The Lunch Hour

A lunch hour has always been a sacred part of my workday, not so much about the food as the welcome escape. But as I learned the other day, a lot can happen in 60 minutes. Just last week as I glanced at my watch in the home office, I eagerly finished my lunch hour to-do list and was quickly out the door. First stop? The post office to ship a package. As I rushed in the front door and grabbed a number for the waiting line, I was instantly besieged by a crazy-eyed, wild-haired gentlemen – “Don’t you agree President Bush was a failure?! Aren’t you mad about the economy? Ya know, I thought he should have resigned years ago . . .” Helpless, I glanced around at my fellow line waiters who seemed relieved that I had distracted Wild Man away from them while still offering me sympathetic glances. One woman simply shook her head and frowned slightly at my misfortune – I was the new sacrificial lamb. Thinking quickly, I pulled my trusty BlackBerry out of my pocket and began talking into it, which made no sense because it had not rung and I had not dialed it. Wild Man didn’t seem to notice as I continued to talk to no one but myself as I tried to look as preoccupied as possible while edging away to safety. Of course, when my BlackBerry actually did ring (oh, what timing), Wild Man was instantly alert – “How did your phone ring like that when you were already talking to someone?! Further proof that they’re watching us, man!!! Our privacy rights are being trampled and you don’t care!!!” Half laughing, half crying I answered the call – from my wife, Jackie – and simply held the phone in the air so she could hear Wild Man’s rant (I felt the need for a witness). After quickly finishing up my call with Jackie, I did something I am not proud of, something so vile, it probably makes me a terrible human being . . . but at this point it was sink or swim. As an elderly gentleman innocently strolled in and took a number, I quickly pointed him out to Wild Man and said, “See that guy that just walked in? He LOVES President Bush.” Wild Man was livid and instantly pounced on his new, terrified victim, giving him an earful as I quickly dropped off my package at the counter and raced out the door. (C’mon, work with me here, it was for the greater good!) As I jumped in my truck and reflected on the fact that it’s beginning to seem like it is the post office customers who are going postal, I drove out of the parking lot and headed for my next lunch hour destination . . .

Aubrey’s daycare. It’s a great place – an old historic mansion with rooms so cozy that I find myself lingering with Aubrey each morning, checking out the latest toys and drooling over the smell of the pancake breakfasts. Today, however, I was simply stopping by to pay the monthly bill. Still shaken from my postal experience, I was relieved to see the smiling, familiar faces of the ladies behind the front desk. “Hi, Jeff, are you here for Aubrey,” said Anne, looking suddenly stunned as I leaned over the counter toward her. “Oh, no, just here to pay the bill.” Soon, Jan, another worker at the school (and also a neighbor), was standing by Anne, looking curiously at me, but they both began laughing at my every word. “Hey, don’t tell Aubrey I was here or she’ll really let me have it tonight.” The snickering steadily increased. “Wouldn’t want her to give me a timeout or anything.” They continued to laugh in a disproportionate amount to the humor I was delivering. But who am I to judge? I was clearly making their day, a ray of sunshine in a probably otherwise dismal afternoon. I am the man, I thought as I walked out the door – spreading laughter, spreading joy – that’s my mission today. I jumped back in my truck and, still feeling as if something wasn’t just quite right, I made the mistake of glancing in my rearview mirror and, as my stomach sank, I realized they had been laughing AT me, not WITH me. Now, I don’t want to gross you out, but let’s just say that there was something the color green protruding so prominently from my right nostril that I literally screamed when I saw it. Obviously, I had received an unhealthy (and well-deserved) dose of karma from my devious actions at the post office. Now feeling sick and disoriented, I pulled myself together as best I could and headed for my last stop . . .

Whole Foods. They have the world’s best organic salad bar, not to mention delectable vegetarian chili. But after what I had just experienced, my appetite had completely disappeared. I simply wanted to pick up a gallon of milk. Glancing through the refrigerator case, I selected one with an “Organic Valley” label when suddenly an older woman with a German accent grabbed my arm. Still gun shy from the Wild Man post office incident, I quickly pulled away but Milk Lady followed me. “You know, my son works for Organic Farms in upstate New York.” After chatting with her for a few moments, I learned the great measures that her son – an independent dairy farmer – takes to ensure we all drink healthy milk. Milk Lady was very charming and was clearly just looking for someone to talk to (and since she wasn’t laughing at me, I also figured that my nose was clean). As we stood together in the check out line, she said, “Now some people have problems with the price of the milk, but you seem like you really care about your family. At it’s a small price to pay for your good health.” The price? Suddenly, the checker, with cool dreadlocks and a Whole Foods bandana, pulled the milk carton out of my hands and marveled, “Dude, you do know this is an eight dollar carton of milk.” Come again? “Yeah, we sure don’t sell many of those . . . ” I carefully weighed my options. Of course I love my family and care about my health, but c’mon, eight dollars for a small portion of milk?! Just as I was trying to sneak past Milk Lady to swap my selection, she glanced up and said, “Oh, are you going back for another carton? I will hold your place in line – you are a good man.” Suddenly, eight dollars seemed much more reasonable than 16 dollars, so I made an excuse that I was just going to grab a magazine behind her. “Do you want Women’s Health or Female Medicine Today?” As I finally made my way home, I realized a lot of (really weird) things can happen during the course of something as seemingly insignificant as a lunch hour. The eight-dollar gallon of milk and February issue of Women’s Health sitting in the grocery bag on my back seat were proof of that troubling revelation.

Thanks for reading. And until next time, pick up the pace and run your own race.

- Jeff

Thinking Outside The Bun™

Okay so believe it or not, there is a business side to Jeff Roberts (don't you hate it when people refer to themselves in the third person???). Jeff . . . oops, I mean I am the owner, operator, CEO, janitor, lunch lady and only employee of Jeff Roberts Ink™ (www.jeffrobertsink.blogspot.com), my freelance writing business. I have to admit, I am the second best boss that I have ever had and am now venturing into my fourth year of business. I was an accidental entrepreneur. When the advertising agency I had been employed by for over a decade suddenly tanked with virtually no notice, I took a deep breath . . . and went out on my own. Recently, I was cleaning out all of my old electronic files, when I found one of my first Jeff Roberts Ink™ writing assignments - a short story contest in which you were supposed to articulate how you were lead to your current job. I thought it would either amuse you . . . or scare you . . . or both. Read at your own risk below. And please note that, true to my eating habits, the image above is a veggie burger!

Thinking Outside The Bun™

I didn’t ask for this. The Ind-e-ges-tion™ and The Heartbreak of Psoriasis™ that suddenly beset me upon learning that the ad agency I had called home for a decade was closing. As an established copywriter, I had become mistakenly confident that my company would Keep Going, and Going, and Going . . . ™.

While It Takes a Tough Man to Make a Tender Chicken™, it takes an even tougher individual to dive into the unknown corporate abyss with No More Tears™. Nothin’ Says Lovin’ Like Somethin’ from the Oven™, so while I started my first day of unemployment with a Breakfast of Champions™, I weighed my financial status. All that was left was my employee stock, which at that point bought me only A Coke and a Smile™.

How Do You Spell Relief™? I decided to start my own copywriting organization and I Liked It So Much, I Bought The Company™, which isn’t saying much since I am the only employee. As scary as it was venturing out on my own, I felt like I was striving toward something positive. After all, A Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste™ and I wanted to Be All That I Could Be™. So I cleaned off my shabby desk, set up my Apple® iBook™ computer, decided to Think Different™ . . . and waited for the phone to ring. Was I destined to be The Loneliest Guy in Town™?

After shaking hands, kissing babies and emphasizing that at my new business, Quality is Job 1™, I landed my first assignment – a request for slogans, of all things. Where’s The Beef®? The client said the ideas had to Absolutely, Positively Be There Overnight™. “You’re In Good Hands™,” I assured the client. After all, at my company, We Try Harder™. Even though the pressure was on, I was determined to Just Do It™.

I racked my brain for hours, looking for the perfect idea. Then Snap! Crackle! Pop!™, it came to me. I quickly Let My Fingers Do The Walking™ across my keyboard, emailed my concepts to the client and anxiously awaited the reply. “M’m, M’m, Good™! . . . They’re Great™!” came the response as I excitedly jumped up and down in my Nike® Air Shocks™. Something Special is in the Air™, I thought. Then it happened: the happy client spread the word about my good work to other organizations, then They Told A Friend, And So On, And So On™, until I was so busy I could barely type fast enough. When It Rains, It Pours™!

Plop, Plop, Fizz, Fizz, Oh What a Relief It Is!® Just a few months after starting out on my own, I’ve Come A Long Way, Baby®. New business cards: $35. New suit to meet with clients: $200. The opportunity to work for myself: Priceless™. I’m Lovin’ It™!

Jeff Roberts is a freelance copywriter in St. Louis, Missouri. His wife Jackie, son Murphy, and daughter Aubrey are The Pause That Refreshes™ in his life.

Thanks for reading. Until next time, pick up the pace and run your own race.

- Jeff

An Open Letter To The Universe

Lately it seems as if the world around us has been spinning at a rapid pace. All this talk of “change” has caused me to slow down and reflect on principles and values that, to me, always stay the same. Don’t get me wrong – this is not meant to sway anyone’s opinion or change someone’s mind. It is simply a few thoughts that have been on my mind that I am sending out to the universe. So here goes:

I will not apologize for believing in God and His son, Jesus Christ.
I say “Merry Christmas”, not “Happy Holidays.”
I believe we live in the greatest country in the world, protected by brave and noble soldiers who do NOT callously “air raid villages and kill innocent civilians.”
I believe in the Law of Attraction and have witnessed that we create our own world in which we live.
I believe in personal responsibility and that we should all strive to be self-sufficient.
I ask for nothing from my government – not a stimulus check, not a tank of gas – only an opportunity to earn a living on my own, free from high tax structures.
I believe that “Bail Outs” should be called what they really are – “Hand Outs”.
I am a capitalist and believe that companies that cannot succeed on their own merits should fail.
I believe that if I choose to buy an American car, it should be because it is the best vehicle in the world and not because a union tells me I should buy it.
I believe that I should not have to navigate through three screens on an ATM machine, just to find instructions in English.
I am choosing faith over fear in this “negative” economy, knowing that my true source of abundance comes not from man, but from a Higher Source.
I will purposely choose to remove myself from the negative people and the naysayers and will set a positive pace that they will be unable to keep up with.
I believe that if you are still reading to this point . . . you must be really bored – ha!

Merry Christmas to all and have a Happy New Year, too. Remember in the coming year to pick up the pace and run your own race.

- Jeff

Summer Road Trip!

Okay, so maybe we did something a little unethical last weekend. But with airline and gas prices at an all-time high, Jackie, Murph and I kind of convinced Aubs that she was on a NASCAR thrill ride at Disneyland. (Thank you Lowe's - your shopping carts are some of the coolest we've ever seen.)

SO, all loyal readers of the blog, as little Aubs grows older and starts asking questions about her "2008 Summer Vacation", let's remember to keep our stories straight - okay?

Until then, pick up the pace and run (or drive) your own race.

- Jeff

Impeccable Image

Skateboarder, snowboarder, all-around great son and big brother - and now, published photojournalistic! Murph recently added to his list of credentials as his dramatic image of recent flooding in the St. Louis area appears in the May/June issue of Paddler Magazine. An editor from the magazine came across the photo on Murph's web site and contacted him to request permission to use it in the flood article. Murph's name appears in the magazine as a photo credit (click on the image above and note Murph's name at bottom right) and the image is also featured in the table of contents in the opening pages of the magazine. (NOTE: The above photo features blue in the image, when it should actually be red. Not sure why it didn't translate in the blog - but you get the idea!)

Read more about the magazine at http://paddlermagazine.com/.

Congrats, Murph! And please remember us all when you are rich and famous!

Talk to you soon. Until then, pick up the pace and run your own race.

- Jeff

H2Ohhhhhhhh!

Ever have one of those weeks when a common theme begins to emerge? It starts out as a series of seemingly small coincidences, followed by an undeniable pattern, and finally a "okay, you don't have to hit me over the head, I get it" kind of thing. Last week was one of those times, and for whatever reason, all roads flowed to water.

Let me give you three quick examples. The first was anything but a liquid asset, as first our basement drains backed up, followed by our toilets, then our showers. After much plunging and baling, we let the experts take over, and Jackie and I knew that the problem was much bigger than the both of us when we glanced around the corner to discover that the plumbers had placed one of toilets on our kitchen floor. Although the repair process seemed never-ending, and at one point, Jackie actually threatened to use the toilet in the middle of our kitchen, the job was finally completed and the results were Roto-Riffic. (Thank goodness we have a health club across the street from us with spacious locker rooms - and toilets!)

Secondly, if you live anywhere near the St. Louis area, you would swear we are now a suburb of Seattle. I can't remember a year when it has poured this much . . . and I absolutely love it. I'm no manic depressive but something about the dark, damp days has always put me in a great mood - something so cozy about it. (Jackie agrees.) Not to mention that I love to throw on my old shoes and visor and go for long runs in it. I've really turned up my training it recent days and wet weather always seems to encourage and motivate me to higher levels. Go figure.

Finally, and I was saving the best for last, our daughter, Aubrey, experienced the zoo for the first time. Wide-eyed and amazed, she smiled and giggled as she marveled at the animals and crowds of people. Jackie and I felt thrilled and humbled to see her so joyful as she rode on the carousel and constantly pointed to the new and interesting images that surrounded her. It was like seeing everything through her eyes for the very first time. Just as we were about to leave the zoo, Aubs pointed to a man-made stream flowing through the park, and proudly exclaimed, "WAT-ER!" While her vocabulary consists of all the everyday words we have taught her thus far, we didn't even know she had learned that one. It was yet another milestone in her childhood . . . and yet another indicator of the liquid pattern that had become our unofficial theme for the week. Coincidence? I think not.

Talk to you soon. Until then, pick up the pace and run your own race.

- Jeff

Let There Be Light

So a few weeks ago, my always-up-to-something son, Murph took a small flashlight and vanished into the dark of night toting his Nikon D80. Less than an hour later he came back with the images below. How did he do it? After setting the shutter to stay open for a long exposure, Murph would "draw" images with the flashlight. The camera picked up this movement as a continuous stream, or line of light. We went outside and watched in amazement as he created more of these photos. Let's just say that this is further proof that the boy ain't right. But these photos attracted a lot of attention on his web site, and one awards annual is featuring a photo entitled "Piano Man" in an upcoming edition. Congrats, Murph!









To see all of Murph's latest work (and there is some really good stuff there), visit http://flickr.com/photos/murphyr.

Talk to you soon. Until then, pick up the pace and run your own race.

- Jeff