Lunch math and Driving for Justice

Most people, faced with their first word problem in fifth grade, probably thought: "What the heck? Who cares when Train A reaches Point C? Just check the freakin' schedule."

But teachers assured us that word problems were about reasoning out dilemmas using math, and those reasoning skills would help us in adult life.

Maybe they were right. So here's a word problem for any Cape Girardeau-area professional:

Four people in your office, including you, want to go to lunch. Joe started at 7 a.m. and wants to eat at 11:15 a.m. Scott has an appointment at 11:30 a.m. and wants to eat at 12:30 p.m. Jamie works nights and doesn't even take a shower until noon. You are completely flexible on time.

Joe had Italian last night and wants Chinese. Scott wants Chinese too, but he will only eat it from one place in town, and Joe doesn't like that place. Jamie just ate Mexican yesterday for lunch and will eat anything else but Chinese. You don't care anymore.

If Jamie lost his wallet yesterday and you have to buy his meal, where and when can everyone eat lunch?

You have three minutes to answer before everyone says "forget it" and gets a take-out sub sandwich.

The trouble is, nobody in my circle of friends seems to be cooking much anymore. Cooking anything beyond a grilled cheese sandwich is cause for celebration, with guests bringing bottles of wine and rented DVDs.

The result has been two things: a serious obesity problem and the constant struggle to find someplace new to eat.

It's the reason there's a two-hour wait on Fridays and Saturdays at the chain restaurants city people snicker about. We are not cooking, darn it, so 70,000 people in Cape Girardeau County plus those in the surrounding area have got to find somewhere to eat between 5 and 9 p.m. Prior to deciding, these people have gone through a list of 20 restaurants with friends and family members trying to find the sole place one of them hasn't eaten for a week.

I'm getting off this crazy bandwagon. I promise to start cooking healthy, nutritious meals for my husband and myself.

Just point me to the frozen dinner section.

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The Other Half is attempting to drive me insane.

At 32, he has achieved the stubbornness of an 80-year-old man. He's got a strong sense of right and wrong, and he's not going to be told otherwise.

The new attitude emerged at the Westfield Shoppingtown, where he noticed some of the driving lanes around it needed to be repainted. Since he can't clearly see the white stripes down the center that designate the left and right lanes, he has taken to driving down the middle of the road.

"What are you doing?" I shouted as a car attempted to slip around. "You're in the middle of the street!"

"No I'm not," he replied smugly. "There aren't any lanes. Until I see lanes, this is where I'm driving."

Great. He's the Gandhi of the mall. I call his civil disobedience Driving for Justice.

That's not nearly as bad as his new cause: Exiting for Justice.

Sometimes, Southeast Missourians entering a building will hold open the door for those exiting, even though there is a separate door that lends itself to exiting. In that situation, Mr. Half will not go through the door being held open for him. He is attempting to train the rest of the world not to hold open the door.

"So you're just being a jerk to people who are trying to be nice," I observed at Barnes & Noble.

"No," he said. "I'm doing it the right way."

I'll meet you other wives in a padded room somewhere.

Heidi Hall is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian.