I don’t like using tools. I don’t really know the difference between a socket wrench and a monkey wrench. When I’m forced to use a screwdriver, I have to repeatedly tell myself, “Righty tighty, lefty loosey.” I don’t own a stud finder or a level, my hammer is as old as I am, and I have no idea why they are called Allen wrenches.
More to the point, I find Home Depot to be a very unsettling place. Every time I have to ask a question of one of those employees, clad in their Oompa Loompa aprons, I know they are looking at me with utter disdain as I attempt to explain my dilemma using charades. Words don’t suffice, because I am incapable of using appropriate terminology that they would understand. Therefore, they inevitably recommend a 3/4” something-or-other and send me on my way. Before I get into the checkout line, I swing by the battery and lightbulb aisles, because I at least know what I need there and that feeling empowers me. Continue reading “A Useless Tool of a Man”
I’m a tall person. In the past, this has worked to my benefit. I can reach stuff on the top shelf, I’m really good at being the monkey in the middle, and the general feeling of superiority I have in the elevator is addictive. In short (no pun intended), I’ve quite enjoyed the vertical advantage I have had over a majority of our society. Today, however, that all changed.
Up to this point, it had been a normal day by most standards. I went to work, looked at some papers, cavorted with my coworkers, and drank copious amounts of coffee. At lunch time, I deviated from my regular routine of staying on campus. It was a Friday, and I decided to pay a visit to the local grocery store. It was a grand opening, and I had heard rumors that this chain’s salad bars were pretty near top of the line. At my age, these things excite me. Continue reading “Salad Bar Injustice: A Civil Heights Violation”
Every weekday morning, I think to myself, “Today will be the day I revolt.” Inevitably, however, my attempted coup is violently put down by society’s authoritarian rule. Even the thought of maintaining a shred of freedom and autonomy is wiped away. Once the polo shirt falls down over my shoulders, or the last button of my dress shirt is cinched, the final act of my appareled betrayal is complete. In short, I am tucked in to the expectations of society.
I stared blankly into space as I asked her to repeat the question, this time in English.
“Who was Howdy Doody’s brother?” she asked again, confident we would not be able to provide an answer. Not many questions had involved answers up to this point, and this one would be no different.
The night, until now, had been fun. It had started with a dinner among six close friends, all members of the esteemed Generation X. Food and drink, a warm fire in the fireplace, and ‘90s music blaring from the speakers had coalesced to make for a fun Saturday evening. It was good to be with close friends, carousing after a long week of being semi-functional adults. I’m not sure who had suggested we play Trivial Pursuit, or why any of us agreed to do so, but the snowball was rolling downhill and it would soon engulf all of us in its avalanche of ignorance pretty quickly. Continue reading “A Trivial Pursuit in Frustration”
I abhor having to go to the dentist. I always have. When I was a kid, I had to be dragged kicking and screaming to the dental office for a routine cleaning. The orthodontist was even worse. I get chills thinking about his big, fat, rubber-scented hand in my mouth, tightening my braces while he flirted with his dental assistant. She and I were both disgusted with his obnoxious behavior. One time, I even hid in a tree to avoid having to go. My mother wasn’t amused, nor were the cops when I emerged an hour later, safely past the point of being able to make the appointment. Apparently, the police were not trained to look up in the 1980s. It wasn’t my best moment.
My teeth have always been in good shape. Even though I sometimes grind them at night, they have served their purpose quite well for nearly four decades. They chew when I ask them to. On the off chance I smile, they represent me nicely. They clatter rhythmically when I am cold. In short, they do what teeth are designed to do. I reward them by brushing them and occasionally flossing. We have a mutual understanding. Continue reading “Psychological Warfare: A Tale of Dental Duress”
I have a confession to make. I’m the Incredible Hulk. Well, I’m the guy who transforms into the Incredible Hulk. I wouldn’t be able to tell such an eloquent story if I was currently in my angered form. That and my giant, green hands make typing pretty difficult. You can test the theory, if you don’t believe me. Just let me know in advance. I certainly wouldn’t want to be wearing my favorite shirt when I prove you wrong.