Override ‘em, Cowboy

“Hey, long time no see!”

I walked into the Sunflower Beauty Parlor Saturday night to a surprisingly warm greeting.

Up until my accident two years ago, I used to get massages regularly at this spa on Third Avenue.

In fact, just before I hit the deck, so to speak, I had earned myself a free massage for racking up 10 rubdowns on my reward card.

The lengthy hospital stay and recuperation obviously put a damper on that routine, but I didn’t go back after I recovered.

I think I just got out of the habit and then after a while, I felt like I couldn’t go back because I had been away so long.

Plus, I wasn’t sure if the reward card had expired or not and I didn’t want to go in there and look foolish trying to get a free massage. But that’s all irrelevant anyway because I misplaced the damn card.

But luckily last night, I hit the “Override” button in my head, tuned out the absurd thoughts, and treated myself to a friendly welcome from the manager and a much-needed massage.

Override is one of my latest self-help routines where I just say that one word whenever my noodle goes into vapor lock.

I picked it up from the cashiers at my supermarket who, when they make a mistake ringing up groceries, call out “Override!” and the manager comes by with a key to void the sale so the cashier can continue.

You make a mistake. You ask for help. You correct the mistake. You move on. Sounds pretty straightforward to me.

You don’t stand there in front of your cash registering stewing about what you should’ve done, you don’t get angry and spew obscenities in all directions, and you sure as hell don’t repeatedly replay your blunder on your mental DVD player once you’ve clear it up.

You just get back to work.

Life in the City

We’re in the final quarter 2019, which I had declared back in January to be the Best Year Ever.

There have been a lot of good points, to be sure, and there’s also a need for improvement.

This weekend was a split decision on the socializing front. On Friday, I went to Industry City, a fantastic manufacturing complex in Sunset Park that dates back to the early 20th Century.

The place covers six million square feet and by 1928, Bush Terminal, which includes Industry City, had 35,000 workers, a police and fire department, as well as its own court system.

Things slowed down after World War II and the decline of the ports, but now the place is being revitalized with all sorts of funky shops and restaurants, along with corporate tenants.

I went there on Friday to check out a comedy show, but I’m not really big on comedians blabbing in front of a microphone and there was a really cool jazz band playing one building over, so I bounced over there instead.

Saturday, on the other hand, wound up being a comfort zone experience.

I had to go over to Manhattan to help out my auntie, but then I bailed on this literary event in Park Slope that I promised myself I would attend.

I was tired (excuses!) and not particularly interested in this event, so I skipped it.

In addition, my decluttering project has slowed down considerably and I still haven’t cut the cable TV cord, despite last week’s promise to do so.

Override!

Saturday was too nice a day to remain indoors. Winter is baring down on us and I’m destined to have plenty of dark, dismal days where I can decisively destroy the debris.

And I fully intend to bail on cable in the very near future. I’m just a little hesitant about making the leap into the unknown.

I can’t enjoy television much anymore, thinking about the sizable bill that I’m racking up. It’s like having a taxi meter in my living room.

I know that once I’m free from cable, I’ll have more time to do other things.

Like finding that damn reward card.