so i was in the shitter just now working on a slow burner. one of those where your body tells you it's time to offload some cargo, but for whatever reason it is afraid to head for the dock. regardless, i was just looking at my phone and waiting it out.
this dude comes tearing ass into the can like the goddamn tasmanian devil. just completely hauling ass. throws the stall door open, which bangs against the wall and shakes all the stalls at once; while at the same time fumbling furiously with his belt and pants. even as he was securing the door and flipping the lock, you could hear his pants being shaken loose. you could sense this guy's panic, while understanding that he was so close to relief.
anyway, he made it, because next he sat down and unleashed some hell. just a figurative and quite literal shitstorm. picture jeff daniels in dumb and dumber after lloyd gives him the ex-lax. there's no way he didn't take some shrapnel to his undercarriage, such was the force and volume of his mighty blast. i would not be surprised if it lifted him off the seat, as though he were sitting on a geyser. basically imagine shitting a muddy tornado.
and if i haven't made it clear, it was in no way 100% solid. just a horrible fucking disaster of a bowel movement, and at 7:30 in the AM, no less.
all of this probably happened in 5.2 seconds, from bathroom entry to ass explosion. almost immediately, instantly really, after his crime against the toilet he unfurled a long swath of tp, tidied up, flushed, closed up shop, and highstepped it out of there. all told, he was probably in the bathroom no more than 12 seconds. it was that fast.
so fast, actually, that he was gone by the time the smell reached my stall. and it was awful. like dead hooker stuffed in the mattress of a motel 6 in a room with no AC in the summer awful. gag inducing, really.
and while sitting there, face in my shirt, trying to hold down breakfast, my mind conjured up an image of 500 B-52 bombers appearing out of nowhere in the sky over some helpless city, releasing all the tonnage of bombs in their arsenal, and then streaking out of sight, leaving the town behind completely annihilated. it was that fast, that massive, and caused that much complete destruction.
out of respect, i did not look anywhere near the ruins of that stall on my way out.
my youngest son's favorite movie is "mean girls". he'll watch it any time it is on and can just about quote the whole thing from memory.
unrelated, there is a little boy who sits at his table at school that he claims is mean to him. about half the time, he'll come home and say his day was, "awful" because of something ayann (the other kid) did or said to him. we've talked to the teacher, and she is trying to have the boys sort it out amongst themselves as an exercise in problem solving. turns out the kid has told hudson that he's moving to new york, so it could solve itself in short order.
hudson is in a phase right now where all he wants to do is write and make lists on paper. could be a list of states, a list of teachers' names, or what have you. if you left him to his own devices and an unlimited supply of paper, he'd bury himself and the whole kitchen table inside of a weekend. what this results in is his parents having to weed through and get rid of 90% of his output every other day in order to avoid living like hoarders.
last week, my wife found one piece of paper that read, "ayann, you are mean and everybody hates you. even your family hates you. you are a fugly slut".
as it was sitting on our kitchen table, he obviously didn't give it to the kid, but a conversation was required. i had to tell him that if i'm going to let him watch movies like mean girls, he cannot go around using the grown-up terms that he hears in them. then i told him that we only call girls sluts, not boys. it's important to use our slang and insults correctly.
i know i haven't posted anything in a while, because mainly, who gives a shit. but this happened last weekend and i felt like i wanted to share it. i've never been as proud of my little free thinker.
my oldest boy (9 yrs) and i were leaving his baseball practice last sunday evening when we passed another team that was finishing their practice as well. they had all taken a knee around the coach. as we passed by, they bowed their heads and were obviously praying. the conversation went pretty much as follows:
K (him): what are they doing?
M (me): they're praying
M: do you know what that is?
K: yeah. sorta like telling god what you want from him. like a christmas list, only not at christmas.
M: (laughing) yeah, kind of like that. people also thank god for things they have too.
K: what if the pirates (his team) prayed after practice?
M: would you want to do that?
M: why not?
K: cause there's no such thing as god.
M: why do you think that? (he knows i don't believe, by the way, but we haven't gone too far into the reasons why)
K: cause there's no proof.
M: like what would be proof?
K: well if someone saw him or heard him or if he did something that you could actually see.
M: some people claim he does do those things when they pray to him.
K: it just seems like prayers don't work much. and if something good happens, how do you know if it was cause of prayer or just cause it was gonna happen anyway, like when people get sick and then get better without praying? and there's lots of times where people get sick and pray and they still don't get better.
M: well that's a good point.
K: some kids at school say that the bible is proof.
M: why are you talking about religion at school? is it in class? (i'll admit my fucking antennae went sky high at this point)
K: no, just kids talk about it sometimes.
M: ok, well what do you think about the bible being proof.
K: it doesn't work.
M: what do you mean?
K: (struggling for the right words) well a thing can't be the proof of the same thing.
M: (knowing EX-FUCKING-ACTLY what he meant, but wanting him to reason it out verbally) how do you mean?
K: like......well...(wheels turning in his head)......i couldn't say that the spongebob cartoon is proof that spongebob is real.
M: (positively beaming at this point). you're right. that's called circular logic. you can't say that a book or something that makes a claim can be proof of that claim.
K: ok. i didn't know how to tell the kids that.
M: what did you tell them?
K: i didn't say anything. i stayed quiet.
M: (good thinking - this is fucking texas) probably a good idea, buddy. but that is slowly changing.
K: what is changing?
M: the % of people who don't believe is growing and the % of people who do is shrinking. eventually people won't have to worry about admitting they don't believe. maybe by the time your kids are grownups.
(silence for a while. i swear i could actually hear the gears in his head processing all this)
K: so what if the pirates prayed after practice?
M: and you didn't want to pray?
M: i guess i'd say something to the coaches about it being inappropriate in a public league.
K: what's a public league?
M: not a church league.
K: what if they still made me pray?
M: no one can make you pray. and if they tried, i'd yank you off that team really quickly.
at this point i felt like telling him, "good talk, russ" and sharing a beer with him. instead, that was it.
i'm trying to not push my non-belief on him and instead i encourage him to think about what other people believe and see if it makes sense to him. i will admit that i'm proud that he sees things the way i do for now.
and i hope i'm right that if he stays an atheist, he won't lose friends over it, like i have. although in my case, it could just be that i'm an asshole too.
i've recently changed jobs. again. the new gig is with a rather large soft drink company that is not based in atlanta.
during my onboarding process, i was made to go on a ride-along with a delivery guy who calls on mostly small format type retail stores. these are mostly gas stations and convenience stores.
we started at 5 am, which meant getting up at 3:30 in order to make the 40 mile drive to the plant from which he is based.
it was not a bad day, albeit a very long one, as we finished up around 4 pm. i was tired from the work and from the 4 hours of sleep i got the night before, but it was a good tired and i felt like i helped the dude out.
the reason i'm mentioning it at all isn't because of poor fucking me. it's because every once in a while a little perspective helps.
i live in a mostly lily white community where the average home price is stupid high (i'm on the low end of my area, lest you think i'm bragging) and most citizens worry more about junior getting a starting spot on his sports team more than they worry about being able to buy bread and milk or pay for healthcare. so if i go to work, go to the gym, go to a restaurant or a bar, i see mostly people like me. it really does skew your perspective because a lot of the time i feel like my household is on the low end of average for the US. it can seem like everyone i see or know is doing better than me.
this route ride reminded me that i am instead quite fortunate. the dude i rode with is a delivery guy. from what i gathered watching him and then talking to others, he's a superb delivery guy. he was nice and didn't seem to get pissed that he had to babysit me for the day. over the course of the day, he told me his wife was a substitute teacher who was finishing her degree and wanted to be a special needs teacher. he aspired to get into sales for our company, which would be a pay increase for him and would probably be much easier from a physical standpoint. between the two of them, they couldn't make much money at all. but he was content and seemed to be in a much better place than i sometimes think i am.
i experienced that same thing tenfold when just walking inside the office of the plant before and after we went out. lots of people, all in the same financial boat, but happy and with what seemed to me to be a spirit of family, even at the ungodly hour of 5 am.
those are the good parts.
during our route, we went into some less-than-stellar neighborhoods. bars on the glass front facings and workers behind a plexiglass wall. i was reminded that the sterile, well-off bubble that i'm exposed to 90% of the time is a rarity when you expand your horizons. it shouldn't take a route ride to the ghetto to remind me of that, considering that i grew up in a household that was right at or below the poverty line. but years of not worrying about being able to pay the electric bill have made me take some things for granted, and that is shitty.
there is a greater than 0% chance that you'll read this and think that i'm bragging about not being poor. i am certainly not doing that. i'm right in the meat of the middle class curve. but knowing and seeing first hand that SO MANY people are not in that percentile gave me a refreshed view on just how fortunate i've been.
i assume that an inner ear imbalance is what is affecting her here.
this reminds me of my bachelor party many years ago. a buddy arranged for a less-than-attractive, VERY overserved dancer to give me a lapper. if memory serves, she had a few too many el bees on her as well.
even from the start, i was all DO NOT WANT as she smelled like cigarettes, unpaid rent, and desperation. and then about 7.2 seconds in, she bends over, facing away from me, and just....keeps going. face plant into the carpet, ass over head, legs and stripper shoes flailing and knocking over a small table with drinks on it.
i quickly excused myself to hit the restroom, as i couldn't process what had just happened. when i came out, she was sitting down, head in her hands, getting chastised by who i assumed to be the manager. then she walks over to my buddy who had requested her services and sticks her hand out like dee from "what's happenin'". the balls on this chick. $20 for 7 seconds plus spilled strip club drinks which cost $1,200 each. dumb ass paid her too. he had pulled strings to get us into the VIP room and didn't want to upset anything.