Brother 2 Brother reflection

Munro's TV is a tiny, tiny shop piled to the ceiling with tape decks, VCRs, televisions, CD players, and a collection of vintage radios, some dating back 70 years.

My dad and I were chatting with Jim, the owner, last night, when suddenly I notice a familiar-looking reflection in the TV in front of me. Another television, out of sight, is on, and Brother 2 Brother is showing. It's a documentary for which I helped to write the narration.

Most of the time, writing seems like such abstract work. You press the computer keys, words appear on the screen, and then they get e-mailed to editors or producers. Of course, I do see the final results when I'm sent copies, but there is always something special about having them unexpectedly appear, the way Brother 2 Brother did last night.

Westcliff Diner

I had lunch at the Westcliff Diner in Halifax today. Three-piece fish and chips: $4.60. Not delicious, but perfectly acceptable. For me though, going to Westcliff is not about the food or the prices. It's about the experience.

I first heard about the diner thanks to a terrible ad they were running on the radio. Want to get my attention? Come up with a bad slogan, or run a lousy ad on the radio.

The Westcliff ad said that "Beverly hand-dips the haddock in batter for the three-piece fish and chips." Hand dips. Imagine that. Not like all those other places that use big machines to dip their fish.

Having heard the ad over and over, I finally dropped in one day. The Westcliff Diner is housed in the same building as Gunther's Hair Salon. You come in off the street into a tiny entranceway. The door on the left leads to Gunther's and the door on the right takes you to Westcliff. One of the unfortunate things about this arrangement is that sometimes you find yourself taking in the rancid smell of hair-care chemicals on the way to get your lunch.

The decor is simple. It's so simple you can hardly call it decor: acoustic tile on the ceiling, a long counter, a few tables, and some retro Coca-Cola stuff on the walls. What I enjoy the most is sitting at the counter, watching and listening. Tyler and Beverly seem to know everyone who walks in the door. And if they don't, they make you feel like they do. Beverly calls everyone "hon" or "dear" and no matter how busy things get, she seems completely unflappable behind the counter. "Three down" when the fish and chips go into the fryer. "Two for here, one to go." Forgot someone's coffee? "I'm sorry hon. Here you go." She can chat on the phone, cook and serve customers all at the same time -- keeping up while somehow looking relaxed.

Tyler, on the other hand, constantly seems like he's about to have a heart attack, racing from one end of the kitchen to the other, sometimes grim-faced -- but never so grim that he can't crack wise, toss you a compliment, or start a mock-argument with Beverly for the sake of the customers.

I'd pay just to watch them in action

Bad slogans

A couple of months ago I wondered aloud why I love diners so much. I'm not talking about your theme park retro kind of place. I'm talking about unselfconscious little joints where the food is cheap and often of dubious quality. Sara said, "Because you like bad stuff."

Which brings me to this post. I've always been fascinated with bad stuff. I listen to bad American (and sometimes Canadian) talk radio. I like music that I know is bad. And I get a kick out of bad slogans.

Lately, I've been running into lots of local bad slogans. You can figure no five-star agencies are coming up with these.

The creative types at Taylor Flooring probably think the tag line that closes out each radio commercial is pretty clever. They're so proud of it that it's right at the top of their website too, where it looks even goofier than it sounds: Need a floorist? Call a Taylor!"

Exhibit #2 is Europa Stairways, with "Step into the future." No thanks. I'd rather just go upstairs.

But the best I"ve seen recently has to belong to Quality Concrete. Sitting at a red light, I look out the window, and right at eye level beside me is the door of a concrete truck. What does it say? "Quality Concrete. Our business is concrete."

I never would have guessed.

Gas is still too cheap

People whine and whine and whine about high gas prices. But I still see them idling their cars in the drive-through and carwash lineups, and speeding down the highway at gas-guzzling speeds. Eighty to ninety km/h is the ideal speed for minimal gas consumption. All right, so most people don't want to poke along on the highway at 90. But going 120 or 130 will make you rip through a lot more gas than 100. Then there's the guy I saw the other day, SUV parked at the mall, napping with the engine running (so the air conditioner could run, presumably). We're talking April here. The weather was hardly sweltering. If gas is cheap enough for him to foul our air for the sake of his nap, then it's too cheap.

Permanently?

In Montreal with my brother yesterday, renting a car from National. My brother declines the insurance, because he gets it with his credit card. He's got to sign a document indicating that he is turning down the insurance. It says, "I decline peace of mind."

Take my reservation number... please!

Back from a weekend in Toronto with the family. We stayed at the Sheraton Centre downtown, where they seem to have an odd aversion to taking their own reservation numbers.

The night before leaving, I call to confirm. Dialogue goes like this:

"I would like to confirm a reservation. I have a reservation number."

"That's ok. What's your last name?"

"Moscovitch."

"We don't have anything. Is there another name?"

"Lamb."

"No, we have no record of a reservation. Did you say you had a number?"

"Yes."

"Can I have it please?"

I give the reservation number, and am told, "Oh. Here it is."

Wouldn't it have been more productive for everyone if the dialogue had gone this way?

"I would like to confirm a reservation. I have a reservation number."

"Can I have it please? ... Oh yes, here is your reservation."

Next day we arrive at the hotel.

"I have a reservation number." (Repeat rest of dialogue as at top.)

Once they have found us in the system (which seems to take an incredible number of keystrokes) various other problems arise -- the room is not ready, and they have reserved two rooms for us instead of one.

While we wait for the room, we go out for a delicious lunch at Little Tibet restaurant. A couple of hours later, we return to check in.

"I have a reservation number." (Repeat rest of dialogue as at top.) This time, I find out that the reason they can't find us is that the room has been booked in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Lambmoscovitch. Good thing we didn't saddle the kids with that one. I ask the person at the check in to correct the name. They say they will. They tap some keys. I assume they are doing it -- right now! Next day, Mr. and Mrs. Lambmoscovitch are still, apparently, at the hotel.