My Level Of Stupidity Has Reached New Heights

During the weekdays at work, things usually come in waves. For the first several hours of the day, we’re slow on the business end. It’s only until a couple hours after lunch does the store really begin to pick up in terms of traffic and what not.

Last week, during a slow spell of one of these days, a few of us were just milling around, helping out the few customers that we had. Kate [the Irish woman who Banshee cursed me...she lifted it, thank God] were helping a couple pick out some clothes. Just through conversation, we found out that they were here in Boston for some business. Both of them live in Ireland, but the man was born here in the States. She was pregnant, but we were unsure as to whether it was his baby or someone else’s. We couldn’t tell if they were together or not.

After helping them with their questions and what not, both Kate and I went about our business until it was time for me to ring up the both of them. I headed over to the register, where the woman was first in line. She looked towards her friend and said I’m going to have to come back here when I’m not pregnant and can fit into this stuff.

[Sidenote. Have you noticed how the Irish accent makes it seem as though everything they are saying ends with a question mark and an exclamation point? Like, Be right back, I need to use the bathroom?! Please use this whenever Irish people in this post speak. Thank you.]

I was in the middle of her transaction when she said this. I looked up at her and started a conversation.

So when are you due?

Oh, I’m a singer?!

[obviously she misheard me]

Oh…no, I meant…

Oh you asked when I was due?! Towards the end of the year?!

Well congratulations. You must be very happy.

I finished ringing her up and printed out her receipt. As I handed her a pen so she could sign the bottom, I finished up the conversation.

So you mentioned your a singer. What type of music do you sing?

Um…[weird look given to me]…just a bunch of crap.

I laughed while putting all her clothes into bags, then wished her a good day. She hung around for a moment before saying to her friend, whom I was now ringing up, that she was going to sit down on one of the benches in the mall.

After I was done, I began to clean up the counter of hangers and what not when Kate ran back to the registers.

Do you know who that was?!

What? Who?

That woman?! Do you know who you just rang up?!

No. Why are you freaking out?! Who was it?

You don’t know?!

God, Kate. Just tell me who the hell it was.

YOU JUST RANG UP SINEAD O’CONNOR?!

Shut. Up.

YOU DID?! What’d she say?! What’d YOU say?! What’d you say to her?!

At this point the weight of the situation had hit me like a slap in the face. I had helped Sinead O’Connor pick out clothes for her family. I rang her up. I TALKED to the woman who, on national television, ripped up a picture of the POPE! I was in awe. Then, the embarrassment set in like cement.

So what’d you say to her?!

Oh God. I asked her what type of music she sings. I asked Sinead O’Connor what type of music she sings.

Kate just looked at me, not saying anything for a long time. Her mouth was wide open, her face glued in a look of shock. Finally, she blinked, closed her mouth, and shook her head.

You’re a fucking idiot?!

Do Deaf Kids Scream?…MUTES! I Need Mutes…

On less than a week’s notice, I decided to forego another nightmarish weekend in the Boston suburbs and flew down to Philadelphia. Tiffany, who now has a job with the Antiques Roadshow, invited me to stay with her for the weekend and help out on the set. So I hopped on a plane and made my way to the city of brotherly love. Which, I have decided, is a slogan dripping with gay euphemisms. Everyone in Philly is gay. Everyone.

Yes, even you.

But for now, that’s neither here nor there.

On the plane ride down to Philly, I was faced with a lot of major life choices. Mainly, choices having to do with children.

I’ve never been on a flight before that had more children on it in my life. I began to wonder if maybe Barney was on board somewhere, and these toddlers had somehow managed to coerce their parents with tantrums and tears to board the plane in the hopes of a face to face encounter with the big purple dinosaur [see? gay].

Having not employed any amount of foresight at ALL, I decided to sit in the center of this den of child terrors. Bad life choice.

It is now my firm belief that children have no right to crying. They are the pampered people of our society. They are fed what is basically pre-chewed food, get carried from place to place, are supplied with hundreds of different toys for their amusement, and even have their asses wiped for them. You’ve nothing to cry about, you little asshole.

Sitting behind me was a little girl, about 2-3 years of age. The sounds that she emitted from her mouth were INCREDIBLE. As she screamed, her pitch just kept going higher and higher, without her having to take a break for any type of breathe. As I peered between the cracks in the seat, I saw that she had contorted her body into a contortionist’s wet dream, having made it impossible for her mother to get her to sit up straight.

With the tone one uses when speaking with a customer service representative that you secretly hate, the mother looks down at her daughter and says They require you to sit up straight. Sorry.

That was it. She didn’t try to get the screaming to stop. She didn’t attempt to unwrap her daughter from herself. She didn’t even look apologetic.

What she DID do [holding true with the notion that babies are our royal rulers] was attack her baby with kisses on her belly and loving caresses from her baby blanket.

I’ve never owned a child before, but I’m pretty sure that when you have a 30 pound animal that is doing it’s best to make sure that your ear drums never work the same way again, trying to tickle it with kisses and rubbing it’s face with a blanket isn’t the best course of action.

Meanwhile, throughout all of this, was kind little Geddrick. At 3 1/2 years old, he sat next to me on the flight, looking out the window. The biggest issue his mother had with him was getting him to sit up straight for the descent. Which took her a few moments and a harsh tone. And he complied.

The best part of the flight, though, was when Geddrick realized what a bitch the little girl behind us was being. During her siren like screams, Geddrick would look at both his mother, then me. At the highest pitch of her scream, Geddrick would all the sudden open his mouth and let loose a short, high pitched blast that dwarfed whatever the little monster behind us was doing. But since he let loose at the apex of her screams, everyone on the plane figured it was this little girl that kept causing hearing aides to combust and windows to shatter.

I’ve never seen a little boy more proud of himself in my life.

It got to the point where the screaming became part of my life. Like a soundtrack. They say people who live near airports never hear the planes fly over, because they’ve become to accustomed to the sound [I'm willing to bet those townloads of people all looked up into the sky as our plane flew overhead, a faintly audible, high pitched cry slowly flying past their houses]. Well, these screaming had become part of mine. I couldn’t imagine the rest of my life without this little girl screaming into my ear. Walk in the park. Screaming girl following me, 3 feet behind. Reading a book. Screaming girl standing next to the chair. Showering in the morning. Screaming girl sitting on the toilet.

So when the screaming stopped, I jerked my head up. What happened?! I peeked between the cracks of the chair, and lo and behold, mother had finally taken action.

There was that screaming, bawling banshee bitch, tears streaming down her beet red face. With half of her blanket in her mouth.

Wavy Heat Lines Make Me Angry And Hot

Yesterday I spent the day in New York City [hence the lack of post]. Walking around 7th Ave. In a suit. While it was 115 degrees out.

I don’t remember much of the morning, seeing as how I passed out from heat exhaustion and dehydration somewhere near a XXX DVD video store and a Starbucks. Somehow, through the grace of God and the need for air conditioning, I crawled into the office building where I had my job interview.

And that is all I’m going to say about that because I will not hold myself responsible for jinxing away this job.

I will also not hold myself accountable for relying upon tricks, luck, jinxs and other manners of tom foolery in either the denial or acquisition of employment.

What I will tell you is that on the streets of New York City I saw Billy Zane, whereupon I had to restrain myself with all my might in order to stop myself from attacking that bald head of his. Heat induced hallucinations? Perhaps.

But I like to have my fantasies.

Dreams Hurt More When They’re Crushed By Fat People

Everyone knows how obese our country is. We’re a fat, out of shape nation with so many different health concerns as a result, it would be almost too scary to sit down and list them all. Crazier still, we spend millions and millions, if not billions, of dollars each year on fitness and well being programs. Gym memberships. Weight loss clubs. Drugs and pills. The health industry is making a mint off our big ass bellies.

I’ve a friend who is in his late 40’s slash early 50’s. He’s overweight, and cares not a bit about it, even though the health risks that he could suffer are frightening and right around the corner. He eats about a pint of Ben & Jerry’s a day, gets little to no exercise and has a family history of heart problems. He just chooses not to change his lifestyle. As a result, my friends and I fear for his quality [and length] of life.

Going to the gym for the past few months has gotten me thinking a lot about this health crisis our nation faces. It got me to thinking of all the kids growing up in households where Ronald McDonald is the primary cook. Without any type of guidance, especially from those at home, how can we ever expect them to fix the problem when they get older?

As I began to do my ab workout yesterday, I noticed a moderately overweight man and his obese son. They were doing a partner stretch for a few minutes, then got up and made their way to the ellipticals. There, I watched as the father kept his son motivated, even when the boy gave up and got off. The father encouraged him to move forward, keep going and stick it out. The boy looked up at his father for a moment, then with renewed determination, climbed back onto the machine.

I was honestly moved. How wonderful is it to see a man changing his unhealthy lifestyle, and in doing so, change his son’s as well? Can you imagine the life lessons this young man learned in just this one gym excursion? The precedent this father is setting for his son is an extraordinary example of what needs to happen in this country. If there were just more care givers out there with the drive to nurture their children, I think we’d be at a much better place. Particularly a more roomier place, with at least more sitting room, what with the lack of cellulite and fatty fat fat.

I had long finished abs and had made it most of the way through my arms workout when I noticed that the father-son pair were still at it. One encouraging another. Father pushing son towards a more healthy existence. Son inspiring father to live out a longer, healthier life. I would have cried if the Suave Fresh Mountain Strawberry shampoo hadn’t burned off my tear ducts earlier that day.

Once I had finished my workout, I made a decision. I told myself that I would go over to that father and commend him for a job that too few parents take it upon themselves to do. I was going to tell that father what an inspiration it was to see him bettering not only his own health, but that of his son. I was going to tell that father to KEEP IT UP! NEVER SAY NEVER! IT’S THE EYE OF THE TIGER!

As I passed the weight machines and neared the father-son couple, I began to open my mouth and let loose my barrage of supportive words of praise and encouragement when the father unknowingly interrupted.

I just wanted…

I think we’ve done such a great job today, we deserve a reward. Let’s bring home KFC for dinner!

That man’s fat little son squealed like pig in a pile of fresh shit. It looked like his stomach was already half way to the car, waving back to it’s host and saying I’ve got the coupons! Let’s get the extra crispy bucket and a load of biscuits! AND GRAVY WITH WHICH I CAN BATHE MYSELF IN!

I made a B-line towards the ab machine and did 15 more crunches only because I felt like I gained 10 pounds just by association.