Are we there yet?

As a small child I remember annoying my parents by asking the seminal question when traveling, "Are we there yet?"

This question has a close cousin "How many more miles until we get there?"

Not only do I remember saying these things, I remember being an adult and having my children annoy me. It is 200 miles from our house to Glendive where my children's maternal grandparents reside and it was another 200 miles to reach Roundup where their paternal grandparents used to live.

So we did what we could to entertain the children -- games, movies, music, etc.

But what do you do when your 88-year-old father annoys you when he asks, "how much farther is it?" over and over and over. Now the reason he asks the question every five minutes is because he doesn't remember he asked it. For him, each time is the first time and he thinks he should have the right to ask it. For the others in the car, the word "annoying" really starts to take on newer, more profound meaning.

So it should come as no surprise when you hear I got a speeding ticket heading to Rapid City over the Memorial Day weekend for my sister's and brother's birthdays. But let me give you a few more details.

We had eaten dinner in Bowman and as we drove south toward the South Dakota border, I was passing cars in fairly short order. There were no twists and turns to the road and 65 just seemed a little slow for someone who is being asked, "Are we there yet?" for the hundredth time.

I can't remember all the cars I passed, but I remember one that looked the oldest Winnebago on the highway and there was also a car that looked like a highway patrol car, but it turned out to be a white Buick Park Avenue....like we have.

Anyway, 30 miles from Bowman was Buffalo, South Dakota, and Grandpa and Belinda decided that they needed a bathroom break. So as I pulled off the road at a Sinclair station, I noticed that all the cars I had just passed -- including the Winnebago -- were now passing me.

When the family was back in the car, I headed straight south again. No turns, no twists...and no going 65 mph. Pretty soon I had caught up with the train of cars and began passing them.

About the time I had the Winnebago in my rear view mirror, I came upon the car that looked like the patrol car...only this time I wasn't going to be fooled. So I didn't slow down, I didn't even get back into the right-hand lane. I simply was going to pass it.

As I quickly approached it, I noticed that it no longer was a Buick Park Avenue...this time it was a patrol car. So he turned his lights on and I pulled over to the side of the road.

Sitting in the front seat beside me was Grandpa who saying that I hadn't done anything wrong and the highway patrolman must be out of his mind for pulling us over. I hushed him as I reached over to the glove box to get my registration and proof of insurance.

The patrolman came to my window, and I handed him drivers license and other pertinent information. He asked me to step back into his car...which I did in an instant so I could get away from 88-year-old commentator who insisted on giving my wife a play by play of all the cars passing us.

When I had sat down beside the patrolman, he looked over at me and said, "I have to ask you just one question....didn't you see me?"

I still have no idea how to answer that. Do I tell him, "No I'm blind." Or should I say, "Well, I thought you were a white Park Avenue that I had already passed 30 minutes ago?"

Neither seemed like good answers so I kept mum. Then I said, "Oh, I see that I was going 76...that was a little fast I guess."

It certainly was. He gave me a $90 speeding ticket and said that I could pay him now or make a court appearance or mail a check when I got home. Well, not wanting to hear the wrath of my wife when she eventually would write the check, I thought that paying him now made a lot of sense. But I only had $80 in my wallet, so I went to my car to see who had $10.

Belinda said she had a $20 bill. I said, "Jeez, honey, I don't think he's going to make change."

Dad had a $10 bill so I went back and paid the fine.

When I got back to my car, Belinda said, "Well, that wasn't bad was it? A $10 fine isn't too bad."

Perhaps I should have left well enough alone, but I told her that it was really a $90 fine and I had four twenties in my wallet.

I could tell she wasn't happy as she began to explain all the things she could have bought in Rapid City with the $90.

But 10 miles down the road, Dad had completely forgotten about it. Of the two, I appreciated Dad's approach much better than her's...until he asked me, "Are we there yet?"

Whose roll is it anyway

At work, there are a number of things you do that are all lumped into the same category…other duties as assigned. This can include digging into the innards of a copy machine to find a stray sheet of paper or even grabbing a shovel and moving the snow so your co-workers can get out of the parking lot. And co-workers are happy to help in these endeavors.

But there’s one task at work that no one ever seems to want to partake in…and that’s changing the roll of toilet paper in the bathroom

So I ask, whose roll is it anyway?

Where does this “not my roll” mentality come from?

Do they not change the roll at their home? Or maybe they did once, but they got yelled at because they hung the roll wrong.

At our home, my wife is a stickler…she believes the paper should hang over the roll, not against the wall.

So being a contrarian at heart, I mind my manners at home, but at work, I do my own thing. And no one seems to care…because I at least change the roll.

But still I ask, when should a roll be officially retired?

To some it would seem the answer is when the last square has been taken from the roll. But I’m wondering if that’s really too late.

When there is only three or four squares left on the roll, is it really going to do you much good?

Maybe the answer lies in whether or not you are a folder or a crumpler. I know that my father is a folder although I would just as soon not know.

Dad has alzheimers and sometimes he puts the folded tissues into the wastebasket instead of the appropriate receptacle.

I don’t know why, but I’ve always been a crumpler. Maybe it’s because I’m a baby boomer and we’ve always thought more was best. But when it comes to crumpling, three or four squares just won’t do.

So I think the mostly-used roll should be retired early. Unfortunately, I seem to be the only one of the males in my work place who hold a similar view. Judging by the number of empty card board cores I’ve encountered on the job – not only this job, but my previous jobs as well – I’m thinking that men must think changing a roll of toilet paper is the social equivalent of carrying their wife’s purse in a crowded mall.

So I guess what I’m talking about is toilet paper etiquette, bathroom decorum or restroom protocol. I’m in favor of having someone – Miss. Emily Post, comes to mind – write some rules that can be followed. Oh, Miss Post is deceased?

Etiquette are the social rules that keep a society well oiled and running smoothly. I’m actually surprised that this hasn’t been done in the past so here’s my version of Steve’s toilet paper etiquette.

Number 10 – No one ply toiler paper should ever be made or purchased.

Number 9 – At work, the purchasing department should be required to buy toilet paper that’s at least as soft as what they would buy at home.

Number 8 – The person who removes enough toilet paper so that there are less than five squares left should be required to change the roll.

Number 7 – If a custodian is working and he or she sees that there is less than a quarter of a roll left, it should be changed.

Number 6 – The spare roll of toilet paper should be in clear site at all times, especially at a friend’s house. No use in turning a perfectly good house guest into Dick Tracy using his detective skills to find the necessary replacement roll.

Number 5 – Part of the performance review for co-workers should be a question about whether or not they changed even one roll of toilet paper at work in the preceding year.

Number 4 – The roll of toilet paper should be turned in (against the wall) at work and out (over the roll) at home.

Number 3 – A roll of toilet paper that somehow gets wet and hard should be thrown away...or left for company that you don't much care for.

Number 2 – Bosses should lead by example and have to change the toilet paper twice as often as regular employees.

And Number 1 – These rules should be printed out and hung in every bathroom at work in the United States.

So to sum it up, remember that life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer to the end, the faster it goes.