Dr. Kim Playfoot walked into my hospital room like a breath of fresh air. She was tall and blonde, full of jokes but was no nonsense at the same time. She introduced herself and sat at the end of my uncomfortable hospital bed. “You are lucky,” she said. “You have suffered what we call a minor stroke, but in my mind there is no such thing as a minor stroke. A stroke is a stroke. Here is what we’re going to do. We are going to take care of you and I know you are going to do everything you can to get better. I know you will. I believe in you. This is a team effort. Our joy is going to be the day you walk out of here and go home to your family.” She then turned to my wife Abs. “I know you are worried about him. I know you are strong. But I need a favor from you. No looking back. Do not rehash what he did or did not do in the past. We are looking at today and toward the future.” I loved this woman. I wasn’t being lectured by a doctor. I thought I was getting a game plan from Vince Lombardi. So I gave her the nickname “Coach.” I suffered an ischemic stroke which restricted blood flow to the brain. It is similar to a heart attack. In fact back in the day they called strokes brain attacks. She said it was a close call between life and death. She showed me a 3-D image of all the vessels and veins inside my brain. They were all healthy and free flowing, sort of like the Lodge at three in the morning. But there was a weak broken down vein on the left side. The blood flow in this vein became sluggish like I-94 during rush hour. I lost my ability to speak and my fine motor skills which made it difficult to type or wash myself. This vein has probably been like this since childhood. It was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. Here is where luck came in. If that vein became clogged instead of sluggish I’d be dead or paralyzed. A few days ago we suffered a horrific loss in sports media world when Jamie Samuelsen died at the tender age of 48 of colon cancer. Jamie sent a message to all. Get a colonoscopy. It is not that bad. I come with a message also. Watch your sodium or salt intake. That is what landed me in the hospital. Read the labels at the super market. If something has 800 milligrams or 1,000 milligrams of sodium you should probably leave it in the store. Order the small fries instead of the jumbo fries. Or ask the restaurant to lightly salt your fries. Sometimes we ask for no seasoning. I have a new side chick. Her name is Ms. Dash – a no salt seasoning that I put on chicken, beef and vegetables. I even found a low sodium Memphis style rub when I smoke ribs or pulled pork. I found it at the Eastern Market and it is just as delicious. I used to believe that most strokes were caused by high stress. That is not true. Sodium is the main culprit. So watch it. Do you know what one of the more dangerous meals are? Soup. Soup is loaded with sodium. Coach also told me I needed to lose weight. She said people who walk around with big bellies are more prone to sickness. I lost 46 pounds. I do not have a wash board stomach but it went from puffy to a little pouch. So let’s lose the stomachs too gang. Coach got up to continue her rounds. There were other patients to see. She’d be back the next day to check up on me and monitor my treatment. Thank you Coach.
Welcome to the second episode of Boombayey Podcast with Terry Foster. Joining Terry for this show is Ryan, E.Lund, and special guests Rhonda Moss, and Rico Beard.
Segment 1: Too hot for radio storytime with Terry. Why are you not watching ESPN? Do play by play crews add anything to the game?
Segment 2: Michigan and MSU seasons so far and where they’re headed.
Bonus segment: Mt. Rushmore of professional wrestling
Another podcast coming Thursday!
My name is Terry Foster and I am the guy that used to write for the news paper in Detroit and did sports talk radio.
My life was on a roll until I suffered a stroke last year and my life has changed. I blame myself for not monitoring my blood pressure better. A doctor has since told me that I may have been dealt a bad set of veins inside my brain and they were ticking time bombs ready to clog up.
I was lucky. The veins became sluggish, but not clogged. So I lived another day.
I am a new man and I want to share my thoughts with old friends in this blog and through podcasting. I will talk about my new life, my old life, Detroit sports, or whatever else crosses my mind. It will be personal at times. And I will rap on real life and real issues.
In other words I want to be a voice, no matter how small it may be now.
I also need your help. I want to pay the people helping me and donate to charities I’ve worked with. Heart to Hart passes out food, blankets, clothing and personal items to the homeless while the Enchanted Barn saves and houses mistreated animals and has inner city kids come out and learn to take care of them.
My pal Melissa runs the Enchanted Barn and needs our help.
I got involved with Heart to Hart after seeing people huddle near steam pipes on cold winter days after leaving Lion games at night. My heart sank seeing this.
Selfishly I still want to get my word out and entertain even though I am retired. And why not tryet to help those that help others?
I will continue my blog also. I plan to peck out a few words that I hope entertain you, and move you to action, tears or laughter. If you don’t care what I have to say I won’t be offended. Move on. Nothing to see here.
I will try to help you lose weight.
I will try to help you get healthy.
And I will do the impossible. I will try to get you to understand the Detroit Lions.
And I will eventually pick up a note pad and try to break a story or two. I need to talk to my league people first.
I hope you enjoy. I do believe there is room to praise me or rip me. Go ahead. We are friends.
I will not comment about Donald Trump because pro Trump and anti Trump people are like roaches. They never go away and they keep barking the same nonsense for weeks at a time.
How am I feeling since quitting radio? Good but not great. Doctors say I won’t fully recover until the fall. But I no longer get evening headaches and am not exhausted at the end of the day.
Thanks for dropping by. I hope you return again.
The media sat in end zone seats at the Spectrum in Philadelphia where a loose ball bounced into my arms during a Detroit Pistons — Sixers game in the 1990s.
I caught it and tossed it back to Sixers star forward Charles Barkley. He recognized me from an in depth interview/bull session we had earlier that season at The Palace.
“Hey I thought you were going to come visit me before the game,” Barkley said.
I explained that Pistons center Bill Laimbeer sustained a last minute injury so it did not allow me time to come into the Sixers dressing room for pregame.
“It figures that ass hole had to be involved,” Barkley said.
You’d think the conversation would be over because an NBA game before a nearly packed house needed to be finished. But Barkley does not follow rules all the time.
He asked about the family and how I enjoyed covering a bunch of jerks like the Pistons. Finally the official grew impatient, blew his whistle, and demanded the ball from Barkley.
“Excuse me,” he said. “I have something else I got to do.”
That exchange explains Barkley in a nut shell. Irrelevant, funny and a man who walked outside the lines in life. This is why I like Barkley.
A few days earlier we sat together in the visitors dressing room at the Palace talking life, race and his controversial “I am not a role model” statement that sent the sporting world blaze.
We spoke for about 45 minute prior to the Sixers game against the Pistons. The media must leave the premises 90 minutes before tip off so my time was nearly up. A fidgety public relations guy stood near by ready to give me the boot because it was a few seconds after 6 pm for a 7:30 tip.
“He’s got to leave,” the PR person said to us.
I gathered my pre-game notes, thanked Barkley for his time, and was headed out the door.
“We are not finished,” Barkley said firmly. “My man does not have to leave.”
I did my best pivot and returned. We continued to talk for another 10 minutes and it was the only time that I can remember being in an NBA dressing room after the bewitching hour.
A few years later we stood in the middle of the Phoenix Suns dressing room laughing in stiches.
Players, media, front office staff, security. Barkley, who gained much of his fame with the Philadelphia 76ers, was finishing his career with the Suns and he was doing what he does best — besides dunking basketballs — and that’s making fun of teammates.
Today’s victim was 7-foot-7 gentile giant Manute Bol, who ran the floor like a giraffe and acted as a perfect gentleman off the floor. His mistake this day was walking by Barkley’s dressing stall with no shoes on. Barkley pounced and for the next 15 minutes cracked joke after joke only on Bol’s feet.
One of his best lines focused on how ashy Bol’s feet were.
“Lotion is no match for those ashy ass feet,” Barkley cracked. “You need Pennzoil or Quaker State on those bad boys.”
The abuse became so intense that the 7-foot-7 Bol shrunk into a 5-10 man. He held his hands up in surrender saying in his African accent: “Charlie. Charlie. You are not funny. Stop if Charlie.”
He was funny. Barkley was the reason I was bent over in laughter with pain shooting from my stomach and tears flowing from my eyes.
This is why I like Charles Barkley.
Mini Vinnie is my cuisine tour guide for downtown Detroit, Mid town and Corktown.
The former Detroit Free Press sports writer lives in Mid Town and can walk to some of his favorite restaurants. Most people call him Vince Ellis. I call him Mini Vinnie. He hipped me to the Brakeman and Penny Reds which I absolutely adore, especially prior to Detroit Lions Sunday home games. I often never make it to Ford Field, opting to check out all the NFL games across the country at the Brakeman while munching on fried chicken, potato salad and honey biscuits from Penny Reds.
Mini and I sometimes met up at Founders for Friday afternoon beer tasting and snacks before Covid-19. We’ve hit The Detroit Shipping Company, Rocco’s Deli and Jolly Pumpkin. Motor City Brewing Works is a great place for pizza and a beer also. Have any of you had pesto on pizza before? Try it.
One place Mini Vinnie and I will not hit is Lady of the House in Corktown. He’s been there several times and has invited me for one of its unique dinners. Lady of the House is closing, a reminder that some of our favorite bars and restaurants won’t survive the pandemic and state shutdowns imposed by Gov. Whitmer.
Gov. Whitmer saved lives, but killed business.
During this attack of the virus the Governor carried out one of my political pet peeves. Democrats have a game plan and they carry it out without Republican input. Republicans do the same thing.
My thinking is the more eyes on the prize the better chance we have of coming up with a better solution. We live in a smart society. Why could we not come up with some type of compromise that saved lives, saved jobs and saved us from being depressed by being shut in?
Why did we not have both parties working deep into the night, working together?
I’m either naïve or missing something. My backwards ass keeps waiting for our entire government to come together to try to fix things. And the few times the government bonds politicians brag about it like they’ve discovered the cure for cancer.
If I were a government official I would fess up that I do not have all the answers. I’d reach across the aisle often seeking solutions to very complicated problems.
At some point we will venture from our virtual worlds into the real world. It might be shocking to see what’s left of our world of bars and restaurants. We will miss last call of some of our favorite haunts.
Lady of the House was just one of them.
When the Bad Boy Pistons were on a roll ripping opponents apart with precision and good decisions team captain Isiah Thomas often said the team played like a yo-yo on a string.
In other words everybody pulled in the same direction and the slight of hand was beauty to behold. There is no better place to see everyone pulling in the same direction as the Michigan Wolverines basketball team.
“A lot of guys can be selfish, looking at their stats, but we don’t have that here with Michigan basketball,” Isaiah Livers told the media recently. “When we all win, we all shine. Everyone has bought in to the culture. We don’t have one selfish player on our team. When everyone buys into that, you are going to raise banners and that’s what we’re trying to do.”
Their coach Juwan Howard used to raise the roof back in the day. Now it is time to raise those banners than Livers talked about. If nothing else Howard should rise above his piers and be named Big Ten and National coach of the year. Everybody and every thing is buying in from the inside brute and precision of 7-foot freshman center Hunter Dickinson to the crisp passing and offense of Franz Wagner and the stellar offense of Livers.
The Wolverines (17-1 overall, 12-1 in the Big Ten) are running away with the conference race following Thursday nights 79-57 victory over Iowa at Crisler Arena. Now team like Baylor and Gonzaga, who were considered out of reach, are well within reach and at some point will be targets of the spirited Wolverines.
This team is even beginning to resonate in the often sleepy college basketball hamlet of Ann Arbor where basketball takes a back seat to football 365 days a year. Wolverines are chirping about the defensive footwork of Chaundee Brown, who is strong enough and tough enough survive Hunger Game battles that dominate Spartans camp to the north.
Michigan was often considered the pretty boys of the Big Ten. Yeah, they had stars and could score points, but toughness wasn’t a word used to describe them. No more.
To steal a line from former Pistons coach Stan Van Gundy, Dickinson built a “fucking wall” around Iowa star player Luka Garza and walled him off from pounding the Wolverines again. The Great Garza scored 77 points in two games against Michigan last season but struggled Thursday against the Great Wall of Dickinson, scoring just 16 points on 6-for-19 shooting.
Livers and Wagner are fantastic players, but let’s get a little geeky here. Does anybody else appreciate the defensive footwork of Brown, who stays between his opponent and the basket with a river dance of movement?
The Wolverines will be dancing soon, making a run in the NCAA tournament, usually reserved for Spartans and Blue Devils. It’s been a fun ride, from the 92-87 victory over Ohio State, one of the greatest games in Earth, to the methodical demolition of Iowa.
It’s been like a yo-yo on a string.
Tiger Woods isn’t the only professional athlete who drives like a bat out of hell.
It is a trend that has played out across America for years. Unfortunately Tiger lost control and may have ended his career. Other athletes navigate our streets and byways at reckless speeds and get away with it. It is a secret that few sports fans know about.
Do you remember the photo of former Detroit Piston center Andre Drummond cruising to practice on I-75 at 96 miles per hour? Things like that happen every day.
Many professional athletes are multimillion dollar corporations and live jam packed days with places to be and people to meet. In Tigers case he was late for a shoot and a golf lesson with New Orleans Saints quarterback Drew Brees at 7:30 am. At 7 a.m. Tiger peeled out of his hotel parking lot and nearly hit the car of a director for the television show Grown-ish, according to TMZ.
Tiger was late. He had an hour drive to his photo shoot. The smart thing would have been to call ahead and report that he is going to be late. Who is going to argue? He’s Tiger Woods for heaven sakes.
Instead it appears he piloted his vehicle at a high rate of speed through the dangerous hair pin curves of Hawthorn Blvd. Los Angeles County Sheriffs are still investigating the crash and have not released how fast Woods was traveling. But the agency said he was traveling at a high rate of speed because he skidded down an embankment for several hundred feet.
Some of the roads outside of Los Angeles, particularly those near the ocean are beautiful and dangerous. They almost look like you are driving the roads of Northern California or Arizona with deep vistas and canyons.
Woods was lucky when he lost control of his car. His north bound car skipped the middle divider and sped across the south bound lanes. He’s lucky no other car was on the road, because he could have hit an unsuspecting and innocent driver. He was lucky that the air bags deployed, he was wearing a seat belt and that the shell of the car held up when it flipped over several times before hitting a tree.
And he is lucky that this stretch of road did not have a vista that dips for hundreds of feet.
Why not hire a driver? Woods likes to have a bit of normalcy in his life. Driving is one of those things he can do to mimic a normal person. He drove to Oakland Hills during the Ryder Cup for instance.
After Pistons practices I admit to cranking the old buggy to 76 miles per hour on the freeway. But shortly after leaving the practice facility a slew of cars passed as if I were standing still. These were Pistons players driving home for a nap, meeting or shoot. They had to be going at least 90 miles per hour.
There is a total disregard for speeding laws in the pro sports world. I’ve witnessed it first hand with players from the Detroit Lions, Tigers, San Antonio Spurs, Los Angeles Lakers, Chicago Bulls and Tampa Bay Buccaneers. These guys look ready for the Daytona 500.
It’s amazing that we don’t hear about more accidents involving our top sports stars.
In Tigers case, thankfully, we didn’t have another Kobe Bryant situation where death was involved in the greater Los Angeles area. You may or may not like Tiger Woods, but he is the reason many of us took up the game of golf. He is the reason we bought Nike golf clubs instead of more reliable clubs from Titleist, TaylorMade or Callaway.
He is the reason some of us bought red golf shirts and black golf caps with his famed TW signature. And Tiger is the reason some drive a Buick.
And if he’s in the hunt on Sunday, especially during a major, all other plans must be placed on hold because I’m watching.
The saddest day of the week is Tuesday. That is when the wife goes to Kroger to do weekly grocery shopping. Except its every other Tuesday now.
We’ve gone from a family of four to a family of two and you notice your children are missing when its time to buy food — especially with son Brandon out the house.
We shipped him to the dorms at Michigan State University about a month ago and our declining grocery bill comes with a hint of sadness. My job is to fill out the grocery list Monday night. It used to be a full page filled with unnecessary food items. Now it is down to a half page.
And I get yelled at.
“Terry how come you don’t have Oreos on the list,” wife Abs screams.
“Because we don’t need any,” I yell back.
“You forgot to put chicken wings on the list,” she retorts.
“Nope, I did not forget,” I respond. “We still got two packs in the freezer.”
Then we grow quiet for a moment. It is during those times of reflection that we notice how much we miss Brandon.
Friday nights are not the same either. That’s when we get carry out or Door Dash for our Friday treat. We hit Olga’s Kitchen shortly after Brandon left and she brought this skinny ass bag of food in the house.
“That can’t be ours,” I said. “Did you grab the wrong bag?”
It was our bag. Missing was the fried chicken and fries the boy usually gets, along with the Snackers. We no longer get the cheese bread with bacon and ranch dressing on pizza night.
The air fryer no longer runs 24/7/365. Sometimes we baked cookies and they disappeared in 48 hours when the boy stalked the kitchen for midnight runs. We made cookies last week and half of them remain, stale and hard now.
It’s different now. We have more food, a smaller bill and quicker trips to Kroger.
Damn. We miss that mouth.
David Anthony Gant was my best friend growing up on Detroit’s near west side.
However, nobody in our neighborhood knew his real name. His was Big Mac.
I give out nicknames like candy to people that I like. Big Mac used to be called Tony until I came along. He earned his nickname Big Mac because he was a big boy. And on Saturday’s we used to walk three miles to our nearest McDonald’s for lunch. One week he paid for our meals. I grabbed the tab the following week. On one of my weeks to pay he went all out ordering two large orders of fries, a chocolate shake and a Coke to go along with his three Big Macs.
He downed his meal with ease, thus earning the name Big Mac.
Over the years I’ve married, dated or liked Abs, Lil Scoop, Stinky, Cake, Blue, Thick and Juicy and Momma Cocoa.
My current wife is Abs. Her maiden name was Adrienne Bonner. And I made a little tune that carried the lyrics Adrienne Bonner is Sweet. Abs. I also call her Abby, Momma Cocoa, Coke and Mon Quinn, which is silly talk for My queen.
I grew up next to The Magical Strombini. My cousin Miss Boots married Zero Ziccerelli and I once did a radio show with Fibber McNasty.
My children are Stooler and Buddy Monroe. Sometimes they are X and Slats.
Everybody calls Detroit News sports columnist Bob Wojnowski, Wojo. I call him Bibs because I read that the Michelin Tire Man’s name was Bibendum or Bibelubis. I live next to a woman named Nurse who has three daughter’s named Dannie Duke, Molly Mole Tree and Julie McGillicutty.
There is Lippy the Party Girl. Jack of all trades radio personality Marti Martin is The Matrix and Detroit News Tigers beat writer Chris McCoskey is Chopper.
After making love to a woman as a youth I woke up to find her holding a baseball bat, saying if I ever got out of hand she was going to used that bat on me. I quickly broke up, named her Bat Shit and got the hell out of Dodge before I became Bat Man.
I’m even responsible for Robert “Tractor” Traylor, a name I gave the late University of Michigan and NBA star when he was a prep player at Detroit Murray Wright.
Sometimes I venture up to Central Michigan University and hang with my CM Life pals Gibby, Mickey Finn, Hannibal Hayes and Flame Thrower.
My nickname growing up was Cookie because my face looked like one of those giant sugar cookies people enjoyed in the mall.
One of my best friend in the media was Boodini, AKA as Drew Sharp. When we worked at the Free Press together we used to argue. And he was always wrong. But he had a magical run where every Drew prediction came true. For instance he would say the Tigers were going to win five games that week and three of the games would be by 3-1 scores.
Lo and behold, the Tigers would win five games that week and three of them were by 3-1 scores.
I combined the names of famed magician Harry Houdini and Muhammad Ali corner man Drew Bundini Brown and came up with Boodini. It stuck and he even referred to himself as Boodini in his football picks column.
Do not be offended if I forget your name should we meet. It means I am trying to think of a better name for you on the fly.
Even when things were going well for Michigan State’s basketball team there were major pits and pratfalls that threatened to sink the entire ship.
Magically, the blemishes were covered with makeup or pixie dust. Or often it was a senior giving a fire and brimstone speech during half time of a game or following a discouraging practice. Instead of sinking into a prolonged slump, MSU players were reminded of what it takes to be a Spartan.
Outsiders would venture into their dressing room or practice facility and notice paint peeling from the walls because Mateen Cleaves, Andre Hutson or Gary Harris gave a coming to Jesus speech filled with passion and profanity.
Everybody stepped up and filled holes because they didn’t want to be the one who let a prideful and championship caliber program fall by the wayside.
Coach Tom Izzo often got full credit for figuring out the problems and fixing them. But in actuality it was normally level headed players who went off the deep end who figured it out and fixed it because they knew a different voice was needed.
Players believed because they were filled with experiences of hotly contested workouts from May, June and August when the base of Spartan mentality was built. They believed because to be a Spartan basketball player means to overachieve and reach heights beyond their capability.
My guess is that voice is missing on the 2020-2021 MSU basketball roster. And that base of strong and aggressive off-season workouts is missing too. Now what you are left with is a team that is a little bit softer than usual and a coach in Izzo who is reluctant to put on the boxing gloves for fear of really losing this fragile team.
Yes, we know the team is not getting quality point guard play. Yes, we know the team cannot score. Most disturbing though is this team cannot defend the interior. It does not block out and muscle people out the paint. MSU could always count on doing the little things when the big picture did not look so rosy.
And you get outsiders predicting that the Spartan run is over forever, the same as they have predicted before when Izzo didn’t have things humming the way he wanted or had a public battle with a star player.
Are they saying the same thing at Duke (9-8) or Kentucky (7-13)? These are blue bloods that, like the Spartans, may not make the NCAA tournament. Are they done for eternity?
How many times has Izzo been told he has forever lost his team and he gets it back before the ink is dry?
Shit happens. You can’t explain it. You can’t predict when it will happen. You cannot predict how long it will last.
But the Spartan program is strong enough to overcome what ails it. This program shall rise again. It might not be this year. It might not be next season.
At some point the Spartans will have a brutal off season filled with shoulder pads and black eyes under their belt and they will have a senior or junior stand before the team who is unafraid to bruise egos and hurt feelings tell his followers what Spartan basketball is all about.
That is when this team shall rise again.
And when that all happens Izzo will rediscover the balance of being father figure and tough guy as he leads his team to another Big Ten championship or Final Four appearance.
We are beginning to peak out from our shelters of home steading as the bars and restaurants in Michigan open up after weeks of shutdown because of our governor’s orders.
If you own a sports bar it is time to give classes to bartenders called Sports Viewing 101. There is nothing more annoying than having a beer and a burger on a college football Saturday in a sports bar when Michigan is battling Ohio State in Ann Arbor or the Spartans are taking on Purdue in West Layfayette.
You look up at the big screen in front of you and Bucknell is taking on Colgate. Or David Goffin is battling Fabio Fognini in a men’s tennis semifinal far, far away.
A woman once turned off the Detroit Lions on football Sunday because she said people bitch about the team all the time.
“Yeah, but they still watch,” I said.
Who wants to see Miami vs. Jacksonville when you can enjoy the comedy of the Lions?
Let me confess to my ignorance to online sports betting. I did not understand how casinos could give you 13-1 odds to bet on a team without a point spread. You could actually bet on both teams during a game and come out ahead.
I did not understand how a casino could give you 5-1 odds on betting if an NBA team will make a three-point shot during a game. Don’t they all make at least one three pointer?
How can a casino make money when it is giving away $300 to $700 to everybody that bets?
Well someone explain that on many casino apps that you cannot collect any money until you place at least $1,000 of your own money in the betting pool. In other words they will gladly take your money but are reluctant to give it back until you are scrambling to make rent.
I feel the same way in my failed attempt to collect pension money that is owed to me. It’s my money. I worked hard for it. Why can’t I get paid?
I never knew getting pension money was so difficult. I’ve been trying for six weeks to get pension payments rolling that I became eligible for when I turned 62 a week ago.
I’m told Covid is to blame.
I worked for 32 years for the Detroit News and Detroit Free Press. They had no problem taking money out of my pay check. That was nice and easy.
Now trying to get paid is another issue. My journey actually began in the fall when I talked to a nice lady who told me to apply for my pension money the first week of January so I’d receive my first pension check in March.
I called her back in January and was told she is on vacation. For six weeks? Is this woman on trip to Mars? I gave up calling her because I got the same message. She is out of the office but is expected back soon.
Then I was given names and numbers on the pension team to talk to. They cannot help. I was given names and numbers of people in the newspaper union. They cannot help.
I was even passed along to the City of Detroit pension plan. One problem. I never worked for the city of Detroit. They of course could not help.
Here is where I stand today. I was given an application to apply for the application to apply for my pension. That was three weeks ago. No word. Why must you apply for an application?
It’s my money. I worked hard for it.
I’ve been told that it takes more time for things to get rolling because of Covid-19. That’s funny. Whenever there is a transaction to take money out of your bank account Covid-19 does not become a factor. It only affects companies when you are trying to get money.
Funny how that works.
I talked to a person for an hour who promised to send me a form that would explain how a pension works and would tell me how much per month I’d be getting. I asked for an email since he was sitting in front of his computer and I was sitting in front of mine. Of course he said it was against company policy to do so. That was a month ago. Covid must have gotten in the way again.
Here is my frustration. If somebody wants to sell me a car or a boat, a trip to the moon, ribs or a bucket of chicken, all I have to do is push one button. Done.
Since retirement I’ve been offered hearing aids, weed, opioids, Ukraine brides, vacations to places I’ve never heard of and season tickets to every sports team in the state of Michigan. All I have to do is push one button to make my dreams come true.
But if you want to receive payments you need to call Geoffrey Fieger or 1-800-Mikewins.
I’ve been pushing buttons for six weeks,
I’m tired, frustrated and want to give up.
Oh wait a minute. That’s what they want you to do.