Buzz | Unmotherly Insights

Just say "no" to corporate idiocy!

I drink a lot of coffee. I like coffee. I’ve tried giving it up. But that usually lasts from about 9p.m. to 6:30a.m. the following morning. Then I decide that it’s just not worth the head-ache (literally).

But it gives me a serious buzz. I’m like wired to the max on two shots of espresso. By the time I hit three, I’m shaking so badly I can’t tie my shoes, clasp my necklace or type anything that even remotely resembles meaningful communiqué.

Since I’ve been doing a show, I’ve been working late nights. So a hit or two of java mid afternoon doesn’t do anything to disturb my all too erratic sleeping patterns. But as things are winding down, I decided to cut out the afternoon caffeine infusions and stick to decaf after 3p.m.

Around 4:00 yesterday afternoon I strode into Starbucks and ordered an ordinary cup of decaffeinated coffee.

“Sorry,” said the insincere barrista, “But we don’t brew decaf coffee after 3p.m.”

“What?” I said, sure that I had fallen asleep for a nanosecond and dreamt the previous statement.

“I said,” continued the arrogant employee in a tone that suggested I was either partially deaf or suffering from some advanced form of mental derangement, “We don’t brew decaf after 3. You can order a decaf latte or espresso if you want.”

I quickly did the calculations in my head. A fru fru coffee drink would cost me upwards of three dollars, while a plain cup of joe would’ve run about a buck and a half. But it wasn’t the money that irked me so much. I really didn’t want an expensive, milk-frothed masterpiece. I wanted a simple, ordinary cup of decaf, like my grandmother would’ve enjoyed along with her late afternoon mandelbread snack.

But beyond my personal irritation, this is one of the most inane corporate policies I’ve ever heard. I mean, when do people most drink decaf? I’m guessing it’s not during morning drive time. Why would you refuse to serve decaffeinated coffee in the late afternoon when anyone with even a hint of common sense would be contemplating a good night’s sleep in less than four hours?

This line of reasoning ranks up there with my other caffeine related fave; the “we don’t serve decaffeinated iced tea here.” “Oh, do you have defaffeinated hot tea,” I’ll often inquire. At that I’ll usually get an affirmative response and a listing of five or so flavors of herbal tea that’s available hot.

OK, I’m no rocket scientist, but isn’t that what ice is for? Make the damn tea, then pour it over a glass of ice and voila, herbal iced tea. That doesn’t seem all that difficult to me.

There seems to be a certain inalienable idiocy surrounding decaffeinated drinks in this country, and one that needs to be addressed.

So here’s the bottom line, if you work in a restaurant and want to get good tips, think outside the box. If someone wants a hot drink served over ice, you can handle that. And if you’re a mega-corporate-coffee conglomerate, add a few pots of decaf to your afternoon repertoire. It’ll make people happy and allow them to sleep so that they can race thru your drive thru the next morning at 7a.m. and order those all too addictive venti, half caf, triple mocha, vanilla lattes that keep the establishment in the black.

No more cellulose heightened realities for us!

Okay, I’m never going to the movies with my kids again. It’s always a friggin disaster and I never seem to learn my lesson.

My 6 year old son, Eli, begged me to take him to see Toy Story 3 (or whatever number the new one is). I remembered the horrible scene in the theatre at Karate Kid 4 (or whatever that new one was) when the main guy got chased by a bunch of really mean kids. Then I flashed back to the trauma of “Up” that depressing “kid” flick where the old man mourned the death of his wife in the most lugubrious montage I’ve ever seen on screen. Rationally I knew that going to the movies was not a good idea. But, what is it they say is the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? That would be me.

So in spite of the warning bells clamoring in my head, I decided to take the boys to see Toy Story 3. The first time things didn’t go just right for Woody, all hell broke loose. My youngest son is simply not able to differentiate reality from make-believe. Yikes, isn’t that the definition of psychosis?

Anyway, at the first sign of trouble, my boy becomes wild with emotion. “Noooooo!!!!!! He start shrieking, “Get me out of here. I hate this movie. Oh God, noooooo….Woody!!!” Okay, seriously, I’m like , “Eli, come on, cut it out. Woody’s gonna be fine. He really is. I promise.”

“Noooooo,” he continues to cry at a decibel louder than the movie roar. “I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home.”

Now Eli is a tall 6 year old. He looks like he’s at least 7 or 8. So the people around us are more than a little perturbed. I mean, why is a youngster that age behaving like this. I murmer a few embarrassing I’m sorries and they reluctantly go back to the movie, probably assuming some diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder or sensory integration disfunction.

“Eli, we are not leaving. The movie just started and I promised your brother he could see it. You begged me to come to this film. I am telling you that Woody is going to make it and be just fine. You have to believe me.”

My reassurances did nothing to convince him of Woody’s certain well being. He screamed incessantly throughout the movie. Sure I thought about taking him home. I thought about wandering the halls of the theatre. But you really can’t leave your other kid alone in a dark movie theatre and feel like you’re being a responsible parent. I mean, what do you say to make sure he’s okay? “Listen, Levi, if a strange man sits down next to you while I’m roaming the halls with your brother, just stand up, start screaming and run wildly out of the theatre.”

So we stayed. It was miserable. Eli sat on my lap, catatonic, while Levi tensely tried to relax and ignore the muffled cries. I wanted to kill myself. This is so not what going to the movies with your kids is supposed to be.

Eli remained petrified throughout the flick, I’ve finally begun to understand why. He’s got what we call the “Nudelman” negativity (NN). It comes from my mother’s side. It’s an innate negativity that causes all of the Nudelman descendants to automatically obsess about what isn’t working and to confidently assume the worst in every situation. In film world, as soon as the good guys run into trouble, the NN warns my son of impending disaster. He then goes berserk, convinced that all is lost and the future of his cellulose universe is doomed forever. No amount of convincing works to ease his misery.

I asked my husband, the pediatrician, if there was some kind of medication for this? “I mean, seriously,” I told him, “he doesn’t understand that bad things have to happen in movies in order for the hero to become the hero. What is wrong with him?”

“Well, first of all, “ my husband began to explain in an annoyingly calm doctor voice, “it’s very normal for children at this age to have difficulty distinguishing reality from fantasy. The movie world can seem completely real to a 6 year old and that can be really scary. Plus you have to factor into the mix that his mother is a total wacko who can’t see movies herself because she gets too involved in them and then can’t function for days afterwards.”

What are you talking about?” I asked indignantly. “I see movies all the time.” “Yeah,” he said, “just the ones I pre-screen for you.” He then went on to list a few of the films we had seen that had sent me into so deep a state of devastation he had to lock up all the prescription medications in the house.

“Remember how you reacted at ‘Forest Gump’? What about ‘Lion King’, when the father died? ‘Pretty Woman’?” he was beginning to piss me off.

“Well, that was only because I thought they weren’t gonna end up together,” I said trying to sound as rational as possible.

“Okay,” he went on, “How about ‘Revolutionary Road,’ that movie about the nice suburban couple?”

“Honey,” I lamented, “I could relate to that movie. She had issues. And she killed herself in the end. That was not an uplifting film.” He went on to site some obvious selections like “Sophie’s Choice,” “Shindler’s List”, “No Country for Old Men.” I stopped trying to defend myself though when he reminded me about how I began to hyperventilate when Yoda died in “Return of the Jedi.” Then he asked me, “Have you ever wondered why that doesn’t happen anymore?”

“No,” I said. “Not until right now.”

“Because I see every movie you want to see first without you.” he confessed.

“You’re joking,” I laughed.

“No, I’m afraid I’m not. And you know those movies I told you we couldn’t get on Netflix. I was lying. I just don’t have the strength to watch you disintegrate after watching them.”

I was stunned and horrified. Could this be true? Was I living in some kind of Tipper Gore world of censorship without even knowing it. I wanted to race out and watch “Seven Pounds,” or “The boy in Striped Pajamas.” But then I realized how much happier I’d been these past few years seeing flicks like “Little Miss Sunshine,” and “The Full Monty.”

Maybe that was it. I needed to screen the movies I take Eli to beforehand. But every kid movie has a villain. Every kid movie has scary obstacles that impede the hero. Every kid movie has one or two dead parents. No. Screening alone cannot protect my young one from the fears inside his hereditarily psychotic brain.

The only answer is a movie moratorium. I’m done with the whole scene (pun intended). No more movie theatres, no more buttered popcorn, no more Screenvision trivia facts, and no more reciting classic movie lines like “Use the Force,” and “Go ahead, make my day.” I want to erase the entire film industry from our psyches. And if you think that’s the coward’s way out, “Frankly, my friends, I don’t give a damn.”