We ate lunch at Mcdonald's the other day. Don't blame me, it was my wife's fault. I've only been to Mickey D's twice while living here in Switzerland, and that's pretty much as often as I frequented them back in the States -- about twice a year. Too much Mcdonalds is definitely not a good thing, on many levels, but every once in a while, I do crave an order of fries, and an ever-shrinking Big Mac. Does it not seem that the Big Mac keeps getting smaller and smaller? -- Or maybe I'm getting bigger and bigger! I can down one in three bites, no problem. I know they keep furtively making them tinier, thinking that we won't notice. They're wrong. I know what you're up to Mcdonalds!! Don't think you can pull a fast one on me!

I've got a little nugget for everyone, excuse the pun. They really do call the quarter pounder over here a 'cheeseburger royale'. If you don't get that pop cultural reference, than you're too old -- or too young -- and I won't explain it to you. Another thing they do differently here is to put very little ice, if any, into drinks. You order a Diet Coke, and you receive approximately three small chunks of ice, floating oh so pitifully and lonesomely -- and quickly meltingly -- in the top of the drink container. They don't have enough siblings to do the job! They're overwhelmed by an insufficient drink-to-ice ratio! They just don't do ice here. I spoke once to a guy who worked for Coke, and he said that it was designed for a certain amount of ice, that you are supposed to drink it with a decent amount of ice in order to optimize the taste combinations. Europe just doesn't get this. If you ask for extra ice, they either look at you with a blank expression, or one that implies that you are nuts.

The other day at work I found myself having a daydream while dealing on blackjack. I dreamt that I blew a player's cigarette smoke too forcefully back into their face, and a live ash broke off the end of their ciggie and caught their hair on fire. Then, when I yanked out the paddle from the money drop to help fan out the flames, I 'accidentally' hit him in the face with it, causing him to bump into the smoking player to their right, thereby catching that one on fire as well. The fire quickly spread to their clothes, and as they desperately -- and moronically -- ran screaming around the casino, they subsequently ignited most of the other smoking guests, resulting in all the smokers dying, appropriately, in flaming agony, and the casino burning to the ground. The vision really improved my mood for awhile. Analyze that.

My wife is on a vendetta. Anyone who knows my wife, knows that when she feels that she has been wronged in some way, or betrayed, or disrespected, then you better damn well watch out and get out of the way! As should be obvious by now of all the readers of this blog, my wife feels that this casino has wronged her. Myself, I am a very laid-back Oregonian, who generally lives and lets live. If someone disses me, then I usually just sever contact with that person, or quit the job, or never do business with that establishment again, or whatever. I don't like confrontation, or ruffling feathers, unless you push me really far. My wife, on the other hand, if you mess with her, will strike back so quickly and so devastatingly, that afterwards there will only be scorched earth remaining. She will make you rue the day you ever met her. She will crush your spirit, your mind, and your life. You will regret ever being born. This is what she is attempting at Grand Casino Luzern. Of course, one can certainly go too far with this, as my wife often has in the past, and will again in the future. She often burns bridges that don't need to be burned, or takes issue with something that, in my opinion, maybe isn't such a big deal, or creates negative situations that don't need to be created. I have already gone over most of the things that they have done, including their policies, procedures and rules, their discriminatory attitude, inequalities, favoritism, negativity, etc, etc. We have already put in our notice, but this is far from enough retaliation for my wife. For her, quiting is just getting started. She is sowing dissent, discord, and dissatisfaction at every opportunity. If she senses discontent from some other employee, then she pounces, drawing them out, getting details, emphasizing their complaints, encouraging them to take action. She spreads poison at every opportunity. When she drops off her dry cleaning, she asks the lady who organizes it if she thinks it is fair that they charge more to clean women's shirts than men's, when there is no difference between them, and when women's shirts are usually smaller than men's. If some female dealer mentions that it's unfair that women can only wear skirts, regardless of the temperature and draftiness in the casino, my wife is there. She encourages people to think and act on the discrimination inherent in this company. If other dealers are unhappy with the smoke, or some other aspect of their work, she offers solace, understanding, then encourages them to take their problems to management. She prints statistics off the Internet and brings copies into work and spreads them around. She follows members of management around, haranguing them for not being more effective at looking out for the employees well-being, for being unfair, or for not caring. She pours over the contract we had to sign in order to accept working in the smoking side of the casino, finds discrepancies, then brings them to every one's attention. She wants to sue for breach of contract, recklessly endangering employees lives, and sexual discrimination. The casino, in it's eternal naivetè, gave her an exit survey to fill out. She has written volumes on her dissatisfaction and disappointment with every aspect of this casino's management. She is attempting to create wholesale protest, to wake these people up to smell the coffee. Since we put in our notice, three other dealers have put in theirs as well. This in a casino with only about twenty dealers! Only two others have quit in the last several years all together. Several others are considering talking to management about the smoke and negative work conditions. She is encouraging them to band together in strength and force a change! If she had a few more months, I think she would organize and initiate a class action suit, and shut this casino down. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." No truer words have been spoken. My wife has definitely missed her true calling. She could have been a product liability attorney, forever trying to force huge corporations to be more responsible, or perhaps a divorce lawyer, going after dead beat spouses with ruthless ferocity. She would have been a ball-buster. I pity the fool that crosses swords with my wife.

We are in the process of selling our car here. We are doing this because it costs a lot to ship it back, and because we can get quite a bit more money for it here than back in the States(about seven or eight thousand more)-- two very good reasons in my opinion. In order to sell it, though, we have had to go ahead and register it here, and buy insurance for it in Switzerland. Until now, we had just kept our old Nevada plates on it, and insured it through an international insurer in Germany. The registration process was interesting to say the least. On the bright side, the government bureaucracy here in Switzerland is very efficient. Back in the States, when you are told something is going to take a certain amount of time, it generally takes even longer. Here, just the opposite. If they say you'll probably get an appointment in two to three weeks, it instead takes two to three days. If they say they will have your new license to you in two weeks, it will be in your mail box in less than half that. Very impressive and efficient. On the not so bright side, but still so incredibly interesting that it was worth the hassle, is their inspection process. First of all, you have to take the vehicle to an independent garage, and get the emission, or smog, check done. Not too much different there than in the States, except it costing 5 times as much. Then, the real fun begins! After bringing all the necessary paperwork to the "Strassenverkersampt" (DMV), which usually includes every document ever associated with your vehicle including receipts for gas, five different proofs of ownership, your birth certificate, marriage license, residency permits, working permits, number of children, driver's licence translated into four different languages, your parent's marriage license, high school diploma, library card, gym membership, proof that you've never been in an accident or arrested, proof that your vehicle has never been in accident or arrested, proof that you don't drink, use drugs, or dance on Sundays, your grandparent's marriage license, 4 witnesses, and a letter of reference from at least 8 people including your elementary school track coach, you can get an appointment for the "Inspection".

The "Inspection" is a fascinating hour and a half long procedure that takes place in a large, warehouse-like structure connected to the DMV. It is, of course, spotless, organized, and streamlined. It is also like a medieval torture chamber slash dentist office for cars. Our car was actually trembling in fright as we drove it into the building. What happens is that when they are ready for you, they open a cavernous door into the ominous interior of the building and direct you to drive your vehicle up onto tracks suspended over a pit in the floor. Kind of like at some oil change places, but much more complex looking, with various and assorted tools and devices and machines hanging from the ceiling and built into the floor. Then the inspection technician directs the driver to activate all the different lights on the car in succession and in various combinations, and proceeds from there to inspect every square inch of the car inside and out, on top and down below, with a flashlight and mirror, just like the kind dentists stick into your mouth but bigger. Then he raises the car on the tracks, but these aren't just any old tracks! They're torture tracks! The track under each wheel of the car can move independently of the others in every way, so they move the car, and each wheel, simultaneously in many different directions, checking suspension, brakes, traction, pushing and pulling the poor car every which way. Then the car is directed over rollers that spin the wheels in different directions. It goes on from there, with the technician recording everything about the car, combing over the engine, the wheel hubs, behind the brakes and discs, making sure you have all the proper emergency equipment, and on and on. Then they take it for a test drive on a performance course and check its steering and braking capabilities under different conditions. Quite the experience and really fascinating, very Swiss and very un-American. Half the cars able to get away with driving around on American roads would never, in a million years, past muster here. Switzerland does not allow jacked-up vehicles or low-riders, no rusted-out relics, cars with missing pieces, trucks without beds, home-made cars or drastically changed cars, no dramatic paint jobs, no custom license plates, no special lights or devices of any kind. Conformity in the pursuit of safety for all is the name of the game.

I hope I will be able to get another blog written and posted within the next couple of days. I've got a lot more to write, and I'm running out of time! See ya.