Fears of Formaldehyde

Reading through my blog you will notice that there are a lot of stories from my time in college. This isn’t because I have some great love for my time there, but rather because I had a lot of strange experiences when in college. Every year around this time I am reminded of a very specific and odd event that I always thought I should write about.

It was the end of August and I had signed up for an Anatomy class. This class is infamously hard and comes as two parts, the first is the lecture and the second part is the labs. The labs are where the class dissects a human cadaver throughout the 12-week course. Well, after about a month of being in this class it was pretty clear that cutting up bodies was not for everyone. Forgetting for a moment that you are dissecting a human, everything else about the lab was pretty terrible too. You had to be careful where you set your bag down because everything was coated in a disinfectant that, to quote one of the teacher-aids who actually runs the lab “That stuff will melt the soles of your shoes if you stood in here too long!” I don’t know if that is true, but all of the aids wore the same kind of shoes.

But, as bad as that was, there was nothing worse than the smell. It’s not the smell of bodies, although that was very distasteful, it was the smell of all the chemicals. The formaldehyde was so strong that I would leave there every week just feeling sick. The best way that I can describe how overwhelmingly terrible this smell was is by quoting an email from the class professor “Really, everyone should be wearing half mask respirators” …

After the second month there the class was getting much smaller, and soon the lab only had about 18 people, down by more than half. Well, one day I was working in the back of the room with a small group when suddenly we heard a loud crash. I remember the sound being very specific, almost as if someone had just roundhouse kicked the appendicular skeleton that was in the room. All of us looked around but couldn’t tell what had actually happened.

However, on the other side of the room where the sound came from, every face was staring down in complete shock. No one moved and no one made a sound. It was pretty clear to me that something was not right, so I started to walk through the group of people gesturing for them to move out of my way. Following the eyes of the other students I looked down to see that the noise had been a student fainting and he had indeed fallen on the skeleton on his way to the ground. I sprinted over to him and grabbed his arm; I didn’t know his name but he was a large fellow. Checking his pulse, I started to sternly shout “Hey! Hey buddy! You have to wake up! Come on. Wake up!” After a few seconds he opened his eyes and they were spinning.

The room around us was silent, but when his eyes opened one of the teacher aids came up to us and said “We have to get him to his feet.” I assume this was because of the pure poison that apparently they mop the floor with and I otherwise would have agreed, but it was pretty obvious to me that this guy was not going to be able to stand yet. The aid started to pick him up, clearly overestimating his own ability to lift a limp 220-pound body. “Wait!” I said “Don’t lift him yet.” The aid looked at me and started to ask why when at that moment, just as I expected, the guy passed out again. Once more I started speak to him in a firm voice “Come on buddy! Time to go! Let’s go! Get up!” Again, he opened his eyes and I could tell that this time was a bit better as his eyes didn’t seem to be actively spinning. He stood up but he was shaky, really shaky. I told him to put his arm around me and that we are going to walk towards the door. He did as he was told and we shambled to the fresh air outside.

It seemed to me that all he really needed was to be away from either the fumes, or the bodies and the best place for that was the shade in the grass. We walked over and he immediately dropped to his knees and rolled onto his back, putting his arms over his eyes. He started to mumble something and I looked back at the aid who was standing 5-feet behind us with a shocked look on his face. Having not heard him I leaned in closer “I need a drink” he said. I told him to wait there and jogged back into the lab. When I arrived, I was surprised to see that no one had moved an inch. They all looked up at me in shock as I walked over to my backpack and removed a bottle of water and headed back towards the door. Finally, one of the other aids asked me if he was going to be alright. I really didn’t know why he fainted in the first place, but I figured that he would be okay away from the fumes. But even if he wasn’t, what could these people do? I simply nodded as I walked out.

When I got back to the guy he was at least sitting up. He took the water and drank all of it. I stayed with him and he told me that he didn’t know why he fainted. I told him that I assume it was because of the formaldehyde, that stuff is just terrible. He agreed and we sat there until he felt good enough to get his bag and leave for the day. All-in-all it was a very strange afternoon.

That night it got even worse.

When I got home, I saw that I had an email from that professor. I was surprised and apprehensive about this because he was not a nice man and I figured that anything he wrote would reflect his brash personality. When reading the email, it was clear in the first sentence that this was not a friendly message.

He started out by telling me that when the student fainted it was not my responsibility to get involved and that by doing so, I interfered with those who were much more capable. He informed me that his aids were medically trained and that any student who couldn’t handle the fumes should wear a respirator and any student who couldn’t handle the bodies should not be in his class in the first place. He ended his email by informing me that my presence there surely did more damage than good.

I wanted to write him back and inform him that I did not see anyone who was ‘more capable’ and that he must be referring to his other aids as being medically trained, because that is not what I witnessed. But also, if we should be wearing masks, why aren’t we? Why are we only hearing about this now? Lastly, I wanted to inform him that I highly doubt that the student in question thinks I did more damage than good and that his email was the silliest thing I have ever seen a grown man say.

I wanted to say all of this, but I have a firm rule against arguing with crazy or stupid, so I let it go.  

The next week when I walked into the lab, I was met at the door by the aid who came outside with us. He reached out and shook my hand and told me that he was happy I was there. I didn’t see the student in question in the labs again, but I did see him in the lecture where he found me, sat down next to me and introduced himself. His name was David, and we never spoke about what happened.

I have never been sure if I did something that was right, wrong or even just irrelevant. But I know this: If I passed out in a room because of noxious fumes, I would definitely want someone to drag me to safety.

Richard’s Ring

The other day I was reminded of something that happened to me many years ago. When I was in college, I didn’t really take any classes just for fun. It’s not that I have a problem with classes like bowling or ceramics on a college level, it’s just that I never found a class that I enjoyed enough to spend my hard-earned money on that wasn’t required for my degree. The topic that did always interest me was cultural history. But I never got around to exploring that until closer to my graduation when I took a Celtic anthropology class. I was always fascinated by the Celts and really love to learn about them. So, after completing that class I took an advanced class and completely immersed myself in Celtic culture.

Of the many cool aspects of Celtic life, I always really liked their style. Their style of clothing, weapons, hair, tattoos. All of it! One particular group of Celts was known for wearing leather rings, which was a personal favorite of mine. They would braid them and treat them to make them soft. Well, when I read about this, I wanted one so bad, but at the time they were impossible to find (you actually can find leather rings now). Making one wasn’t much of an option as I have no leatherworking skills and my artistic abilities are lacking at best. I even called a man who makes custom leather pieces to at least see what it would cost, but this did not interest him at all. It was then that I realized that a leather ring might be a dream that has to wait for a different time in my life. However, this did get me curious about what other kinds of unique rings were out there.

I started my search and was disappointed to find that the most unique rings I could see were cheap spinners. Almost everything that looked remotely cool was bringing me back to Amazon so I figured I would continue to search everything that they had in this area. Most of the rings were pretty unimpressive, but a few of them were unlike anything I had seen before, good or bad. I even found some silicone rings that, although were pretty basic in their design, were at least unique. There was one silicone ring in particular that I really liked and considered buying, but again, it was just so plain. So, I gave up my search and let the dream die.

Months later I was back on Amazon shopping for a birthday present when I noticed something kind of strange. On the Recommended for You section, they had a lot of items that were of a particular category that Amazon likes to call “Health and Personal Care”. I didn’t really know why it was recommending these to me, but they were things like: Personal vibrators, lubrications and sex toys. I ignored all of these, careful not to click on them and I moved on. Well, the next day, the same thing happened. Different items but the same category. There was even a sex swing on the list this time.

What the hell is going on?

I tried to simply clear my history to remove the culprit but back in these days this wasn’t as easy as it now… I’m not even sure that it was possible. I figured that if I didn’t get to the bottom of this I would continue to trigger this cycle and I would just get more “Health” products filling up my Recommendations. So, I opened Amazon in an incognito page and started searching for the same products that they were suggesting to me. After what seemed like a very long time, I ran across something that I had seen before, months earlier… A small, plain, silicone ring.

I remember that! I really wanted a leather Celtic ring and ended up finding this silicone ring. But why is it on here?

Clicking the ring there wasn’t anything strange about it. It didn’t have much of a description, since it didn’t seem to really need one. It was just a very basic silicone ring. I looked down at the similar items and saw another ring just like it. When I clicked on it, I was surprised to see that it had a much larger description which read “Dick Ring: For Longer Lasting Pleasure” And to my shame I realized that the ring I was looking at months before was not for the finger at all and Amazon had just assumed that I really wanted a sex swing to pair with my new interest in dick rings.

Of course, I have no problem with any of these products being used in their intended way, but I like to imagine now what it would have been like to have bought it, and worn it proudly on my finger only to one day have a stranger tell me that he has the same ring at home in his nightstand…

Bee Stings and Other Things

The other day I was asked a question that, although I can answer simply, it is much better to answer with a few stories. I was asked “When was the last time you were stung by a bee or wasp?”

Well, it just so happens that I have had 5 incidences of being stung… totaling 33 stings! Yeah, you read that right. In fact, I don’t know anyone who has been stung or swarmed more than me.

Now, the first time that I was swarmed it was just kids being dumb. But the other time I was much older and it is actually a pretty interesting story. And since I have been stung enough to pretty much be a professional on the subject, let me share my experience with you so that you can learn from my mistakes.

My mother had a neighbor who burned wood in his fireplace all year round. He didn’t need to, but he really enjoyed it. Apparently, he was offered some wood from someone he knew. However, what he thought was going to be a year’s worth of firewood ended up being a lifetime supply. My mother, being the good neighbor that she was, offered to store some of it under the very large deck that she had in her backyard. However, as time passed her neighbor knew that he would never use that large amount of fire wood and told her she could just get rid of it.

She called me up and asked if I would throw it all out for her. I was not excited for the job, it being the middle of summer and all, but it was under a deck and there were worse ways to spend a Saturday. So, I called my friend David and asked if he would help.

Now, one thing that is often forgotten about when working outside is all the bugs, and we ran into plenty this day! As the hours wore on, we were attacked by all kinds of creatures, but it wasn’t until a spider crawled up my arm that things started to get real.

Truth is, I really don’t hate spiders; In fact, I am pretty fascinated by them and love them from afar. But, when one the size of a chihuahua with a ten thousand babies on its back crawls up your arm, there is only one thing to do, we all know it, we are all kind of ashamed of it. That is to swat yourself multiple times WAY harder than is necessary to kill a spider while making noises like “Ughhh” and “Ahhaahhh” And my personal favorite “Huuhaaahuiihh” until you are finally free of the monster but somehow spend the rest of your day unsure if you actually ever got it or if it has now just made a new home in your hair.

Once I did this David had a field day making fun of me “Oh! You’re scawed of a wittle spwider?” He said. Clearly, he was not seeing the same Jumanji sized beast that I just fought off and who I am pretty sure just laughed at me as he casually sauntered away. Now, I have learned that when I have told this story in the past, I might be explaining the size of this spider a bit wrong. Because I was underselling it! It was easily 10 to 30 times larger than most cars and I remember gallantly fighting it off single handedly in what was nothing less than a battle for Earth itself! But that is neither here nor there.

So, after about an hour, the universally agreed on amount time it takes to shake off a vicious spider attack, we were starting to finish up when suddenly David said “Whoa. There are some bugs over here.” He had started to pull up some of the grass that had died under the deck. To this, I took my opportunity “Ohhh, are you scawed of a wittle” He interrupted me “There are a lot of bugs! Something weird is going…” And it was right then that I felt it. Something hit me in the head with the force of a rock. Was it a bb gun? Did I get shot? I reached up and started to pull whatever it was out of my hair. It fought, grabbed and tore at my head. Looking at it I feel like it took me a whole minute to see what it was. It was a bug of some kind and I could see pure hate and malice in its face. Its mandibles were trying to tear their way through my glove and as I finally made sense of what it was and why it was attacking me, many things happened all at once.

First, I heard David again, this time he was yelling “AH! OW! Ahhaahhh!!!”

Then I felt multiple dagger like stabs. First in my side! Then my neck! Then my back!

A loud roaring sound rumbled in my ears.

Looking up the sky was peppered with black specs zooming around me.

More stings! One was in my glove. One was trying to get into my ear.

Finally, I heard the desperate words erupt from my mouth as I reached out and grabbed David “RUUUUUN!”

Together we took off running as the sky around us went black. We ran around the deck and I knew that David was being stung as much as me. Continuously they got me. My back. My ankle. My head. When we made it inside, I ran to the bathroom and ripped my clothes off only the see the scariest sight of all, two of them flying out of my underwear… They weren’t just trying to sting me; they were trying to end all future ME’s! Looking around the bathroom I saw there were 10 if not more inside there with me. Knowing I could not stay in this small room with them I opened the door, covered myself with both hands and I yelled out “I’m sorry in advance for this David” and I took off running.

After fighting them off with a magazine I returned and I found David laying on the floor groaning. A book laid next to him and there were clear signs of a struggle. I asked him if he was alright and he nodded then pointed to sliding glass door that we ran in through and to my shock and horror the door, and all the windows around the house were covered in wasps. I was completely amazed to see how many of them there were. Standing there with my mouth hanging wide open I heard David say “We live here now…”

Well, there is nothing left to do now but get our revenge! David did not like the sound of that, but he knew as well as I did that this was war. Those Wasps were waiting for us. Besides, what were we going to do, just leave 2,000 wasps for my mother to take care of? The next few minutes went by like a really bad movie montage. Us picking up an item and trying to figure out if it would be an effective weapon. In the end we were armed with the strangest assortment of sport equipment ever used on a battlefield, and we went out to try to reach the hive.

As I am sure you guessed have, this went very poorly and we were awarded with many new wounds. But eventually we did make it to the hive, which was actually underground. Turned out that as David was pulling up dead grass, he was standing on top of it. Also turns out that Wasps are not into that kind of thing. So, using a trash bag we covered the hole that they were coming though and started to dig it up. Night had fallen at this point and the wasps seem tired and confused. We were not doing much better. Neither of us wanted to kill the wasps if we didn’t have to but we just didn’t see another way around it. We did what we had to.

We dug up the hive up and it was massive! It was round and weighed about 15 pounds. We wanted to see inside but knew that this was not a great idea. So, we froze the hive until the next day, and cleaned up the bodies that died in the war. The next day we cut the hive open and learned that there were thousands of wasps still inside. I ended up filling a 1-gallon Ice Cream pail, and two mason jars! We thought there were about 2500 wasps in total. At the end of the day David was stung 7 times and I was stung 11 times and we both got pretty sick.

I spoke to David not too long ago and he asked me “Hey, do you remember that time that you conned me into a war with a superior wasp army that ended with you grabbing your testicles and running out of a bathroom.”

Not, uh. Not my proudest moment.

Hey! If you like stories where trying to do the right thing goes horribly wrong, then you will love this one! No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Terror By Any Other Name

I think that it is really easy for those who have not had a lot of interactions with professors to imagine them like Hollywood makes them; professional, unshakable and brilliant. However, this is actually nowhere near what professors are really like.
They are just trying to make a living by using the many years of school that they have under their belts. And they are fully capable of failing to deliver that grand message of inspiration that Hollywood professors are so famous for spreading.

Well, I wanted to tell you a story about my interaction with a very unprofessional professor.

In my 2nd year of college I decided to take an advanced film class to fill up some credits. I had taken an introductory film class before this from the same professor and genuinely enjoyed it. Now, if you’re wondering what an advanced film class might consist of, it is watching movies that either altered what we know of film, or ones that defined their genre. Then, we would have a big discussion to go over how and why they did what they did and then write a paper to highlight what made them so definitive. Finally, at the very end of our class we were to take one of these films and write a 15 page paper on it.

There were many films that we watched throughout this class, but there was one in particular that I thought was very unique. Therefore, I decided that I would write my paper on it. The film was Michael Moore’s first film titled: ‘Roger & Me.’

Now, if you are not familiar with Michael Moore, let me fill you in.

Michael Moore is a documentarian who takes advantage of the American people by creating propaganda films that are designed to scare people into buying ‘fear prevention’s’ which in the case of Michael Moore, come in the way of more of his films, because nothing sells quite like fear. It is a brilliant tactic when you are selling the truth; but the truth is much harder to sell, even in the form of fear. So, Michael Moore rigs his interviewees and where the shots are taken so that he can sell the “kind of ‘Real Truth’ from the angle that will generate the most fear, and therefore the most money.”

So, back to my story.

When my professor had us watch the propaganda film ‘Roger & Me’, I had a great deal of respect for the movie and for Michael Moore, but not for the reasons that others might have. I looked at this movie and thought to myself “Wow, this movie is just packed full of lies and nonsense. But it is done in such a good way that it could seem believable to someone who was new to the idea of propaganda… And that is brilliant.” So, one week before the class was to end we had to turn in our final reports, and I wrote a paper that clearly explained why Michael Moore was the best propagandists that was alive today. And that he was so successful and skilled in his craft that those who make documentaries will be using the templates that he created for years to come. I titled it ‘Michael & Me.’

Now, I wrote this paper thinking that my professor would love it because it was the truth. It was not based on hate, but rather really told the story that Michael Moore was unmatched in his skill of spreading propaganda. However, the next day I received a call on my cell phone from a number that I had never seen before. When I answered it my professor announced himself. After a few pleasantries his tone changed and he clearly stated why he called. He told me that the bad light that I shed on Michael Moore was unacceptable, and that I would receive a 0% on this paper. I was appalled, but did not back down. I told him that I exceeded this paper in length, citations and concept… it was everything that we were taught in class and it was based on the truth!

He responded by telling me, and I quote: “I never taught you to slander the name of great men, and I never wanted to be the one to break a 4.0 students perfect GPA. So, I will give you the next week to re-write your paper on a different movie.” In other words, he would give me my first grade lower than an ‘A’.

Needless to say I was distraught. I was scared. I remember thinking that this man intends to damage me if I did not bend to his will. ‘I HAVE to do what he says… He could hurt my GPA. The whole reason to go to college! I HAVE TO!!!’

…Until finally, it hit me…

Wait! This is exactly what terrorists do. This is what they demand! “Do what I say or I will hurt you! Do what I believe to be right, or I will kill what you care about!” This is exactly what Michael Moore did to my country. He made them scared. He made them think that everything in our world is out to hurt them.

So, I decided to change my paper… But only the title to better match the situation. The new title was ‘Terror by Any Other Name.’

When I handed it to my professor he took one look at the title and said “Oh Ben, I wish you wouldn’t.” Little did he know that I had made many phone calls to the Chair of my department, and to the Dean of my University. In the end I kept my perfect 4.0 and he and I went our separate ways. But I will never forget how disgusted I felt looking into the eyes of someone who was in a position of power trying to spread terror on my home turf.

I suppose if there is a moral here it is this: Never let them push you around. Whether they’re greedy terrorists like Michael Moore, or a biased Professor. Always stand up for what is right. And always remember that the biggest defense that we have against any form of terror is knowledge.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

A few years ago, I had the strangest encounter that I thought I would share. It was a Wednesday and I was driving up to the campus for a night class. However, it was raining so hard that it was impossible to see anything on my journey.

I arrived on the campus and went straight to the parking lot that was closest to my building. But, since there were about 100 different classes that all started at the same time I was not alone in wanting this parking lot. When I finally found an open spot at the very back of this massive lot, I was still about a 10 minute walk from my building.

I jumped out of my car and started to run through the rain. But after about a minute I started to realize that it was completely useless… I was drenched. I figured I might-as-well enjoy the rain while I was walking. I wove my way through the parking lot until I saw something that caught my eye. It was a set of lights on a parked car that were beaming through the darkness.

As I walked past the car, I looked inside but there was no one there. Although I didn’t stop walking, I took in all that I saw. I started to go over in my head who this person was, and quickly realized 3 main things: The doors to the car were unlocked, there was a car seat in the back and a fast food bag on the passenger seat. The poor girl was just in a hurry. However, the worst part of all of this was that I knew that just like the rest of us, she was in for a 3 hour class. Even the best car battery would not last for 3 hours with the lights on.

I sighed and stopped walking. It just didn’t seem right to make someone stand out in the rain trying to get their car started because their battery died. However, what could I do? Opening the door to a stranger’s car for any non-emergency reason just seemed… Well, illegal. But forcing that person to sit in the cold rain didn’t feel right either.

As I was contemplating this, I looked up and saw a girl walking through the parking lot. She had on a thin rain poncho and, like most people in a rain storm, she was looking down at the ground. Suddenly an idea came to me. There was a chance that I could get her to be my lookout. Perhaps she would understand what I was wanting to do.

I approached her from the side and said “Excuse me.” She jumped and screamed before frantically searching in her purse for an object that I assumed was made to hurt me. She pulled it out and immediately took an aggressive stance like this was the last fight of her life. Looking down and seeing the 2 silver prongs I knew she was holding a Taser; and it seemed clear that this was not her first time pulling it out in a rush. I put my hand out and calmly said “Whoa! Wait! I don’t mean you any harm!” She looked at me for a moment and started to nervously laugh before trying to tuck the weapon behind her back. However, one thing was clear to me… She was totally willing to shock me and leave me here in the rain.

With one eye on the hand that she was trying to hide behind her back, I explained to her this odd situation and told her that my desire was to help this person. She seemed to understand and I asked her if she would be willing to be my lookout, together we could save this poor soul some time and pain.

She smiled at me before putting her Taser back in her purse and said “That sounds great! I wish more people would be willing to make sacrifices for others!” But the whole time I kept feeling that something was odd about this girl. She was petite in size and smiled big, but I couldn’t help but fear that I might find myself electrocuted by the end of all this.

We made our agreement and I turned to open the car door. But turning my back on this girl made me feel both nervous and anxious. I quickly switched off the lights, and all in an instant the concept that left me standing in the rain was over. I turned back around and was immediately met face to face with the small girl, her nose only an inch away from my own.

I took a step back and stared into her eyes for what seemed like 20 seconds until she finally yelled at the top of her lungs “GOOD WORK PARTNER!” as she extended her hand in order to shake mine, I immediately noticed that her other hand was, once again, tucked behind her back. The last thing that I wanted was to make some kind of contact with this girl, so I started to step back. I pretended that I didn’t see what she wanted and said while walking backwards “Well, thanks for the help, ‘partner’. I think that we did a good thing”. I kept walking backwards and she just stood there smiling, all the while her one hand remained extended towards me while her other was hidden behind her back. I turn and walked towards my class but I could not shake the overall paranoia deep inside of me. I couldn’t help but think that I was going to be attacked in the dark.

Once my class got out, my professor was making fun of me for being late and I started to tell him about this 90 pound terror. By the time I finished he was laughing to himself, but it was what he said that really stuck with me. “Have you ever heard the saying ‘No good deed goes unpunished’?” He asked with a smile. “Yes, of course!” I responded. “Well, the night isn’t over yet.” He said. “I mean, you are still parked out there. Aren’t you?” I gave him a nervous smile as we walked our way towards the door. “Well, if I don’t make it back to class next week…” I said. “I will make sure that they are looking for a 90 pound girl with a Taser.” He interrupted me with a smile. I nodded before opening the door to step back out into the rain.

‘No good deed goes unpunished’ says it all! I feel bad for the next guy who encounters my ‘Partner’ in a dark parking lot… He just might get zapped!

If you liked this post, you might want to read about other strange times that college has brought me. Click here to read Am ‘The Whistler’.

Kill Them With Kindness

Have you ever heard the idiom “Kill them with kindness”? It essentially means: Show kindness, even to those who you truly dislike. Well, I wanted to share a story with you about a time that I almost killed someone with kindness… More literally than figuratively.

Many years ago I took a girl on a date to see a movie. After the movie she wanted to go to her sister’s house, and I agreed. Once there she introduced me to her sister, brother-in-law and her niece, who was named Madeline.

After our introductions, my date went off with her sister and brother to do whatever it was we came here to do, whereas I was left with Madeline to keep me company. She stood on the other side of the room and shyly looked away from me. It was at this moment that I remembered that I had a bag of Skittles in my pocket that I had purchased at the movie.

I pulled them out and Madeline immediately saw the blue package. I don’t think that she knew what it was, but she clearly knew that it was tasty. She smiled at me and loudly said “Candy!” To this, her mom popped her head into the room and I showed her the bag of Skittles “Can she have some?” I asked. Her mother agreed and I opened the bag. I poured 3 into my hand and put them out for her to take. Madeline ran up to me and one by one picked them up and popped them into her mouth.

With her candies in her mouth she gave me a big smile and started to run in a circle around the room. I watched her for about a minute before she returned with a huge smile on her face and said “Candy!” I poured a few more into my hand and she popped them into her mouth and ran off.

After this, I caught on and it became our own little game. She would run up to me, smile and announce “Candy!” At that point it was my job to pour 3 or 4 pieces into my hand, which she then would take before running around the room and repeating the process.

After we had done this 5 or 6 times I started to just keep the candies in my hand awaiting her arrival. However, as she was coming in for her last grab-and-go she stumbled a bit, then stopped completely. “Are you okay?” I asked. But when she looked up at me her face was red and her eyes were tearing up.  She was overwhelmed with a look of confusion and fear.

(Yeah… at this point all you moms know exactly what was going on…)

I jumped to my feet and said loudly “Madeline?” We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment before I understood… She was choking!

I grabbed her hands and turned her around to give her a few slaps on the back. This didn’t seem to help her at all and she looked up at me with a WTF! look on her face.

Apologizing in my own head I flipped her around and started to perform the Heimlich maneuver on her. After 3 or 4 times she spit up a huge glob of candy. Once I looked at it, I was sure that it was every single Skittle I had given her in the last 10 minutes; she had not even swallowed one.

I turned her around again and looked into her eyes “Madeline! Are you okay?” I said softly. She coughed a few times before looking up at me and pointing to the package of Skittles on the floor and said “Candy!”. I let out a sigh of relief that she was okay and said “No! No more candy for you! What are you, half chipmunk?” It was only then that I looked up and saw my date, her sister and brother-in-law all staring at us.

Madeline’s mother stormed over, picking her up and leaving the room. Her father, on the other hand, laughed a bit. “Ah, she got you with the ol’ candy cache in the cheeks, eh? She does it to me all of the time.” I didn’t really smile back, due to the fact that I felt like the biggest loser there could ever be, and meekly said “must be a guy thing.”

After this I turned to my date and told her I was going to leave. She agreed and I made my way home with this thought in my head:

Lesson learned! That is the last time that I will ever be kind to anyone! … Other than kids that is; they all deserve the chance to stuff their cheeks with enough candy to kill themselves.

Just Own It!

I think that everyone has found themselves in a situation where they have just been caught doing something humiliating. For most of us the same choices go through our heads. Should I:

1. A) Deny it ever happened.
2. B) Play it off.
3. C) Just plain own it.

I know I have been placed in this position many times in my life. In fact, one that just recently happened to me was finding out that I had been calling a friend who, I have known in passing for two years, by the wrong name. (Sorry Josh… err, I mean Jeremy). Well, that story doesn’t have a lot to it, except that I chose option ‘C’ and just owned up to it. I even joked that he was letting me do that for two years and so the fault is as much his as it is mine. Now he and I laugh about it.

Well, about a month ago I was forced to do something on rather short notice that left me far away from anything that I knew and with no company at all. In some cases, I would view this as a blessing, but I had just started my semester and there was so much to still be done. I found myself depressed and feeling so alone. However, during this time someone very close to me went very far out of her way to bring comfort, company and light into my week.

Once it was all over, I really wanted to do something nice for her. However, I am a man of simple tastes, and, to me, flowers seemed like a great way to let someone know that they mean something to you… but alas, the only flowers that I know anything about bloomed from my Venus Flytraps…

Truth be told, I don’t even know where one would buy normal flowers. I mean, they have those pre-made sets at the grocery store, but I wanted something more personal. This was
going to be a challenge. However, it occurred to me that if I could just find a flower shop, then surely the employees working there could guide me onto the right path.

I searched the internet and found a local shop near me. But as I walked in I saw no employees and no flowers. In fact, it seemed like I was standing in the entryway of someone’s house. I looked back near the door just to make sure that this was indeed the place I wanted, before deciding that I would just wonder around. After passing through a living room and walking past a bathroom I found a large glass case full of flowers. I immediately started to piece together what I was looking for. Perfect! It was just the way I wanted. Now all I had to do was find out where I could actually purchase these from… And a person to help me.

Just like before I figured that I would just wander the building until I found someone. I made my way to the very back of the building where customers were clearly not supposed to be. Standing in the entranceway of the room I finally found the absent employees. There were 3 of them, all about 18 years old and discussing a customer who had made a very large order for a wedding. I made no effort to make my presence known and instead just listened. After about 30 seconds or so, one of the girls looked up and saw me. She jumped to her feet and apologized for not hearing me enter. I smiled, and we walked our way up to the front to pay.

As I paid for my flowers, she and I joked that there should be a bell on the front door. She swore that I was the first to sneak in like that and again apologized. We said our goodbyes, and I walked out of the shop with my flowers in hand. However, once I had made it to my car I noticed that there was a problem with the amount on the receipt. I had over paid them by about $1.50. This is an amount that I would have let slide if I was already on my way to my destination, but considering that I was only 50 feet away I figured that I should go in and get my money back.

I walked through the door and just like the time before there was no one around to greet me. I knew that these 3 young women would be in the back talking amongst each other. So, I took the same path that I had before and made my way to the entrance of the back room.

Sure enough the girls had gone back into conversation, but this time it was different.

The first girl gushed and said, “Well, whoever she is she must be special. I wish a guy like that would buy flowers for me.”

The second girl then chimed in, “I am going to think to myself that he was buying them for his mother. And soon, probably today, he is going to come back in to buy flowers for all of us.”

The first girl then replied, “I wonder what his name is. Do you think it will show on the receipt?!?”

As she said this she jumped up as if she was going to go check the receipt. However, the first thing she saw was me standing in the doorway. She turned bright red, looked away and covered her mouth with both of her hands. The second girl, however, looked up and said, “Oh, you heard all of that, did you? Well, I stand by it. Are you here to buy me flowers?” I smiled and said, “Any kind you would like.”

She walked me up to the front, and her two co-workers followed. She refunded my money, and I thanked them for the assistance and for the good story. As I started to walk out the girl said, “Maybe the next time the flowers will be for me.” One of her co-workers gasped while the other one started to giggle. I turned back around and said, “It will be very lucky men who are able to get girls like you. Luckier than me.” The bold girl turned bright red and, as if she lost her voice, quietly thanked me. I took my flowers to my friend and thanked her dearly for what she had done for me. She too, turned bright red and her voice went quiet.

So, I suppose that there are 2 morals to this story. The first one is only for the men who read my blog… (Ladies, you don’t mind skipping this line do you?) Every girl wants flowers!

The second is that if you find that you have been caught… Just own it. It always ends up better, and sometimes it ends up being a really good story.

I am ‘The Whistler’

For what feels like an eternity now I have been finishing my college degree. My program is very specific and also very small. Although the building that I am in is very large, my program really only consistently occupies 5 or 6 rooms. All of my classes are at night and are about 3 hours long. Because of their length, we often get to take a break about halfway though. During these break times I couldn’t help but to wander around this massive building to kill time and to see what there was to see. Until one day, after finding what I was sure was a Dentist’s office, I stumbled onto a small room that was full of couches. It seemed like no one had ever been here before… Like it was a hidden room made for me to relax in.

So, every class period as soon as we were released for break, all of the students would immediately take a left to head to the bathrooms, vending machines or to go outside for their own personal time. I, however, had a different path. Instead I would head straight for my secret place so that I could take a moment to clear my head in peace. It is about a 5 minute walk and, having been sitting in a lecture for the last few hours, it is not uncommon for me to mindlessly start to whistle while I walk up a few flights of stairs and down the hallways. I always pass a few classrooms full of students who look like they just got off of work and wish that they were doing anything but listening to that professor at that moment. I never encounter anyone else in my spot, which is part of what made it so perfect. Don’t get me wrong, I am not such a solitary person that I don’t want the company of others. But there nothing like finding a place where one can always go to find peace.

A few weeks ago, on a night no different than any other, our break time came around and I found myself walking up the same flight of stairs and whistling the same song… one of my favorite songs: Greensleeves. I reached the floor that I needed and started down the hallway. Normally my walk is quite secluded, however, this time when I reached the hallway of classes I saw a girl studying in a chair with headphones over her ears. I continued on my path without giving it a lot of thought until I actually walked past her. I looked over to see her staring at me and slowly pulling her headphones off of her ears as if she had never seen a human before. This continued for a second until she said with half a smile, “Ah, so you’re The Whistler!” I slowed my pace and said, “Excuse me?” She had a very entertained look on her face and pointed to a large classroom full of students and said, “I have had this professor twice, and she always jokes that she knows when it is time to go to break because for the last year there has been a random student who walks the halls whistling the same tune.” I looked at the girl confused as she continued “All of us in the class have agreed that the song is lovely. What song is it?” Still trying to wrap my head around the idea that my whistling was so specific that a whole class has been a part of it, I told her that the name was Greensleeves. She smiled, more to herself than to me, and simply said “It’s beautiful” before putting her headphones back over her ears and ending our conversation. I continued my trek down the hallway, but this time I kept my lips sealed.

I thought about this interaction later that night and felt completely embarrassed at the fact that I had been a disruptive joke to this professor for the last year… But, I had to just laugh at myself… What can I say? I had been caught. I am now ‘The Whistler’!

Now, when I walk down the halls I still whistle the same song. However, I don’t just whistle it for me. Now I know that, at least to one classroom, my song is a beautiful tune that marks the point of the night where these students get to take a break and find their own secret place where they can achieve whatever it is that they might call peace.

There is Good, Afterall

My story today stems from me stumbling on a letter that I wrote but never delivered, so I thought I would share, not the letter itself, but the reason why I wrote it. This story took place near my 29^th birthday. Every single year I treat myself to an early birthday gift and buy the newest Call of Duty which gets released on about the 5^th of November. I always make sure to pre-order the game and pick it up whenever I am ready. This particular year’s release was Call of Duty: Ghosts, which I really wasn’t excited for and decided that I would not even get unless I really needed the distraction.

That being said, on the 4^th of November as my car sat alone in my driveway someone shattered my car window and stole my wallet. Now, I don’t know if you have ever had your wallet (or purse) stolen, but it is a devastating feeling. Not only did I have to pay for the window, wallet, new license and new student ID but there were countless things in there that were really only valuable to me… one of those was the pre-ordered receipt for the game. Now, that was only worth $5.00, but it was my claim to that money. Hell, I would have paid them cash to just take the credit cards and leave the actual wallet.

Needless to say, I was very sad. For 5 days I moped around defeated… it was one of those weeks where everything that could go wrong did. I knew then that if I was ever going to buy the game this week was the perfect time. So, I rummaged through my house to find $60.00 cash and drove to GameStop. Worn out, I was feeling anxious at the thought of explaining that I did not have my receipt for the pre-ordered game because it was in my wallet which was stolen… I am sure they have heard that one before.

I walked in already exhausted and walked up to the counter. I told him that I was there to pick up my game and gave him my name. He handed me the game and the receipt. I stood there confused with the cash still in my hand. He just stared at me with a grin on his face. Finally after about 15 seconds I asked “So, it’s what? $55.00?” as I extended my hand to give him the cash. He smiled at me and said “It is all taken care of.” I stared at him confused and told him “I don’t understand… What do I owe you?” Again he smiled at me and said “You don’t owe us anything, have a good time.” Then the person next to him said “Happy Birthday Man.”

Now, at this point I should clarify that I was worn out and very depressed about all the bad that had hit me in that last week. So, when he said that, I took it as someone saying here is a gift… Not as a real happy birthday, since my birthday was 2 weeks away and I had never seen this man before in my life.

I placed my hand over my face and thought to myself ‘it’s fine, I will just take it, maybe I paid for it all in full when I pre-ordered it. I will just get home to my computer and check my bank account for the past transaction and if I owe them I will just return to pay for it… but that is just more of a pain in my neck, more time out of my day, more gas from my tank… but I can’t deal with this tonight.’

One last time I extended the cash out to him in the same way that a child might try to give a carrot to a horse. He put his hands up, clearly not willing to take my money. So I grabbed the game and receipt, thanked them both and walked out.

On my way home I tried to call my girlfriend, just to have someone help me get out of my own head. However, she did not answer her phone. I remember thinking “F*** THIS DAY!!!” as I drove home in silence.

About 10 minutes later she called me back and asked me how my day was. She knew I was sad when I said nothing at all. She then asked “Did anything fun happen today?” I responded with a short “no.” She then said “Ah, you’re no fun to surprise.” At that moment all the missing pieces came together… She had paid for the game, she had told them it was my birthday and she didn’t answer because she was waiting for me to get home… I simply said “I can’t believe I missed all of that… Thank you.”

Now, my girlfriend deserves all the praise for this event, especially because I am not an easy person to surprise and I made sure to tell her how wonderful all of that made me feel, but I have to give some props to those guys at GameStop… They had no idea what my girlfriends deed meant to me. I was feeling so down on myself and when life looked so dark and mean I was reminded that there are people who care about me and that there are strangers in the world who are willing to go out of their way to make someone feel good.

It is interesting that when something bad happens, we only think of ourselves… Or perhaps that is just me.

The Toilet Seat Issue

I never understood the problem that people (generally women) have with the toilet seat being up. I don’t mean the lid that covers the toilet from splashes when flushing… I mean the actual seat. Now, in my life I have been lucky enough to have little contact with one of these people who believe that it is my responsibility to prepare the toilet for them to do their business. However, I started to try to understand why a woman would feel that the toilet is her personal place and as a man it is my responsibility to make sure that it feels that way when she steps into the room. I have even asked women about this strange subject throughout my life. I have gotten some interesting responses, and I have to tell you… I am very against this idea.

So, let me start by saying that the reasons that I am against this has nothing to do with the struggle of power between the two genders. I am very adamant about equality, and would never allow someone to discriminate against someone else based on their gender… Female, or Male. My reasons are a bit more realistic; so let’s jump in.

The first reason is that whether you know it or not, whether you like it or not, this is really just a form of control. As much as I am all for someone feeling special, there is a difference between good control, and bad control. For example: my sister controls all the finances in her house. This is not a dominating position… This is because she is better at handling things like finances. That is good form of control and she does it for the right reasons. This toilet seat issue is a bad form of control. I have a hard time believing that I would be better suited to lift the toilet seat than any other person. It is little more than making someone else do your work for you. So what does that make you? Lazy: Perhaps. Manipulative: Definitely. A Jerk: Well, you see where I am going.

I was actually told that one of the threats of not putting the toilet seat down is when the woman enters late at night to pee. Stumbling through the dark she will plop down on the unseated toilet, fall through, and land in the water. To this, my only response was to bust out laughing. Let me ask you, if YOU fell through the toilet, how could you possibly blame someone else? Women don’t want to be known as dumb, and over the years many have shaken off those cliques that have put them in a bad light but you mean to tell me that it never occurred to these late night stumblers to turn on the light as they entered the room? And you are going to blame men for that? There is just no way around that… No one is to blame other than the person who failed to A) Turn on the light, and B) Check the toilet before sitting on it.

My sister said that she (who is not one of these people who believes in this rule) thinks it is because the woman feels that if she needs to clean the toilet, then the man need to use it her way. To this, I totally agree. That being said, I will clean the oven, car, clocks, and bank accounts… We will eat what I want, do things when I want, go where I want (and while in the car listen to what I want) and I will buy what I want. That’s how this works… Right?

I have 2 potential solutions here, should I ever meet one of these women.

1) I will put the toilet seat down when I am done, if you put it up when you are done. It’s only fair.

2) I will also not turn on the light when I stumble in at night to pee… And when I come in the next morning to find that the floor mats are wet and smell bad, like you, I will take no responsibility. Since there is no way that I am in control of myself or what happens around me.

Or, secret option #3) since we are playing these controlling stereotypical roles. You will never once find the toilet seat up. I will even go in there after friends do to make sure it is down… So long as there is never a day that I don’t come home to a spotless house and a fantastic dinner on the table. Deal?

Need a reminder about control? Click here to read one of my posts about my favorite kind of control.