Two days ago, at work, I'm doing the drive-thru as usual. Up comes a van driven by a mom and occupied by lots of hungry pre-teen boys. At the order box, the mom orders a grande combo (10 items, a combination of soft tacos, hard tacos, and bean burritos), a couple tostadas, and some other stuff. It came out to just under $20.
When she gets up to the window, I ask her if she wants any sauce, and she says she wants a lot of mild sauce. Well, if you read my Taco Bell essay already, you know how I feel about that. But anyway, I gave her like a dozen mild sauces hoping she would be content with it, and of course, she drops the ever-popular line, "Can I have some more sauce?"
I suppose there wasn't anything wrong with it in this case since there was a lot of food ordered. What annoys me is when people come through, order something like 2 tacos, and ask for A TON OF SAUCE!!!!!!!! I DRINK THE STUFF, NO SERIOUSLY "BRO", I PUT IT IN A FRICKIN GLASS AND CHUG IT! SOMETIMES I MAKE SOUP. IT'S REALLY QUITE DELICIOUS. I DON'T ACTUALLY EAT THE TACOS. THEY ARE FOR MY DOG.
I hate it when most people call me bro. Because the majority of the time, they are the "meathead" type of people who would have flunked out of high school if they hadn't cheated on all their homework and tests, who wear their hat sideways because they think it looks cool to have only one sunburned ear, who talk really slowly and with an attitude while slurring half of their words, and who do so many drugs that they could actually substitute their brain for scrambled eggs as a breakfast meal without any noticeable change. And I would rather jump into a swimming pool filled with man-eating monkeys, flesh-eating butterflies, and little hamsters brandishing toothpicks than be related to someone like that.
One time, somebody come through the drive-thru and ordered a taco with no lettuce, and when they got up to the window, I asked if they wanted any sauce, and they said, "No thanks, it's for my dog. And can you make sure they put no lettuce on there? He doesn't like lettuce." Umm, I guess he doesn't like a little something we call DOG FOOD either??!?!
Anyway, to make a long story even longer, do you remember that lady in the van who was asking for the mild sauce? Me neither.
Oh wait, yeah, she said, "Can I get some more mild sauce?" So I was like sure, why not, I don't have any opinions on that subject.
Then the clincher. As her defense for asking for more sauce, she said, "I've got a lot of boys in the car, and they like a lot of sauce...but they're women boys, so they like mild sauce.
...
Do you ever wonder how young pre-teen boys can seem so promising, so full of potential, only to grow up and turn into flaming homosexuals? Well, there's your answer.
I can see the future psychiatrist visits now:
Psychiatrist: Now Timmy, can you try and pinpoint any specific moments in your life where you may have acquired your, shall we say, flamboyant behavior?
Timmy (in a rapid, high-pitched, blonde ditz type voice): Well, my mom was like always getting on my case about using mild sauce like whenever we went to Taco Bell, and like she would say like why don't you like hot sauce Timmy and I would be like oh my god mom I've told you like a million times it burns my tongue and she would say like you're going to turn into a women if you keep eating that mild sauce Timmy and I was like WHATEVER mom.
Psychiatrist: Hmmm, this could account for a lot of things, including why you are wearing pantyhose and a pink skirt.
Timmy: Do you like my skirt? SHUT UP!! I love it too! You wanna go to the movies?
Psychiatrist: Well, technically I'm not supposed to go to any social events with patients. I could be fired and sentenced to practice psychiatry for life in Psychiatrist Prison.
Timmy: Psychiatrist Prison? What's that?
Psychiatrist: The Osbourne's house.
The best part of the whole ordeal aside from the mom's comment was what happened after the mom said that. The boy sitting in the front seat looked over at me and his mouth opened in shock at what his mom said and he had a puzzled expression of fear and embarrassment on his face that was priceless. I could only imagine what was going on inside of that boy's head. It was probably something along the lines of, "Women boy am I? I'll show you mom! As soon as I get home, I'm going to shave my peach fuzz, put on some cologne, and change my name to Chuck Diesel, manliest man ever to...ahh screw it. I wonder if any of mom's pantyhose fits me?"
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Married with...Turtles?
Well, I went to visit my grandchildren today.
Yes, you read that right. Grandchildren. I have grandchildren.
Well, not necessarily children by today's definition. More like grandtortoises. I have a pet male Russian Tortoise, Floyd, and we recently put him out to stud with a female Russian Tortoise who is owned by one of the families at our church, the Dullaarts. We let Floyd stay over at their house for about a week hoping that it would give him enough time to do his duty.
The only conceivable problem with this is that the female Russian Tortoise, Ethyl, is about twice as big and twice as fast as Floyd. So you can imagine the frustration this caused Floyd, because Ethyl wasn't too keen on being "studded". Occasionally, Mrs. Dullaart would find Floyd upside down in the yard, presumably flipped over by Ethyl since her shell is taller than his and it makes it difficult for Floyd to "assume the position".
But I guess Floyd was successful at one point or another, because shortly after his visit, Ethyl started laying eggs. And just a couple of days ago, 2 of the eggs hatched. So my parents and I went over to go see them.
Note: We were offered to take one of the babies, but my mom is whole-heartedly against it because she says one tortoise is hard enough to take care of. And she's probably right, but it's too bad, because they are really cool. They are maybe 2 inches in diameter, with little tiny heads, little tiny feet, a little tiny tail, and if they are anything like Floyd, they also will have gargantuan elephant-like turds. We have to be careful walking around the house because we let Floyd roam around wherever he pleases, and he is far from being potty-trained. It's very dangerous to walk around the house without wearing some heavy-duty boots and long pants because if you step in one of Floyd's immense gorilla-sized turds or one of his lakes of pee, you'll be knee-deep in despair.
It was interesting to see the differences in the two turtles. One was considerably more passive and didn't care to move around or explore too much, and the other was a miniature replica of Floyd...running around, exploring, digging, climbing, and being aggressive. And I was holding him, or trying to at least. He would try to crawl from my hand onto my arm, or he would go to the edge of my hand and look around nervously as if to say, "I don't want to go down there..." Then when I set him down on the sofa, he immediately made a beeline for the back of the sofa where the pillows were, and started to climb up them. So here is this tiny tortoise climbing a pillow 50 times larger than him, and he ends up getting about halfway up the pillow before it starts to get too steep to climb, so being the brilliant problem-solver that he is, he burrows into where the two pillows meet and goes to sleep.
Ah, how I envy Russian Tortoises sometimes. Not a care in the world. They can just eat and sleep all day if they want. Now I know when my parents read this they'll be thinking, "How is that any different than what you do everyday?" And they may have a point! But still, being a turtle would be really cool.
But no matter how hard I try, I'll never be as good at being as lazy as Floyd is. Sometimes just looking at him makes me sleepy...all sprawled out, basking in the sun while sitting on the porch in our back yard. And when he yawns (yes, turtles yawn) he looks a lot like Godzilla doing his patented roar.
So hopefully all the other eggs will hatch successfully, as I think there are 8-9 in all. That way, there will be a bunch of little Floyd's running around, climbing things, and making out-of-proportion messes in the worst places. But Floyd is a very unique turtle, and he's given me a lot of great memories, and he fits in just fine with our family. Now if he would just learn to do his business on the ground outside like everybody else, it would be perfect.
Yes, you read that right. Grandchildren. I have grandchildren.
Well, not necessarily children by today's definition. More like grandtortoises. I have a pet male Russian Tortoise, Floyd, and we recently put him out to stud with a female Russian Tortoise who is owned by one of the families at our church, the Dullaarts. We let Floyd stay over at their house for about a week hoping that it would give him enough time to do his duty.
The only conceivable problem with this is that the female Russian Tortoise, Ethyl, is about twice as big and twice as fast as Floyd. So you can imagine the frustration this caused Floyd, because Ethyl wasn't too keen on being "studded". Occasionally, Mrs. Dullaart would find Floyd upside down in the yard, presumably flipped over by Ethyl since her shell is taller than his and it makes it difficult for Floyd to "assume the position".
But I guess Floyd was successful at one point or another, because shortly after his visit, Ethyl started laying eggs. And just a couple of days ago, 2 of the eggs hatched. So my parents and I went over to go see them.
Note: We were offered to take one of the babies, but my mom is whole-heartedly against it because she says one tortoise is hard enough to take care of. And she's probably right, but it's too bad, because they are really cool. They are maybe 2 inches in diameter, with little tiny heads, little tiny feet, a little tiny tail, and if they are anything like Floyd, they also will have gargantuan elephant-like turds. We have to be careful walking around the house because we let Floyd roam around wherever he pleases, and he is far from being potty-trained. It's very dangerous to walk around the house without wearing some heavy-duty boots and long pants because if you step in one of Floyd's immense gorilla-sized turds or one of his lakes of pee, you'll be knee-deep in despair.
It was interesting to see the differences in the two turtles. One was considerably more passive and didn't care to move around or explore too much, and the other was a miniature replica of Floyd...running around, exploring, digging, climbing, and being aggressive. And I was holding him, or trying to at least. He would try to crawl from my hand onto my arm, or he would go to the edge of my hand and look around nervously as if to say, "I don't want to go down there..." Then when I set him down on the sofa, he immediately made a beeline for the back of the sofa where the pillows were, and started to climb up them. So here is this tiny tortoise climbing a pillow 50 times larger than him, and he ends up getting about halfway up the pillow before it starts to get too steep to climb, so being the brilliant problem-solver that he is, he burrows into where the two pillows meet and goes to sleep.
Ah, how I envy Russian Tortoises sometimes. Not a care in the world. They can just eat and sleep all day if they want. Now I know when my parents read this they'll be thinking, "How is that any different than what you do everyday?" And they may have a point! But still, being a turtle would be really cool.
But no matter how hard I try, I'll never be as good at being as lazy as Floyd is. Sometimes just looking at him makes me sleepy...all sprawled out, basking in the sun while sitting on the porch in our back yard. And when he yawns (yes, turtles yawn) he looks a lot like Godzilla doing his patented roar.
So hopefully all the other eggs will hatch successfully, as I think there are 8-9 in all. That way, there will be a bunch of little Floyd's running around, climbing things, and making out-of-proportion messes in the worst places. But Floyd is a very unique turtle, and he's given me a lot of great memories, and he fits in just fine with our family. Now if he would just learn to do his business on the ground outside like everybody else, it would be perfect.
Saturday, June 12, 2004
Common Sense? What's That?
2 things struck me as humorous at work today.
The first happened when some "Macho Man" with his big Ford F-350 Diesel Truck which happened to be raised up by about 20 feet or so and which I'm sure costs about $400 to refuel and which probably gets about 10 gallons to the mile pulled up to the order box. But it's all worth it because it makes him look cool, right? Even though he probably has to take turns at 1 MPH or less to avoid tipping over and he has to constantly swerve to avoid hitting birds and he needs binoculars just to see down to the street below him and he has to leave his window closed to keep the clouds out.
Anyway, he pulls up to the order box with his big diesel engine roaring to the point where I can barely hear what he is saying. Fortunately, I wasn't taking the order, my manager Miguel was. So throughout the conversation, this meathead is trying to give his order, and whenever Miguel tried to read back the order or ask him if he heard him correctly or whatever, the guy kept saying things like, "What?" "I can't hear you" "I can barely hear you" "Huh?". Finally, he must have put two and two together, because he turned off his engine. Eventually, things were straightened out, and he came up to the window.
When he got to the window, of course his engine is back on, and does he turn it off? Of course not. My favorite part of this whole story was:
As soon as he gets to the window, he looks at me and yells over his engine, "I could barely hear you!" And I smirk, and yell back, "I wonder why?" and point at his engine. It was as if he thought that it was our fault that he couldn't hear what we were saying to him. Even after he left, I still don't think he realized that it was his engine that was making it hard to hear anything. Maybe I shouldn't have been so subtle. Maybe I should have said, "I realize that the fumes coming out of your diesel engine may be giving you permanent brain damage, but I think this concept is simple enough for even you to understand: Your engine is loud. Therefore neither you nor I can hear very well. Solution: Turn the damn thing off!"
This next one just cracks me up. A lady and some other people came up to the order box around 7 pm or so. Now, I don't know who all was in the car because...
They came up to the order box and the driver said the following to the passenger(s):
"What do you want? You don't want anything? Me neither."
And they backed out of the drive thru.
...
Do people not use their brains anymore or what? Gee, lets go to Taco Bell, though I don't know why since I'm not hungry and neither is anyone else in the car, but that's OK, at least it's something to do. I mean how pathetic is that? Are people so lazy today that they see a fast food restaurant during the dinner hours and they immediately start to pull into it without thinking or even asking the other people in the car if they want anything? It's called common sense, and it seems that it's in short supply nowadays. If you are not hungry, and neither is anyone else in your car, then why would you go somewhere that serves food?!?
Maybe someday I'll be cool enough to drive a truck that has its own time zone or go to fast food restaurants and not order anything. Hey, maybe I should write a dieting book. It'll be entitled, "How to Back Your Way Out of a Meal"
The first happened when some "Macho Man" with his big Ford F-350 Diesel Truck which happened to be raised up by about 20 feet or so and which I'm sure costs about $400 to refuel and which probably gets about 10 gallons to the mile pulled up to the order box. But it's all worth it because it makes him look cool, right? Even though he probably has to take turns at 1 MPH or less to avoid tipping over and he has to constantly swerve to avoid hitting birds and he needs binoculars just to see down to the street below him and he has to leave his window closed to keep the clouds out.
Anyway, he pulls up to the order box with his big diesel engine roaring to the point where I can barely hear what he is saying. Fortunately, I wasn't taking the order, my manager Miguel was. So throughout the conversation, this meathead is trying to give his order, and whenever Miguel tried to read back the order or ask him if he heard him correctly or whatever, the guy kept saying things like, "What?" "I can't hear you" "I can barely hear you" "Huh?". Finally, he must have put two and two together, because he turned off his engine. Eventually, things were straightened out, and he came up to the window.
When he got to the window, of course his engine is back on, and does he turn it off? Of course not. My favorite part of this whole story was:
As soon as he gets to the window, he looks at me and yells over his engine, "I could barely hear you!" And I smirk, and yell back, "I wonder why?" and point at his engine. It was as if he thought that it was our fault that he couldn't hear what we were saying to him. Even after he left, I still don't think he realized that it was his engine that was making it hard to hear anything. Maybe I shouldn't have been so subtle. Maybe I should have said, "I realize that the fumes coming out of your diesel engine may be giving you permanent brain damage, but I think this concept is simple enough for even you to understand: Your engine is loud. Therefore neither you nor I can hear very well. Solution: Turn the damn thing off!"
This next one just cracks me up. A lady and some other people came up to the order box around 7 pm or so. Now, I don't know who all was in the car because...
They came up to the order box and the driver said the following to the passenger(s):
"What do you want? You don't want anything? Me neither."
And they backed out of the drive thru.
...
Do people not use their brains anymore or what? Gee, lets go to Taco Bell, though I don't know why since I'm not hungry and neither is anyone else in the car, but that's OK, at least it's something to do. I mean how pathetic is that? Are people so lazy today that they see a fast food restaurant during the dinner hours and they immediately start to pull into it without thinking or even asking the other people in the car if they want anything? It's called common sense, and it seems that it's in short supply nowadays. If you are not hungry, and neither is anyone else in your car, then why would you go somewhere that serves food?!?
Maybe someday I'll be cool enough to drive a truck that has its own time zone or go to fast food restaurants and not order anything. Hey, maybe I should write a dieting book. It'll be entitled, "How to Back Your Way Out of a Meal"
Friday, June 11, 2004
And The Score Is...
Me: 2
Scammers: 0
It happened again. For the second time in less than two months, some hopeless low-lifes tried to scam me out of some money while working at Taco Bell. Around 7:30 pm or so tonight, a few black ladies ordered one Meximelt, and pulled up to my window to pay. The driver handed me a $20. Immediately I think, "Now, you're telling me that between you 3 ladies, the smallest bill you have is a $20?" So I was mildly suspicious, but people have paid for smaller priced items with larger bills before with no problems, so I didn't think too much of it. In fact, I think the record for me so far is someone once ordered around $2-3 of food, and paid with a $100 bill.
Anyway, I took the $20 and hit the Amount Tender button to open my drawer. The Meximelt cost $1.17, so I owed her $18.83. But there was one problem. It was particularly busy tonight, and I was running out of $1 bills. At the time, I only had two $1 bills. So I took a $10, a $5, and the two $1's out, trying to decide if I wanted to ask her if she would mind getting a dollar in quarters back or if I should make her wait and get some $1's from my manager.
But I wasn't able to think for very long, because the driver said, "Here honey, here's 20 cents." So now I owed her $19.03, which meant I now needed two dollars more than what I had. But before I am able to do anything, the driver turns to me again and says, "Hey honey, I got a dollar bill here instead." So I immediately think, "YES! You just rescued me from my dilemma!" So I take the dollar, put the $10, $5, and the two $1's that I had previously taken out back into the drawer, and pondered for a second.
To make sure I gave her back the right amount of money, I had to remember now what she had given me. First she gave me the $20, then the 20 cents, then the $1. So all I really owed her was the $20 bill that she gave me originally, plus the 3 cents change, since the Meximelt cost $1.17. So I figured that out, and then this is the important part. I only had one $20 bill in my drawer. The one that she gave me. So I take that $20 bill out, plus 3 cents, and give it to her. I then turn to my drawer for just a couple seconds to tuck all the bills back in. In that time, she and her friends apparently did the ol' switcheroo, because she then said, "Hey honey, you only gave me back a $1 bill."
DING DING DING!!! SCAM DETECTOR ALERT!! SOUND THE ALARM!!!
That was when my brain's Scam Alert and Prevention alarm (or my SAP alarm...used for recognizing saps who try to scam me) activated. At that exact moment, I realized what I was dealing with, and I wasn't about to let them get away with it.
I said, "No, I gave you back a $20."
She said, "No, you gave me a $1."
I then proceeded to take out my drawer and show her where I always put my $20's and to have her see that there was nothing there. I said, "Look, this is where I put my $20 bills. There's nothing there because I gave you back a $20."
She then hesitated for a minute, and said, "Let me talk with your manager." So I said alright, I closed my drawer, walked over to my manager, Thaddus, and laughingly said, "She just tried to scam me," and I told him what happened. So we walked over to the window, only to see that they had driven away. Turns out, after I left to go talk to Thaddus, they had driven up to the 2nd window, taken their Meximelt that they had paid for, and left, because they knew that I was aware of what they were trying to pull and they didn't really want any part of Thaddus...they just used it as an excuse to hightail it out of there.
If I had fallen for the scam, they would have ended up getting $20 out of it. But since I didn't, they ended up paying $1.17 and getting a Meximelt. Fortunately for me, I almost always drop my $20's in a little drop box we have below the register after every order to prevent theft and scams like this from happening. Because I had dropped all of my previous $20's, the only $20 in my drawer was the one that the lady gave me, so I had proof that I had given her back a $20 and not a $1 bill. And when I showed her my empty $20 slot, she knew that I was on to her scheme and she basically gave up the fight and ran with her tail between her legs.
So I'm feelin' great right now knowing that I am undefeated as a cashier against scammers, with a spotless record of 2-0. Bring on the next challenger please, honey.
Scammers: 0
It happened again. For the second time in less than two months, some hopeless low-lifes tried to scam me out of some money while working at Taco Bell. Around 7:30 pm or so tonight, a few black ladies ordered one Meximelt, and pulled up to my window to pay. The driver handed me a $20. Immediately I think, "Now, you're telling me that between you 3 ladies, the smallest bill you have is a $20?" So I was mildly suspicious, but people have paid for smaller priced items with larger bills before with no problems, so I didn't think too much of it. In fact, I think the record for me so far is someone once ordered around $2-3 of food, and paid with a $100 bill.
Anyway, I took the $20 and hit the Amount Tender button to open my drawer. The Meximelt cost $1.17, so I owed her $18.83. But there was one problem. It was particularly busy tonight, and I was running out of $1 bills. At the time, I only had two $1 bills. So I took a $10, a $5, and the two $1's out, trying to decide if I wanted to ask her if she would mind getting a dollar in quarters back or if I should make her wait and get some $1's from my manager.
But I wasn't able to think for very long, because the driver said, "Here honey, here's 20 cents." So now I owed her $19.03, which meant I now needed two dollars more than what I had. But before I am able to do anything, the driver turns to me again and says, "Hey honey, I got a dollar bill here instead." So I immediately think, "YES! You just rescued me from my dilemma!" So I take the dollar, put the $10, $5, and the two $1's that I had previously taken out back into the drawer, and pondered for a second.
To make sure I gave her back the right amount of money, I had to remember now what she had given me. First she gave me the $20, then the 20 cents, then the $1. So all I really owed her was the $20 bill that she gave me originally, plus the 3 cents change, since the Meximelt cost $1.17. So I figured that out, and then this is the important part. I only had one $20 bill in my drawer. The one that she gave me. So I take that $20 bill out, plus 3 cents, and give it to her. I then turn to my drawer for just a couple seconds to tuck all the bills back in. In that time, she and her friends apparently did the ol' switcheroo, because she then said, "Hey honey, you only gave me back a $1 bill."
DING DING DING!!! SCAM DETECTOR ALERT!! SOUND THE ALARM!!!
That was when my brain's Scam Alert and Prevention alarm (or my SAP alarm...used for recognizing saps who try to scam me) activated. At that exact moment, I realized what I was dealing with, and I wasn't about to let them get away with it.
I said, "No, I gave you back a $20."
She said, "No, you gave me a $1."
I then proceeded to take out my drawer and show her where I always put my $20's and to have her see that there was nothing there. I said, "Look, this is where I put my $20 bills. There's nothing there because I gave you back a $20."
She then hesitated for a minute, and said, "Let me talk with your manager." So I said alright, I closed my drawer, walked over to my manager, Thaddus, and laughingly said, "She just tried to scam me," and I told him what happened. So we walked over to the window, only to see that they had driven away. Turns out, after I left to go talk to Thaddus, they had driven up to the 2nd window, taken their Meximelt that they had paid for, and left, because they knew that I was aware of what they were trying to pull and they didn't really want any part of Thaddus...they just used it as an excuse to hightail it out of there.
If I had fallen for the scam, they would have ended up getting $20 out of it. But since I didn't, they ended up paying $1.17 and getting a Meximelt. Fortunately for me, I almost always drop my $20's in a little drop box we have below the register after every order to prevent theft and scams like this from happening. Because I had dropped all of my previous $20's, the only $20 in my drawer was the one that the lady gave me, so I had proof that I had given her back a $20 and not a $1 bill. And when I showed her my empty $20 slot, she knew that I was on to her scheme and she basically gave up the fight and ran with her tail between her legs.
So I'm feelin' great right now knowing that I am undefeated as a cashier against scammers, with a spotless record of 2-0. Bring on the next challenger please, honey.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Babies: They're Smarter Than You Look
Tonight, as I was coming home from church, I had a revelation. Babies are much smarter than we take them to be. I came across this discovery after much scientific and highly complicated research, namely, watching and playing with a baby for about 10 minutes.
This super-baby, as some may call him, is Aaron and Sara's (fellow church-goers and bloggers) baby, Basil. Innocent as he may look, inside his head is a brain that is constantly coming up with new ideas and ways to make himself happy. The number one way he does that is by laughing and smiling. But, he cannot just laugh and smile for no reason at all! He must devise a sinister and devious method of having other people make him laugh.
How does he do this you ask? Simple. He instigates "silly" and "childish" behavior that we "grown-ups" consider "funny" and "cute", and we think it is so humorous that we imitate him...in essence we are tossing dignity aside and acting like babies. And babies think that this is simply hilarious, so they will go out of their way to do silly things which older kids and adults will imitate and thereby make themselves look like fools...and babies love it!
Some of the techniques that Basil used were:
1. Putting his finger/hand in his mouth and moving it up and down, making it so that all of the noise that came out of his mouth sounded like "Aabaabaabaabaagaabaagaabaagaa"
You can just imagine how silly it looks for an adult to try and imitate this. A fellow churchgoer, Yumi, fell for this trick. She saw Basil do this, and she tried it herself...And I just know that Basil would be laughing his head off if he could, while thinking to himself, "Do you know how silly you look?!? Ahahahahaha!!!"
2. Flailing his arms in a maniacal fashion.
This is a rather nasty technique that, when pulled off correctly, makes the victim look like a retard. Unfortunately for me, Basil got me good. He started waving his arms around, and I did the same thing, and I'm sure I looked strikingly like a constipated seagull with a wing infection. I bet Basil will be remembering that one for a while...laughing at me on the inside everytime he sees me. "Hahahaha!!! It's the retarded seagull boy!"
3. Having a blank stare on his face, effectively luring the victim into striking range, and then delivering the finishing blow.
Alas, I fell for this one too. Sara was holding Basil in her arms, and Basil was staring at me with a blank expression on his face. Being a guy, I naturally assumed he was challenging me to a staring contest. I accepted, and tried to intimidate him by moving closer to him to try and make him blink. Being the ingenious mastermind that he is, Basil kept his expressionless face on until I was close enough, at which time, with lightning quick speed, he swung his arm up and whacked me right in the nose. I recoiled backwards, and he flashed me a mischievious smile as if to say, "Gotcha!"
So the next time a baby makes a funny face, or makes a funny noise, or tries to play possum, don't be caught off guard! It's all an elaborate scheme to make you, the grown-up, look silly. They are pleasure seekers, and they get pleasure from making you do ridiculously stupid things. Ingenious, isn't it? Well, I'm done for now. I need to get this wing infection looked at.
This super-baby, as some may call him, is Aaron and Sara's (fellow church-goers and bloggers) baby, Basil. Innocent as he may look, inside his head is a brain that is constantly coming up with new ideas and ways to make himself happy. The number one way he does that is by laughing and smiling. But, he cannot just laugh and smile for no reason at all! He must devise a sinister and devious method of having other people make him laugh.
How does he do this you ask? Simple. He instigates "silly" and "childish" behavior that we "grown-ups" consider "funny" and "cute", and we think it is so humorous that we imitate him...in essence we are tossing dignity aside and acting like babies. And babies think that this is simply hilarious, so they will go out of their way to do silly things which older kids and adults will imitate and thereby make themselves look like fools...and babies love it!
Some of the techniques that Basil used were:
1. Putting his finger/hand in his mouth and moving it up and down, making it so that all of the noise that came out of his mouth sounded like "Aabaabaabaabaagaabaagaabaagaa"
You can just imagine how silly it looks for an adult to try and imitate this. A fellow churchgoer, Yumi, fell for this trick. She saw Basil do this, and she tried it herself...And I just know that Basil would be laughing his head off if he could, while thinking to himself, "Do you know how silly you look?!? Ahahahahaha!!!"
2. Flailing his arms in a maniacal fashion.
This is a rather nasty technique that, when pulled off correctly, makes the victim look like a retard. Unfortunately for me, Basil got me good. He started waving his arms around, and I did the same thing, and I'm sure I looked strikingly like a constipated seagull with a wing infection. I bet Basil will be remembering that one for a while...laughing at me on the inside everytime he sees me. "Hahahaha!!! It's the retarded seagull boy!"
3. Having a blank stare on his face, effectively luring the victim into striking range, and then delivering the finishing blow.
Alas, I fell for this one too. Sara was holding Basil in her arms, and Basil was staring at me with a blank expression on his face. Being a guy, I naturally assumed he was challenging me to a staring contest. I accepted, and tried to intimidate him by moving closer to him to try and make him blink. Being the ingenious mastermind that he is, Basil kept his expressionless face on until I was close enough, at which time, with lightning quick speed, he swung his arm up and whacked me right in the nose. I recoiled backwards, and he flashed me a mischievious smile as if to say, "Gotcha!"
So the next time a baby makes a funny face, or makes a funny noise, or tries to play possum, don't be caught off guard! It's all an elaborate scheme to make you, the grown-up, look silly. They are pleasure seekers, and they get pleasure from making you do ridiculously stupid things. Ingenious, isn't it? Well, I'm done for now. I need to get this wing infection looked at.
Hai, Wellcum Too Tako Bel.
As usual, I'm taking drive thru orders at the window earlier tonight, and some lady comes up to the order box, and says:
"I want 2 bean burritos...bean..." (She really accentuated the word "bean" on the second time)
She then proceeds to spell it out for me...to make sure I don't think she is saying a beef burrito, because bean and beef sound remarkably the same over the intercom...
So here's the whole conversation now that you know what is going on:
"I want 2 bean burritos...bean, B...E...N. Bean burritos. 1 with extra onions."
I wasn't aware that we served "Ben" burritos, but I guess spelling is hard for some people. Especially with the extremely complicated vocabulary which is commonly associated with placing an order at a fast food restaurant. So I cut her some slack. And I made sure she got her two beef burritos, one with no onions.
"I want 2 bean burritos...bean..." (She really accentuated the word "bean" on the second time)
She then proceeds to spell it out for me...to make sure I don't think she is saying a beef burrito, because bean and beef sound remarkably the same over the intercom...
So here's the whole conversation now that you know what is going on:
"I want 2 bean burritos...bean, B...E...N. Bean burritos. 1 with extra onions."
I wasn't aware that we served "Ben" burritos, but I guess spelling is hard for some people. Especially with the extremely complicated vocabulary which is commonly associated with placing an order at a fast food restaurant. So I cut her some slack. And I made sure she got her two beef burritos, one with no onions.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
The Hole Tooth and Nothing But The Tooth
Well, yesterday (Tuesday) I had 3 wisdom teeth extracted for fun. For some reason, I only have 3 wisdom teeth, and not 4. I guess that explained why I be as dum as I be. Now I have 3 gaping holes in my mouth that will stop at nothing to cause me pain and agony. I think the surgeon secretly implanted a special device in my mouth so that my mischievious teeth-less holes can turn on the pain sensors of my brain whenever they want. Anyway, let me tell you about the experience.
My mom and I got to the office around 9 AM so that we would have ample time to fill out the necessary forms and have them ready by 9:30 AM, which was when I was supposed to be there for my consultation and surgery shortly thereafter. It's a good thing we planned ahead and got there early because if we hadn't, we wouldn't have been able to wait around for another 2 hours for the doctor to be ready for me. Whew, lucky us.
Anyway, as I was filling out one of the forms, there was a question about my, and I quote, "Heath history". As I sat there, I wondered if I really wanted to voluntarily put myself under the knife of a doctor who couldn't even spell health correctly. "Oh sure, I'm probably in good hands," I told myself. "Just because he can't spell health doesn't mean he isn't a good docto...AHHHHHHHHH!!!" (runs screaming out of the office)
No, actually I put that little spelling error aside and allowed them to take me in for some X-rays. They put me next to a X-ray machine that looked like something out of Star Trek. I had to bite on some white thing sticking out of this futuristic-looking machine, and watched as the lady administering the X-rays closed all the adjacent doors, windows, shutters, and proceeded to put on a full suit of body armor made entirely out of lead. That made me feel really comfortable, and quite safe knowing I was standing there in what might as well have been my underwear and a bow tie, while everyone else is huddled up behind a bulletproof shelter several hundred feet away, cowering in fear.
As I watched the person press a complicated combination of buttons, these 2 clamps came out of the machine and attached to my head, which I assume were there to keep me from squirming away while the X-rays melted my brain into a soft gelatinous state. Then the machine started, and this telescopic panel started circling around me, buzzing threateningly...and I could have sworn I heard someone inside of it slowly chanting, "All your base are belong to us." After my brain was assimilated, the machine stopped, and the lady came out, took off her body armor, and cautiously came over and took me back to my seat in the waiting room to wait for my consultation.
Finally, my mom and I got to go to a room and see the doctor as he basically told me what he was going to do. He explained it in very simple terms as to not frighten me. He said that it was a very simple procedure, and there was no reason to worry. He then gave me another form to read and sign. It listed all of the things that could possibly go wrong, like swelling, having chips of teeth being left in my mouth, potentially dying by throwing up in my sleep, and loss of scalp and penis. So I signed it, and a little bit later, I was off to the surgery room.
I laid down in this big chair facing a table with a bunch of shiny objects on it covered by a cloth so I couldn't clearly see the instruments of destruction. To my right was an IV pump, and to my left was a blood pressure and pulse machine. The nurse hooked me up to the BP/P machine, and it registered me as having normal blood pressure and pulse. So I sat there for 10-15 minutes, and every 3-4 minutes, the blood pressure cuff did its thing and tightened up to update my BP. Also, I had a little clamp on my index finger that constantly registered my pulse. It was normal for the most part, except when it would get crazy and say my pulse was upwards of 200 beats per minute, when in reality it was beating the same as it was when it registered at 60-70 beats per minute. Also, the "Pulseox" machine (the thing that measures the oxygen in your blood and goes beep...beep...beep and has the constantly varying lines that spike up and down) would sometimes go crazy and have a bunch of really long and erratic lines that were really close together. However, the weird part was when they started disgrouping and reforming as skull and crossbones and my pulse registered as "666". Well, maybe that's the drugs talking.
Finally, the doctor comes in and starts an IV in my right arm. A few seconds later, I feel some sort of liquid splash on my arm, and I'm thinking, "Oh great, they struck an artery, now I've got a geyser for an arm." But I guess it wasn't anything serious because a moment later the doctor says, "OK, here comes the good stuff...you should start feeling a little dizzy and disoriented." So I'm sitting there waiting for it to kick in, and I'm not really feeling anything. I think to myself, "I'm not feeling dizzy or disoriented, I feel just fin..."
Next thing I know, I plop down into a comfy chair outside of the surgery room feeling really groovy. I had wicked double vision, my head was spinning, and I didn't have a care in the world. A nurse passed by me and asked how I was doing, and I gave a drugged out smile and tried to figure out which of the two twin nurses in front of me said that. Finally, my mom comes over and tried to talk to me while I'm still relishing the opportunity to be pain-free and light-headed. I eventually get around to feeling my mouth, and I discover what feels like a deformed piece of gauze sticking out of my mouth. I ask my mom, "Wot iz tis?" and she says, "That's your lip." Then I realize my bottom lip is completely numb, along with my chin, which feels like a puffy sponge. My bottom lip felt like it looked like Mick Jagger's, and my chin stuck out so much it rivaled Jay Leno.
So my mom drives me home, and I have fun watching double the amount of cars drive around us and feeling like my head is about to float away. When we get home, my mom gives me some yogurt to eat, and with my swollen lip and chin, it's a real struggle. I felt like a retard trying to aim the spoon into my mouth without spilling it all over my swollen lip. I'm sure it looked real comical though.
But then the fun ends. Maybe 4 hours later, the numbness wears off, and the pain sets in. I can't even take a sip of water or a tiny spoonful of anything without having excruciating pain expel from the gaping holes in my mouth. So I basically slept for a while, and eventually the pain lessened to the point where I was able to eat and drink a little, though it still hurt a lot, and I couldn't chew without setting off the pain parade. So that was no fun.
And here I am now, 5 PM Wednesday evening. I can eat and drink a little better, though I still can't chew or open my mouth much without it hurting, and talking isn't painless yet either. So all in all, I'm sure the doctor did a great job, but the recovery is the worst part. Hopefully I'll get better soon.
Note: Not everything in this tale was true, and I had to make up a few things here and there, because frankly, the tooth hurts.
My mom and I got to the office around 9 AM so that we would have ample time to fill out the necessary forms and have them ready by 9:30 AM, which was when I was supposed to be there for my consultation and surgery shortly thereafter. It's a good thing we planned ahead and got there early because if we hadn't, we wouldn't have been able to wait around for another 2 hours for the doctor to be ready for me. Whew, lucky us.
Anyway, as I was filling out one of the forms, there was a question about my, and I quote, "Heath history". As I sat there, I wondered if I really wanted to voluntarily put myself under the knife of a doctor who couldn't even spell health correctly. "Oh sure, I'm probably in good hands," I told myself. "Just because he can't spell health doesn't mean he isn't a good docto...AHHHHHHHHH!!!" (runs screaming out of the office)
No, actually I put that little spelling error aside and allowed them to take me in for some X-rays. They put me next to a X-ray machine that looked like something out of Star Trek. I had to bite on some white thing sticking out of this futuristic-looking machine, and watched as the lady administering the X-rays closed all the adjacent doors, windows, shutters, and proceeded to put on a full suit of body armor made entirely out of lead. That made me feel really comfortable, and quite safe knowing I was standing there in what might as well have been my underwear and a bow tie, while everyone else is huddled up behind a bulletproof shelter several hundred feet away, cowering in fear.
As I watched the person press a complicated combination of buttons, these 2 clamps came out of the machine and attached to my head, which I assume were there to keep me from squirming away while the X-rays melted my brain into a soft gelatinous state. Then the machine started, and this telescopic panel started circling around me, buzzing threateningly...and I could have sworn I heard someone inside of it slowly chanting, "All your base are belong to us." After my brain was assimilated, the machine stopped, and the lady came out, took off her body armor, and cautiously came over and took me back to my seat in the waiting room to wait for my consultation.
Finally, my mom and I got to go to a room and see the doctor as he basically told me what he was going to do. He explained it in very simple terms as to not frighten me. He said that it was a very simple procedure, and there was no reason to worry. He then gave me another form to read and sign. It listed all of the things that could possibly go wrong, like swelling, having chips of teeth being left in my mouth, potentially dying by throwing up in my sleep, and loss of scalp and penis. So I signed it, and a little bit later, I was off to the surgery room.
I laid down in this big chair facing a table with a bunch of shiny objects on it covered by a cloth so I couldn't clearly see the instruments of destruction. To my right was an IV pump, and to my left was a blood pressure and pulse machine. The nurse hooked me up to the BP/P machine, and it registered me as having normal blood pressure and pulse. So I sat there for 10-15 minutes, and every 3-4 minutes, the blood pressure cuff did its thing and tightened up to update my BP. Also, I had a little clamp on my index finger that constantly registered my pulse. It was normal for the most part, except when it would get crazy and say my pulse was upwards of 200 beats per minute, when in reality it was beating the same as it was when it registered at 60-70 beats per minute. Also, the "Pulseox" machine (the thing that measures the oxygen in your blood and goes beep...beep...beep and has the constantly varying lines that spike up and down) would sometimes go crazy and have a bunch of really long and erratic lines that were really close together. However, the weird part was when they started disgrouping and reforming as skull and crossbones and my pulse registered as "666". Well, maybe that's the drugs talking.
Finally, the doctor comes in and starts an IV in my right arm. A few seconds later, I feel some sort of liquid splash on my arm, and I'm thinking, "Oh great, they struck an artery, now I've got a geyser for an arm." But I guess it wasn't anything serious because a moment later the doctor says, "OK, here comes the good stuff...you should start feeling a little dizzy and disoriented." So I'm sitting there waiting for it to kick in, and I'm not really feeling anything. I think to myself, "I'm not feeling dizzy or disoriented, I feel just fin..."
Next thing I know, I plop down into a comfy chair outside of the surgery room feeling really groovy. I had wicked double vision, my head was spinning, and I didn't have a care in the world. A nurse passed by me and asked how I was doing, and I gave a drugged out smile and tried to figure out which of the two twin nurses in front of me said that. Finally, my mom comes over and tried to talk to me while I'm still relishing the opportunity to be pain-free and light-headed. I eventually get around to feeling my mouth, and I discover what feels like a deformed piece of gauze sticking out of my mouth. I ask my mom, "Wot iz tis?" and she says, "That's your lip." Then I realize my bottom lip is completely numb, along with my chin, which feels like a puffy sponge. My bottom lip felt like it looked like Mick Jagger's, and my chin stuck out so much it rivaled Jay Leno.
So my mom drives me home, and I have fun watching double the amount of cars drive around us and feeling like my head is about to float away. When we get home, my mom gives me some yogurt to eat, and with my swollen lip and chin, it's a real struggle. I felt like a retard trying to aim the spoon into my mouth without spilling it all over my swollen lip. I'm sure it looked real comical though.
But then the fun ends. Maybe 4 hours later, the numbness wears off, and the pain sets in. I can't even take a sip of water or a tiny spoonful of anything without having excruciating pain expel from the gaping holes in my mouth. So I basically slept for a while, and eventually the pain lessened to the point where I was able to eat and drink a little, though it still hurt a lot, and I couldn't chew without setting off the pain parade. So that was no fun.
And here I am now, 5 PM Wednesday evening. I can eat and drink a little better, though I still can't chew or open my mouth much without it hurting, and talking isn't painless yet either. So all in all, I'm sure the doctor did a great job, but the recovery is the worst part. Hopefully I'll get better soon.
Note: Not everything in this tale was true, and I had to make up a few things here and there, because frankly, the tooth hurts.
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