Problems plague potty-mouth
i nave amazingly oau iuck wnn
the service industry.
Any time I’m dealing with
someone who is getting paid
minimum wage to help me, I have
problems.
It’s as if a wall sits between me
and cashiers, fast-food workers and
the like.
A friend and I were at Block
buster Video a while back, trying to
rent a movie. The cashier and I
went through the movie rental
motions smoothly enough, until the
.crucial moment of payment.
I made the mistake of trying to
pay with three Susan B. Anthony
dollars that I had received from a
stamp vending machine in the
Nebraska Union.
“Urn,” the cashier said, “I don’t
think we can take those.”
I assured him that he could, but
he looked worried, even a little
frightened. He stared at his drawer.
Pennies, nickels, dimes and
quarters all had their own spots.
Ones, fives, tens and twenties had a
proper place. His lip started
trembling.
“I better talk to my manager.”
The manager sauntered up in the
way only unimportant middle
management can. The cashier
feebly held up my suspicious
money.
“Sorry,” the manager said. “We
can’t take Canadian quarters.”
I tried to explain to her that I
wasn’t trying to pass on foreign
money, that I was offering legal
U.S. tender, but she wasn’t having
any.
And she was starting to forget
the 11 th Commandment: The
customer is always right.
“Look, the bank won’t take
those. You’ll have to pay with
American money.”
At that point, my friend came
unhinged.
“Look, we can take you to court
if you won’t take our money. That’s
discrimination.”
He was almost shouting, and
I could jeel my pulse speeding up.
And then I did something I regret. I
(cursed. Not at the cashier; not out
of anger— out of desperation.
other Blockbuster customers started
peeking from behind the Wild
Comedies shelf.
“Take her Canadian quarters,”
she instructed the cashier, her voice
dripping with sarcasm. “We’d hate
to face a lawsuit.”
“They’re dollars,” I said.
It’s not always someone else’s
stupidity that gets me in trouble.
Often, when the moment of truth
arrives, and it’s time for me to give
my order or pay my check, I
become stupid incarnate.
If you’ve ever eaten at the
Imperial Palace Express, you know
they move fast.
Sometimes, they’ve got your
meal ready before you’ve had time
to grab soy sauce and a fork. The
cashier is already taking orders
over your shoulder before you even
walk away.
So Monday evening I went to the
restaurant and ordered Imperial
Chicken. But I didn't really want
Imperial Chicken; I wanted
Princess Chicken.
I knew something was wrong
when she said “$4.25.” So I looked
at my change and then back up at
the cashier, but lo ... she had
already helped two people in the
time it took me to look at my
change.
I tried to talk to her, but she was
pretty annoyed that I should break
the natural order of things.
“I don’t want Imperial Chicken,”
I said.
“Too late,” she said. “Too late.”
And lo ... it was too late. In the
endless minute and a half that had
passed, the Imperial Chicken had
been made.
My confusion of royal terms had
landed myself right in the middle of
the bizarrely efficient machinery
that is the Imperial Palace Express.
And I was being crushed.
I don’t like Imperial Chicken. I
paid 50 cents more for something I
don’t like. And my status as a
friendly, regular customer was in
danger.
I could feel my pulse speeding
up. And then I did something I
regret. I cursed. Not at the cashier,
not out of anger — out of despera
tion.
I said the F-word.
Well, that got the attention of the
cook — the wok man, so to speak.
He announced that he would make
the Princess Chicken, would
everyone please calm down.
I’ve always expected him to be a
very strong man. I’ve never seen
anyone else at the wok, so he must
work long hours. And he must be
the quickest wok in the West.
I got my Princess Chicken after
all. But I lost more than 50 cents.
The people at the Imperial
Palace Express will never look at
me the same. No matter what I,
order, they’ll never trust me. And
they’ll probably whisper mean
things about me when I walk by.
“Potty-mouth wants Princess
Chicken.”
Rowell is a senior news-editorial, adver
tising and English major and a Daily Nebras
kan associate news editor.
Gay day boosts health hazard
Tuesday, the cultural war comes
home to UNL.
At least we have been warned.
Next to Broyhill Fountain, one of
the lighted billboards reads:
“National Coming Out Day —
October 11, 1994.”
So, in an attempt to “de
closetize” every homosexual and
bisexual in the city of Lincoln, gay
activists have conjured up an
“admit-you’re-gay day.” Cute.
Coming Out Day, according to
the signboard literature, is suppose!
to be a day of “enlightenment” for
those of us who find the whole idea
of homosexuality a bit confusing.
But because beliefs about
homosexuality are rooted in
warring moral codes. Coming Out
Day will settle nothing and con
vince no one. It simply will be a
pitiful attempt to show homosexual
strength on this campus.
Nonetheless, for those who still
want to be “educated and enlight
ened,” festivities will begin on the
eve of the big day with a
campuswide discussion.
“The questions you always
wanted to ask ... here’s your
chancel” the billboard proclaims.
Good. I have a lot of questions.
In fact, allow me the first
inquiry: Morality issues aside, why
would anyone partake in a lifestyle
as harmful as homosexuality?
According to a 1993 report from
the D.C. Family Research Council,
citing dozens of experts and
studies, including a five-year study
of some 5,200 obituaries in 16 gay
newspapers:
• The average age of men dying
with AIDS is 39.
• The average age of homosex u
als dying of all other causes is 41.
• Only I percent of gay men
live to be 65 or older.
The obituaries in the gay press
suggest a homosexual “life” style
The truth is that homosexuality is
creating an unprecedented health
crisis in this country, and at its
forefront is AIDS. What is worse,
no one is doing anything to curb
the behavior of those responsible.
I will cut two or three decades from
one’s life expectancy.
According to the same study by
the council, gay men are three
times as likely to have alcohol or
drug abuse problems, 14 times
more likely to have had syphilis, 23
times more likely to contract a
venereal disease and thousands of
times more likely to contract AIDS.
And I thought the University of
Nebraska-Lincoln Health Center
had it bad.
The phenomenon, however, is
not restricted to gay males. The
study reports: “(A) compilation of
recent studies shows (that)...
lesbians are 19 times more likely
than heterosexual women to have
had syphilis, twice as likely to
suffer from genital warts and four
times as likely to have scabies.”
According to the studies I have
read, most homosexuals admit to
having a multitude of partners with
whom they have had sex only once.
According to a 1978 study on
sexual behavior (from Raphel
Kazamann’s book, “Homosexuality:
A Public Health Problem”), 43
percent of male homosexuals
admitted to having sex with 500
plus partners, and 28 percent
• admitted to having 1,000 or more
partners.
If rampant disease and early
death are so tightly connected to
homosexuality, how can anyone call
this a happy, “gay” lifestyle? Why
would anybody want to promote
this way of living?
The facts and figures spell it out:
Homosexuality is a health hazard.
That harsh truth may be branded as
coldhearted, but a truly compas
sionate response to people pursuing
destructive behavior is to tell them
the truth and give them hope for a
better life. That means discouraging
them from indulging in homosexual
behavior, not pushing them into it.
The truth is that homosexuality
is creating an unprecedented health
crisis in this country, and at its
forefront is AIDS. What is worse,
no one is doing anything to curb
the behavior of those responsible.
But opportunity knocks Tuesday.
A university administration that
truly cares for the present and
future well-being of all its students,
both straight and homosexual,
would call off any observance of
National Coming Out Day at UNL.
Chancellor Graham Spanier and
the university administration are
obligated to cancel this celebration
of sodomy. Not doing so would be
beyond moral confusion, beyond
blatant cowardice.
Allowing the festivities to go on
as planned would send the message
that the university administration
does not give a damn about the
welfare of the students who attend
this institution.
Karl is a Junior news-editorial and
political science major and a Dally
Nebraskan columnist.
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