quick story

Spunky the deer

I could really use a bodyguard or two. I'm not fabulously wealthy nor am I a world-renown celebrity (outside of my own head), but I do tend to find myself in "situations." Some I bring on myself, like when I open my big mouth and start blaring away at people who, in my humble opinion, have behaved with an absence of civility. The problem is these are often people who wouldn't mind clubbing me in the head until I fell in a heap on the ground. Case in point: The tall barrel-chested construction worker guy in line at Beanie Baby Day at McDonald's. In a huge rush to get his Spunky the Deer Beanie Baby and fries he nurtured a fulminating case of road rage (except for the fact that he was standing in a long line in a fast food restaurant), as he furiously tailgated the person in front of him, a petite frail kindly eldery woman.  Having withstood the pressure of his weight from behind for too long, she became disoriented and briefly left the line. In response, he accelerated up on the back of the next person. And when this tired but loving grandmother on a limited pension tried to quietly insinuate herself back into her spot in line so that she could get a free trinket for her ailing grandchild, Barrel Chest stiffened and held his ground. I think you'll agree the situation needed straightening out.

"Excuse me, Mr. Barrel Chest? This woman is trying to return to her spot in line. Can she possibly get back in?"  Nothing wrong with that, eh?  polite, restrained, reasonable.

"Fuck you lady."

Ahhhh.

"Fuck...? Did you say 'fuck you'?" And then I launched several tonnage of rapid-fire word missiles. I'm sorry to report that I don't remember what I actually said, except for the final "Shame on you!!"  But he did silently allow her back in line. And yeah, I was escorted from the  premises by 5 paper-cap-wearing fry cooks.

Then there's the situation a few nights ago, where my doorbell rang and rang at 2:00 in the morning. I don't know how many rings came before the noise penetrated my slumber, but I finally jolted semi-awake, thinking "wha's that? the door?? Nooo-ho, too late. can't be" 

DING  DONG

"Wha? what time is it? 2:00! What the? Not getting up."

DING DONG

"Nope."

DING DONG

"Uh uh."

DING DONG

"What kind of fool...??"

DING DONG

"OK, it's pitch black down there, and that could be anybody, maybe a monster or something."

DING DONG

"Ar, might be some kind of emergency!" So I went to wake up Sam, who *refused* to go downstairs with me and investigate the situation.

What kind of bodyguard is that??

 

Existentialist em

I know lots of things. For example:

• fire is hot
• the sun rises in the east
• time is irreversible
• cars require maintenance
• God is dead
• E = mc2
• crack is wack
• money makes the world go around
• what goes up must come down
• static electricity is devious
• Clairol Herbal Essence makes your hair smell good
• Occam's razor is sharp
• love hurts
• divorce hurts more
• plants grow toward light
• what doesn't kill you makes you stronger
• broccoli rots faster when left in the plastic baggy
• ontogeny recapitulates phylology
• Hagen Daas Mint Chocolate Chip rules
• the behavior of teenagers is a biological device designed to encourage parents to Set Them Free! on an unsuspecting world
• by kicking them out of the house
• you get more flies with honey than with vinegar
• cinnamon-scented candles and a fire in the fireplace cures all
• the perfect woman is a higher type of human than the perfect man, and also something much more rare
• The Blair Witch Project is scary

Yup. I'm smart. Now, someone tell me why, despite all this high-falutin' knowledge and insight into the ways of the world, I will yank my hands out from under a faucet of running water like they've been stung by bees and only because someone else in the ladies' room has flushed the toilet. Those pipes aren't connected...right? Flush there, exit here? I know, I'm a dumb-ass.

 

Sociologist em

I can't get it out of my mind's eye. So forlorn, defeated. His look beseached me. His face freighted down at the corners with a sadness that the cover story could not cover up--"My truck, it's out of gas on the highway. Do you have $20 I can borrow?"

Here stood the remnants of a proud, successful family man, the loving father of 2 happy dogs--a big Rottweiller and a little Schnoodle kind of thing. He used to walk them separately every morning before work and again in the evening after he got home. Now reduced to knocking on his neighbor's door at 2:00 in the morning asking for money. I know it had to just kill him to do it.

I'm telling you it wasn't more than a moment, a tick tock of the clock, and he went from Regular Middle Class Working Guy to desperate crack head.  Something has to be done.

 

2 things (Big stupid feet)

Why is it that when there’s one particular move that can be classified as wrong!, I will make it?

1. While showering yesterday, I managed to knock the razor off the ledge as I shampooed my hair. The tub was full of swirling suds but I could see that the little click-on razor blade had been knocked off the razor when it hit the tub. “Don’t let the razor go down the drain!” I told myself but just as the thought formed in my head, I made a wrong move--I felt the crunch of something underfoot and then the circle of the drain enveloped my heel. I dropped down to my knees in the tub just in time to see the razor blade disappear around the crook of the drain. CRrrAP!

2. While lunching with co-workers on Friday, we were gassing about the changes afoot in our company since we were acquired 5 weeks ago—who’s gone and what they’re doing now, and who might be next. So I chimed in with “It looks like they had the decency to tell Editor Buddy Boy off-site, because he’s not been back since Monday.” The suddenly ashen appearance of Associate Editor Buddy Boy on my right clued me in to my misstep. Dammit, I thought it was common knowledge.

Thank you Mr. Police Officer

I think I've mentioned that crime is a problem in my neighborhood. Well imagine my surprise when I got a phone call in my office this afternoon from Harried Neighbor Around the Corner--"Em, when I drove by your house just now there were 2 police cruisers out front and the door was wide open!"

Please, no.

I'm a 45-minute drive from home on a good day, so a moment after I launched myself toward the office exit, I reconsidered and decided to make a call to the Yuptrenton police department.

"My...I... I think there's... I got a call here at work from my neighbor and she says there's police in my house which I think should definitely be empty right now except for my parrott..."

"Address?"

"1514 Rivery Place"

"Yes, the police officers are trying to phone you at Ex Med Ed Co--they  found your name on note paper in the kitchen..." [They're in my kitchen looking at at the note pads from my last job?] "... The officer was on rounds and observed that your front door was wide open..."

"What!?"

"...and they entered the premises to investigate."

[My stuff!] "Was anyone seen leaving with TVs and computers and couches and stuff?"

"No. They observed the open door and are investigating. When they have finished they will need  someone with a key to come and lock the door."

"What's going on? What did they find? Was anyone in there? What should I do?"

"Ma'am. Can someone come immediately with a key?"

[Don't call me ma'am.] "I'll have to call someone--I'm at work up the Turnpike."

"OK, Please call me back and tell me the name of the person and when they are coming."

Long story quick, there was no burglary. Door blew open in the harsh wind--it was 25 degs with a wind chill of like 5--brrrr. How'd it just blow open, you ask? *Someone* forgot to secure and lock the door.

Friendly Officer Joe, on his rounds, spotted the gaping door, and for this I am most grateful. I am also enormously relieved that the cold arctic air didn't kill the bird, because she's fragile and sweet. And I'm hoping that Friendly Officer Joe wasn't too put out by the *eNORmous* strushy that is my home right now, although he did make mention of the large note on the chalkboard in *Someone's* bedroom that says "Clean Your Room." And finally, I am thankful that Friendly Officer Joe did not uncover my secret stash. ;-)   

Sometimes it’s the little things

/rant

It bothers me when someone says, “send me an email so I can send you the email” and then they rattle off an email address at 80 mph. Yup, you are the Alpha dog, but God forbid you should do the heavy lifting and write down my email address so you can SEND ME THE DAMN EMAIL. Similarly, I am bugged by the passive-aggressive schmucks who rattle off a phone number, also at 80 mph, plus it’s all in one clump. I hear phone numbers in groups, people: 3-3-4. Would it kill you to slow down! And use pauses—that’s what the damn dashes are for.

/rant