Dr. Petruso is justly renowned for his ability to express petty irritation in terms of high-sounding, moralistic scorn, in the venerable tradition of Westbrook Pegler. In response to
countless requests from readers, here are some simple objurgations designed to help you do your part to improve
Dr. Petruso's general demeanor and the overall quality of his life, and, in the
process, make the world a better place for him, yourself and everyone else.
At
the restaurant
In
the grocery store
On
the highways and byways of our great nation
On
commercial airline flights
In
the realm of telemarketing
Broadcasting
NFL games
In
the matter of the quality of television news
In
the university
At
the restaurant
If you are a
restaurateur, please be aware that not all your patrons have a burning need
to have their personal space invaded by a television—or insipid Muzak—every
waking minute. Dining out alone is an opportunity to enjoy a meal, and perhaps
to think and/or read, without having one's personal space invaded by talking
furniture. Dining with friends, on the other hand, is an opportunity to talk—and
listen—to them, preferably without competing signals. There are few enough
public spaces left in America where Dr. Petruso can enjoy silence. Strive to
augment their number.
If you are a
restaurateur, Dr. Petruso respectfully suggests that you be circumspect when
it comes to hiring employees who feature the more outré examples of facial
piercings and skin art. Septum studs and sprawling, amateurish forearm tattoos
(especially those containing misspelled words) do not inspire confidence that
the food served in your establishment is of the highest quality and/or hygienic
standards, and they do little to enhance a patron's appetite.
If you are a
waitperson, Dr. Petruso does not particularly care to know you by your first
name (or by any other name, for that matter). He does not anticipate entering
into a long-term, mutually satisfying relationship with you. He desires only
that you bring with accuracy and dispatch the dishes which he and his dining
party order, and that you be attentive to him and his party throughout their
meal.
If you are a
waitperson, please be advised that Dr. Petruso and the party he is dining with
do not care to be called "guys," as in the phrase, "How are you guys doing this
evening?", or "Have you guys decided what you want yet?" This admonition is
particularly relevant for those occasions when he dines with Mrs. Petruso and
their two comely daughters, but it holds even when his dining party is 100%
male.
If you are a
waitperson, when you come to the table to collect payment, do not ask, "Would
you like change?" This is presumptuous. If Dr. Petruso chooses, he will tell
you unbidden, "This is all yours," or words to that effect. Should you be unable
to stifle your urge to be chatty at this critical juncture in the formal financial
transaction, it is quite acceptable to say, "I'll be right back with your change," which remark might well occasion the aforementioned appreciative response, not
to mention a generous gratuity, from Dr. Petruso.
If you are a
patron at an adjacent table, please be aware of a little-known fact about cell
phones: They often cause their owners to speak so loudly that everyone in the
ZIP Code can hear them. What's more, the audibility of the person speaking is
inversely proportional to the ambient noise level in the restaurant. (They've
done studies on this.) Many cell phone owners subconsciously seek to enhance
their self-importance by their ostentatious use of this technology, which is
by now—truth be told—rather common. In any event, Dr. Petruso does
not particularly care to be a party to what is for you a work-related or intimate
personal communication, and he suspects that very few other restaurant patrons
do, either. The polite and sensitive thing to do is to turn the infernal device
off while you dine (this will facilitate your digestion and that of nearby patrons
as well). Should you be overcome with a need to reach out and touch someone,
please do so from outside the establishment, where you can speak as loudly as
you like.
As long as we're on the subject of cell phones in restaurants: Why do so many people
insist on jabbering into the infernal devices while they are chewing their food?
These persons are probably mostly from good families, and wouldn't think of talking
on the phone while chewing when seated at their dinner tables at home.
People who do this are only slightly less obtuse than the rather nattily-attired
gentleman Dr. Petruso recently observed who was participating in a conference call while
standing at a—how to put this delicately?—urinal, in an almost filled-to-capacity
men's room at Reagan Airport in Washington. The gentleman's contribution to that
doubtlessly important meeting was complemented by a the full spectrum of diagnostic men's
room water-related sounds, both hydraulic and organic in origin, and surely
added a certain frisson to the proceedings as well as (one can only hope) to the
minutes of the meeting.
In
the grocery store
While you are
in the checkout line having your groceries scanned, instead of trying to read
the cover of the Weekly World News surreptitiously, consider starting
to fill out your check even before the cashier has completed the scanning.
Yes indeed! You can fill in the date and the name of the store and sign your
name, in anticipation of entering the total when it has been provided to you.
You might even consider having your driver's license at the ready to present
to the cashier, who will immediately recognize that s/he is dealing with a sophisticated
grocery shopper, and give you a knowing smile. Acting in this thoughtful manner
will speed up the transaction, and Dr. Petruso and everyone else in the line
behind you will appreciate how considerate and clever you are.
Paper, not plastic.
It's environmentally less problematic, and provides the sackperson with an opportunity
to show off his/her spatial acumen. (Incidentally, Dr. Petruso suggests that
you keep the sackperson under close but not obvious scrutiny, to guard against
the possibility that s/he will throw the pot roast in with the box of Tide.)
On
the highways and byways of our great nation
You have probably
noticed, while out motoring, the small lights on vehicles which blink rhythmically
just before the driver makes a turn or changes a lane. These clever devices
are called "turn signals," and they have been stock equipment on American automobiles
since the 1930s. Chances are extremely good that the car or pickup you currently
drive is equipped with a set of them. The lights are activated by means of a
short lever projecting from the left side of your steering column. Dr. Petruso,
who hates surprises while driving, strongly urges you to consult your automobile
owner's manual and your state's DMV driver's manual on proper use of this ingenious
technology, and to get into the habit of using it whenever you drive.
If you have gone
deeply into debt to install in your vehicle an audio amplifier capable of cranking
more than 200 watts, and a complementary kickin' subwoofer, be aware that by
playing your system at peak volumes, you run the risk of causing kidney damage
to Dr. Petruso and other motorists in nearby automobiles. By all means feel free to
turn your own internal organs to aspic, but please do so with your windows tightly
closed, particularly when you roll up to stoplights.
Drive-through
ATMs are wonderful inventions, are they not? Just think: they permit one to
get one's hands on frog pelts at any hour of the day or night, like for instance
3 a.m., when one discovers that he is fresh out of blow and desperately needs
to cop another piece. (Dr. Petruso has never yet met a dealer who takes checks.
No, cash is definitely the preferred medium of tender for those fellows.) So: If
you are a drive-through ATM user, as soon as you have made your deposit or withdrawal,
checked your balance, or completed some other boring transaction, take a peek
in your rearview mirror. If you happen to espy Dr. Petruso grinding his teeth,
red-lining his engine, flashing his high beams and banging his clenched fists
furiously on the top of his steering wheel, you are strongly urged not to sit
there filing away your receipt, balancing your checkbook, applying your makeup,
changing the CD, finishing your fries, or doing anything else that will further
delay his access to the machine. Dr. Petruso's life will be much enhanced if
you simply slam it into 'Drive' and get the hell out of the way. He thanks you
in advance for this small courtesy.
• On a related note: Dr. Petruso has long wondered why it is that so many of you seem to realize every morning when you get to work--as if for the very first time--that you must swipe your ID card in the reader in order to raise the gate into the parking lot. Is your life such a series of fabulous daily awakenings that each morning you feel reborn, and must learn anew the wonders of modern living throughout the day? Or maybe you suspect that the university has decided overnight to revise its parking policies, giving all comers free entrance without flashing their bona fides, and you want to test this unlikely hypothesis before actually going to the trouble of digging your freaking ID card out of your wallet or purse. Now hear this, bozos and bozettes: IT WORKS THE SAME WAY IT DID YESTERDAY. AND THE DAY BEFORE THAT. AND THE DAY ... oh, never mind.
As Dr. Petruso sits waiting patiently behind you, spewing more carbon monoxide into the atmosphere than necessary, he is composing in his head the day's lectures, eager as he is to get into the classroom (there being so much ignorance to be remedied in the world, after all). He urges you to get into the habit of anticipating that gate mechanism each morning, and to have your ID card at the ready even before reaching the lot entrance.
On
commercial airline flights
Children under
the age of five should be heavily sedated for even the shortest flights (Thorazine™ is the medicament of choice; Dr. Petruso typically prescribes it in the proportion
of 1 mg/10 kg of body weight). Be sure to administer the dosage no less than
one hour before scheduled takeoff time. Experienced parents keep a hand towel
at the ready to absorb their children's drool; that is a small inconvenience
to bear when compared to the well-being of Dr. Petruso and your other fellow
passengers who, in attempting to stave off the enervating effects of your screeching,
obstreperous offspring, might be driven to consume strong waters, which would
increase the already dehydrating effects of air travel on their persons (therapeutically
this is not indicated). Please remember that your fellow passengers are, after
all, unable to take their leave of you and your progeny until the plane lands
and they are safely inside the terminal; and dose accordingly.
Children should
under no circumstances be allowed to fly with Nintendo Gameboys™ vel
sim. unless the sound is disabled—not merely turned down, but completely
disabled. The United States Supreme Court, in a little-known opinion, has recently
upheld the legality of snatching electronic games and pulverizing them under
one's heel on commercial flights (you can look it up).
In
the realm of telemarketing
Please be advised
that Dr. Petruso—contrary to popular opinion—is actually quite skilled
in the use of the Yellow Pages, a volume of which he keeps at the ready in his
home. Should he awake one morning and decide that he cannot abide life for another
day without, let us say, aluminum siding, he will head directly for that useful
tome, and flip right to the "S" section. Moreover, it has never happened that,
upon receiving a dinnertime "courtesy call" from a long-distance provider, Dr.
Petruso has had to exhibit his naïveté by replying, "Thank God you've
called!! I was just telling Mrs. Petruso what a failure I was because I
had no idea how to contact your company to sign up for your new, exciting plan!!" Yes, somehow Dr. Petruso has always been able to function in the world of consumer
products and services quite nicely, thank you very much, without having his
privacy invaded by telephone calls from ill-mannered and inarticulate salespersons.
The fundamental principle here is a simple one: Dr. Petruso had a telephone
installed in his house for his convenience, not yours. Please write down
this fundamental principle someplace prominently on your call list where you
can refer to it often, and read it before the urge overcomes you to sell him
something.
Broadcasting
NFL games
If you are a
color commentator for National Football League broadcasts, you might take a
moment to reflect on the phrase, "He's a very physical player," when describing
the work ethic of a defensive lineman. "Very physical player," Dr. Petruso would
humbly observe, is probably a pretty good epithet for just about every defensive
lineman in professional football; hence it was long ago rendered meaningless
by overuse. These large persons are not generally renowned for their intellectual
or spiritual achievements on the gridiron. The reason they command six- or seven-figure
salaries is that they hit their offensive counterparts physically, not
theoretically or abstractly. And they do so with every snap of the ball from
scrimmage. That is why they eat raw meat, weigh upwards of 400 pounds, and roar
triumphantly, like the longbone-wielding killer hominid in 2001: A Space
Odyssey, whenever they sack a quarterback. Please strive to develop a new
and more imaginative descriptor for those relatively few defensive linemen who
are significantly more aggressive than the NFL norm.
In
the matter of the quality of television news
If you are a
news producer for a local television station and want to know how you can contribute
to Dr. Petruso's quality of life, here is your answer: Lose the man-in-the-street
interviews. This gimmick might have been interesting and fun in the early days
of television, when we were all grooving on the concept of McLuhan's global
village and the notion that there were other regular guys and gals out there—people
just like us, darn it—who shared our own hopes, dreams and political opinions.
But then came the Kennedy assassination, Altamont, Viet Nam, Watergate, cable
TV, niche-market magazines, the World Wide Web, The Jerry Springer Show,
the excruciating 2000 presidential election, and the 2003 California gubernatorial
recall. If ever there had been a scintilla of doubt, there can be none now:
The man in the street is a blithering idiot, and his opinions reflect
a collective ignorance that is intergalactic in both breadth and depth. In short,
nobody gives a rat's ass what the man in the street thinks—that
is, unless your reporter were to stick her mike in the face of, say, Richard
Posner, John Leo, Lewis Lapham, Joe Queenan, Louis Menand, Donald Fagen, Hendrik
Hertzberg, Mark Steyn, Hunter S. Thompson, or Russell Jacoby, who just happened
to be sashaying down Main early enough to get a feed to the 6:00 news. But that
would be a rare and totally random event, and one cannot count on it. Instead,
Dr. Petruso recommends that you convert the MITS interview segment to something
else—anything else—that would not diminish further the IQ level
of your viewing audience. Even devoting that sixty seconds to another spot for
denture cream, hemorrhoid ointment or geezer nutritional supplement would be
an improvement, and it would increase your advertising revenue to boot.
In
the university
If you are a
university student, Dr. Petruso humbly recommends that you meditate on this
mantra until it feels as if it is branded into the surface of your brain: "I
am a student, not a customer."
Customer is a role you play when you
shop at KMart, where you fork over some money for a good. In so doing, you enter
into a contract with the store: You participate in a transaction which affords
you certain explicit legal and traditional rights that are part of the long
and ever-evolving relationship between buyer and seller in America. (Dr. Petruso
himself, although he declines to shop at KMart, assumes the role of customer
whenever he patronizes merchants, and he is most pleased that consumers in this
country have such rights.) If you are not satisfied with the good you have purchased,
you can demand, and will typically receive, a refund, on the time-honored sales
principle that the customer is always right.
In a university, on the other hand,
you fork over some money for a seat in a classroom. In so doing, you enter into
a very different kind of contract: You commit yourself to a certain amount of
future study of a subject, and to subsequent evaluation by your professor, who
will determine how well you have mastered that subject. Perhaps, as a result
of your efforts, you will in the fullness of time be judged worthy of a credential
(grade, certificate, or degree), but then again, perhaps not. Keep in mind that
YOU ARE NOT BUYING A GRADE, CERTIFICATE OR DEGREE; YOU ARE BUYING A SHOT
AT A GRADE, CERTIFICATE OR DEGREE. The only thing KMart expects from you is
your money. A university, however, expects a good deal more from you. One of
Dr. Petruso's colleagues has pointed out the irony that professors who read
student work carefully and grade critically, and who have high expectations
of them, are seen by some students in fact to be impediments to their
progress. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Over the past generation or so, as
some American institutions of higher education have chosen to emulate corporations
throughout their structures, they have encouraged their students to act like
customers and to assume—as do KMart shoppers—that they are always
right. But they are not; and this can be one of the most important lessons a
student learns in college. The relationship between consumer and vendor is not
at all like that between student and university. The latter is a good deal more
intimate, complex and demanding than the former, as well it should be. And the
title "student" is a reputable and venerable one, with infinitely more cachet
than the title "customer." Revel in it.