Arizona Bill About Contraception

After a recent Facebook post I made regarding the Sandra Fluke/Rush Limbaugh debacle turned into a bottomless pit of controversy (but doesn't everything these days?), I told myself "Eh, let's just not talk about contraception anymore." Easier said than done.

I'm pretty sure a lot of people who haven't expressly asked me what my stance on birth control and abortion is will assume to know what I think or feel on the matter. But since most of them are utterly wrong in their assumptions, let me just state it outright here:

I believe abortion is wrong. I know, you're going to throw a lot of horrible, difficult scenarios at me now, trying to see where I'll cave. Here's my stance, in a nutshell. Sex happens, and sometimes that means pregnancy happens. If you don't want to risk pregnancy, the best approach is probably to not have sex (because I hear that's fairly effective). But for those of us out there who are human and just can't bear the celibate lifestyle (married or otherwise), there's a couple options that include birth control. More on that later. But specific to abortion, here's what I've come to believe after 28 years of life, a pregnancy, a college education at a "liberal arts" institution (which some believe are essentially socialist indoctrination camps, apparently*), and growing up in a church that was very conservative even by Southern Baptist standards.

*Let me just say that of all my political science professors whom I studied under while getting a minor in Poli Sci (which is nothing impressive, but probably more real-world applicable than say, a minor in Philosophy) were, with the exception of one guy, devout and rabid, mouth-foaming conservatives. And I love them all, so you know. I'm such a commie.

Because I'm not personally a huge fan of abortion and really would love to see women choosing the adoption path far more often than it usually is, I am really big on prevention. That is to say...the C-word. Contraception.

Because abortion becomes such swampy territory basically the minute the word appears in print or leaves your mouth, I deeply believe that preventing an unwanted pregnancy is a great idea. And I think it's fairly common sense and that we at least have to acknowledge as a nation that sex will continue to happen regardless of what religiously rooted dream scenario we conjure up. Even if everyone on the planet waited until marriage to have sex, the vast majority of those couples would not want to or be financially able to go the Quiverful route and have 10, 15, or even 20 children. I respect families that make that choice, but at the same time, it's not for me and probably not for most. But even if that was our only quibble in this mess o' ideology, the Utopian dream of zero premarital sex (especially among teenagers) is an impossibility. Therefore, I don't see how someone can ascribe to the "Let 'em screw, let 'em starve" approach. Adults need to take adult responsibility for their decisions, but the defenseless children who didn't ask to be born into these crappy situations deserve a whole lot better. So I just personally would like to see this country do a little more in terms of helping people of all ages and backgrounds to do a better job of preventing pregnancies. Whether that's better education programs, easier access to low-cost and effective forms of birth control, or insurance programs expanding coverage of contraception the way they have for heart medications, blood pressure medications, and even Viagra - yeah, all those things. All of that sounds like a step in the right direction to me.

I feel this way for a number of reasons. I've spoken once or twice about matters like this with a friend who conceived a child at a young age and whose parents pressured her into "getting rid of it." Maybe if she'd had access to contraception, things might have gone differently for her? Maybe this is because I come from a family chock full of teenage parents, many of whom were told that their first sin wasn't the premarital, teenage sex but rather the act itself of taking a pill. So they didn't - because really, who needs to lump a few more tablespoons of guilt on top of their already teeming plate-full of sin? Maybe it's because I myself had to drive to a health department a county away to get the Depo shot when I was in college - lest my mother find out. For all those who know me in a church setting and just read that: Yep, I just came out of the closet. I wasn't a virgin when I got married. I hear all the time from people how they waited, and I sincerely am happy for them and I nod along and smile, but really I always secretly wonder what they would say to me if I just interrupted and said "Oh, really? Well, I didn't! I guess your uterus is better than mine!" Not that I would ever do that, but a part of me really, really wonders - which is why I say to those who believe I say whatever pops into my head, "I don't say half the crap that pops into my head." It's true. Really.

In Arizona, a bill is under consideration that would change everything about how women gain access to preventive care in the way of birth control:

Under current law, health plans in Arizona that cover other prescription medications must also cover contraception. House Bill 2625, which the state House of Representatives passed earlier this month and the Senate Judiciary Committee endorsed on Monday, repeals that law and allows any employer to refuse to cover contraception that will be used "for contraceptive, abortifacient, abortion or sterilization purposes." If a woman wants the cost of her contraception covered, she has to "submit a claim" to her employer providing evidence of a medical condition, such as endometriosis or polycystic ovarian syndrome, that can be treated with birth control.

This law would also make it so that employers could fire a woman if it was discovered that she was - now, get this, really read this and just let it soak in - using her birth control to prevent pregnancy. Which the birth control in question would do anyway, regardless of whatever "medical" reason she came up with for taking it. Someone...anyone...please tell me that I am not the only person who is sitting here, scratching my head at how ridiculous this is?

Some people support amendments like this because they say it's all about religious freedom. But I don't think that argument holds water, especially when you consider that under most healthcare plans, the employee still pays the lion's share of the costs associated with it. This is the same reason I hate being a bridesmaid - a friend or family member (your employer) wants you (their employee) in their wedding (health care plan), but they want you to pay for your ugly dress (crappy healthcare), but they still want to pick what kind of ugly dress you have to wear (still want their say about what you do with your body). And people flock to bridal shops for this kind of abuse?

Unless you are one of those lucky fools whose employer covers 100% of your entire healthcare plan and its associated costs, you should still be getting a say in what is covered and what prescriptions you have access to (prescriptions up to and including birth control).

What really kills me about this whole thing is that I don't freaking use birth control. I never will use the stuff again. It does hideous things to my system, both physically and emotionally, and I just cannot tolerate the stuff. Believe me, enough people think I'm wacked enough in my normal, unmedicated state...why the hell would I ever need a quadruple dose of synthetic estrogen to help with that? I've got it covered just fine. I chart. Have been charting for close to three years now, and I love it. On any given day I know exactly what my body is doing, I can tell you when I ovulate almost down to the very hour, and I never have any weirdness with Aunt Flo. Some people tell me it's nuts and they "don't have time for that," but I think you make time for the things that matter. I'm a much better mother and wife without that crap coursing through my veins, and I think there will be some real revelations in about 30 years when it comes to the kinds of cancers that stuff can cause. Kind of like cigarettes in that way. Oh, wait...

Is it legal for your employer to gain information about why you smoke? Is it legal for them to demand feedback from your doctor about how your health is? No, don't think so. Is it legal for your employer to FIRE you because you smoke (and, haha, for "non-medical" reasons?)? Definitely not!

Birth control is not the same as an abortion, and the vast majority of American women have used or will use birth control at some point in their lives. It's better to prevent unwanted pregnancies than have more abortions and more costs for employers, insurers, families, and a government that is so overloaded that they can barely afford toilet paper. I think you know what I mean here. I don't want churches to be forced to pay for employee's birth control. I certainly don't want to see any religious entity forced to pay for abortions. . But that's not what's happening here. This is about people's ability to choose whether they will prevent pregnancies, and to have the healthcare plans that THEY PAY FOR cover that, when they would cover so many other prescription medications of a preventative nature. And this is about a movement that swings so far to the extreme right as to have your employer keep your private medical files on hand, question your doctors about your personal care, and fire you if they don't like what you're taking for a certain purpose. And this is about a bunch of people who are making up their minds about these pieces of legislation before they've even investigated what is truly possible if they pass.

As a country, we need to rewrite the dialogue so that religious freedom is protected, but personal liberties aren't shoved under the rug in the mean time. No employer should be meddling in a person's medical files, and your boss with a business degree is in no way qualified to make medical decisions for you.

What? It's not a book.

Very few people know about this, but I'm working on a...well, let's just call it a "thing," because I'm not sure what it's going to be. I hate saying "I'm writing a book!" because

a) There's always a 5% chance of me actually finishing it and being okay with the thing to the point that I'd want the public consuming it.
b) It just sounds kind of dopey when I hear myself say "I'm writing a book." Like who the heck am I? Stephen King? That lady that wrote "The Help?" Certainly not.
c) I've started this same "bookything" probably four or five times and it always ends after two chapters - which, oddly enough is how far I've gotten into it this time before losing my way, getting distracted, and generally going "Um...what am I doing again?"

So you see, I'm not writing a book. But I have this thing I'm working on. For now, it's called "A Cormorant Line."

Right now, ACL (as it shall lovingly be referred to from here on) is in its infancy, and it pretty much reads like it. Like a babbling, aimless toddler who doesn't know how to tie their own shoes or feed themselves. Okay, maybe not that bad, but when you're a writer, your job is basically to hate everything you create until you finally get to something that is "Eh...good enough." That's usually when you have something on your hands that someone might want to read or - gasp! - might even like reading. But even then, the whole time you know someone has your work on their hands or before their eyes, you're all sweaty palms and darty eyes and paranoia until they look at you and squeal "I loooooove it!" And when you don't get that reaction, you're apt to question everything about your writing, to go back and re-read everything you've ever written (starting with the really crappy elementary school exposition and high school lovelorn poetry and moving upward from that ridiculous low). You criticize and break yourself down, ask yourself "GOD, how did you get to be SUCH a crappy writer?!" and theorize that everyone you know is actually laughing at every period with which you punctuate the drivel that flows forth from your twisted and inept mind. For all my writer friends...amirite? Let's all say a prayer for that meme, because I just killed it. Not in a good way.

I should also say that someone cautioned me against giving away too much of the story, lest someone steal my idea and run off into New York Times bestseller land with it. I don't see that happening. It would be something akin to reaching into my underwear drawer and grabbing the dingiest, stretched-out, post-baby granny panties and then hanging them on your clothesline. Why would you ever want this mess?

So anyhow. This ACL thing has been kind of a work in progress and an impossibility all at once because here's the premise in a few snippets - not in its entirety, because again, I'm really not that far into the thing and I'm still in that stage of going "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" (Stimpy, you eeeediot!) Did everyone get the 90s reference there? Moving on.

• ACL is based upon/inspired by a series of poems and letters written by my late grandfather while he was in Europe during World War II and for years thereafter. I have the originals now and they are kept under lock and key in a lead-lined basement 40 feet below ground. Okay, that's kind of a lie. Let's just say I'm really protective of them, though. I find the grammatical errors in them kind of charming, but more than that, the stories behind them pulled me in and I wanted to know more. I never knew the man, but let's just say he is my writerly kindred soul. His words reveal a very emotional and sometimes irrational (but still deeply good) person. I didn't have to craft this character. He did it all for me, from beyond the grave even. Did I mention I never knew him? Never knew him. He survived D-Day only to suffer a massive heart attack that ended in his death sometime during a September night in 1971.
• ACL is written from an alternating first-person point of view, but always in present tense. It skips around decades. Which is stupid in a way, I know (or at least, could read "stupid" to a lot of folks whom I'd prefer found the darn thing "brilliant"). Like I know some people would read this and be like "WHAT IS SHE DOING?!" I get that, I really do. I'm not sure how I'm going to line them up - it might or might not be in actual chronological order. I need to at least get into a bit more and see how things "flow." And let's face it: I'm weird, and this thing is going to be weird. But then again, aren't most books weird in a way? Isn't that what lets us relate to them? Except I've already said it: this isn't a book. This isn't a book (but it could be...). 
• So chronologically, what you end up with is sort of a bounce-around of several narrators, across several lifetimes - myself and my grandfather included, as well as my late uncle Ric/Rick (more on that later), who passed in 2006. Some of it is based in the years during which my grandfather wrote the pieces which I mentioned before. Some of it is based on the years in which my uncle and my dad were still on good terms, during the last few years of my grandmother's life (the late 80s), going through Hurricane Hugo, etc, and on into my adult years and how these various things have affected me in the way memories so often do.
• You find out a lot of new things you feel idiotic for not already having known when you decide to write a book about people in your family - like that my Uncle Rick always spelled his name "Ric." Who am I to question this? Nobody, that's who. But still, I'm kind of like "Why the opposition to the K, Ric?" Just a funny thing I've picked up thus far. Probably not funny to anyone but me.
• One challenge I can already see myself having to deal with is that this is a book written by a South Carolinian which will probably appeal greatly to a lot of South Carolinians. Which is weird (oh, more of that!) because I'm not one of the South Carolinians who plasters everything I own in Palmetto trees and state flag stickers and...for the love of God...confederate flags (Bleh! Barf! Meeeeh). A tangent: one of the main reasons I dumped my high school sweet heart was this disgusting, slutty confederate flag bikini that he gave me - no really, to wear, on my person - when I was about 18. I made up some lie about it being too big (because what's worse than a confederate flag bikini? A confederate flag bikini that is too small) and trashed it. I dumped him shortly after because I just could never, ever get over it. So gross. Couldn't he have just settled for a Budweiser bikini? A bikini plastered in Playboy Bunnies, even? But anyway, there's a lot of imagery, locations, events, historical features to the story (what measly amount of it I've ill-conceived thus far) that I hope will really appeal to people native to this weird insane asylum/state. Which leads to another issue...
• I feel the same way about imagery that Charlie Sheen feels about prostitutes and cocaine. Which is to say, I really, really like imagery and I use a lot of it. Like I can get so caught up in these descriptions that suddenly I go back, re-read it, and I'm just flat embarrassed by how heavy the stupid thing gets. The narrative can get clunky, if that makes sense, and I have to stop doing that crap. I have to get picky. I don't want to treat this thing like the Pittsburgh Steelers fans do with the teams from the 70s and 80s, always recounting "How good the old one was!" and thus getting bogged down in these ornate descriptions of beautiful places that I love, or beautiful people whose tics and eccentricities basically have crafted a lot of these characters for me. I mean, so much of the work is already done in that regard. Which probably makes you go "Sounds like this book is gonna suck!" To which I would say "Why yes, most likely! But it's not a book yet. But it will probably suck. Go read one of those Twilight books or some Harry Potter or something less weird and with far more commercial appeal, and spare yourself this pain."

So that's pretty much all I can say at this point. Or I could post for you this snippet of one of the early chapters, and you can tell me yourself how much work it needs. I won't disagree with you, for once - scout's honor.

***

The surface of the lake doesn't look like a lake, but rather a sea. Too choppy, too grey.

If you couldn't see the houses in the distance, the smoke plumes coming from the Santee stacks , or the lapping waves at the edge of the dam, then that's where you'd think you were. Lost at sea. But it's a shallow sea, dotted with rolling catfish exposing their yellow bellies. They tease avid fisherman who venture out here before the dawn, with thermoses full of coffee, zipper bags of sandwiches, buckets of cut bait, and wire baskets loaded with chirping crickets. By the end of the day, all you have left is the rolling lake-sea, the sunburned skin, the putrid scent of rotting cut bait, empty bags and stomachs, and the symphony of the crickets that escaped the cage.

It's a sea that sparkles blue-grey in the morning, black before sunset. It's surface is broken by a thousand jutting tree trunks, with a few old telephone poles that seem to ask the question of whether anyone from the first World War is even still alive here in Clarendon County. Anyone from my grandfather's generation. This was land he walked before the New Deal, not water. These facts lie a mere 40 feet or so under the water - deep enough to keep them well-hidden, but shallow enough that anyone who really wanted to look could find something. Farmland. Road beds. Graveyards.

And that's how we came to be here.

***

I can jabber on this stupid blog all day long, but when it comes to writing something that really means this much to me, I feel simultaneously like a wimp and a fraud. Who am I to tell this story? Who am I to speak for voices silenced by time? All I can do it offer this up to the God who gave me a pen (err...laptop) and too much imagination and say to him "God, please help this not suck. And if you could, get my grandad to send me some inspiration." I think it might work out, but I won't know any time soon.

He's already made a difference.

Yesterday was my 28th birthday, but as many of you know, after about age 21 the birthdays get a whole lot less exciting. Well, there was that pause at age 25 when I recognized that I had no reached the insurance age of accountability, when my plan would start to cost less. But other than that, it's pretty much a "meh" affair most years. That said, I think birthdays should be celebrated in that, hey, you've made it another year right? That's good. If I make it to 100, my plan is to throw an enormous party and brag a whole lot. Probably won't happen, but it's nice to plan ahead. So yeah. I'm 28. Big whoop. ;-D That said, it was a wonderful birthday and I enjoyed it. Jonathan and I both got new phones (for free!), and we finally replaced the broken CD player in my car. Turns out the broken CD player had some sort of short that had been drawing power and causing the battery to die - who knew that could happen? Not this girl (not really good with car electronics, it turns out). We went out for a great date night Saturday, and overall it was just a nice, relaxing birthday weekend. Couldn't ask for more.

Anyhow, I realized something this past weekend about my little guy, and it sort of choked me up. Russ isn't even 18 months old yet, but he is already making a difference. Russ's work is in the way he communicates with other people and brings a smile to their faces. Granted, it helps that he's little and toddlerish and adorable. It makes it that much easier for him to get by with being social to an extent that would just seem awkward and creepy in an adult.

On any given excursion - be it to the post office, grocery store, the gym, the park, anyway - Russ is talking t people.

"HEY!" he yells, smiling and waving like he's SO happy to see them. He doesn't even know these people, but he acts like he's so excited to see them. It's so precious. It also scares me a little inside. Like is he going to get at some point that you can't just automatically trust people, and that you don't talk to strangers, etc.? Until that point of understanding comes, I'm going to have to really keep my eye on him. What's really funny is when someone wants to be the cool guy and just ignore him. Russ will not have that. In those cases, he yells "Hey! Hey! HEY!" over and over, while smiling even bigger and waving even more enthusiastically.

Russ blows kisses, too. In the past week alone, he's probably blown about 200 kisses - to the cashier at Publix, the mailman, the FedEx delivery guy, the entire staff at the Verizon store (who showered him in balloons, of course), and even to a dump truck driver who was next to us at a stoplight. Do you remember any time in your life when you loved the world this much, that you just blew kisses and sent out love to everyone, whether you knew them or not? It's incredible. It brings tears to my eyes. This little boy is such an amazing person because this world hasn't messed him up yet. I haven't messed him up yet. Reality hasn't gotten to him yet. He's all about it right now, and I keep thinking to myself "I am definitely going to miss this." This point in time is so beautiful because Russ's life is so basic and so uncomplicated and so...just innocent.

When we have kids, we think about all the things WE have to teach them, but Russ is teaching me so much stuff that I really need to learn. We all need to learn this. While I would struggle not to flip the bird at someone who cuts me off in traffic, Russ's first instinct is to run up and give them a high five and a little dance or a couple excited jumps in the air. Where do kids get this stuff? I can only assume it's a God thing. A complete purity when it comes to being contaminated by all the nastiness and hate in this world. I'm a part of that nastiness - we all are in some way or another. But boy...this kid sure makes me want to get better.

Statistically, the 20 or 30 people Russ yells "Hey!" at, blows kisses to, or high fives in the grocery store come from a lot of sad walks of life. Statisically speaking, one of them has probably battled cancer. One of them has probably been abused or neglected in some way. At least one of them has probably been assaulted or raped. Many of them are probably struggling financially. Some of them might be struggling mentally or emotionally. God...when you think about all the hurt in this world is when it really starts to overwhelm me. What if that smile from my little guy is the only one they've seen today?

That is freaking powerful stuff. Notice these things our children do. They don't last forever. This world will get to them - in a way that's pretty normal and pretty typical, one can hope. But they won't keep blowing kisses to everyone they see forever.

In ten years, he'll be all about rolling his eyes and getting his voice to stop cracking. Right now he's little and sweet, and he wants to say hello to everyone and blow them a kiss.

Yep. I'm gonna miss this.

Her.meneutics: Breastfeeding in Church, and Other Petty Crimes

This is an amazingly well written and timely article on breastfeeding and Christian culture. Please read it and share it with your friends.

Her.meneutics: Breastfeeding in Church, and Other Petty Crimes

If I had been "Nirvana" (I am curious as to if that is really her name), the woman kicked out of her church for nursing her baby in, I would never have entered that church again. What a disgusting display on the pastor's part. I don't know who he is, but he ought to be ashamed of himself.


In other news, this whole "No discussing politics for Lent" thing is NOT going well. I'm thinking of throwing it out altogether, and really I might as well since my efforts to tip toe around it fail miserably. I'm just not good at hiding what I think.

I think one of my friends was correct when he suggested that maybe instead of just not discussing or posting about politics at all, I might consider just making better posts or generating better discussion. Not sure that would even succeed, unless we're using my personal evaluation of my political discussion (which, personally, I think I'm right and my discussions are pretty much spot-on, otherwise I clearly wouldn't bother arguing them, now would I?) I'm finding myself increasingly agitated for a number of reasons. For one, I already don't feel like I can just say what I feel because of the people I surround myself with. I don't think there's any way around it, but when you have people on both sides of the issue and you're kind of somewhere in the middle, it's difficult. Plus, I think the majority of people evaluate political issues within the contextual limits of their lives - not the lives of all the other people it might affect. Maybe that's the breastfeeding thing in a nutshell, too - I don't want you to nurse in public because it makes me uncomfortable, not because I care about what is best for you and your baby. Make no mistake about it, that's the truth behind someone who tells you to "take it somewhere else." It's an incredibly ignorant and self-centered viewpoint, but you can't argue with these people. They're just sure as the daylight that they're right and you're wrong.

Now with this contraception thing going on in congress regarding the White House mandate about religious institutions covering birth control for insured employees, the dialogue in this country has jumped the shark into a 15-ft. pool of crazy. I thought we were trying to reduce the abortion rate...and now we're trying to wage a war on birth control? I mean...what the hell? Now I didn't agree with the move at first because it definitely did call into question some issues regarding freedom of religion. But even after the White House made the augment to the mandate so that responsibility and obligation was shifted from the religious institutions to the insurance providers themselves, the uproar has continued and even grown. I felt like shifting the responsibility to the insurance companies themselves (which, by the way, the employees pay out of their salary for their coverage) was the right solution to the issue and that should have been the end of it.

In the past few days, I have personally witnessed people, both male and female (but let's be honest...mostly male), referring to women who use birth control as sluts, whores, loose women, bitches, etc. I've yet to see the tables turned, where we start referring to men who use condoms as sluts, whores, etc. Still haven't heard that one yet. In fact, the irony to end all ironies - when it comes to Rush Limbaugh - is that Limbaugh is a man who has been married four times and is calling women sluts. Seems kind of backward, doesn't it? I don't know, just doesn't seem quite right to me.

Earlier today, I read a "man" (I used that term loosely) comment on the issues on another friend's Facebook page. In his comment he said the following:
"If a woman wants to have sex and not get pregnant, she needs to just [use] a dildo. If I have to pay for her birth control, I want something out of it...and I mean more than a video." (The "video" comment was referring to Rush Limbaugh saying on his show this week that if women wanted people to pay for their birth control, they should videotape it for everybody to see). I don't even know how people have become this stupid. The issue here is about whether insurance providers and companies will provide birth control coverage for employees - the issue at hand has NOTHING to do with tax payers. The entire country isn't funding the catholic church - didn't we just go over that whole separation of church and state? I wish people would actually get information about this stuff and learn what some of these amendments could do to our ability to decide about our own personal health before they reduce the issue to a black-and-white picture.

To be honest, sometimes issues like this make me want to separate myself from the world and a lot of people in it.. And perhaps that's why I need to try to discuss this stuff less. But in reality, I'd be lying if I didn't say all this discussion just makes me want to withdraw from some people and live in my happy bubble here with my husband and kid. It would be so much easier sometimes.

Comments welcome, people.

So, I'm looking at my stats, and I'm seeing that I get a good 100-ish (give or take) page views per day on this silly blog of mine. So I have to ask...why are you folks so quiet? Seriously, even if it's for mild and varying verbal abuse, let's hear it. I'd love some feedback on what people want to hear about, what people think, if you hope I fall off a cliff, etc. Really, I can handle it. Have at it. And if you're thinking to yourself "Great blog, but you need more pictures," that is in the works. Up to this point, the main issue has been that I'm the last human being on the face of the planet aside from my husband and my grandmother who doesn't have a smartphone and carries around an old-fashioned digital camera. Thus, the absence of pictures. I'm not sure who designed the Nikon Coolpix camera, but I will say I'm pretty sure my toddler could draw better pictures than that thing takes. But I have two brand-new, fully capable, FREE Androids for me and hubby to replace our ol' crapper phones with - so there will be pictures! Oh yes, there will be pictures.

But seriously, I want to hear from you strange people who put up with me and my rantings. Hopefully you'll come back for a repeat visit.

In other news, apparently that whole "Douchebag tips waitress 1% on a $134 check" thing was a hoax. Drat. Kind of ruins it for all of us, doesn't it? No worries - the fact is that crap like that happens all the time in the real world. Actually, one of my favorite stories from my days of waiting tables back in college was the time I had an openly stingy table. It was a "nine top" (i.e. group of nine people), presumably nice, relatively well mannered, and certainly not mean. When I came to greet them and get their drink orders, answer questions about the menu, etc., one of the older gentlemen with the party waved me over. He loudly announced to me "Darlin', I just want to let you know right out the gate, we don't tip. We don't believe in it."

I was kind of dumbfounded, and assumed it was a joke. Looked around the table...nobody was laughing. These folks were serious. Which is fine, but if they don't believe in tipping, I don't know why the hell they'd venture to a restaurant establishment anywhere in the U.S., because that's kind of the standard thing, isn't it? I don't always tip servers incredibly well if they, for example, are terrible and ignore the crap out of my table. But I can only think of maybe one or two instances where I've ever tipped below 10%. It's just not my style. If you don't want to properly tip your servers, you don't have any business going to a restaurant. Period.

Could the man at the table have been baiting me, playing a game to see if I'd still serve them diligently after gaining the knowledge that no tip was going to happen on this likely-to-be-well-over $120 bill? Sure. Sadly, I have never been someone who goes to work just to play funny little games. So how did I deal with this total waste of my time, coupled with the fact that - as mentioned in my previous post - I was literally losing money waiting on this table?

I was a crappy server that night, gonna be honest. I think all they got were straws? Not sure. But the ketchup they asked for? Didn't bring it. The extra napkins they needed? They used their sleeves. The additional ranch dressing (which every friggin' Southerner asks for)? No sir, no ranch for you. You may have a piping hot bowl o' neglect, though.

Does that make me mean and spiteful? No. It makes me normal, perhaps a bit pragmatic, only slightly passive aggressive, and also very low on patience when the ol' B.S. threshold gets tripped. What can I say? This is why I didn't major in waiting tables. Too many nasty cross-sections of humanity to deal with. *sigh*