While in Illinois, I visited Sis Reeves, pastor's wife when Kenneth Reeves pastored in Granite City, Illinois, and a very sweet-natured lady. Also visited their daughter Angela Leigh Reeves in the presence of John Jones and Wanell Marrs-Jones, dear friends who took me there. Sis Reeves is now gone from us. We must do these visits when we can.
But at a hotel in Illinois, at checkout time, I got the cart, put my stuff on it, was wheeling away, when I suddenly remembered I'd left my suit coat and tie in the closet, so I turned around, saw the housekeeping crew at the end of the aisle, called out to them. They saw me returning, but between that and my arrival, one lady (the kind who knocks on the door and in the same motion opens it, giving the person inside no time to answer the knock), opened my door. When I caught up, I said, 'I left my coat in the room'. She says, 'I can't let you in. Security.' I thought, ah, she needs proof that this is really my room, so I fish the key out of my pocket and show her. She STILL says, 'I can't let you in--you'll have to use your own key to enter'. She closes the door, I open it with my key, go in and get my coat. Her insistence that she has to close the door and have me reopen it with my key seems to me bureaucracy gone mad, regarding the letter of a law rather than its purpose, and I've never seen anyone do this before (in hotels). I’m absent-minded enough to have previously left things in rooms and in all other cases, gone back to get them. This particular instance reminds me of a story: a man uses a new credit card, forgot to sign it. The clerk says, 'Hey, you forgot to sign your card!' He says, 'Sorry', and signs it. She then CAREFULLY checks his new signature on the card against his signature on the bill to make sure they're the same, when he has just signed both of them right in front of her.
Also in Illinois: getting an oil change in an otherworldly environment. One employee at the place is named Andy Wise. I congratulate him on this name because:
1. I've always wanted to be wise myself--I admire him on having arrived at this admirable state.
2. 'Andy' is, of course, God's name--there's even a song about it: 'Andy walks with me. Andy talks with me. Andy tells me I am his o-o-o-o-o-own.'
So 'Andy Wise' would basically mean 'God's Wisdom', such a great name that only the girls have one as good: Sophie/Sophia.
And then, as I was leaving the building to go out to my car in POURING rain, the employee opening the door was named Michael. I almost sang, 'Michael, Row the Boat Ashore, Hallelu-u-u-u-u-u-jah'. (A ‘friend’ tells me I’m becoming ‘quite certifiable’.)
Almost made me ill in Illnois (the next stage would be misery in Missouri): microwave popcorn instructions say 1 1/2 to 2 1/2 minutes, and I have enjoyed these without incident. But this time, Kroger brand microwave popcorn said 2 to 5 minutes. At 3 1/2 minutes, smoke was billowing out of the microwave, so I opened the door to stop the process, and the smoke billowed out into the room, kicking off the smoke alarm. Since the microwave oven is relatively new and in good condition, I'm blaming either that individual popcorn bag or the instructions printed thereon. An old radio advertisement says, 'It's better at Kroger and you'll come back for more'—not for microwave popcorn, I won't. And if it isn't the popcorn bag's fault, and instead a new microwave is to blame, then it can't be malfunction due to age--it's either a design flaw or the microwave oven is demon-possessed!
One lady says, ‘I was at an event today and not at home. So I get a call from a friend. Tells me a fire alarm was triggered at my house. Apparently my youngest son tried to make popcorn and burnt it. My husband didn't respond to their calls and a fire truck was sent. Now my house is stinky and I'm not sure my microwave is working. Lol. I blame my husband for this one.‘
One man said, ‘Several years ago my wife was in a hospital. I went to the cafeteria for a snack. They had microwave popcorn, so I put a bag in the microwave and pushed the popcorn button. I continued looking at things to eat and drink and I smelled burnt popcorn. I quickly opened the door, with the same results of smoke billowing out. I didn't open the bag, just put it in the trash. Within the next minute or so I heard an alarm in the hallway. Then another alarm. Then several people were standing at the hallway doors. The smoke had set the automatic fire alarm system and automatically closed the doors surrounding the cafeteria area to prevent the spreading of the "fire" it detected.. The burnt popcorn smell eventually made its way up 5 floors to the room my wife was in.
Solutions: one man said use the popcorn button on the microwave—good if it has one; one lady said 2.37; two people said don’t use microwave popcorn—that the bags are carcinogens.