Three Scoops is a Blast! Read Free Page B

Brutus, Cassius and their buds got together and dispatched Caesar on the Ides of March, well that was certainly rude.
     
    Personally, I’m more concerned about lack of good manners closer to home. On a day-to-day basis, there are two phrases that are starting to drive me crazy. People used to say “Excuse me, please” when they needed to get by and you were inadvertently in their way. It was a gentle request that usually solicited smiles by both parties and friendly nods.
     
    Now, “Excuse me” (without the “please”) is usually a peremptory command and apparently means “Get out of my way, I’m coming through.” It’s the pedestrian equivalent of the driver who believes he or she is the only one on the road or at least the only one who really counts.
     
    Excuse me is often met with the phrase, “no problem”. In this context, I suppose it’s okay. But I cringe when I hear it from sales people in stores or waiters and waitresses serving in restaurants. Even when it is uttered in the cheeriest of voices, it grates.
     
    When I make my request or place my order, I don’t expect it to be a problem. I’m making the normal banter that would usually precede an exchange of goods or services. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it, to fulfill my request? I’m not asking for much.
     
    When it comes right down to it, I don’t even care if it is a problem. Just do it (please). That’s what I’m paying for and it’s also what you’re being paid for. If you’re making a pittance, then speak to your manager. If you would rather be someplace else or talking with your fellow workers or contemplating life in general, well then…. Wow, I’m really getting worked up here. I guess I’m the one being rude, now, according to most standards.
     
    This whole thing about being civil, it’s a challenge. There are nearly seven billion of us sentient and sensitive beings on earth, each as the centre of our own universe. It’s a wonder we haven’t already bumped each other off. On second thought, maybe you should get your licks in now while you still have the chance - Joe, Serena and Kanye. Just remember that the patience of some of the rest of us is hair-trigger too.

 
    The Seagull Poet of Butter Bay
     
    October 4, 2009
     
    In a vision, he’d once seen another seagull in a top hat dancing at the Trocadero. It was the most elegant thing ever. He became entranced by imagery and longed to give expression to his own special voice. There was no doubt, he was a poet at heart.
     
    That’s what his girlfriend, Sandy Barr, told him. Never mind, he knew the truth anyway. He was always functioning with his head in the stratosphere. There was something about it that felt so right. He knew it was his true calling.
     
    He was a vagabond, a troubadour, a traveling jester, riding the winds and sometimes performing for his meals. But he had higher aspirations. He wanted to put his experiences in words. His world was something that needed and cried out for sharing.
     
    He’d breathed in autumn’s tangy smell from wood-burning stoves; felt the sharpness in the air as winter’s cold grip crept in. He’d seen the brightness bloom as spring’s healing bonnet led to summer’s torpor and absorbed the splintery hues of water in all its seasons.
     
    He knew writing poetry was no path to riches. That was okay with him. Few seagulls achieved worldly success. Jonathan Livingston had been a rare exception. For a while, Johnnie L. had been able to enjoy a high life based on royalties. Then the fortune ran out and existence depended on scraps the same as for everyone else.
     
    Still, he was bothered by some misconceptions about his brethren. The bad thing that humans said about seagulls, that they were all scavengers, was a liquorice-hearted lie. Humans thought they were so smart. What did they know? Did they think all of his swooping and swirling in flight was just for fun? No, it was sky-writing in 3-D.
     
    The aerial scripture