I Have Time to Write

 Often when people find out that I am an author, they respond with "I don't have time to write." Well, neither do I, but I make time for it. Also, folks will tell me that they're writing a book. I'll ask, what's it about? They'll pause, and then say, "Well, it's complicated." Or, "It's different, it's tough to explain." Yep. That's sounds compelling. A complicated, different, tough to explain book is all anyone wants to read. One thing I learned since being published is that if you can’t summarize your novel in a few sentences, then you had better figure out exactly what it is you’re writing. Since I was a kid I wanted to write. It's one of the few things that I do that is truly gratifying. It's like painting, sculpting, or any other art or craft. I do this for me — for myself —and the time I spend doing it is time well spent. If others enjoy the story, the experience becomes even more satisfying.

“You’re All Set” and Other Ways to Say ‘I Don’t Care’

 “You’re All Set” and Other Ways to Say ‘I Don’t Care’

by Michael J. Kannengieser

At some point—probably during the Great American Personality Shortage of the 2010s—shopkeepers quietly replaced the phrase “Thank you, come again” with the utterly bland, dismissive, “You’re all set.”

Oh, am I? All set to never come back?

Look, I’m not asking for a red carpet and a 21-doughnut salute every time I buy a cup of coffee, but would it kill some of these business owners to show even a whiff of gratitude? Especially post-pandemic, when every customer walking through the door is a small miracle and a mobile ATM with a pulse.

Pro tip to the guy at the deli who acts like I’m interrupting his important staring contest with the slicer: I can get a sandwich literally anywhere. I can tap my phone and have three pastrami heroes and an Uber Eats driver will deliver my food in less than an hour. Your store? Optional.

And yet, there’s this attitude—this smug indifference—that seems to say, “We’re doing you a favor by being open.”

I’ve traveled. I’ve eaten. I’ve shopped in states where people behind the counter smile, make small talk, and—brace yourself— say thank you. Imagine that. Manners with your mozzarella sticks.

So yes, Mr. Pizza Parlor Guy: You, too, can be grateful. Even if you’re busy. Even if you’re tired. Especially if you want me to come back.

Because you may think I’m all set.
But I’m not.

I’m gone.