermist. Very interesting,” Shirley whipped her head around “ —-Squirrel—- but the owner was weird, kind of squirrelly, you know?”

      “Yes, I’m getting a sense of what you’re talking about.”

      Shirley stood up. “Thanks for coming over, but I need to break now. It’s time for my morning snack. I have a strict regimen with my diet.”

      “I understand it has been very interesting. What is your usual snack?” 

      “Nuts . . . I like nuts. You really can’t have too many. I never seem to get enough.”

      “Perfect.”

Tipping

What I was taught about tipping is that it was based on the service you receive. I’m primarily speaking about the wait staff at a restaurant. They take your order, answer questions, make suggestions, take substitutions, etc. They provide a service above and beyond what you might receive at a fast food location.

     The personality of waiters and waitresses can make your meal more enjoyable. They deserve and earn a tip based on how they serve you. Their hourly salary is minimal so a tip is vital to them. The low salary they make is an issue that needs further clarification in another post. 

     The hourly wage of fast food workers has increased to $18 - $20 an hour over the past few years, but the service to the customer has gone unchanged. In addition to the wage increase, many of these fast food restaurants have tip jars or an extra line on the receipt for a tip. Why do they deserve a tip? They do not provide any of the service that a wait staff does at a traditional restaurant.

     We are being guilted into tipping everyone even those that don’t earn a tip. All my life I have experienced people/groups trying to guilt me into doing something.  Now, every time I go to pick up a pizza, fried rice or a sandwich I am forced to address the tip question. I know it’s my choice to tip or not, but I feel it’s an imposition to ask when the only service they’ve provided is hand me the food I paid for. 

     Sometimes I choose to tip when I pick up a to-go order, but usually just a dollar and only when the person handing me my order shows me their personality with a smile or laugh. You’ll be surprised what a smile or laugh will get you. “Just Saying . . .”

Have you seen . . .

I’ve been around for 76 years and seen many things change, so I’m not surprised by most changes. But have you seen the commercials about deodorants. They imply that we stink all the time and all over. Do people stink more now than in the past? I mean when we grew up we used underarm deodorant but only under our arms. We didn’t cover our whole body. We bathed or showered and used soap, usually scented, which has a pleasant smell so there was no need to spray our whole body with deodorant.

     I find the commercials annoying if not insulting. To quote on ad, “I use this all . . . over.” Then she pulls her pants top out and sprays her crotch. Really? Is that necessary?

     Most people are smart enough to know you shower after a hard workout not before. So using more soap will allow you to use less deodorant. The truth is every body product is scented, shampoo, conditioner, creams, hair gel and then there’s perfume and aftershave. So why do we need another artificial scent on top of another artificial scent?

     Commercials sell products and help pay for television, but they don’t have to be annoying. The advertisers talk down to the viewers and try their best to influence us to buy what they are promoting. I understand how that works but your approach is irritating.

     Sorry about the rant, but while I’m at it, I don’t like the commercial with the guy advertising the razor, specifically designed to shave his junk. 

     Things change, I get that, but I’m an old guy so when I see something that bugs me I say it. You’ll be here someday. “Just Saying . . .”

Rude Awakening - Final

The doorbell rang again. 

“Is that Claudia already?” Stacy questioned. 

“Not likely. She’s a psychic, not a magician.” I went to the door. “I’ve got it.”

When I opened the door, Stan held up a six-pack. “It’s a new craft beer I found. Monkey’s Breath. I couldn’t pass it up.”

“Well, of course not. Come on in. I’ll get the mugs.”

Stan stepped into the family room and held up the beer. “Monkey’s Breath.”

“Oh! You sweet talker.” Stacy sipped her coffee. “No thanks, I’ll stick with my dark roast coffee.” 

“Anybody?” Stan set the six-pack on the table. “It’s cold…and there’s no warning label.”

“Oh! Well in that case how can I refuse.” Rocco grabbed a can and pulled it out.

I walked in holding three mugs. “Let’s keep it classy. Here you go.”  I handed one to Stan and another to Rocco. I kept the third knowing Stacy wouldn’t be interested.

“Thanks.” Stan popped open the top and poured the mug full. “A good craft beer always taste better in a mug.” 

“No question about that.” Rocco wiped his lips. “The flavor is bold and it opens up nicely.” 

Stan, Rocco and I relaxed, enjoying the rustic taste of Monkey’s Breath, when the doorbell rang for a third time. We all knew what that meant. Claudia was here.

I rolled the 8-Ball across the floor. Twitch chased it down and brought it back and dropped it at my feet. It was covered with dog drool, so I let it lie. 

Just then Stacy walked in with Claudia. “Hi. It’s nice to see everyone. I hope I can help solve the puzzle.” 

In unison without any planning, we held up our mugs and yelled, “Monkey’s Breath.”

“Well, that’s a greeting I’ve never heard before.”

“Claudia, please ignore them. Men can be such idiots sometimes.”

Stan smiled. “Sorry, we’re just having a little fun.” 

I set my mug down. “Let’s get serious about the puzzle. So, now we have a detective, a writer, a psychic and—"

Stacy laughed, “An irrational anxious paranoid.”

“That’s not fair.” 

“Probably not, but it’s accurate.” 

“Enough. So far, we haven’t solved anything.” I took another swig of my beer. “Mmm, yummy. Stacy and I looked at Waldo but couldn’t come up with anything. Rocco helped us understand the connection between the book and the other items, but without a clear resolution.”

Stacy jumped in. “What about the Magic 8-Ball? Maybe Claudia can help.”

 “Good idea,” I piped up. “Claudia, do you ever use the 8-Ball to make predictions?” 

Stacy put her hands on her hips. “Ben, stop it. Just stop it. Claudia’s here to help.”

“Well, actually I have all sorts of tools.”

“See, I told you.” I picked the ball up gingerly and tossed the toy to Claudia. “Do your thing.”

Claudia caught the ball but quickly dropped it. “Thanks a lot, Ben.” She quickly grabbed  a napkin and cleaned off the saliva. “It doesn’t work quite like that.” Claudia shook the 8-Ball. “But I’ll give it a try.” She held the ball, just above her head and said, “Does Ben sabotage his life by imagining problems when there are none?” 

Claudia flipped over the 8-Ball and it read, “Without a doubt.” She laid the ball on the floor next to Twitch. 

“Hey, I’m not the culprit here,” I explained. “It’s the person that sent the email and package.”

“That’s partially true, but you always have a target on your back,” Stacy said. “You make yourself vulnerable because of your anxiety.”

“I’m not sure you’re right about that.”

Stan weighed in. “You might be missing the obvious, like Waldo. He’s right in front of us but we don’t see him.”

“Yes, it’s hard to see the problem when it’s you.” Rocco walked to the bar and picked up the bourbon. He poured a glass of Rude Awakening and brought it over to Ben. “I wrote the book Head Games under a pen name.”

Stan held up the Where’s Waldo puzzle. “And I spent many years hunting people down, only to find out they were hiding from their self. Finding Waldo got me started finding people.”

Claudia took the 8-Ball from Twitch, “This will never give you the answers you need,” and handed it to me. 

It was covered with drool. “Augh,” I dropped it.

“Payback.” Claudia smiled.

            “Did you plan this?  Everyone seems to be playing a part.” I looked at Stacy. “It feels like an intervention.” 

“Yes, it is and everyone agreed to help. I wanted to do something that would get you to pay attention. Was this a rude awakening?” Stacy picked up her coffee. “Just one thing left, the seminar, Finding Yourself. ”

 “Funny, I see what you did.” I shook my head. “So this is all a trick. No stalkers just . . . my friends. “Claudia, you predicted all this. None of it was a surprise, even the drool.”

“Well, of course not . . . I am a psychic.”

Rude Awakening - Part 4

The next morning a package arrived, but that’s not unusual since most of our shopping is online. I picked up the box and brought it inside without even looking at the address assuming it was another of my wife’s weekly purchases. 

“Hey Hon, there’s a package for you.” 

Stacy yelled from upstairs, “I didn’t order anything. Are you sure it’s for me?”

I flipped the box over and read the label. It was addressed to me, Ben Castle. I scratched my head. It could be something I ordered and forgot about. I’ve done that before and it always turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

Stacy walked in the room. “Is it for me?”

“No, it’s addressed to me.”

“What is it?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“So, open it.” She started to tear the tape off the box. 

“Wait, it could be a bomb!”

“A bomb.” Stacy ripped the box open. “You idiot.”

“Well, it’s too late now, the timer would be already triggered.”

Stacy reached in and started pulling out the contents. As it turned out it wasn’t a bomb but a puzzle of sort, but not the typical kind with pieces that fit together revealing a picture. It contained a book, a Magic 8-Ball, Where’s Waldo picture and ticket to an upcoming concert. There was no message and no instructions on what to do, but I couldn’t stop thinking about each and every piece. “What do you think all this means?”

“This must be the surprise the email mentioned.” Stacy picked up the Where’s Waldo picture. “There he is.” Pointing to Waldo.

“Great, you did it. You solved the riddle.” I laughed. “I’ll sleep well tonight.”

She held her fist up. “You’re such a jerk.” Stacy smiled. “I always loved these Waldo puzzles.”

“Seriously, I need to figure this out.” I rubbed my chin. “It’ll drive me crazy.”

“That’s a short trip.”

“Ha! Are you going to help me, or do I have to do it all myself?” I picked up the book, titled The Head Game and examined it.

“Well for starters why don’t you read the book. There might be some valuable information in it.” Stacy picked up the Waldo picture. “I already solved Waldo.”

Stacy’s suggestion to read the book seemed like a smart idea, so that night I sat in a comfy chair and turned page after page until the end.  I ended up going to bed very late, about 1:30 in the morning.

I slept until 8:30. Stacy was frying eggs, when I walked into the kitchen.

“What did you discover from the book?”

I poured myself a cup of joe. “It was very interesting, but I’m not sure of the relevance. It was a motivational book.”

“Oh! A self-help book.” Stacy flipped an egg. “Yeah, it’s not like you need any help.”

I sipped my coffee. “Really . . . I’ve only got that one little problem. You know, the paranoia thing.”

“Yes, dear. I’m aware.” Stacy sipped her coffee. “The little thing that rules your life.”

“I think I’ve made some progress.”

“Oh, sweetie! You need to reread a few chapters.”

“Okay. Okay. But I don’t see how it relates to this scenario.”

She opened the book and spotted the initials, TG written inside the book cover. “I wonder what that means.

“It’s a used book. Who knows what it means. I’m sure it’s not related to anything.”

Stacy held up the Magic 8-Ball. “Let’s try to figure how this fits into the puzzle.”

I took the ball shook it and asked. ”Am I in danger?” Then I turned it over. It read, Signs point to yes. “Well, that can’t be good.”

Stacy grabbed the ball then jiggled it, “Is my husband an idiot?” It read, It is decidedly so. “Well, it got that one right.” 

“Ha! You’re so funny.”

“I don’t think the ball is going to give you the answers.” She set the ball down. “It’s just one of the puzzle pieces. You must figure out how they relate to each other.”

I picked it up and asked. “My wife seems to know all the answers. Is she ever going to listen to me?” The response - Outlook not so good.

Stacy smiled and leaned in. “Let’s think about this logically. A stranger wouldn’t go through all this trouble. There has to be somebody who knows something about you.”

“Hmm! That makes sense, but who would do this? A practical joker?”

“Let’s look at each of the clues closely and see if they lead us anywhere. Start here.” Stacy picked up, Where’s Waldo? and handed it to me.

“Okay, we’ll brainstorm.” I grabbed a pencil and paper. “What are some things we know about Waldo.”

She said, “He wears a red and white striped shirt and a bobble hat.”

“Black glasses, big ears and goofy smile.” I shrugged. “So how does this help us. Everyone knows what Waldo looks like.”

“Then why is he so hard to find?”

“He hides in crowds. You have to channel your inner detective to find him.”

Stacy waved a hand. “Okay enough of Waldo, for now. Let’s look at another clue . . . the book.” 

I shrugged. “As I said, the book was interesting but what clue does it provide?”

“Seems to me that it’s directly connected to you.”

The doorbell rang. Stacy looked at me. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No, do you have another Amazon delivery?”

“No, maybe it’s another clue from your new BFF.” Stacy walked toward the door. “I’ll get it.” She opened the door and greeted Rocco and Twitch. “Please come in.”

I looked up as Twitch ran toward me. “Perfect timing.” I waved Rocco over. “You might be able to help with the puzzle we’re working on.”

The four items were already laid out on the floor. I held up the book. “This is the one we’re working on now, but I’ll accept your help on any of them.”

“I just stopped by to bring you some cilantro from my garden.” Rocco held a bunch in his hand. “But I’ll be happy to look at your puzzle.” He stared closely at each item.

I anxiously waited to hear what he had to say. “What do you think?”

“Well, these three,” he pointed to Waldo, the 8-Ball and Head Games. “Two are actual books and the third is written about in many books.”

“What about the concert tickets to an event called, Finding Yourself?

“I don’t know if there’s a book about finding yourself, but it relates to the book, Head Games, which is about motivation. In a way, it also relates to Waldo, because it’s as hard to find yourself as it is Waldo.”

  “Whoa! That’s deep.” Stacy handed Rocco a cup of coffee. “We should have called you earlier.”

“Writers have a different way of looking at things. You look for the obvious, we look for the unexpected.” Rocco sipped the coffee. “What is this game we’re playing?”

“This is all the stuff Ben received from his stalkers?” 

“I received an ominous email telling me that I was in danger. I guess this box of stuff is supposed to give me a clue on what the danger is.” I leaned back in my chair. “But, we can’t figure it out.”

Stacy added. “Yet. We can’t figure it out yet.”

“You need someone who has a special mental ability.” Rocco scratched Twitch’s head.

Stacy smiled. “Oh! You mean like a psychic? I know someone that could help us in that department.”

“Well, I agree . . . Claudia certainly is mental.”

“Come on. Stop it. Rocco has helped with the puzzle, but maybe Claudia could take us further.” She picked up her phone. “I’ll call her.”

“Really, is that necessary?”

Rocco stirred his coffee. “In all fairness Ben, you never know what someone with a different outlook can do for you.”

“I know, but__” 

“Okay, Claudia will be over in ten minutes.” Stacy hung up the phone. “Can you stick around for awhile?”

Rocco lifted his cup for a refill. “I’ve got nothing going on all day.”