A Memo You Know Some Company Issued …

Mayflower Compact Poultry and Produce Company
November 2012 Newsletter

Team members,

The Mayflower Compact executive staff wishes you a safe and responsible Thanksgiving Day event. Regrettably, current economic conditions prevent the company from continuing the practice of issuing $10 discount vouchers on selected Mayflower products. Also, holiday pay has been eliminated.

However, the holiday season provides the opportunity to increase sales and market share in the poultry and produce market. Following are updated corporate guidelines to make the season profitable, both professionally and personally.

Customer Interaction: With a diverse customer base patronizing Mayflower stores and kiosks, team members must not acknowledge the customer’s ethic, cultural and socio-economic background. Attempting to do otherwise may give the appearance of racial or economic profiling. Best practice: treat everyone as a white, middle-aged male.

As such, customers must be greeted in the following manner when entering a Mayflower location: “Hello, welcome to Mayflower Compact Poultry and Produce Company.” Upon leaving, the team member must say, “Goodbye, I hope you had an enjoyable experience at the Mayflower Compact Poultry and Produce Company.” The word “hi” may be substituted for “hello” and “bye” for “goodbye.” Make these substitutions sparingly.

Insurance Waiver: For the third in a row, our health insurer has sought to implement a “Thanksgiving Day Event surcharge.” The insurer cites statistics and anecdotal evidence stating Thanksgiving Day event participants boost food intake four-fold, increasing chances of diabetes, heart disease, obesity, stroke and narcolepsy.

To avoid additional premiums, Mayflower has agreed to weigh team members the day prior to and after the Thanksgiving Day event with blood tests also administered to track potential health risks. Team members showing a significant negative health impact will be offered nutritional counseling. Failure to attend these sessions may result in higher insurance participation costs for non-compliant team members.

Safety: Here are a few tips to make your Thanksgiving Day event safe and enjoyable.

*Know your safety zone: When selecting a turkey (other meat or vegetarian product), bend your knees, grasp the item firmly with both hands, keep it at chest level and lift the item from the food storage area. Place the item carefully in your cart. To do this, bend your knees so you and the item are eye level with the top of shopping cart, move your arms outward using a steady, slow motion and then stand slightly upright and deposit the item accordingly. The cart should be 6 to 12 inches from your purchase position.

*Knifes, forks … and spoons can cause injury. This is especially true when others are nearby. A manual covering proper utensil management is available. Ask your HR representative for a copy.

*Proper poultry preparation is key to a safe Thanksgiving Day event. Visit http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DsSfsHt0wjs&feature=related for details. Remember, salmonella is a serious health risk, which can lead to illness and death. A sick or dead team member affects the company’s fiscal position.

Please eat sensibly and conduct yourself in a safe, responsible manner.

Sincerely,

The Mayflower Compact Poultry and Produce Company executive staff

I Don't Like People

McKinley Alma Mater, guiding star above …

Cousin David was blunt. “You’re anti-social.”

“No,” I responded. “I’m selective.”

“You’re anti-social,” he repeated. “I’ve seen you at family gatherings.”

I OCD’d on his observation for hours as I sat by myself in the visitors stands during the Akron Zips football game. Sister No. 2 had only so many tickets in her section. She offered to sneak me in as did Baby Sister. My ticket read general admission. Rules are rules.

Here’s the deal. I don’t like people. “People” as in the general sense of the word. Think of Wal-Mart hordes, the state of Michigan, filled-to-capacity public restrooms, the line of gamblers waiting for you to leave the Wheel of Fortune slot machine, the Iranian Revolutionary Guard and obnoxious Pittsburgh sports fans. Those types.

There are exceptions: Individuals, small groups, a majority of family (including Cousin David), friends, Facebook friends (because if you “friend” someone, you’re a friend forever), a few past and current co-workers, and the cult-like clique known as the Boardman Band and Orchestra Parents.

Now presenting the 30^th reunion of the Niles McKinley High School Class of 1982.

Forever in our gratitude, we offer thee our love …

I didn’t expect it to materialize. However, through the magic of social media (all hail and praise to Mark Zuckerberg), one classmate, Julianne, started and sustained the movement. Her effort is wonderful and remarkable.  The same goes for those who helped her.

Within months, she gathered more than 100 of the “Brew Crew of ’82” together through Facebook. That’s impressive – statistically – considering our class has 360-plus graduates. As a side note, you are obligated to use the word “crew” when a year ends in a “two.” The “brew” was a Scrabble-like bonus score.

Just one problem: Did I want to go? Being “selective” should have made the decision easy – “No.” Yet, I arrived at a different answer – “A definite maybe.”

In Joys and in all sorrows, we shall e’er be true …

Thirteen family members (including Cousin David) have or will graduate from Niles McKinley. That number surprised me. Apparently, there was plenty of baby-making sex going on. The stork, people. The stork. No legs in the air like you just don’t care.

Except for BFFs Rod and Amy, I’ve had little contact with my classmates. No one’s fault. It’s just Life’s way of taking control.  

Skipped the 10-year reunion – the one where you see who’s gained the most weight, became successful and changed for good or bad. I, the underpaid, overweight journalist, didn’t want to be the judgmental eye candy.

Reluctantly went to the 20^th only after Amy promised to attend. Rod wanted no part of it. Not that 20 years absence makes the heart grow fonder. Curiosity kicked in. Seems I had a good time. The Wife said I never shut up during the gathering. By my count, I promised to stay in touch with 20-some people. Yeah, about that…

While in our hearts we ever love thy flag of Red and Blue!

My inner voice tells me to “Run away! Run away!” It also tells me to get a shrubbery and t’is but a scratch. I’ve tuned it out – thanks in part to Cousin David. (My OCD motto: “Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Damn. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it.”)

Julianne’s enthusiasm and persistence turned a “definite maybe” into a “Here’s the money. I really, really plan on attending. Really.” She cared. That was ultimately the selling point.

But 30 years? That screams “Here’s my business card and hope the colonoscopy goes well.” Crap.

Must confidentiality forms be signed? Will someone be checking my pulse? Am I going to make an ass of myself? (No alcohol required.)

You can throw a psychological spin on the high school years, and all of the clichés surface. Not interested in going there.

I just want to say “Hi,” again. And that, dear Cousin does not make me anti-social – for at least one night.

The Blessed Event

The family jokes that our home is a shrine to the Daughter.

On the wall near the staircase hang portraits of her school years from kindergarten through senior year – except eighth grade. We can’t locate that photo, so the natural assumption is she skipped classes that year. Perhaps, she didn’t exist. Her friends insist otherwise. I have no proof.

At one point, Daughter wanted a mural of herself painted on another wall. I had no problem with the concept. Daughter wanted the entire wall. I thought half was acceptable. Mother nixed the plan.

In other rooms are trophies and plaques from her service in Job’s Daughters (if you’ve never heard about it, don’t ask), including a miniature version of the trophy honoring her as Ohio Miss Job’s Daughter (again – don’t know, don’t ask). Let’s just say that for one year she ran the statewide organization and did a magnificent job.

A traveling trunk – a family treasure from the early 1900s that journeyed from Europe to America – contains her papers, drawings, more awards, the pink cast from when she broke her arm, report cards and heavens knows what else. Mother thinks I’m going overboard. I consider it an historical archive.

Apparently, we love and adore her.

The Daughter refers to herself as “The Blessed Event.”

She then thrusts her arms forward with her thumbs upward and quickly points back to herself.

“That’s me!” she replies in Shirley Temple exuberance.

 

To which the Wife and I reply in monotone, synchronized voices, “Thank you for being in our lives. Oh, what would we do without you? Woe was the days before you born.”

(As a point of reference, this “Shirley Temple” is not the nonalcoholic drink but the child actress who boarded a lollipop ship and sympathized with sharecroppers (or was it slaves?).

Mother spent 48 hours in labor. It can go up to 50, depending on who’s telling the story.

When a woman is in labor that long, you do not say or do the following:

*”How are you feeling?” (Got scratched for that one.)

*Write down the time of every contraction. (The nurses don’t care.)

*Leave for an hour to eat in the cafeteria. (That’s considered desertion.)

 *Say to Mother as she’s delivering Daughter, “Hey, you got to come down here and see this.” (Stupid comment, but it’s a spectacular sight.)

The Daughter is quick to say that Mother did the work and I was just the sperm donor.

Today is her 23^rd birthday.

I would like to say Mother and I did a great job of raising her but that would exclude the grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and teachers who guided her along the way. Thank you to all. She’s the best of her parents – and, on occasion, the worst.

The “Blessed Event” is a beautiful young woman. I would lie, however, if I didn’t say how much I miss cuddling that newborn or holding that young girl in my arms. Today, she receives generous hugs and kisses on the forehead from Mother and Father. It’s all good.

Thank you for being in our lives. Oh, what would we do without you?

I Approve of This Message

Ahem. Attention President Obama and Gov. Romney. I would like to make the following announcement.

Thanks to early voting in Ohio (which you have so graciously reminded me about every 7.4 seconds), I have already cast my vote for the Boardman Precinct 23 liquor option and … oh, yes … the presidential election.

NOW LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!

Nothing personal, really. It must be difficult knowing 43 percent of the country hates you. (That falls within the plus/minus 5 percentage margin of error.) Perhaps, after the election, you can share in a teachable moment. The president can have a non-alcoholic beer and the governor a bowl of bran. (Who knows what the heck Mormons are allowed to eat or drink. Bran, I’m pretty sure, is safe. Again, I could be mistaken.)

I really want the phone calls from you, your wives, your political action committees, your union/nonunion supporters, your political polling groups and Jews for Jesus to stop. My wife – in her best Barack Obama impersonation (which sounds more like W.C. Fields) – left a message on our answering machine and urged me to vote for you. I have placed a restraining order against her.

Whoever wins will be my president, and I’m good with that. Either one of you will lead the nation down a slippery slope into the apocalypse, hosted by Jersey Shore’s Snooki. (That’s all I know about the show. I swear! Just not in front of a Mormon.) Chances are an Obama health care death panel will deny me aspirin or Donnie and Marie Osmond (both Mormons don’t you know) will sing happy songs. In either case, I will die.

Good luck. God bless. Get. Go.

My name is Pat Litowitz, and I approve of this message.

I also approve of cheesecake, green seedless grapes, my family (being generous here), comic books, flights of fancy, shiny things, talkingreallyfastjusttoscrewwithpeople’sheads, zigging, Suduko, zagging, James Bond, Capt. Kirk, Mr. Spock, toast and ketchup, macaroni and cheese with ketchup, mashed potatoes and ketchup, ketchup (but it has to Heinz), day-old bagels, I Dream of Jeanie (Mary Ann and Ginger), walking in the rain and the snow when’s there nowhere to go, Charlie Chaplin, Dr. Who, math, crayons, Scooby Doo, hugging my daughter and snuggling with my wife – when the restraining order is lifted.