It's funny how different generations view aging. Kids say how they can't wait to be older and able to make their own decisions. Older generations say that they wish they could go back and just have a little more time to have soaked it all in. My generation is just too busy to even have an opinion either way. We're at the stage now where when a birthday goes by we say, "Oh that's today? Okay." This process, of course, will repeat many times over until we get to the age where we'd just rather hide under the bed, rather than have our loved ones remind us that we're that much closer to the end. However up until very recently I was stuck in the child's mentality where time was simply an obstacle. Time separated me from where I was to where I wanted to be. Where a child would say, "It's only a month until Christmas, I'm going insane waiting," or "I can't wait for summer," I would say things like "I can't wait for tennis season to start," or "I am so ready to get done with this day." It's a normal wish for us in our lives where work sometimes weighs us down and we can't wait to get out of there or we really have something that we're looking forward to however it still adds up to the same result. What we're valuing is some obscure thing that is far ahead of us instead of what is right under our noses. We're basically wishing our lives away.
It was Sunday afternoon at the neighborhood park when it all of a sudden hit me. I watched my three year old discovering his first mud puddle in the center of a soccer field. He splased around in it for a good while, alternating between picking up handfuls of mud and throwing them aimlessly around only to try and wipe clean the remnants on his shirt or pants. I wanted that moment to slow down, not stop entirely because I was having too much fun laughing about not only his antics, but about how much trouble I was going to be in when I brought him home, covered from head to toe in mud. And when I say head to toe, I mean it was caked in his hair and cemented to the bottom of his shoes. It was the first time in years that I wanted to hold on to it as long as possible. When you get married, you can't wait to go on the honeymoon. When your kids are born, you can't wait for them to say their first words, or at least get out of the staying up all hours of the night crying. This was a moment that I didn't have to look forward to, it was happening right now and its result was worth more than any start of a tennis season and any end of a bad day combined. Any moment, with the exception of weddings and babies being born, that I had looked forward to in the past was all of a sudden trumped by a three-year old acting a fool in a 2 inch puddle of water mixed with dirt. Of course the fun at the park eventually ended and instead of wanting time to slow down because of enjoyment I wanted it to stop entirely because I could not explain, to my wife for the life of me, why we were trapsing across a newly mopped floor with mud all over us. But there's something to be said for that point in time where your split between wanting time to speed up and wanting to go back. At some point the personal goals don't matter, the need for validation doesn't matter and the moment for a great opportunity that you can't wait for can wait. It can wait because I'm helping my three-year old pull his wagon. It can wait because I'm out to dinner with my wife. It can wait because I'm busy making absolutely embarrasingly goofy faces at my five-month old just to coax a smile out of him.
One of my best friends once told me close to 16 years ago, "Don't wish your life away."
Anyone that knew me 16 years ago knows exactly who said it and why it is probably one of the most important pieces of advice I've ever gotten. At the time it wasn't exactly to easiest advice to take and it's probably why I chose to ignore it until I almost did.
That's about as deep as I go. I'll try to provide a laugh next time around.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Today I stopped trusting insects
Today was a day that I hoped would never come. A day in which a pact was broken and war was waged upon any tiny creature within reach of my foot. You see bugs and I have always had a mutual understanding, we've lived in harmony for thirty-four years without much provocation by one side or another. This said pact states that I will not step on you if you don't sting me, bite me or crawl into my clothing. There have been a few pit-falls in this pact - maybe one bug doesn't get the memo, gets a little antsy (no pun intended) and gets a little brave. Little instances like a mosquito bite or a bee sting here and there is totally cool because I can't tell you how many bugs I've ended up with on the windshield of my car. There's always going to be casualties even in peace time. But peace time is over and you my friend are on notice.
I know this sounds like the rantings and ravings of a madman. I have no delusion that I am making total sense as of this point, so let me give a little bit of background to explain my sudden descent into madness.
Since I moved to Texas some years ago I have often been told of a hidden insect "boogeyman". You see in Mississippi our boogeyman is the cockroach. It's in every house, it's disgusting and it hides around every corner or up in the corner, watching and waiting for an opportunity to fly in your hair and terroize you. They don't sting or bite, but could cause one to throw themselves out of window in a fit of terror. For the most part they are no a cause for concern. The Texas insect boogeyman is mean and crafty and armed. They are patient and cunning in ways that I cannot imagine and when they sting you, I've heard it hurts......very, very badly. They are the scorpion. When I first heard about them horrible thoughts came into my head of these big huge black scorpions that lived in the Sahara desert. Massive in size, they could never manage to hide under your refrigerator of within the crack of a wall. There was no way these scorpions could be a threat to someone as attentive and paranoid as myself. I lived with cockroaches in our house for 20-something years - the laws of nature state that you must be attentive and paranoid or be victimized. I was wrong on so many levels.
The scorpions that live in Texas are small, clear in color and able to hide anywhere even if they were wearing bells. You can imagine my surprise one early morning when I saw one for the first time. You know the saying "love at first sight". There is also another saying that goes "PHOBIA at first sight". From that first introduction my lifestyle changed. Every night of every spring summer and fall I checked my shoes, my clothes, my hair, every crevice of every nook and cranny I could think of. Once my wife and I moved into our house and were able to hire a monthly insect repellant business I relaxed. I trusted that my insect pact, coupled with the skilled technicians that were now protecting my house from insect invasion would keep me safe and sound. I made a mistake.
This evening a scorpion decided to declare war and invaded my territory. Sometime after dinner I went to the refrigerator to get some water and there he was. As soon as I saw him I stopped. My heart beat in my chest, like I had just witnessed some mythical creature like bigfoot or the loch ness monster. As soon as he saw me he didn't stop. He headed towards me. This was not normal insects of any kind are supposed to turn tail and run when they see a creature as big as myself. It was extremely troubling to see this thing coming for me. Not so much from a standpoint that I hoped it wouldn't sting me, but it disturbed me to know that this thing actually thought that it had a chance. Or even if the scorpion knew that he didn't have a chance he didn't seem to care. There is nothing more dangerous to me than a scorpion with small man's disease. Carefully and tactfully I squashed him. I didn't want to lead him on or give him false hope so I finished the standoff quickly.
I then went to the bedroom, got some pajama pants from off of the floor, put them on and got into bed. I revelled for a moment in my victory, having just taken down the equivalent of a childhood terror with ease. I felt big, I felt strong......I felt something brush against the hair on my right leg.
If you've ever actually moved your body at the speed of light you'll know that you're not so much moving faster, but time has slowed down. Between the time that the thought "DECOY" came into my head and the time that I ended up in my birthday suit screaming and running from the room I would say absolutely no act in the universe had enough time to happen. However to me I felt as if I had enough time to realize there was scorpion in my pants, know it was a scorpion in my pants and disrobe in such a fashion that would assure me the menace would not have an opportunity to strike. I can't remember exaclty how I did this but I'm sure it was a kodak moment.
I took me about 5 minutes to come to terms with what had just happened before I realized that even though I was safe and sound in another room of the house and on top of a chair....that was on top of a counter, there was still a scorpion in my bedroom that wanted revenge for his fallen comrade. After a few more minutes of my wife talking me down and convincing me that even though I never wanted to again, it was a necessary part of everyday life that I wear clothes, we went into the bedroom to hunt. It was nowhere to be found. I checked my clothes, which ended up much farther away than I thought I had the ability to throw. We checked the bed, the furniture, everywhere. We came up with nothing.
Maybe it was a phantom feeling, maybe the brush against my leg was just air, maybe there was no scorpion to begin with. It was relieving to know that I might not have ever been in danger, however that feeling soon turned to fear. Fear of the dreaded "what if". What if it was real and is hiding somewhere, waiting, angry, determined. Could we really take the chance? We had to keep looking. Almost an hour later it reared its ugly head and tail and creepy pincher things. I ran, my wife killed it and made a commitment from there on that I will take a Bush era approach to terrorism as it relates to insects. I will be proactive rather than reactive.
I know this sounds like the rantings and ravings of a madman. I have no delusion that I am making total sense as of this point, so let me give a little bit of background to explain my sudden descent into madness.
Since I moved to Texas some years ago I have often been told of a hidden insect "boogeyman". You see in Mississippi our boogeyman is the cockroach. It's in every house, it's disgusting and it hides around every corner or up in the corner, watching and waiting for an opportunity to fly in your hair and terroize you. They don't sting or bite, but could cause one to throw themselves out of window in a fit of terror. For the most part they are no a cause for concern. The Texas insect boogeyman is mean and crafty and armed. They are patient and cunning in ways that I cannot imagine and when they sting you, I've heard it hurts......very, very badly. They are the scorpion. When I first heard about them horrible thoughts came into my head of these big huge black scorpions that lived in the Sahara desert. Massive in size, they could never manage to hide under your refrigerator of within the crack of a wall. There was no way these scorpions could be a threat to someone as attentive and paranoid as myself. I lived with cockroaches in our house for 20-something years - the laws of nature state that you must be attentive and paranoid or be victimized. I was wrong on so many levels.
The scorpions that live in Texas are small, clear in color and able to hide anywhere even if they were wearing bells. You can imagine my surprise one early morning when I saw one for the first time. You know the saying "love at first sight". There is also another saying that goes "PHOBIA at first sight". From that first introduction my lifestyle changed. Every night of every spring summer and fall I checked my shoes, my clothes, my hair, every crevice of every nook and cranny I could think of. Once my wife and I moved into our house and were able to hire a monthly insect repellant business I relaxed. I trusted that my insect pact, coupled with the skilled technicians that were now protecting my house from insect invasion would keep me safe and sound. I made a mistake.
This evening a scorpion decided to declare war and invaded my territory. Sometime after dinner I went to the refrigerator to get some water and there he was. As soon as I saw him I stopped. My heart beat in my chest, like I had just witnessed some mythical creature like bigfoot or the loch ness monster. As soon as he saw me he didn't stop. He headed towards me. This was not normal insects of any kind are supposed to turn tail and run when they see a creature as big as myself. It was extremely troubling to see this thing coming for me. Not so much from a standpoint that I hoped it wouldn't sting me, but it disturbed me to know that this thing actually thought that it had a chance. Or even if the scorpion knew that he didn't have a chance he didn't seem to care. There is nothing more dangerous to me than a scorpion with small man's disease. Carefully and tactfully I squashed him. I didn't want to lead him on or give him false hope so I finished the standoff quickly.
I then went to the bedroom, got some pajama pants from off of the floor, put them on and got into bed. I revelled for a moment in my victory, having just taken down the equivalent of a childhood terror with ease. I felt big, I felt strong......I felt something brush against the hair on my right leg.
If you've ever actually moved your body at the speed of light you'll know that you're not so much moving faster, but time has slowed down. Between the time that the thought "DECOY" came into my head and the time that I ended up in my birthday suit screaming and running from the room I would say absolutely no act in the universe had enough time to happen. However to me I felt as if I had enough time to realize there was scorpion in my pants, know it was a scorpion in my pants and disrobe in such a fashion that would assure me the menace would not have an opportunity to strike. I can't remember exaclty how I did this but I'm sure it was a kodak moment.
I took me about 5 minutes to come to terms with what had just happened before I realized that even though I was safe and sound in another room of the house and on top of a chair....that was on top of a counter, there was still a scorpion in my bedroom that wanted revenge for his fallen comrade. After a few more minutes of my wife talking me down and convincing me that even though I never wanted to again, it was a necessary part of everyday life that I wear clothes, we went into the bedroom to hunt. It was nowhere to be found. I checked my clothes, which ended up much farther away than I thought I had the ability to throw. We checked the bed, the furniture, everywhere. We came up with nothing.
Maybe it was a phantom feeling, maybe the brush against my leg was just air, maybe there was no scorpion to begin with. It was relieving to know that I might not have ever been in danger, however that feeling soon turned to fear. Fear of the dreaded "what if". What if it was real and is hiding somewhere, waiting, angry, determined. Could we really take the chance? We had to keep looking. Almost an hour later it reared its ugly head and tail and creepy pincher things. I ran, my wife killed it and made a commitment from there on that I will take a Bush era approach to terrorism as it relates to insects. I will be proactive rather than reactive.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Today I reflected on my first skiing experience
Being winter and all I felt it was only appropriate to share with you my rocky relationship with snow and skiing. It probably wouldn't suprise most to know that I was never really introduced to the icy horror that is skiing until I was in college. In fact a snow sighting in Mississippi was about as rare and fairy taled as a Bigfoot sighting, which in our area was much more likely to happen. Regardless, my experience with skiing was nonexistent and combined with my natural clumsiness created the perfect circumstance for physical comedy at its best.
Begrudgingly during a spring break I joined some friends in Park City, UT for a skiing trip. Wasn't my idea but I was very anxious to give skiing a try after hearing about the wonder and bewilderment that people experienced on the slopes. It seemed like every person I talked to was convinced at how easy skiing was and there were never any warning signs. They would tell tales of how they braved the bunny slopes on day one and then by the end of day 2 had mastered the same tracks that professionals trained on in preparation for the winter olympics. Looking back I really wished that there would have been some warning sign. I would have taken any dissenting opinion, from a kind person telling me that I was an idiot for trying to take a skiing trip to the travel agent happily giving me and my friends our vacation packages and then when everyone's back was turned she would stare directly into my eyes and shake her head in warning.
Long story short as soon as we arrived in Park City we immediately rented our skis and hit the slopes. While most of our group went about their own way one of my friends decided that he would stay behind and give me a crash course (no pun intended) in skiing. He did this for two reasons: One-he was a very nice guy: Two I had made it known to everyone that I believed all that you had to do in order to be succesful in skiing was to point your skis directly downhill and manage to keep your balance throughout your journey from the top of the hill to the bottom. As a result of me verbalizing this stupidity my friend believed, for good reason, that I was a danger to myself and others.
Now instead of taking an "Intro to skiing" class from a certified instructor, my friend had it in his head that he knew as much as any professionally certified teacher ever would because he had been skiing more than twice in his life. Now because he had survived his skiing experiences without breaking a limb or running into a tree I believed him. "What's the worst that could happen?" I thought to myself as I slid from my seat on the lift and collapsed immediately upon setting my skis on the ground.
Having collapsed directly under my lift chair I had in turn prompted the lift operator to stop the entire line of carts below me, fearing that I would be trampled by the onslaught of eager skiers ascending to the top of the slope. This consequently led to a chorus of jeers and boos being directed right at me as I struggled to pull myself up and regain my balance. Realizing the need to get my "youknowwhat" out of the way, I decided that the best way for me to do so was to do nothing at all. I stood as still and motionless as I possibly could and whispered to my friend directly beside me.
"Push me,"
I leaned forward like a downhill olympian and braced for the soft push that would gently propel me forward and out of the path of ski lift currently being held in limbo. I'm not entirely sure if my friend believed that my request was an invitation to enact vengeance for something that I had done in years past or he thought to myself "why stop at just getting out of the way of the ski lift?" Whatever my expectation was, what transpired was a violent shove that pretty much turned me into a projectile aimed towards a large group of women and children. After tearing through the terrified crowd and leaving no bodies in my wake I ended up on my back again.
"At least I cleared the lift," I thought to myself as I reached out for a small metal pole to pull myself up on. Attempting to pull myself up I immediately felt the pole collapse under my weight and suddenly realized that it was not entirely intended for what I was using it for. What I had unintentionally pushed down on was the emergency stop lever to the ski lift.
Cue the boos and jeers.
Begrudgingly during a spring break I joined some friends in Park City, UT for a skiing trip. Wasn't my idea but I was very anxious to give skiing a try after hearing about the wonder and bewilderment that people experienced on the slopes. It seemed like every person I talked to was convinced at how easy skiing was and there were never any warning signs. They would tell tales of how they braved the bunny slopes on day one and then by the end of day 2 had mastered the same tracks that professionals trained on in preparation for the winter olympics. Looking back I really wished that there would have been some warning sign. I would have taken any dissenting opinion, from a kind person telling me that I was an idiot for trying to take a skiing trip to the travel agent happily giving me and my friends our vacation packages and then when everyone's back was turned she would stare directly into my eyes and shake her head in warning.
Long story short as soon as we arrived in Park City we immediately rented our skis and hit the slopes. While most of our group went about their own way one of my friends decided that he would stay behind and give me a crash course (no pun intended) in skiing. He did this for two reasons: One-he was a very nice guy: Two I had made it known to everyone that I believed all that you had to do in order to be succesful in skiing was to point your skis directly downhill and manage to keep your balance throughout your journey from the top of the hill to the bottom. As a result of me verbalizing this stupidity my friend believed, for good reason, that I was a danger to myself and others.
Now instead of taking an "Intro to skiing" class from a certified instructor, my friend had it in his head that he knew as much as any professionally certified teacher ever would because he had been skiing more than twice in his life. Now because he had survived his skiing experiences without breaking a limb or running into a tree I believed him. "What's the worst that could happen?" I thought to myself as I slid from my seat on the lift and collapsed immediately upon setting my skis on the ground.
Having collapsed directly under my lift chair I had in turn prompted the lift operator to stop the entire line of carts below me, fearing that I would be trampled by the onslaught of eager skiers ascending to the top of the slope. This consequently led to a chorus of jeers and boos being directed right at me as I struggled to pull myself up and regain my balance. Realizing the need to get my "youknowwhat" out of the way, I decided that the best way for me to do so was to do nothing at all. I stood as still and motionless as I possibly could and whispered to my friend directly beside me.
"Push me,"
I leaned forward like a downhill olympian and braced for the soft push that would gently propel me forward and out of the path of ski lift currently being held in limbo. I'm not entirely sure if my friend believed that my request was an invitation to enact vengeance for something that I had done in years past or he thought to myself "why stop at just getting out of the way of the ski lift?" Whatever my expectation was, what transpired was a violent shove that pretty much turned me into a projectile aimed towards a large group of women and children. After tearing through the terrified crowd and leaving no bodies in my wake I ended up on my back again.
"At least I cleared the lift," I thought to myself as I reached out for a small metal pole to pull myself up on. Attempting to pull myself up I immediately felt the pole collapse under my weight and suddenly realized that it was not entirely intended for what I was using it for. What I had unintentionally pushed down on was the emergency stop lever to the ski lift.
Cue the boos and jeers.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Today I had a first-hand experience with social norms
Social norms, as best I can remember in my college studies, are unspoken rules that determine how we act in the good graces of everyone around us. They're the guidelines that separate the socially acceptable from that one guy in everyone's town that aimlessly wanders around carrying a jar of grape jelly, whom he has named Ted and dances happily when motorists honk at him to pull his pants up and get out of traffic. If you don't have anyone in your town like that I apologize - they make life so much more interesting.
Sometimes social norms are very black and white and easy to understand. An examples of this would be don't laugh hysterically at the heartfelt and more serious portions of a person's eulogy and then stare violently at the preacher during the amusing asides.
And sometimes social norms can be a little on the grey side.
Today I had a very strange experience with the grey area of a social norm.
My wife and I were at Target with our two year old boy at the check out line when a very nice gentleman who was ahead of us checking out caught notice of Jack and gave him a smile.
This is not totally out of the ordinary as with most small children who draw attention to themselves by loudly greeting every single person or in our case stuffed animal in their sight. And in most cases the greeted party will return a smile or a "Hello," or sometimes even go as far to attempt a Q&A. You know the usual "What's your name?" or "How old are you?" are always favorties that sometimes I forget are being asked of the two year old and instead answer myself. The looks I get for that are priceless.
Regardless everything was going fine and normal until the gentleman in front of us suddenly dropped his smile and began to MEOW loudly and agrily at Jack. Obviously I knew the gentelman was just playing around and I graciously but cautiously handed out mercy laugh for a brief second or two. Strangely a second or two became three or four and then five or six and then I found myself continuing an historically long mercy laugh as this very different individual continued to MEOW at our two year old.
Just to make sure I wasn't the only one still lauging at this man's break with sanity I turned to gauge the reaction of my wife and our son. The look of horror and bewilderment that was displayed on their faces was priceless. My wife looked as if at the outset was smiling but then as the seconds ticked on couldn't hold it together any longer and the grin had become a pained grimmace. Our son was not only not amused at all, but to my pride held one of the most expressive eyebrow raises I've ever seen.
Usually in moments of sustained awkwardness the cashier should carry some of the water to break the ice, however our cashier was either enjoying the front row seat to a person losing their mind or was too terrified himself to do anything about it.
That's when my wife stepped in and by stepped in I mean gave me the look indicating that I should step in. I really didn't know what I was supposed to do. My instincts have always been to abide by social norms and in this case the social norm would be to smile politley at the gentleman and throw in the mercy laugh. But I'd already done that. It was almost as if this guy was simply seeing how long he could keep up the consistent meowing at a two year old just to see our reaction. In his mental breakdown he was in a sense asking "Would you please ride the crazy train with me?"
Finally, I guess after having his fill of the slow train wreck the cashier louldy wished the man a pleasant day and gave him his receipt moving him along.
It was odd to me because the man never broke character. He never smiled or winked or made any gesture whatsoever to us that he was within his right mind. And according to the unwritten rules of society this is acknowledgement of sanity is a given. So was the guy crazy or is this the direction that social norms are going? Are people going to push the boundaries more just to get their kicks out of unsuspecting and innocent bystanders? I guess only with first hand experience we'll know for sure.
Oh and on a side note - apparently this guy was meowing at the cashier long before we even stepped up so he was totally bats#%t crazy.
Sometimes social norms are very black and white and easy to understand. An examples of this would be don't laugh hysterically at the heartfelt and more serious portions of a person's eulogy and then stare violently at the preacher during the amusing asides.
And sometimes social norms can be a little on the grey side.
Today I had a very strange experience with the grey area of a social norm.
My wife and I were at Target with our two year old boy at the check out line when a very nice gentleman who was ahead of us checking out caught notice of Jack and gave him a smile.
This is not totally out of the ordinary as with most small children who draw attention to themselves by loudly greeting every single person or in our case stuffed animal in their sight. And in most cases the greeted party will return a smile or a "Hello," or sometimes even go as far to attempt a Q&A. You know the usual "What's your name?" or "How old are you?" are always favorties that sometimes I forget are being asked of the two year old and instead answer myself. The looks I get for that are priceless.
Regardless everything was going fine and normal until the gentleman in front of us suddenly dropped his smile and began to MEOW loudly and agrily at Jack. Obviously I knew the gentelman was just playing around and I graciously but cautiously handed out mercy laugh for a brief second or two. Strangely a second or two became three or four and then five or six and then I found myself continuing an historically long mercy laugh as this very different individual continued to MEOW at our two year old.
Just to make sure I wasn't the only one still lauging at this man's break with sanity I turned to gauge the reaction of my wife and our son. The look of horror and bewilderment that was displayed on their faces was priceless. My wife looked as if at the outset was smiling but then as the seconds ticked on couldn't hold it together any longer and the grin had become a pained grimmace. Our son was not only not amused at all, but to my pride held one of the most expressive eyebrow raises I've ever seen.
Usually in moments of sustained awkwardness the cashier should carry some of the water to break the ice, however our cashier was either enjoying the front row seat to a person losing their mind or was too terrified himself to do anything about it.
That's when my wife stepped in and by stepped in I mean gave me the look indicating that I should step in. I really didn't know what I was supposed to do. My instincts have always been to abide by social norms and in this case the social norm would be to smile politley at the gentleman and throw in the mercy laugh. But I'd already done that. It was almost as if this guy was simply seeing how long he could keep up the consistent meowing at a two year old just to see our reaction. In his mental breakdown he was in a sense asking "Would you please ride the crazy train with me?"
Finally, I guess after having his fill of the slow train wreck the cashier louldy wished the man a pleasant day and gave him his receipt moving him along.
It was odd to me because the man never broke character. He never smiled or winked or made any gesture whatsoever to us that he was within his right mind. And according to the unwritten rules of society this is acknowledgement of sanity is a given. So was the guy crazy or is this the direction that social norms are going? Are people going to push the boundaries more just to get their kicks out of unsuspecting and innocent bystanders? I guess only with first hand experience we'll know for sure.
Oh and on a side note - apparently this guy was meowing at the cashier long before we even stepped up so he was totally bats#%t crazy.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Today I became a regular
I could easily be accused of being a creature of habit. Typically around lunch time, I'll have at the most three restaurants that I'll go to, where I'll choose one of three different items on their respective menus. I'm not sure if you'd chalk this up as being an obsessive compulsive nut, but so what. I like what I like and I've gotten myself set in a routine. If anything my frequent patroning of certain restaurants is a good thing. I 100% guarantee you there is at least two places in town that I am personally keeping afloat with the business that I give it on a weekly basis.
But when is my frequent visits to a restaurant too much? Maybe it's when the person I'm calling my order in knows what I want. Maybe it's when they know the exact amount of ice to put in my sweet tea (I always ask for light ice). Or maybe it's when the cashier that I see on a weekly basis begins to start up asks how work is or mentions that they haven't seen me in a while after I've been out of town.
Maybe, but no. Today I learned the perfect sign that I frequent a restaurant too much.
As I mentioned before there's a couple of delis in town that I alone could keep in business for years to come and one in particular I visited earlier this afternoon. Everything went as normal. I ordered, paid and made my way down the line to where I normally pick up my order. Then suddenly I heard it in the back where the skilled sandwich techicians were working on other orders.
"Hey it's Tuna guy," bellowed one of the guys in the back about as loud as anyone could do inside of a crowded restaurant. Immediately everyone's head turns to me. As if I'm the only guy in the world that would order tuna? There has to be someone else in the line - some greasy hippie or yoga instructor - that looks more like a tuna person than me. Looking back I should have looked at the person next to me and said something like, "How humiliating for you? What're you some kind of a tuna addict?" Everyone would have a nice laugh at their expense and I'd get away scot free. However hindsight is 20/20 and I'm more a 10/15.
Instead I went all idiot with this gem.
"Tuna's good for your heart with all the uhhhh omegas....omega twos or threes or whatever."
"Have a good one Tuna guy," sandwich dude waved.
But oh no, I wasn't even about ready to let this go.
"So this makes us feel special. Give the regulars a name after what they order. How inventive." I tried to play on sandwich dude's lack of self-confidence as a lowly deli-worker.
"Exactly." he said.
So much for that strategy.
"Tuna's not the only thing I ever order here. What about the days I order the sliced beef?"
"Angus Beefman," he answered.
"Ham?"
"Honey Baked Homie"
"Chicken?"
"Cock a Doodle Dude"
That one was actually kind of cool. I had nothing left to argue my case. I was officially a regular. Destined to endure the humiliation of being called Tuna guy or whatever else they had planned for that day on as regular a basis as I visited that particular deli. I could decide not to visit that place ever again. Put my foot down and demand respect, but every fellow regular knows that you'll just keep coming back. You might change your timing a little to avoid the wise-cracking sandwich makers, but you'll always be back, because you're an addict.
But when is my frequent visits to a restaurant too much? Maybe it's when the person I'm calling my order in knows what I want. Maybe it's when they know the exact amount of ice to put in my sweet tea (I always ask for light ice). Or maybe it's when the cashier that I see on a weekly basis begins to start up asks how work is or mentions that they haven't seen me in a while after I've been out of town.
Maybe, but no. Today I learned the perfect sign that I frequent a restaurant too much.
As I mentioned before there's a couple of delis in town that I alone could keep in business for years to come and one in particular I visited earlier this afternoon. Everything went as normal. I ordered, paid and made my way down the line to where I normally pick up my order. Then suddenly I heard it in the back where the skilled sandwich techicians were working on other orders.
"Hey it's Tuna guy," bellowed one of the guys in the back about as loud as anyone could do inside of a crowded restaurant. Immediately everyone's head turns to me. As if I'm the only guy in the world that would order tuna? There has to be someone else in the line - some greasy hippie or yoga instructor - that looks more like a tuna person than me. Looking back I should have looked at the person next to me and said something like, "How humiliating for you? What're you some kind of a tuna addict?" Everyone would have a nice laugh at their expense and I'd get away scot free. However hindsight is 20/20 and I'm more a 10/15.
Instead I went all idiot with this gem.
"Tuna's good for your heart with all the uhhhh omegas....omega twos or threes or whatever."
"Have a good one Tuna guy," sandwich dude waved.
But oh no, I wasn't even about ready to let this go.
"So this makes us feel special. Give the regulars a name after what they order. How inventive." I tried to play on sandwich dude's lack of self-confidence as a lowly deli-worker.
"Exactly." he said.
So much for that strategy.
"Tuna's not the only thing I ever order here. What about the days I order the sliced beef?"
"Angus Beefman," he answered.
"Ham?"
"Honey Baked Homie"
"Chicken?"
"Cock a Doodle Dude"
That one was actually kind of cool. I had nothing left to argue my case. I was officially a regular. Destined to endure the humiliation of being called Tuna guy or whatever else they had planned for that day on as regular a basis as I visited that particular deli. I could decide not to visit that place ever again. Put my foot down and demand respect, but every fellow regular knows that you'll just keep coming back. You might change your timing a little to avoid the wise-cracking sandwich makers, but you'll always be back, because you're an addict.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Today the humiliation begins.
Today I decided what better way to embarass myself, but to write a blog. Not sure how much or how little I'll contribute to this, but I imagine it will depend mostly on my threshold of humiliation. See no matter where I start with either a conversation or a facebook post or any other form of communication I end up outing myself as a total goofball. Not something I intentionally try to do, but tends to happen nevertheless. I would love to be able to say that I'm not the only one who has this magical gift, but 33 years in I still have not met them. Literally every person I've ever met has their head more squarely attached to their shoulders than I do. I honestly get nervous when standing in open fields because I'm afraid my head will float away without a tree branch in sight for it to get snagged on.
Example:
Last week at work I was sitting at my desk typing away when I decided to blow my nose. I reached over and pulled a visibly white kleenex from the box and went at it. I tossed the kleenex away and went about my work as usual. A couple of hours later I had the itch again and grabbed another kleenex. Only this time the kleenex in question was some sort of tannish, peach color. Clearly this was not from the box I had just used two hours before so I was pretty confident that someone was fooling around with my lack of mental capacity and switched boxes with me, knowing full well that I would believe that I was losing my mind and the clown show of the day would commence. Or was it in fact the box that I had drawn kleenex out of for the last three months and I just never really noticed that it was anything but the standard kleenex color of white? I looked in the bin to check my discarded one from before, but alas I was foiled by the diligence and hard work ethic of our janitor and it had already been tossed out.
What started out as a quiet cubicle to cubicle inquiry of "Did you see someone messing with my kleenex?" quickly escalated to "ALRIGHT WHO'S SCREWING AROUND WITH ME?" announced through the entire office floor and continued on with a "AM I TOTALLY LOSING MY MIND HERE?"
After a fractic few minutes and me beginning to crawl under the desk, curl into a ball and wait on the men in white coats to come I received an answer.
"Patrick," the secretary calmly got my attention, "the last five kleenex in a box is always a different color so that you'll know to get a new box."
That's just wrong on an entirely awful level. Why would the brainiacs making kleenex decide that their informative different color kleenex was to be a tannish peach? It's not exactly a noticeably different color from white to begin with. I mean something like that leads people like myself, who don't have whole heap of alot of sanity left, to lose the little that they have over a kleenex - a friggin kleenex. Is that what you want kleenex? A bunch of crazed idiots running around with boxes of kleenex in their hands screaming, "Why am I losing my mind? It was white a second ago. I turned my back for literally a second and now it's tan - TAAAAAAANNNNN!!!!!"
Please kleenex people, in the future, if you want to make it obvious that it's time to get a new box make it more obvious. Maybe plaid would be a good color or have printed on the actual kleenex something like "This is your fifth from last kleenex" or "Only A Couple Left". Those are both good examples of decent indicators. Not going from white to a somewhat tan "Could it still be white or is it just because I've been staring at a computer screen all day" color.
Like I said I have a tendency to embarass myself in spectacular fashion. But if my pain is your gain then so be it. At least you'll know that no matter how humiliating a situation may be there's always me to top you in just about every way.
All the Best
Quick note: If you're easily insulted by lack of proper grammar, punctuation or sometimes the occasional spelling mishap or your an english teacher, then you might want to steer clear of reading any of this. I literally throw this junk from my brain on a whim and really don't put alot of effort into cleanup.
Example:
Last week at work I was sitting at my desk typing away when I decided to blow my nose. I reached over and pulled a visibly white kleenex from the box and went at it. I tossed the kleenex away and went about my work as usual. A couple of hours later I had the itch again and grabbed another kleenex. Only this time the kleenex in question was some sort of tannish, peach color. Clearly this was not from the box I had just used two hours before so I was pretty confident that someone was fooling around with my lack of mental capacity and switched boxes with me, knowing full well that I would believe that I was losing my mind and the clown show of the day would commence. Or was it in fact the box that I had drawn kleenex out of for the last three months and I just never really noticed that it was anything but the standard kleenex color of white? I looked in the bin to check my discarded one from before, but alas I was foiled by the diligence and hard work ethic of our janitor and it had already been tossed out.
What started out as a quiet cubicle to cubicle inquiry of "Did you see someone messing with my kleenex?" quickly escalated to "ALRIGHT WHO'S SCREWING AROUND WITH ME?" announced through the entire office floor and continued on with a "AM I TOTALLY LOSING MY MIND HERE?"
After a fractic few minutes and me beginning to crawl under the desk, curl into a ball and wait on the men in white coats to come I received an answer.
"Patrick," the secretary calmly got my attention, "the last five kleenex in a box is always a different color so that you'll know to get a new box."
That's just wrong on an entirely awful level. Why would the brainiacs making kleenex decide that their informative different color kleenex was to be a tannish peach? It's not exactly a noticeably different color from white to begin with. I mean something like that leads people like myself, who don't have whole heap of alot of sanity left, to lose the little that they have over a kleenex - a friggin kleenex. Is that what you want kleenex? A bunch of crazed idiots running around with boxes of kleenex in their hands screaming, "Why am I losing my mind? It was white a second ago. I turned my back for literally a second and now it's tan - TAAAAAAANNNNN!!!!!"
Please kleenex people, in the future, if you want to make it obvious that it's time to get a new box make it more obvious. Maybe plaid would be a good color or have printed on the actual kleenex something like "This is your fifth from last kleenex" or "Only A Couple Left". Those are both good examples of decent indicators. Not going from white to a somewhat tan "Could it still be white or is it just because I've been staring at a computer screen all day" color.
Like I said I have a tendency to embarass myself in spectacular fashion. But if my pain is your gain then so be it. At least you'll know that no matter how humiliating a situation may be there's always me to top you in just about every way.
All the Best
Quick note: If you're easily insulted by lack of proper grammar, punctuation or sometimes the occasional spelling mishap or your an english teacher, then you might want to steer clear of reading any of this. I literally throw this junk from my brain on a whim and really don't put alot of effort into cleanup.
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