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The Way My Brain Works

21 May

Alan says I’m a pessimist. I’d like to believe I’m just well prepared. On the whole I believe things will turn out just right – I just find it comforting to have Plan B in my back pocket. Even when there’s almost no chance it will be needed.

I chalk it up to having a fantastic imagination.

Take today. Walking home from work this afternoon, I saw a folded dollar bill on the sidewalk. Of course I bent to grab it. Only, once I was holding it, I saw that it was only part of a dollar. It represented maybe 20% of a full bill, but had been folded in a way that it looked like more.

Since it was useless, I pitched it in the next trashcan I saw.

And then… five steps later… the gears in my brain started to spin.

It was like someone had folded the dollar to trick people into believing it was whole. 

What if that had been a trap? 

I mean, if I were a terrorist, trying to randomly start an untraceable plague, that would be a great first step…

Step 1: Taint money with incurable virus.

Step 2: Cut money into bits and fold using clever origami technique to make each bit look whole.

Step 3: Scatter on well-traveled sidewalks, right before rush hour, near trash cans. 

Pretty clever, you must admit. While some people may walk past a coin, who isn’t going to stop to pick up a dollar? And by only placing *partial* bits, you ensure people won’t want to keep them after they examine them. And by scattering them near trashcans on busy streets, you’ve ensured the evidence will get incinerated relatively quickly.

Brilliant, no?

In fact, it was so brilliant that my first thought was: I need to write this down when I get home. If I ever write an espionage thriller, I’m totally going to use this technique.

And then my second thought was: Must. Wash. Hands. Immediately.

And my third thought was: Don’t. Touch. Face.

And my fourth thought was: Alan might have a point.

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I can admit this because it’s Friday.

6 Apr

Dear Readers: I Love You. Seriously – I can’t believe you’ve hung in there, considering four of my last five posts were about bodily functions. (And I’m not talking hiccups and sneezes.) You. Are. Awesome. Or demented. But at least you’re my kind of demented. So thanks!

To reward you, I will post about something OTHER than scat for once…

…

Because it's Easter weekend

There are two things I simply can’t possess for more than three months: sunglasses and umbrellas. They either break or I lose them. Knowing that, I refuse to spend much money on them.

A few weeks back my office went bowling after work. It was a pretty posh bowling alley – the kind that has disco lights and velvet couches and is located next to a theatre so people can make an entire evening of it. As we were wrapping up and changing out of our shoes, I noticed a pair of sunglasses under the table.

“Hey – do these belong to anyone?” I asked. Apparently not. They weren’t the greatest sunglasses, but they fit my head so I kept them. (I suppose I should’ve turned them into Lost & Found, but that didn’t cross my mind since we were the first bowlers in there that day.)

Anyway. I was mildly jazzed to have picked up a pair of new sunglasses for free, considering I’m usually the one leaving mine places. Karma finally came around on this one!

It was sunny last night when I headed out to yoga, so I popped on the glasses before I headed out. And – like the other times I’ve worn them, I realized something weird was happening. Manhole covers were shimmery. (If I were a gamer, I might’ve tried to jump on one to see if they would explode and earn me points.)

Every fleck of stone in the asphalt seemed to pop out of the pavement. Cop lights in the distance seemed somehow more vivid.

And that’s when I realized: the sunglasses? Actually 3-D glasses from the theatre next to the bowling alley.

That’s right. I’ve been wearing 3-D glasses around as sunglasses.

Guess it’s time for me to touch up those highlights.

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What your lotto purchase says about you…

1 Apr

Last week’s record-setting MegaMillions jackpot dominated my Facebook feed for a few days. Photos of lotto tickets (cleverly posted by radio stations offering share the winnings with anyone who “liked” their photo) circulated wildly. Friends were speculating what they would do with their newly-won wealth.

I found it fascinating to see how much money people were spending on tickets. Alan cited a quote that was circulating to explain the multiple tickets people were snapping up: “You’re nine times as likely to get hit by lightning as win the lottery. Better buy nine tickets to improve those odds.”

I speculated that the MegaMillions could be used as a fairly accurate diagnostic for a workplace morale, though when I started to create the scale of interpretation, I realized it sounded more like a Lotto Horoscope:

  • Didn’t buy a ticket? You’re either a scientist, mathematician, or so over-worked you couldn’t get to the liquor store.
  • Didn’t buy a ticket but “liked” more than ten photos of Lotto tickets online that offered to share winnings with you? You’re probably unemployed or lazy or a sucker. Might want to spend less time of Facebook and more time reading self-help books.
  • Bought one ticket? You enjoy your job and co-workers and like to contribute to water-cooler talk.
  • Bought 20 tickets? Might want to pull out your resume and give it a little TLC. Sounds like you’ll be on the hunt for a new opportunity later this year.
  • Bought 50 tickets? Do everyone a favor and resign already.
  • Bought 100 tickets? Resign, sell your worldly possessions and travel the world to find yourself. You’re clearly not on the right path. You might want to consider a change of religion or marital status while you’re at it.

And employers – think it’s cute that your employees organized a Lotto Pool? I’d say it’s innocent fun – unless each person is willing to kick in more than the entry fee for a March Madness bracket. In that case, your company morale is in the toilet and you’ll need to do more than $50 spot bonuses to prevent a complete exodus before year’s end.

Oh. And while I’m on the topic of workplace lotteries, I encourage you to listen to THIS, a brief story from This American Life about the troop of Riverdance and what it means to them to win the lotto. I haven’t been able to watch a theatrical performance the same way since it aired five years ago. Now, neither will you.

Which is almost as awesome as actually winning. You’re welcome.

 

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Exactly how old am I? Twenty?

26 Mar

I’ve long suspected I’m not Junior League material, but this past weekend, I confirmed it.  I was in Atlanta, visiting my friend Liz. Friday we went out for dinner, hit an art opening, then people watched at the bar of the St. Regis. It was a nice, chill evening, with only one problem: the drinks.

We had a mojito with dinner, then wine at the art opening. Then, at the St. Regis, we ordered a glass of wine and the bartender presented us with some kind of coffee drink with whipped cream vodka. It’s been a long time since I’ve had an evening that involves anything more than splitting a bottle of wine, and I can’t remember when I last drank liquor, so this definitely constituted a wild night.

And man was I feeling it the next morning when we pulled out of Liz’s driveway, heading out on a home tour organized by the Junior League of Atlanta. I slumped in the passenger seat, wearing sunglasses and pounding water. On our way to pick up her friend Erin, who was joining us for the tour, Liz pointed to a garbage can on the sidewalk in Buckhead and said, “See that? That’s where Erin threw up last year before the house tour.”

I sized it up. “Maybe I should do the same thing,” I told her. “Then when we grab her, you can introduce me as someone who has something unique in common with her.” I was only half-joking.

But then as we drove the tour route, the roads turned twisty and hilly, a combination that would induce car-sickness on a good day. Definitely not what you want to combine with a hangover.

Outside each home, perfectly made-up southern girls sat at a table, smiling as they checked our tickets and gave us blue booties to slip over our shoes so we wouldn’t scuff the floor. “Y’all enjoy yourselves,” they’d urge and I’d wince.

Inside the second house, staring at the kitchen’s flawless marble counters and admiring its chilled under-counter beverage drawer, I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I looked around in a slight panic, wondering if anyone had ever soiled a home on the tour.

It has been years since I’ve thrown up for any reason, but when my mouth started salivating as I left the home, I knew what was coming. Without missing a beat, I walked down the driveway, crossed the street into a small park next to a set of occupied tennis courts, and knelt – Tebow-style – before silently barfing in a cluster of liriope.

To anyone watching, it would’ve looked like I was simply tying my shoe. Until you noticed I was wearing flipflops.

Liz and Erin had wisely hung back on the sidewalk, and questioningly flashed me thumbs-ups as I walked back to them. I simply nodded, trying to be discreet as I passed a woman walking two small white dogs past me into the park.

As we climbed into the car, Erin piped up from the backseat. “Gee Liz – we’re going 2/2 on this home tour. Guess next year it will be your turn!”  We both shuddered; Liz, undoubtedly at the thought of being the one to toss her cookies in public.

And me? Well, I’d just seen the two white dogs discover their next meal.

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But I just wanted to borrow a book…

23 Mar

Yesterday I walked to the library to pick up my book club’s next selection (In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O’Brien). When I got there, the sole librarian behind the counter was the woman I mentally refer to as Rita the Regulator.

Rita is not the librarian of your childhood who warmly comments on your selections or makes customized recommendations. She has no social skills and her job seems to bring her nothing but annoyance. If she had a visible thought bubble over her head, I’m pretty sure it would say, “Everyone is an idiot.”

Yesterday I had a chance to study her because she was on the phone with her back to me as I approached the desk. It sounded like she was having an argument with a patron. “I told you,” she said. “I looked. There’s not a book back there for you… No… I checked… spell your name again for me… yes… that’s the name I looked for, and I can tell you – there is NOT a book with that name on it… you will need to call back in a few hours… a few hours… because maybe then there will be a book back there with your name on it!”

Rita: Hates people, Loves Buffet?

I observed that she was wearing a brightly colored short sleeve button-up shirt featuring large parrots, and it made me imagine her at the store, picking it out. Had she liked the colors? The birds? Or was it a pragmatic decision made simply because of the shirt’s fit and weight, with no thought of the parrots on it? In any case, she looked like a Hawaiian tourist, which was an interesting look for the DC library in March.

The thing that makes Rita interesting (aside from everything else that fascinates me about her) is the fact that she can only perform one task at a time. Whatever she is doing has her full attention, and if you try to interrupt her you will receive a very terse reprimand. Knowing this, I patiently waited for her to complete the phone call while a line of slightly more restless patrons formed behind me.

When she hung up the phone, she turned and assessed the line, and her face seemed to read, “Great. Even MORE idiots to deal with.” In any case, she completed my transaction (which included updating my phone number in the system because there was a message on the computer prompting her to do so, which she was unwilling to override even with a line of people bearing down on her).

Book in hand, I exited. Or rather – I tried to exit. The library has two sets of automatic glass doors you pass through. I made it out the first set without issue, but then found the next set locked. I should’ve been clued in by the fact that a woman with a stroller was standing there, just hanging out between the doors, when I entered.

“It’s locked,” she said. I tried to muscle my way out, but it wasn’t happening. I turned around to re-enter the library, but the doors wouldn’t open because they’re triggered only by the pad inside the library. I was able to wrestle one open just enough to squeeze through so I could tap the pad and let the woman out.

I approached the desk to tell Rita that something was wrong with the doors, but she wouldn’t interrupt her transaction to look at me. “There’s a line,” she informed me without making eye contact.

I leaned toward the next person in the line, “You might want to let her know that the doors are locked and people can’t get out.”

Duty done, I returned to the entrance and reversed my way out, prying the doors open with some effort as I realized that the library was something of a fire trap. I held the door open for the baby stroller lady as I went, and we both laughed with relief when we finally made it to the sidewalk.

Like this, but not Spiderman, and not in a glass. So actually, not really like this.

The way the library is laid out, the entrance and exit face each other because it’s a bit like a horseshoe. While we were rejoicing in our newly found freedom, I looked up to see a guy – the guy who Rita had been helping when I tried to inform her about the doors – stuck in the exit foyer, grabbing the door handles and shaking them with a slight look of panic in his eye.

He was so absorbed in his task, he didn’t even notice me, sitting there staring at him, and it made me wonder if someone had watched me do the exact thing. It was not unlike watching an orangutan behind glass at the zoo.

And suddenly I understood why Rita shook her head and thought we were idiots.

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