Everything in my gut tells me to tell the deli story in chronological order. That's just the way I am. I don't like to start a new project until I'm finished with the first project and so on. But in the case of The Deli Blog, I think I'll break out with random, true stories of our life as restaurant operators in Snyder, Texas.
This is the story of "Maryjane's Closet." In case you don't know, "Maryjane" is code for marijuana. And in this case, it's all about smoking dope inside the deli. A subtitle to this post could be: "Good help is hard to find," "Can't fix stupid" or "Are you just an idiot"?
Before I write anymore, let me say that I'm not going to use too many real names when I convey the deli stories. For one, I fear I might get sued after I release the moronic things that happened at 1804 26th street. For another, we genuinely hope all these young people who committed so many ridiculous infractions have grown up, matured and changed their ways.
There was a time at the deli when we were open 11am-11pm, six days a week. Teresa and I thought we could work till about 5:00ish and then leave the deli in capable hands for the evening shift. The key word in that previous sentence is "thought."
Our night crew was mostly high schoolers and one adult named Kane, who was only working for us because he'd been fired by a big company for a DUI. He was and is a great guy, but made a big mistake. Turns out now, he's pushed the envelope and accomplished some really good things and has a very bright future. The kids were Jaden, Austin and a couple of others. I'm not sure if any of them have done anything of significance.
I wrote earlier that T & I usually left around 5:00ish. Yes, we did. But, we never left one time. It always took two or three times to get out the door to actually fire up the truck and head west to our home. On this evening, I know I re-entered the deli at least three times. It was that third time with Teresa at my side that we both came across an old, but familiar smell.
Our drill was, leave through the back room and back door, head straight to the truck and go. If we had to re-enter, we came back through the back door.
On this evening, we came through the back door into our back room as we called it. We kept dry goods in this area: Chips, to-go stuff and etc. There's a door on the left that at the time led to an area used as storage. It was full to the brim. You could barely open the door. It didn't have electricity. So, there was no lighting. It was when we walked past this door that we both stopped.
"What's that smell," I asked Teresa.
"What smell?"
"Smell it? That's dope."
"It sure is," she confirmed.
We lifted our noses like a couple of bloodhounds searching out the source. The smell got stronger and stronger as we turned left and walked to that door that as far as I knew was NEVER opened.
The door had one of those slide latches on it. I reached up, grabbed the guide bar and slide it right.
CLICK! I had no idea what would happen when I pushed open the brown, kind of worn out door. It opened easily enough but I couldn't see anything. But when I opened it a crack the cloud came rolling out.
The familiar smell and smoke were thick. It reminded me of the old Richard Pryor joke. The punch line was: "The funk came out and knocked me to my ... D&%M Knees!"
"What do we do now," Teresa asked as by now we both smelled like we'd been to a Doobie Brothers concert.
"Ah.... We gotta do something. Find out who it was and fire 'em."
"Let's go in and ask Kane who was just back here," she said.
"Son of a bitch," I think I yelled. If it wasn't one thing it was another. By this point of the deli's operation, we'd been through lots, I mean lots, of stupid stuff. But I/we never dreamed anyone, NO ONE, would be dumb enough to smoke dope on the job. If they had gone outside to their car and fired up a doobie, that'd be stupid enough. But to smoke pot on the job and actually inside their place of employment is/was waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay beyond reasonable.
"Hey Kane."
"Oh, hey Bill. You just can't break away from this place can you?"
"Uh-no. Uh, who just came from the backroom?"
"What?"
"Who just came up front from the backroom," I asked
"Ah, Austin and Jennifer from the coffeehouse."
"Okay, I'm firing both right now. They've been smoking pot in the back."
"Where?"
"In the storage room."
"Oh."
"C'mon man, you didn't know??!! You can't leave them alone. Pay attention!"
Turning my back on Kane, I wheeled around to Austin who was standing behind the deli's counter.
"Austin!" I remember him as a big, fluffy kid. He had a mop of blond hair and a great smile. In fact, he was fantastic when it came to customer service and just about everything else. He was indeed a tremendous help to us. I absolutely hated what I had to do.
"Yes sir."
"Were you just smoking pot in the back storage room?"
"Ah... yes sir."
My first thought was, 'yikes, I expected a denial. He's admitted to it. Got to appreciate that. Maybe we can talk through it.' Seriously, running the deli was so chaotic that losing a warm body was like losing a limb. But, I had to do what we felt we had to do. Being constantly late, sitting down on the job, calling in sick on Mondays and Fridays are one thing... BUT SMOKING POT ON THE JOB INSIDE THE BUILDING is something else.
"You're fired. Get out!"
You know what he said next?
"Yes sir."
He never balked. He came around from behind the counter and walked out the front door.
Believe it or not, I hired him back. Like I said, a warm body is a warm body. Unfortunately, I had to fire him for drinking on the job with a customer. He was only 17. I last saw him in the grocery store parking lot. I barely recognized him. Still, we hugged and caught up. He's a family man now working for an oil field company.
As for the coffeehouse girl smoking with him, I fired her too. She brought in her mom the next day who argued we should have given her daughter a drug test on the spot.
"Sorry lady, I don't have a portable U-A," I told her. She and her daughter left. I don't think we've since crossed paths.
So from that afternoon forward, that back storage room has been "Maryjane's Closet." We all called it that. Every time we hired a new employee and gave them the Day-One tour, I'd point out: "That's Maryjane's Closet because that's where we busted employees smoking pot on the job."
If you think that story's crazy, wait 'til you hear about the kitchen manager who told me to get the "F&%K out of the kitchen" or the teenage girl who quit because I was rude. I was rude when I told her to put away her computer while working. She exclaimed: "I have homework to do!" Suffice it to say, that set me off.
Bill Robertson, for every ridiculous story--I have a few other stories about some great kids who I'm sure will go quite far.
Bill Robertson. I'm the old one on the right. Those are my boys, Jack & Joe. I love 'em more than they can count.
The Deli-Blog #1
If I had a nickel for every time someone asked Teresa and me if we missed operating The Big Apple Deli in Snyder, I could be writing this post from a balcony overlooking the Caribbean or maybe at my desk in a converted lighthouse balancing on the cliffs of Dover. The short answer is NO!
The story behind the story is, The Big Apple Deli or B.A.D. or The deli as we called it really wasn't supposed to happened. It came about after my ex-wife and kids left Snyder. The original plan was for my ex-wife to operate an antique store in what's now Uncle A's Tavern and for me to operate our family ranch, The Windmill Ranch Preserve. Meantime, Jack and Joe would go to school at Snyder while Jeff and Georgia went off to college.
Well, life happens. So, my mom opened The Manhattan Coffee House in 2006 and together we opened B.A.D. Christmas of 2008, the night of Snyder's annual Christmas parade to be exact. How we got there, what happened over the next eight years and where we are now will likely be the featured topic of many blogs to come.
The deli's not an original idea. I borrowed the blueprint for daily operations from an old watering hole of mine called The Caterie in Baton Rouge. I worked there as a teenager. I played there as a young adult. Everything from the way customers ordered to the big walk-in cooler in the dining room to the measurements for our portion size to the butter on the bread, I borrowed from my Caterie days.
But before we could think about opening the doors, we had a 1916 building stuck in about 1975. We had to demo the 30'x50' room practically from floor to ceiling. We had to create the new 'bones' all the while hoping to stay true to the building's nearly 100 year old skeleton. Thank goodness we had a willing contractor, a creative city inspector and a few amazing local craftsmen and artists.
Our goal was always restore and then renovate. That was particularly difficult because we didn't have any pictures from the building's old days. We had to rely on the 'seams' we found when we demolished the 1975 stuff because underneath the ugly drop ceiling, the tile floors and the paneling was 1916!
Still, old age and deterioration took a toll. We simply had to renovate and that's where our 'funky rustic' motif came into play. A few examples are:
-The old doors for the deli counter came from an estate sale in Snyder.
-The blue paint on the wood around the inside stage came from an old trailer. A wonderful craftsmen, Terry Huestis, donated the wood to the project. The paint came from when his wife, Linda, spilled it while painting the trailer.
-The 1953 newspaper articles on the bar came from another estate sale. The day we laid those on the bar, the process stopped all work. Every electrician, plumber and carpenter wanted to read the articles before I dropped them in place.
As for the décor, things like "Rusty" the old metal horse, the scoreboard on the wall, the half boat sticking out above the door and even the old boxer shorts on the beer can Christmas tree, came from customers. We didn't buy a single decoration. But each one comes with a story.
-A little girl named the horse "Rusty." She made the sign with her dad. She's a grown woman now. Her dad has since passed away.
-The half boat was supposed to be our dove retrieving boat. But when Teresa and I put it in the water, it took on water like the Titantic. Our friend Terry Huestis put the bow on our wall.
-A customer said, "Bill, you want a scoreboard"? I said, "Sure, who doesn't want a scoreboard." The next thing I knew... we had a scoreboard on the wall.
-The boxer's belong to a great customer and a good guy. By the way, he brought them in. He didn't take them off and then give them to us.
There are so many 'deli stories' to tell you. I'll get to them over time. The highlights, or lowlights, depending on your viewpoint include:
-Customers calling me at home demanding we stay open later
-Good friends enjoying a meal but working the bar for us at the same time
-The explosion in business called "Tuesday Night Trivia."
-The kitchen manager telling me to "get the "F&%K out of the kitchen"
-"Mary Jane's Closet," the employees smoking dope on the job... INSIDE THE BUILDING
-The blind saxophone player
-Calling employees on Sunday night to confirm they were okay, their kids were okay and their babysitters were okay.
-The customers we called only by code; Sauerkraut Lady, Grumpy, Mean so-in-so, Big so-in-so, etc.
-CODE BLUE!!!!
I hope you'll read along. Please share any memories with us.
Bill Robertson, not worrying if everybody's going to show up, if the coolers will hold their temp or about meeting payroll.
The story behind the story is, The Big Apple Deli or B.A.D. or The deli as we called it really wasn't supposed to happened. It came about after my ex-wife and kids left Snyder. The original plan was for my ex-wife to operate an antique store in what's now Uncle A's Tavern and for me to operate our family ranch, The Windmill Ranch Preserve. Meantime, Jack and Joe would go to school at Snyder while Jeff and Georgia went off to college.
Well, life happens. So, my mom opened The Manhattan Coffee House in 2006 and together we opened B.A.D. Christmas of 2008, the night of Snyder's annual Christmas parade to be exact. How we got there, what happened over the next eight years and where we are now will likely be the featured topic of many blogs to come.
The deli's not an original idea. I borrowed the blueprint for daily operations from an old watering hole of mine called The Caterie in Baton Rouge. I worked there as a teenager. I played there as a young adult. Everything from the way customers ordered to the big walk-in cooler in the dining room to the measurements for our portion size to the butter on the bread, I borrowed from my Caterie days.
But before we could think about opening the doors, we had a 1916 building stuck in about 1975. We had to demo the 30'x50' room practically from floor to ceiling. We had to create the new 'bones' all the while hoping to stay true to the building's nearly 100 year old skeleton. Thank goodness we had a willing contractor, a creative city inspector and a few amazing local craftsmen and artists.
Our goal was always restore and then renovate. That was particularly difficult because we didn't have any pictures from the building's old days. We had to rely on the 'seams' we found when we demolished the 1975 stuff because underneath the ugly drop ceiling, the tile floors and the paneling was 1916!
Still, old age and deterioration took a toll. We simply had to renovate and that's where our 'funky rustic' motif came into play. A few examples are:
-The old doors for the deli counter came from an estate sale in Snyder.
-The blue paint on the wood around the inside stage came from an old trailer. A wonderful craftsmen, Terry Huestis, donated the wood to the project. The paint came from when his wife, Linda, spilled it while painting the trailer.
-The 1953 newspaper articles on the bar came from another estate sale. The day we laid those on the bar, the process stopped all work. Every electrician, plumber and carpenter wanted to read the articles before I dropped them in place.
As for the décor, things like "Rusty" the old metal horse, the scoreboard on the wall, the half boat sticking out above the door and even the old boxer shorts on the beer can Christmas tree, came from customers. We didn't buy a single decoration. But each one comes with a story.
-A little girl named the horse "Rusty." She made the sign with her dad. She's a grown woman now. Her dad has since passed away.
-The half boat was supposed to be our dove retrieving boat. But when Teresa and I put it in the water, it took on water like the Titantic. Our friend Terry Huestis put the bow on our wall.
-A customer said, "Bill, you want a scoreboard"? I said, "Sure, who doesn't want a scoreboard." The next thing I knew... we had a scoreboard on the wall.
-The boxer's belong to a great customer and a good guy. By the way, he brought them in. He didn't take them off and then give them to us.
There are so many 'deli stories' to tell you. I'll get to them over time. The highlights, or lowlights, depending on your viewpoint include:
-Customers calling me at home demanding we stay open later
-Good friends enjoying a meal but working the bar for us at the same time
-The explosion in business called "Tuesday Night Trivia."
-The kitchen manager telling me to "get the "F&%K out of the kitchen"
-"Mary Jane's Closet," the employees smoking dope on the job... INSIDE THE BUILDING
-The blind saxophone player
-Calling employees on Sunday night to confirm they were okay, their kids were okay and their babysitters were okay.
-The customers we called only by code; Sauerkraut Lady, Grumpy, Mean so-in-so, Big so-in-so, etc.
-CODE BLUE!!!!
I hope you'll read along. Please share any memories with us.
Bill Robertson, not worrying if everybody's going to show up, if the coolers will hold their temp or about meeting payroll.
Memories Blog #1
As I write, my youngest son, Joe (23), is boarding a big boat in Miami for a cruise in the Caribbean. He texted me a little while ago, "We're about to board. I won't have service. I'll call you when we get back on Friday." I've learned from many years of texting with my kids that he really means, "I'm going to have fun. Don't disturb me." But, I still worry.
I worry because of the epiphany I recently had about my children. I actually have four, although most of you who know me probably only know of Jack (25) and Joe. There's also Jeffrey (31) and Georgia (30).
They were all much younger when my ex-wife and the children left Snyder and we subsequently separated and then divorced. Joe, the baby, was only going into the seventh grade. Since then, I've seen he and Jack approximately two times a year, and I haven't seen Jeff or Georgia but maybe only two or three times.
That epiphany I mentioned comes from what I know of my children. They're in Tennessee or in Georgia's case North Carolina. So, all I really know of them is when they were young. Surely some of you reading this know what I'm talking about. The kids were young when my ex-wife and I divorced. So, that's what I remember the most. In short, I'm worried about a 23 year old grown man going on a cruise who in my mind is still 12 years old because that's the last real time I had with him.
Every now and again when we're together Joe, the best wise-cracker of all of my kids, will hit me with a zinger. One year we went skiing. We stopped over on New Year's eve in Albuquerque. Joe, who was 21 at the time, said he wanted to gamble.
I said, "Okay, but we can't leave you at the casino. We need to leave together. This isn't exactly a safe town."
Joe, without skipping a beat, said: "Dad, I'm 21, I'm six foot three and 230 pounds... No one's going to mess with me."
I had to agree. Thank goodness Joe lost his fanny in the first few hands of blackjack and said, "LET'S GO."
The back story is, Jeff and Georgia are actually my step-children. I married their mom when they were both in diapers. We spent 16 years together. So, I call them and feel them as my children. I can only imagine the memories of their Dad. At least my youngest was 12, not two years old when he was out of the picture. Jeff, Georgia and I don't communicate. I wish we did. I hear that both are doing very well.
As for Joe and Jack, we text most everyday. We talk on the phone every now and again. But that's hard. It's hard because if they were still the age when I knew them, I could ask all kinds of things like: How was school, how was practice, got your clothes set out for tomorrow, whatcha want to watch on TV tonight.... the simple things. More importantly, I could know what's important to them. But now that they're both grown men, I do my best to not ask about the weather. Surely, others reading this post know exactly what I mean.
So many times, people use the expression; "Making memories." I get that. Like so many other Dads like myself, I definitely put my heart into all the opportunities I have with Jack and Joe to make memories. So indeed, I... like so many other dads as myself have some great memories. But the truth is, they're just different kind of memories. I wouldn't trade any of them for all the money on earth.
But the key word in "making memories" might be making. Every wonderful memory I've had regarding my children since 2006 has been made. None came randomly, sporadically or accidentally. Not a single one.
So for me and I bet many, many other Moms and Dads not in their children's lives, the real memory.... the memories that are burned into your mind... the memories that make up the references for your children... are the memories before your time apart from those who you love so much.
Bill Robertson, hoping Joe wears sunscreen.
I worry because of the epiphany I recently had about my children. I actually have four, although most of you who know me probably only know of Jack (25) and Joe. There's also Jeffrey (31) and Georgia (30).
They were all much younger when my ex-wife and the children left Snyder and we subsequently separated and then divorced. Joe, the baby, was only going into the seventh grade. Since then, I've seen he and Jack approximately two times a year, and I haven't seen Jeff or Georgia but maybe only two or three times.
That epiphany I mentioned comes from what I know of my children. They're in Tennessee or in Georgia's case North Carolina. So, all I really know of them is when they were young. Surely some of you reading this know what I'm talking about. The kids were young when my ex-wife and I divorced. So, that's what I remember the most. In short, I'm worried about a 23 year old grown man going on a cruise who in my mind is still 12 years old because that's the last real time I had with him.
Every now and again when we're together Joe, the best wise-cracker of all of my kids, will hit me with a zinger. One year we went skiing. We stopped over on New Year's eve in Albuquerque. Joe, who was 21 at the time, said he wanted to gamble.
I said, "Okay, but we can't leave you at the casino. We need to leave together. This isn't exactly a safe town."
Joe, without skipping a beat, said: "Dad, I'm 21, I'm six foot three and 230 pounds... No one's going to mess with me."
I had to agree. Thank goodness Joe lost his fanny in the first few hands of blackjack and said, "LET'S GO."
The back story is, Jeff and Georgia are actually my step-children. I married their mom when they were both in diapers. We spent 16 years together. So, I call them and feel them as my children. I can only imagine the memories of their Dad. At least my youngest was 12, not two years old when he was out of the picture. Jeff, Georgia and I don't communicate. I wish we did. I hear that both are doing very well.
As for Joe and Jack, we text most everyday. We talk on the phone every now and again. But that's hard. It's hard because if they were still the age when I knew them, I could ask all kinds of things like: How was school, how was practice, got your clothes set out for tomorrow, whatcha want to watch on TV tonight.... the simple things. More importantly, I could know what's important to them. But now that they're both grown men, I do my best to not ask about the weather. Surely, others reading this post know exactly what I mean.
So many times, people use the expression; "Making memories." I get that. Like so many other Dads like myself, I definitely put my heart into all the opportunities I have with Jack and Joe to make memories. So indeed, I... like so many other dads as myself have some great memories. But the truth is, they're just different kind of memories. I wouldn't trade any of them for all the money on earth.
But the key word in "making memories" might be making. Every wonderful memory I've had regarding my children since 2006 has been made. None came randomly, sporadically or accidentally. Not a single one.
So for me and I bet many, many other Moms and Dads not in their children's lives, the real memory.... the memories that are burned into your mind... the memories that make up the references for your children... are the memories before your time apart from those who you love so much.
Bill Robertson, hoping Joe wears sunscreen.
Smallville Politics Blog #2
As I write this post, our community is just two days away from the primary election. I don't know about other cities with elections, but our little slice of heaven features 14 candidates running for three seats. To say our local election is hotly contested is as much an understatement as saying, a ghost pepper is a little on the hot side.
The cliché is, get out and vote. It's free. It's your chance to make a change. But the truth with our election and probably most of the others is, voter turnout will be less than 20-percent. I'm pretty sure it's going to be the angry 20-percent around here.
I can't prove it, but I'd bet my pay check that most of that 20-percent will be older registered voters. The voters who don't need a change. Subsequently, they don't want a change. And that 'stick your head in the sand' attitude seems pervasive among the majority of the candidates and the local media that can easily sway the voters.
Here are some examples of what I consider taking a step back in time attitude.
A candidate for county judge says: "A conservative choice for Scurry County."
--A conservative choice? That's it? I offer, we're not sitting on easy street around here. Does anyone else think we need more than a conservative approach to get our county moving forward.
A candidate for an open county commissioner position advertises that a vote for him is "a vote for better road maintenance."
-Please!!!! Stop it with the road maintenance issue. Of course, the county's going to watch over our roads. Again, stumping for better roads is like a motel saying 'we use clean toilet paper.' Better roads? That's all you got?
Another candidate for a commissioner post cites: "We all know about the BAD projects "Maverick West," "Cavender Road" and the "Hanger." And in big BOLD LETTERS, He goes on to say: "Saving Rather Than Spending."
-First of all, I bet a nickel this candidate would cite what he calls the BAD projects if those projects had worked. For my money and my hopes for my hometown, I want an elected official who's at least going to try to give me more than the expected things.
-As for saving vs spending, of course. But at some point, what exactly are you saving for? Our county has dire issues right now that need addressing right now. I suspect a solution for any of them is free and I also suspect none of them will change without spending.
And yet another commissioner candidate says he's 'dedicated to the people of Scurry county.
- That's good to know, but what makes you qualified to help run county government?
Not a single candidate advertising in our local paper said anything like, "My number one priority is maintaining/upgrading existing services and after that, my vote will always be to spend taxpayers money on the projects that move Scurry county forward and better assist our community in attracting new business."
Before I sign off, please let me add: I definitely support and hope our county elected officials will continue supporting the many, well maintained services we all have come to expect. I support using my/our tax dollars for those services first.
My vote is for the elected officials to take my extra money, if there is any, and thoroughly investigate and move forward on projects that maybe not now, maybe not next year but in five years or even 10 years will benefit all of our county.
Bill Robertson, Nothing Changes--If nothing changes.
The cliché is, get out and vote. It's free. It's your chance to make a change. But the truth with our election and probably most of the others is, voter turnout will be less than 20-percent. I'm pretty sure it's going to be the angry 20-percent around here.
I can't prove it, but I'd bet my pay check that most of that 20-percent will be older registered voters. The voters who don't need a change. Subsequently, they don't want a change. And that 'stick your head in the sand' attitude seems pervasive among the majority of the candidates and the local media that can easily sway the voters.
Here are some examples of what I consider taking a step back in time attitude.
A candidate for county judge says: "A conservative choice for Scurry County."
--A conservative choice? That's it? I offer, we're not sitting on easy street around here. Does anyone else think we need more than a conservative approach to get our county moving forward.
A candidate for an open county commissioner position advertises that a vote for him is "a vote for better road maintenance."
-Please!!!! Stop it with the road maintenance issue. Of course, the county's going to watch over our roads. Again, stumping for better roads is like a motel saying 'we use clean toilet paper.' Better roads? That's all you got?
Another candidate for a commissioner post cites: "We all know about the BAD projects "Maverick West," "Cavender Road" and the "Hanger." And in big BOLD LETTERS, He goes on to say: "Saving Rather Than Spending."
-First of all, I bet a nickel this candidate would cite what he calls the BAD projects if those projects had worked. For my money and my hopes for my hometown, I want an elected official who's at least going to try to give me more than the expected things.
-As for saving vs spending, of course. But at some point, what exactly are you saving for? Our county has dire issues right now that need addressing right now. I suspect a solution for any of them is free and I also suspect none of them will change without spending.
And yet another commissioner candidate says he's 'dedicated to the people of Scurry county.
- That's good to know, but what makes you qualified to help run county government?
Not a single candidate advertising in our local paper said anything like, "My number one priority is maintaining/upgrading existing services and after that, my vote will always be to spend taxpayers money on the projects that move Scurry county forward and better assist our community in attracting new business."
Before I sign off, please let me add: I definitely support and hope our county elected officials will continue supporting the many, well maintained services we all have come to expect. I support using my/our tax dollars for those services first.
My vote is for the elected officials to take my extra money, if there is any, and thoroughly investigate and move forward on projects that maybe not now, maybe not next year but in five years or even 10 years will benefit all of our county.
Bill Robertson, Nothing Changes--If nothing changes.
Smallville Politics Blog #1
The political climate in my little hometown is beginning to look a lot like something we expect to see at the national level. We have name calling, vicious rhetoric in social media, overwhelmingly slanted editorials in the local media and political signs galore. In fact, in my 11 years since returning to our city on the plains, this election is creating the most hub-bub that I can remember.
It's obvious to even a blind man that the voting public wants change. The rub for me is; The voting public is typically the older set and in our case, this voting public I fear wants a change 'back to the good old days... the way things were...'
I 'googled' the word change. The definitions are all the same pretty much everywhere I looked. The bottom line being that change is new. It's a different direction.
I fear, and that's probably too strong of a word, that the change most of our 'voting public' wants is not a change at all, but a return. A return is defined as 'back to the beginning or a previous point.' Who in their right mind wants our community to return to back to the beginning?
The 'voting public's' stance, which is a solid argument in most cases, is all about spending of taxpayers' money. They don't want their money spent on projects or ideas they feel are beyond the realm of elected officials duties. It's all about services, services, services.
Here's what's going to put the nail in Snyder's coffin. The old 'voting public's' going to get out to vote for a return to the way things were because they don't need anything to change. They simply want reliable services.
If the younger people of Snyder don't vote, not only will Snyder not change-it will also die on the vine.
I'm writing directly to the voters who have children, even grandchildren who they hope will want to stay in our city. Without your vote for progress through progressive elected officials, who can blame a young person for coming home only for the holidays?
So, I offer: Ignore the bias in the local media. Bless their heart--they can't see the forest for the trees. Ignore Concerned Citizens for Scurry County.... Good grief, most of the participants would fit better in the Gossips of Scurry County or The Scurry County Mis-Information Society. Beware of zealous social media trollers... they're tantamount to that sheep in a wolf's outfit.
I saw a bumper sticker. It read: Nothing changes if Nothing changes.
Bill Robertson, Community services are like clean sheets at a motel. I expect them, but I want more.
It's obvious to even a blind man that the voting public wants change. The rub for me is; The voting public is typically the older set and in our case, this voting public I fear wants a change 'back to the good old days... the way things were...'
I 'googled' the word change. The definitions are all the same pretty much everywhere I looked. The bottom line being that change is new. It's a different direction.
I fear, and that's probably too strong of a word, that the change most of our 'voting public' wants is not a change at all, but a return. A return is defined as 'back to the beginning or a previous point.' Who in their right mind wants our community to return to back to the beginning?
The 'voting public's' stance, which is a solid argument in most cases, is all about spending of taxpayers' money. They don't want their money spent on projects or ideas they feel are beyond the realm of elected officials duties. It's all about services, services, services.
Here's what's going to put the nail in Snyder's coffin. The old 'voting public's' going to get out to vote for a return to the way things were because they don't need anything to change. They simply want reliable services.
If the younger people of Snyder don't vote, not only will Snyder not change-it will also die on the vine.
I'm writing directly to the voters who have children, even grandchildren who they hope will want to stay in our city. Without your vote for progress through progressive elected officials, who can blame a young person for coming home only for the holidays?
So, I offer: Ignore the bias in the local media. Bless their heart--they can't see the forest for the trees. Ignore Concerned Citizens for Scurry County.... Good grief, most of the participants would fit better in the Gossips of Scurry County or The Scurry County Mis-Information Society. Beware of zealous social media trollers... they're tantamount to that sheep in a wolf's outfit.
I saw a bumper sticker. It read: Nothing changes if Nothing changes.
Bill Robertson, Community services are like clean sheets at a motel. I expect them, but I want more.
Beach Blog #23
Well, we made it back to Texas. We got home in time for the ABC Nightly News with David Muir. We're not so old we record the nightly news. We record CBS Sunday Morning, even though we're up in plenty of time.
All told, we drove 2,665.8 miles on our month long adventure to Florida. Big Red, our 2012 Chevy Silverado with 112,500 miles to start the trip, handled the road like a champ with only one little hiccup. Apparently, we bought some bad gas in Mississippi. But once we found us some good Exxon, Red was running good.... check engine light free.
I've heard a lot of people say when they return from a trip or vacation that 'they're glad to be home' or back on Texas soil or sleeping in their own bed.' To that, I say.... Bull. How can that be? Really?
So to not offend anyone, I'll speak only for myself. I just left the beach, ate seafood almost everyday, walked in the sand, rode a big-ugly bike, laughed and had so much fun with Teresa. Now, not so much. Teresa thank goodness is still near me laughing and supporting and loving... but all the rest of those things that we planned for, paid for and drove almost 3,000 miles for are a great and wonderful memory.
So if you were to ask me, am I glad to be home? The short answer is not no, but HECK NO. We just left perfection to return to reality. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with our reality. But to say I'm glad I'm home and back in reality versus the beach, the sand, the food, the bikes, the sun, the flip flops, etc is almost like asking me if I'd rather go to the dentist or go see a good movie.
I will tell you this though... There's no way in the world I'm going to whine or complain about my lot in life. Absolutely, no poor-pitiful Bill. Teresa and I are both wonderfully blessed. All I'm saying is, I don't get folks who say they're happy or ready to be home when they just left places that so many call 'paradise.'
Simply, reality is what we have to do so we can do what we want to do. I'm very thankful that T & I have a 'have to' so we can experience a 'want to.' I wish the same for you.
Bill Robertson, about to shop-vac up some bugs.... what a difference 48 yrs makes. All good.
All told, we drove 2,665.8 miles on our month long adventure to Florida. Big Red, our 2012 Chevy Silverado with 112,500 miles to start the trip, handled the road like a champ with only one little hiccup. Apparently, we bought some bad gas in Mississippi. But once we found us some good Exxon, Red was running good.... check engine light free.
I've heard a lot of people say when they return from a trip or vacation that 'they're glad to be home' or back on Texas soil or sleeping in their own bed.' To that, I say.... Bull. How can that be? Really?
So to not offend anyone, I'll speak only for myself. I just left the beach, ate seafood almost everyday, walked in the sand, rode a big-ugly bike, laughed and had so much fun with Teresa. Now, not so much. Teresa thank goodness is still near me laughing and supporting and loving... but all the rest of those things that we planned for, paid for and drove almost 3,000 miles for are a great and wonderful memory.
So if you were to ask me, am I glad to be home? The short answer is not no, but HECK NO. We just left perfection to return to reality. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with our reality. But to say I'm glad I'm home and back in reality versus the beach, the sand, the food, the bikes, the sun, the flip flops, etc is almost like asking me if I'd rather go to the dentist or go see a good movie.
I will tell you this though... There's no way in the world I'm going to whine or complain about my lot in life. Absolutely, no poor-pitiful Bill. Teresa and I are both wonderfully blessed. All I'm saying is, I don't get folks who say they're happy or ready to be home when they just left places that so many call 'paradise.'
Simply, reality is what we have to do so we can do what we want to do. I'm very thankful that T & I have a 'have to' so we can experience a 'want to.' I wish the same for you.
Bill Robertson, about to shop-vac up some bugs.... what a difference 48 yrs makes. All good.
Beach Blog #22
This is my last blog post for our month in Florida. For this one, I decided pictures should tell the story.
Adios from the beaches of northwest Florida.
Bill Robertson, probably on cruise control and watching the long road ahead of us.
Adios from the beaches of northwest Florida.
Bill Robertson, probably on cruise control and watching the long road ahead of us.
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