I have never understood why anyone would hypothetically choose invisibility for a superpower. In my books, invisibility does not qualify as a superpower because of the lame factor involved. Sure you could overhear conversations, or go just about anywhere you wanted, but you don’t necessarily have to be invisible to do these things. While going unnoticed may be tricky, stealth is the valuable skill involved not translucency.
Besides that, if you were invisible you’d feel weird. It would be like when you wave at someone you think is waving at you, only to find out that when you look carefully they’re waving at someone behind you. See - you’d feel dumb.
You have to trust me on this one because I have endured an awkward experience in which I was invisible. It occurred at my old part-time job when my manager asked if I would be the greeter at the front of the store.
“All you have to do is say hello to every person who walks in that door, do you understand?”
“Yeah, got it, thanks.”
Let me assure you, even though this job seems relatively harmless - heck you may even consider yourself a fairly friendly/approachable person - this is one of the weirdest jobs you can agree to do. If a troupe of reality television stars asked you to live for a week with them, do so and endure unfounded egos the size of Mars rather than be a greeter. Eat live lobsters or listen to James Blunt on repeat, just avoid being the greeter. Okay I may be exaggerating for effect here, but consider the following:
Unsuspecting, I went to the entrance of the store and stood waiting awkwardly. When the automatic doors opened to reveal an old man I immediately stood up straight and said, “hello there sir!” a bit too enthusiastically for 9am. Nothing would have been terribly wrong with this statement if the man had not been about 12 feet away and shuffling at a snail’s pace to where I stood.
While he made his way over and I aged 4 years I asked, “How are you today sir?”
“Toilets,” he grunted.
“Oh right, uhhh, those are at the other end of the store, all the way at the other side.”
“How much do they cost?”
“Pretty sure we’ll let you use them for free sir!” I laughed
“No not to use, to buy!”
“Ohhh I’m sorry, those are just toward the back, straight down that isle,” I pointed and felt adequately embarrassed.
He rolled his eyes and started shuffling away from me just as an elderly woman approached holding the hand of a young girl.
“Where are the shopping carts shaped like race cars? I’ve been walking around forever looking for one of those things”
“I think you can find those just outside the front...not sure how many there are though, they may all be taken”
“pshhht,” she said, and I experienced the second eye-roll of the morning while she waddled away toddler in toe.
During the next few minutes I imagined the little girl pushing the old lady in a shopping cart into the side of a parked car at full speed.
The automatic doors were flooded with people at around 9:20am and I said hello around 15 times and felt like a bobble head nodding and smiling like a goon. This is when you start feeling invisible. People walk by and do one, or a combo, of the following things. They glance at you sideways and glare, they laugh, they stare straight ahead, or they glance at you and then look up at a spot on the ceiling to avoid having to reply in any way. In other words, they feel as awkward as you do.
There are exceptions who may mock your enthusiasm, stare you down, or look scared to death, but my favourites are the ones that can’t stop checking themselves out in the television monitor above as they strut in. Overall, you just feel like a class-A moron saying hi to people who are making clear effort to get their fifteen seconds of fame on a security video.
The last family to walk through the doors passed me as I said “good morning” and the wife smiled and nodded while the family was led toward the light bulbs. Just as I thought the stampede was over I heard someone ask aggressively, “did she say hello to you?”
The man with an entire Nascar themed outfit turned around and asked, “Aren’t you the greeter?”
“Uhh, ye–“
“Well you didn’t say hello”
I thought he was joking (seriously – who does this?) so I smiled and laughed a bit.
“You think this is funny? What do you get paid to do, just stand here?”
I had just started to think about complimenting his Nascar travel mug when his wife insisted with a “z-snap”-like gesture, “Craig, she said hey okay! What is the issue?”
“oh, she did?...oh okay,” and Craig turned around and walked away leaving me to stand and await another surprise attack. Thanks guy.
It wasn’t long before the old cranky was back. This time she had the little girl sitting in the front of the race car cart. She rolled toward me and got right up in my personal space.
“I see you found a race car! Lucky you’ve got a great little driver!” I said as though I was auditioning to be world’s spunkiest student.
In her smoker’s voice she grumbled, “are you kidding? there isn’t a steering wheel on this one and I had to wipe it down myself because it was soaked outside! UGH!” while she rolled away in a coughing fit.
I wanted to say in the most condescending tone known to man, “you know, those steering wheels are just pretend...they don’t ACTUALLY steer the cart right?” but instead i mumbled, “yeah life’s rough.”
Ten o’ clock finally arrived and some poor soul with an unknowing grin came to assume my post and while walking away I noticed that when saying hello to people when in another part of the store, people always say hello back. Why is it then that the greeter is treated like they are holding anthrax?
That fateful day taught me a lesson; I learned that if granted a superpower I would perhaps chose teleportation. This power would zap an individual away from any awkward situation and place them in their destination of choice. I for one would use this power to avoid certain interactions at all costs. Although, on second thought, concussion beams or telekinesis would also be useful abilities.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Ain't No Party like an S-Club Party
As you grow up there is an implied rationality you must adopt to function normally; no jumping on couches, no tantrums, and no odd costumes at work. Although celebrities can get away with these things (Cruise, kanye, and Bejork), the average individual has to leave childhood behind.
We may not be children anymore, but the amygdala (the part of the brain connected with fear and emotional response) technically never develops or changes. This is why, even though we are older and (arguably) wiser, we are still susceptible to acting like children in situations where emotions run high.
As exams approach each term I go through a nostalgic phase. Although I should be cramming and stressed out like most other students, I only have to hear the words “Mighty Morphing Power Rangers” and childhood comes flooding back. I de-stress by imagining how great it would be to have a reading week where instead of a vacation, I could have a week of classic YTV programming, Skip-It at recess, Pogs, Goosebump books, Backstreet Boys, and Happy Meals.
Growing up in the 90’s was glorious. For instance, the single greatest day of the summer when I was 7 was when I got the Spice Girls Cassette for my Walkman. Singing “Wannabe” at the top of your lungs while rollerblading until the sun went down - those were the days.
Needless to say, television was a big part of life for any child of the 90’s because it provided expectations for the future. For instance, I imagined I’d have a teacher just like Mr. Feeny when I got to high school. All my future best friends and I would hang out at the Sugar Bowl from Arthur and we’d sip Chug-O-Freezes and go on crazy impossible field trips with an Arnold dude no one liked much. We'd also finally discover the true identity of Ghost Writer and where Carmen Sandiego was hiding.
My brother and I would imitate the Sailor Scouts and Tuxedo Mask, we would watch Miss Frizzle get stuck in cakes and teach about bats, and we would fight so much during the commercials for Power Rangers that eventually my mum had to shut that one down (turns out I’d make a fine pink ranger...sorry, Gary).
If we weren’t watching television, we were outside riding our bikes or replicating what we saw on TV. My favourite enactments were when we’d rearrange clothes, furniture, and household items on the floor and when asked, “what the heck is this?” we’d enthusiastically reply (in English accents no less) “THIS IS AN ART ATTACK!” To our parents’ dismay, any time was craft time and we were always looking for “loo roll and PVA glue” as I suspect many other 90’s kids were simply because Neil convinced all of us that we were born to create sticky messes worthy of the Louvre.
Overall, the 90’s was a time when pizza was still a thing at McDonalds. A time when I would choose a Barbie for my Happy Meal while the rest of my cousins chose Hot Wheels with which to run over McBarbie. It was a time of Dr. Lipschitz and Reptor on Ice. A time when grocery store visits were packed with questions like, “can I PLEASE have gushers, dunkaroos, and a Lunchable JUST THIS ONE TIME?!” (always no for the record, although I did manage a yes on Fruit Roll Ups one time...one sweet, sweet time).
Alas, childhood technically came to an end a while ago and there are few times when you can truly get it back. I find I come closest to it when the spring comes around and all you want to do is play outside. Even though trying to get your childhood back is about as practical as the name Topenga, I do hope that every once in a while you take a break from studying and think of the days when wearing your Northern Getaway sweatshirt with kittens and popsicles on it was totally rad.
We may not be children anymore, but the amygdala (the part of the brain connected with fear and emotional response) technically never develops or changes. This is why, even though we are older and (arguably) wiser, we are still susceptible to acting like children in situations where emotions run high.
As exams approach each term I go through a nostalgic phase. Although I should be cramming and stressed out like most other students, I only have to hear the words “Mighty Morphing Power Rangers” and childhood comes flooding back. I de-stress by imagining how great it would be to have a reading week where instead of a vacation, I could have a week of classic YTV programming, Skip-It at recess, Pogs, Goosebump books, Backstreet Boys, and Happy Meals.
Growing up in the 90’s was glorious. For instance, the single greatest day of the summer when I was 7 was when I got the Spice Girls Cassette for my Walkman. Singing “Wannabe” at the top of your lungs while rollerblading until the sun went down - those were the days.
Needless to say, television was a big part of life for any child of the 90’s because it provided expectations for the future. For instance, I imagined I’d have a teacher just like Mr. Feeny when I got to high school. All my future best friends and I would hang out at the Sugar Bowl from Arthur and we’d sip Chug-O-Freezes and go on crazy impossible field trips with an Arnold dude no one liked much. We'd also finally discover the true identity of Ghost Writer and where Carmen Sandiego was hiding.
My brother and I would imitate the Sailor Scouts and Tuxedo Mask, we would watch Miss Frizzle get stuck in cakes and teach about bats, and we would fight so much during the commercials for Power Rangers that eventually my mum had to shut that one down (turns out I’d make a fine pink ranger...sorry, Gary).
If we weren’t watching television, we were outside riding our bikes or replicating what we saw on TV. My favourite enactments were when we’d rearrange clothes, furniture, and household items on the floor and when asked, “what the heck is this?” we’d enthusiastically reply (in English accents no less) “THIS IS AN ART ATTACK!” To our parents’ dismay, any time was craft time and we were always looking for “loo roll and PVA glue” as I suspect many other 90’s kids were simply because Neil convinced all of us that we were born to create sticky messes worthy of the Louvre.
Overall, the 90’s was a time when pizza was still a thing at McDonalds. A time when I would choose a Barbie for my Happy Meal while the rest of my cousins chose Hot Wheels with which to run over McBarbie. It was a time of Dr. Lipschitz and Reptor on Ice. A time when grocery store visits were packed with questions like, “can I PLEASE have gushers, dunkaroos, and a Lunchable JUST THIS ONE TIME?!” (always no for the record, although I did manage a yes on Fruit Roll Ups one time...one sweet, sweet time).
Alas, childhood technically came to an end a while ago and there are few times when you can truly get it back. I find I come closest to it when the spring comes around and all you want to do is play outside. Even though trying to get your childhood back is about as practical as the name Topenga, I do hope that every once in a while you take a break from studying and think of the days when wearing your Northern Getaway sweatshirt with kittens and popsicles on it was totally rad.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Happy Eas...whoa what is that!?
Most people have a novelty childhood photo with a mascot and these photos are never very good, but in retrospect very hilarious. Be it a photo with the Santa at the mall or (in my case) Tommy Pickles at Canada's Wonderland, it is inevitable that the kid's face in the photo is expressing complete horror at having to sit beside something so large and ultimately, terrifying.
Well, this week the front page of my local paper featured the following picture of the Easter Bunny with some hyperventilating children whose expressions said "please don't eat us!"
While I can't publish these kids' faces, I'm sure this picture tells you all you need to know. I mean, for real? All I could think while looking at the paper was, "why would you expect anybody to be pleased about taking a photo with this...thing?"
Needless to say, this Easter season resulted in some hardcore childhood phobias. I'm sure someone on a committee somewhere suggested a petting zoo or baby chicks for kids to play with, but no - let's get a fuzzy psycho suit instead. Kids love that stuff.
Happy Easter folks!
Well, this week the front page of my local paper featured the following picture of the Easter Bunny with some hyperventilating children whose expressions said "please don't eat us!"
While I can't publish these kids' faces, I'm sure this picture tells you all you need to know. I mean, for real? All I could think while looking at the paper was, "why would you expect anybody to be pleased about taking a photo with this...thing?"
Needless to say, this Easter season resulted in some hardcore childhood phobias. I'm sure someone on a committee somewhere suggested a petting zoo or baby chicks for kids to play with, but no - let's get a fuzzy psycho suit instead. Kids love that stuff.
Happy Easter folks!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Lookin’ Fly
One of the many perks of being a co-op student is the opportunity to suit up every once in a while and look like a million bucks on the outside; all the while, crumbling like a stale donut on the inside. Co-op makes you nuts, but there are moments after you suit up when you think to yourself, “Damn, today you look like a pro.”
Although over-thinking is involved in the pre-interview process, (i.e. how to get to the office? Which bus route is fastest? How do you spell this dude’s name?) there are always things you never consider until the morning of. Things such as:
“Are these dress socks black or navy? If these are navy they don’t match and now I’m gonna look like a moron. Awesome.”
And inevitably, after spending more time and hairspray than normal to ensure you look nothing like Mickey Rourke, it is always a windy day.
FACT: interview days are the windiest.
I had to walk quite a distance to get to the office from the bus stop and it was a significantly breezy spring day. By significantly breezy, I mean it was so windy I felt like I was in the movie Twister and was imagining that any moment a cow was going to fly by.
After signing in early at the reception desk in the shiny glass lobby I headed to the washroom to freshen up from my walk through the windy parking lot. A few deep breaths and a panic attack later, I headed back to the lobby where my interviewer had just come out to get me.
I was led to a lounge where we discussed the job description and qualifications. The interview was going well and the interviewer (let’s call her Janet) was all smiles, nods, and laughs. She seemed pleased with my past experience, but after about 20 minutes the little voice in the back of my head started to sabotage the interview.
You know the one, the interior narrative that goes on in your head and freaks you out while your outside voice is yapping away about your skill set and volunteer experience. It went something like this:
Janet: Well the successful candidate would be performing various tasks including…blah blah blah
Little voice in head: “oh crap, what is this lady’s name again?”
Me: Yes, I’m glad that the position involves so much creative freedom.
Little voice in head: just don’t say her name when you say goodbye, it won’t matter...Why isn’t she wearing a name tag, argh! Oh great, that sock IS navy…way to go genius.”
Me: I think the job aligns nicely with my core competencies.
And that’s when things got weird…
Janet (squinting): ummm, could you do me a favour?
Me: uh, sure.
Janet (motioning with her hands): could you just flick your hair like this (she began demonstrating).
I brushed my hair with my hand, confused.
Janet: yeah…okay, if you could just do that again, this time a little more forcefully…
At this point I am flicking my hair around and getting that terrible feeling that suggests something embarrassing is about to happen.
I hear her mumble something like, “I think you’ve got a fly or something in your…” and I am truly beyond mortified when she rises out of her chair to brush away whatever it is she sees out of my hair.
“You had a fly in your hair,” she said with a laugh.
Little voice in head: OH MY GOD!!!!!! IT’S OVER! IT IS TOTALLY OVER! A FLY? WHAT THE WHAT?”
Me: oh my - - that’s super embarrassing…wow. I’m…I’m really, sorry about that. It was ultra-windy outside and I walked here and now I’m…yep. Shut it down”. *insert nervous laugh*
(I mean really, what the heck do you say?!)
Janet laughed and told me not to worry about it. Despite myself, I did laugh. I mean, come on, who does that? In the history of interviews I’m sure there have been some weird ones, but a random fly in your hair that the interviewer flicks out for you? Unbelievable.
The interview went on and, oddly enough, I left the office feeling pretty good about my answers and terrible about the horrifying moment. But, it was now out of my hands. It was over. She either liked me or didn’t, but it was done and life could go back to normal-sauce now.
A few days later I received notice that Janet wanted to hire me. Let’s face it - must have been the suit.
Although over-thinking is involved in the pre-interview process, (i.e. how to get to the office? Which bus route is fastest? How do you spell this dude’s name?) there are always things you never consider until the morning of. Things such as:
“Are these dress socks black or navy? If these are navy they don’t match and now I’m gonna look like a moron. Awesome.”
And inevitably, after spending more time and hairspray than normal to ensure you look nothing like Mickey Rourke, it is always a windy day.
FACT: interview days are the windiest.
I had to walk quite a distance to get to the office from the bus stop and it was a significantly breezy spring day. By significantly breezy, I mean it was so windy I felt like I was in the movie Twister and was imagining that any moment a cow was going to fly by.
After signing in early at the reception desk in the shiny glass lobby I headed to the washroom to freshen up from my walk through the windy parking lot. A few deep breaths and a panic attack later, I headed back to the lobby where my interviewer had just come out to get me.
I was led to a lounge where we discussed the job description and qualifications. The interview was going well and the interviewer (let’s call her Janet) was all smiles, nods, and laughs. She seemed pleased with my past experience, but after about 20 minutes the little voice in the back of my head started to sabotage the interview.
You know the one, the interior narrative that goes on in your head and freaks you out while your outside voice is yapping away about your skill set and volunteer experience. It went something like this:
Janet: Well the successful candidate would be performing various tasks including…blah blah blah
Little voice in head: “oh crap, what is this lady’s name again?”
Me: Yes, I’m glad that the position involves so much creative freedom.
Little voice in head: just don’t say her name when you say goodbye, it won’t matter...Why isn’t she wearing a name tag, argh! Oh great, that sock IS navy…way to go genius.”
Me: I think the job aligns nicely with my core competencies.
And that’s when things got weird…
Janet (squinting): ummm, could you do me a favour?
Me: uh, sure.
Janet (motioning with her hands): could you just flick your hair like this (she began demonstrating).
I brushed my hair with my hand, confused.
Janet: yeah…okay, if you could just do that again, this time a little more forcefully…
At this point I am flicking my hair around and getting that terrible feeling that suggests something embarrassing is about to happen.
I hear her mumble something like, “I think you’ve got a fly or something in your…” and I am truly beyond mortified when she rises out of her chair to brush away whatever it is she sees out of my hair.
“You had a fly in your hair,” she said with a laugh.
Little voice in head: OH MY GOD!!!!!! IT’S OVER! IT IS TOTALLY OVER! A FLY? WHAT THE WHAT?”
Me: oh my - - that’s super embarrassing…wow. I’m…I’m really, sorry about that. It was ultra-windy outside and I walked here and now I’m…yep. Shut it down”. *insert nervous laugh*
(I mean really, what the heck do you say?!)
Janet laughed and told me not to worry about it. Despite myself, I did laugh. I mean, come on, who does that? In the history of interviews I’m sure there have been some weird ones, but a random fly in your hair that the interviewer flicks out for you? Unbelievable.
The interview went on and, oddly enough, I left the office feeling pretty good about my answers and terrible about the horrifying moment. But, it was now out of my hands. It was over. She either liked me or didn’t, but it was done and life could go back to normal-sauce now.
A few days later I received notice that Janet wanted to hire me. Let’s face it - must have been the suit.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Preparation is Key: The Checker's Nightmare
Everyone has a functional quirk. Some people are excessively neat or untidy, some are collectors or hoarders, some are list-makers, and the qualities seem to get stranger and stranger. I am a compulsive checker. Certainly not to the point where the impulse is debilitating, but I check to ensure I’ve got my keys, wallet, cell phone, and other items of importance in their designated places and pockets.
The habitual checking is a fairly handy trait and I assume it is something embedded in my psyche from early on. As a kid I seldom lost items because each item had a “home” and before leaving anywhere I always performed the typical three second check for these accessories (Keys, check. Wallet, check. Phone, check. Etc.). This organizational system gets more challenging in the winter season because you have mittens, scarves, and hats to keep track of; not to mention, winter jackets usually have more pockets granting you more potential places to carry random things. Overall, your skills as a checker are significantly tested in the winter.
So what happens when a checker encounters a dilemma where they are at a loss for items? Well from experience, I’ll tell ya - it’s not pretty. I’ll forewarn you that the following situation involved a cheesecake, a bicycle, and a rodent; it also ended with the question, “Jen, why aren’t wearing any shoes?”
It began as I set out for the shops on a sunny, but chilly, mid-fall Saturday. I ran a few errands and was feeling pretty adventurous, so I purchased a random cheesecake. After a quick pocket check, I returned home with everything in order.
I went into the kitchen, removed my shoes and jacket, and started putting things away. While unpacking, I noticed that the garbage needed to be taken out so I brought it down to the garage.
Now, quirks may be universal, but there is another strange phenomenon of human behaviour which occurs when one returns to a door (a garage door, let’s say) only to find it has automatically locked upon closing. This individual inevitably goes mad trying to open the door despite what is understood as a losing battle. Naturally, I adopted this behaviour and was banging on the door of my empty house as though by some miracle it would swing open.
After about six minutes of yelling at inanimate objects and cursing the universe, I began sizing up my situation. I reached for my pockets...nothing. No keys, no cell phone, no money; and because I had not expected to end up locked in a garage, no shoes. Welcome to the checker’s nightmare.
The garage full of old furniture, bicycles, and huge spiders was cold, so I opened the garage door and ran up the hill to the front steps to try my luck at what I already assumed would be a locked front door. Yeah, no luck there either.
It also didn’t help that I had no sense of time, because the battery in my watch had stopped - my procrastination over getting a new battery made time stand still at 11:35 since the beginning of the summer. For the record, the oven clock read 1:47pm when I was in the kitchen unpacking mere moments ago.
In any case, if I didn’t get creative soon, I was going to end up sitting on the front steps of the house for hours waiting for someone to come home.
As my hunger increased, my crazy did too and I considered the following plan: step 1: use the bike in the garage to go to the library, step 2: get a donut, step 3: use internet to alert roommate of situation and have her come home and save me.
This plan was initially appealing until I returned to the garage and realized two things. One – riding a bike with spiders all over it with no shoes was bound to be a horrible experience, and two – There was a long, brown creature chewing its way through the garbage I had set down earlier!
After sufficient screaming and what looked like a twitchy dance-seizure, I realized the bike-to-library plan was out and I was unable to escape the beady-eyed rodent now darting around the garage. I stared at him for a while, and then started issuing threats. I named him Ricardo.
I’m not sure how long I was out there, but the sun was setting and I was shivering on the front steps again. Some guy on a bike went by and I called out to him asking for the time. He looked at me, laughed, and pedalled on (thanks, guy).
I imagine at this point I looked like a mumbling cave person staring through the kitchen window at my now melty cheesecake. This was when my mind kept echoing what my roommate said that morning:
“I’m not going to be home until about 5, and I can’t find my keys...You’ll be home right?”
The habitual checking is a fairly handy trait and I assume it is something embedded in my psyche from early on. As a kid I seldom lost items because each item had a “home” and before leaving anywhere I always performed the typical three second check for these accessories (Keys, check. Wallet, check. Phone, check. Etc.). This organizational system gets more challenging in the winter season because you have mittens, scarves, and hats to keep track of; not to mention, winter jackets usually have more pockets granting you more potential places to carry random things. Overall, your skills as a checker are significantly tested in the winter.
So what happens when a checker encounters a dilemma where they are at a loss for items? Well from experience, I’ll tell ya - it’s not pretty. I’ll forewarn you that the following situation involved a cheesecake, a bicycle, and a rodent; it also ended with the question, “Jen, why aren’t wearing any shoes?”
It began as I set out for the shops on a sunny, but chilly, mid-fall Saturday. I ran a few errands and was feeling pretty adventurous, so I purchased a random cheesecake. After a quick pocket check, I returned home with everything in order.
I went into the kitchen, removed my shoes and jacket, and started putting things away. While unpacking, I noticed that the garbage needed to be taken out so I brought it down to the garage.
Now, quirks may be universal, but there is another strange phenomenon of human behaviour which occurs when one returns to a door (a garage door, let’s say) only to find it has automatically locked upon closing. This individual inevitably goes mad trying to open the door despite what is understood as a losing battle. Naturally, I adopted this behaviour and was banging on the door of my empty house as though by some miracle it would swing open.
After about six minutes of yelling at inanimate objects and cursing the universe, I began sizing up my situation. I reached for my pockets...nothing. No keys, no cell phone, no money; and because I had not expected to end up locked in a garage, no shoes. Welcome to the checker’s nightmare.
The garage full of old furniture, bicycles, and huge spiders was cold, so I opened the garage door and ran up the hill to the front steps to try my luck at what I already assumed would be a locked front door. Yeah, no luck there either.
It also didn’t help that I had no sense of time, because the battery in my watch had stopped - my procrastination over getting a new battery made time stand still at 11:35 since the beginning of the summer. For the record, the oven clock read 1:47pm when I was in the kitchen unpacking mere moments ago.
In any case, if I didn’t get creative soon, I was going to end up sitting on the front steps of the house for hours waiting for someone to come home.
As my hunger increased, my crazy did too and I considered the following plan: step 1: use the bike in the garage to go to the library, step 2: get a donut, step 3: use internet to alert roommate of situation and have her come home and save me.
This plan was initially appealing until I returned to the garage and realized two things. One – riding a bike with spiders all over it with no shoes was bound to be a horrible experience, and two – There was a long, brown creature chewing its way through the garbage I had set down earlier!
After sufficient screaming and what looked like a twitchy dance-seizure, I realized the bike-to-library plan was out and I was unable to escape the beady-eyed rodent now darting around the garage. I stared at him for a while, and then started issuing threats. I named him Ricardo.
I’m not sure how long I was out there, but the sun was setting and I was shivering on the front steps again. Some guy on a bike went by and I called out to him asking for the time. He looked at me, laughed, and pedalled on (thanks, guy).
I imagine at this point I looked like a mumbling cave person staring through the kitchen window at my now melty cheesecake. This was when my mind kept echoing what my roommate said that morning:
“I’m not going to be home until about 5, and I can’t find my keys...You’ll be home right?”
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Go with Your Gut
The plot of any horror film is driven by the characters’ irrational impulses to pursue anything that provokes their curiosity. As we all know, the flat characters typical of these films inevitably face odd scenarios and we can always predict whether they will engage in something ridiculous. For instance, would you like to provoke a psychotic clown? (YES!) Delve into a sticky ghost situation? (YES!), enter an abandoned theme park full of zombie carnies? (YOU KNOW IT!) These options all seem like a picnic, right? Maybe there’s some ice cream down in the poorly lit basement, who knows?!
On a whole, horror film choices make you think, “who in their right mind would keep talking to that creepy old lady with the weird eyeball?”, or even, “don’t leave the body there! He’s not dead! I repeat, he’s not dead!”
But, regardless of whether these films have any merit, we all do things we know we shouldn’t. For instance, I know I should technically avoid certain things, such as:
- Mathematics
- Airplane food
- The random French guy at the coffee shop who talks for too long
- Zoning out in the kitchen and eating a whole row of cookies out of the box (yeah, it happened. No judging.)
For the most part, I do avoid these things; however, there are times when you don’t see any harm. (The in-flight pasta seemed safe.)
If it were not for these lapses in judgement that last throughout a narrative or your daily life, things wouldn’t be very interesting. But, these instances get you thinking: where are all of the gut feelings or the first impressions of impending doom? Why follow the bodiless whispers down the dark alley when you know you probably shouldn’t?
In fact, as I am writing this two perfect examples of just-because- you-can-doesn’t-mean-you-should walked by. The first guy is wearing a shiny leather suit (for serious!). I should note that the temperature today is an unseasonal high of 15 degrees. If life were a horror film, this dude would be outta the game first. The second guy appears to be meeting someone for an interview of some sort. He’s wearing a shirt and tie, and decided that, because it is St. Patrick’s Day, he’d sport an oversized glittery shamrock necklace to meet with his potential employer. Memorable, or a metaphoric leap into a pit of flesh eating bugs?
That’s the thing – how do you know? You really don’t. And that’s the beauty of watching people live life like it’s a horror film. That’s not to say people literally wander around aimlessly in empty warehouses or hang out by the swamp for some fun times, but sometimes you see stuff and wonder if, for even an instant, the random dude with the fanny pack thought, “nah, maybe this could be weird”. Yet, no matter how many road signs along the way warn of dead ends or danger, we all make “horror film” choices every once in a while because we just can’t help it.
On a whole, horror film choices make you think, “who in their right mind would keep talking to that creepy old lady with the weird eyeball?”, or even, “don’t leave the body there! He’s not dead! I repeat, he’s not dead!”
But, regardless of whether these films have any merit, we all do things we know we shouldn’t. For instance, I know I should technically avoid certain things, such as:
- Mathematics
- Airplane food
- The random French guy at the coffee shop who talks for too long
- Zoning out in the kitchen and eating a whole row of cookies out of the box (yeah, it happened. No judging.)
For the most part, I do avoid these things; however, there are times when you don’t see any harm. (The in-flight pasta seemed safe.)
If it were not for these lapses in judgement that last throughout a narrative or your daily life, things wouldn’t be very interesting. But, these instances get you thinking: where are all of the gut feelings or the first impressions of impending doom? Why follow the bodiless whispers down the dark alley when you know you probably shouldn’t?
In fact, as I am writing this two perfect examples of just-because- you-can-doesn’t-mean-you-should walked by. The first guy is wearing a shiny leather suit (for serious!). I should note that the temperature today is an unseasonal high of 15 degrees. If life were a horror film, this dude would be outta the game first. The second guy appears to be meeting someone for an interview of some sort. He’s wearing a shirt and tie, and decided that, because it is St. Patrick’s Day, he’d sport an oversized glittery shamrock necklace to meet with his potential employer. Memorable, or a metaphoric leap into a pit of flesh eating bugs?
That’s the thing – how do you know? You really don’t. And that’s the beauty of watching people live life like it’s a horror film. That’s not to say people literally wander around aimlessly in empty warehouses or hang out by the swamp for some fun times, but sometimes you see stuff and wonder if, for even an instant, the random dude with the fanny pack thought, “nah, maybe this could be weird”. Yet, no matter how many road signs along the way warn of dead ends or danger, we all make “horror film” choices every once in a while because we just can’t help it.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Assurances
I think I speak for most people when I say that when in a vulnerable position where I am at the mercy of an alleged expert such as a dentist, doctor, or some other specialist, I like to feel assured of their competence and professionalism. It is nice to be able to relax, kick back, and know you are in good hands. There is just something very valuable in being able to be sure.
A recent trip to the dentist however had me nervous. It began in the waiting room where I was welcomed by a mumbling receptionist and a television featuring the Tyra Banks Show. I took my seat and a random six year old and I waited while watching Tyra who told us about the negative effects of “Bromances.” It was 11am and Tyra had said the words “sexual relations”, and “booty” approximately 8 times. The six year old and I sat transfixed until I was approached by a young hygienist who looked like Jackie from “that 70’s show”, she said, “kay so it’s your turn...wait...ya it is” and batted her heavily make-upped eyelids at me.
I followed her to the chair where she seemed to struggle reading the questions listed on her papers. “Are you e-x-per-i-encing....I mean are you taking any medi-ca-tions?”
“No.”
“kay...ummm. Have you any al-er-gies?”
“Just penicillin.”
“Can you spell that please?”
And so I spent the next few moments spelling out the common allergy to the hygienist whose brow was furrowed.
Above the chair there was a small television and Rachelle Ray was on, presumably because Tyra had just finished trying to be the next Oprah.
“Oh do you ever watch this lady?” she asked with a clear note of excitement in her voice while nodding at the cook.
“Umm yeah, sometimes.”
“Oh I watch it all the time here, it’s on everyday and this lady is crazy! She puts like four sticks of butter in everything. She’s gonna get so fat”.
I laughed politely while she proceeded to take x-rays and jammed impossibly huge metal tongs into my mouth and I wondered if the familiar sound of an msn instant message was coming from the computer behind me. Sure enough it was and while I don’t like to admit to being nosey, I couldn’t help reading the exchange.
Leo: how has your day been?
Lil_ang3l_285: pshhht
Leo: ha, what does pshht even mean?
She had abandoned the online conversation at this point and now told me that even though it looked like my mouth was big enough to fit these metal things, it wasn’t.
“Wait...I didn’t mean to just tell you that you have a big mouth!”
“Zzats s’ok” I said with tears in my eyes.
“Phew haha, that would have been so bad!” she laughed.
It was odd to have to laugh to assure her that I didn’t take her words to heart, odd because I had hoped she was going to take the tongs out of my mouth quickly rather than take her time and stare at me for reassurance. I don’t blame her though, as I likely looked pained at her remark.
“Those x-ray things really hurt, you’d think someone would have invented like a gel one or something by now, make them more comfortable” I said to fill the silence.
“Yeah, in school they made us do a project where we had to re-design dental tools. I got stuck with these x-ray things...and I didn’t really know how to make them better...I tried making them out of like Styrofoam that could be replaced each time but it costs too much money. Ugh they always made us do stuff like that there...you know how school is.”
Needless to say, the more I tried to make small talk with this hygienist the more I wished I hadn’t.
She asked if I had experienced anything odd in terms of pain recently and I said that I was concerned about a slight throbbing in my lower jaw.
“Could you describe the pain?” the hygienist asked.
“Sure, well I wouldn’t say its pain so much as discomfort. And it is just in this spot right here.”
“On a scale of one to ten, one being not painful and ten being super bad how would you rate it?”
“Probably a three.”
“Just a three?” she squinted, sceptically.
“Maybe a four at most, as I said, it’s just a bit of a nuisance.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, thanks, I’m sure.”
“Hmmm...a three” she said and left the room without an explanation.
I sat there alone and slightly confused for about 20 minutes while Rachelle Ray showed me how to make some sort of noodle meal using a strange orange vegetable that would “fool the kids into believing it was cheese”. She called it a “fake out”. All I thought about for those 20 minutes was how bummed I’d be if I sat down to eat something that looked like it was made out of 4 layers off delicious cheese all to realize it was a fake out.
“Hmmm...a three” is not the sort of reassuring thing you want to hear when you tell someone about a concern you have, especially in a dental office. However, upon her return she went back to conducting the exam as if she never left. Didn’t say much anymore and there were too many things in my mouth to ask any decent questions.
She left to find the dentist and returned 15-20 minutes later. During this time I had texted 4 of my friends and City TV was now broadcasting news about the City of Toronto’s Garbage Strike.
The dentist came in, slid into the chair and shone the light in my face. From behind his mask he asked, “Where throbbing pain?” in a thick Russian accent.
I pointed and he probed around for about five seconds.
“Can’t happen.”
“Huh?”
“No, can’t happen there...no pain there.”
“But it throbs right there, like sometimes.”
Within two seconds of deliberation he said quickly, “no. Can’t happen. Not possible.”
“Oh...well I guess I am wrong...” I replied hesitatingly.
“You had work done there before, yes...you see. And yes, no there cannot be pain in that space. Impossible.” He said in a tone that dared me to ask further questions.
“Okay. Well. Thank you,” I said as he got up to leave and shook my hand.
I thanked the hygienist who watched the exam and she pleasantly said it was lovely to have met me. I told her likewise and made for the door.
On the ride home my mum asked what the dentist said and I told her he recommended Colgate total just like 4 out of 5 other dentists and that he’d see me in six months.
It just goes to show I suppose that even when you think you know something, maybe you don’t. Maybe your feelings are impossible or not to be trusted. Perhaps your instincts are just fluff and you shouldn’t feel nervous around the pros. They know what they are doing and we should all just calm down and stop looking for the sealed diplomas that usually line the walls of any respected institution. In any case, it was a trip for the books and for the most part I experienced only minor pain. I did learn however, that being assured is something everyone seems to enjoy. There is something about peace of mind that is sought after and its absence makes the even the best of us wonder if Rachelle Ray really will get fat one day, or if perhaps Tyra could be the next Oprah, or if dental hygienists resembling popular television characters are truly certified. Perhaps what was most significant is that in being unsure of others, we begin being unsure of ourselves.
A recent trip to the dentist however had me nervous. It began in the waiting room where I was welcomed by a mumbling receptionist and a television featuring the Tyra Banks Show. I took my seat and a random six year old and I waited while watching Tyra who told us about the negative effects of “Bromances.” It was 11am and Tyra had said the words “sexual relations”, and “booty” approximately 8 times. The six year old and I sat transfixed until I was approached by a young hygienist who looked like Jackie from “that 70’s show”, she said, “kay so it’s your turn...wait...ya it is” and batted her heavily make-upped eyelids at me.
I followed her to the chair where she seemed to struggle reading the questions listed on her papers. “Are you e-x-per-i-encing....I mean are you taking any medi-ca-tions?”
“No.”
“kay...ummm. Have you any al-er-gies?”
“Just penicillin.”
“Can you spell that please?”
And so I spent the next few moments spelling out the common allergy to the hygienist whose brow was furrowed.
Above the chair there was a small television and Rachelle Ray was on, presumably because Tyra had just finished trying to be the next Oprah.
“Oh do you ever watch this lady?” she asked with a clear note of excitement in her voice while nodding at the cook.
“Umm yeah, sometimes.”
“Oh I watch it all the time here, it’s on everyday and this lady is crazy! She puts like four sticks of butter in everything. She’s gonna get so fat”.
I laughed politely while she proceeded to take x-rays and jammed impossibly huge metal tongs into my mouth and I wondered if the familiar sound of an msn instant message was coming from the computer behind me. Sure enough it was and while I don’t like to admit to being nosey, I couldn’t help reading the exchange.
Leo: how has your day been?
Lil_ang3l_285: pshhht
Leo: ha, what does pshht even mean?
She had abandoned the online conversation at this point and now told me that even though it looked like my mouth was big enough to fit these metal things, it wasn’t.
“Wait...I didn’t mean to just tell you that you have a big mouth!”
“Zzats s’ok” I said with tears in my eyes.
“Phew haha, that would have been so bad!” she laughed.
It was odd to have to laugh to assure her that I didn’t take her words to heart, odd because I had hoped she was going to take the tongs out of my mouth quickly rather than take her time and stare at me for reassurance. I don’t blame her though, as I likely looked pained at her remark.
“Those x-ray things really hurt, you’d think someone would have invented like a gel one or something by now, make them more comfortable” I said to fill the silence.
“Yeah, in school they made us do a project where we had to re-design dental tools. I got stuck with these x-ray things...and I didn’t really know how to make them better...I tried making them out of like Styrofoam that could be replaced each time but it costs too much money. Ugh they always made us do stuff like that there...you know how school is.”
Needless to say, the more I tried to make small talk with this hygienist the more I wished I hadn’t.
She asked if I had experienced anything odd in terms of pain recently and I said that I was concerned about a slight throbbing in my lower jaw.
“Could you describe the pain?” the hygienist asked.
“Sure, well I wouldn’t say its pain so much as discomfort. And it is just in this spot right here.”
“On a scale of one to ten, one being not painful and ten being super bad how would you rate it?”
“Probably a three.”
“Just a three?” she squinted, sceptically.
“Maybe a four at most, as I said, it’s just a bit of a nuisance.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, thanks, I’m sure.”
“Hmmm...a three” she said and left the room without an explanation.
I sat there alone and slightly confused for about 20 minutes while Rachelle Ray showed me how to make some sort of noodle meal using a strange orange vegetable that would “fool the kids into believing it was cheese”. She called it a “fake out”. All I thought about for those 20 minutes was how bummed I’d be if I sat down to eat something that looked like it was made out of 4 layers off delicious cheese all to realize it was a fake out.
“Hmmm...a three” is not the sort of reassuring thing you want to hear when you tell someone about a concern you have, especially in a dental office. However, upon her return she went back to conducting the exam as if she never left. Didn’t say much anymore and there were too many things in my mouth to ask any decent questions.
She left to find the dentist and returned 15-20 minutes later. During this time I had texted 4 of my friends and City TV was now broadcasting news about the City of Toronto’s Garbage Strike.
The dentist came in, slid into the chair and shone the light in my face. From behind his mask he asked, “Where throbbing pain?” in a thick Russian accent.
I pointed and he probed around for about five seconds.
“Can’t happen.”
“Huh?”
“No, can’t happen there...no pain there.”
“But it throbs right there, like sometimes.”
Within two seconds of deliberation he said quickly, “no. Can’t happen. Not possible.”
“Oh...well I guess I am wrong...” I replied hesitatingly.
“You had work done there before, yes...you see. And yes, no there cannot be pain in that space. Impossible.” He said in a tone that dared me to ask further questions.
“Okay. Well. Thank you,” I said as he got up to leave and shook my hand.
I thanked the hygienist who watched the exam and she pleasantly said it was lovely to have met me. I told her likewise and made for the door.
On the ride home my mum asked what the dentist said and I told her he recommended Colgate total just like 4 out of 5 other dentists and that he’d see me in six months.
It just goes to show I suppose that even when you think you know something, maybe you don’t. Maybe your feelings are impossible or not to be trusted. Perhaps your instincts are just fluff and you shouldn’t feel nervous around the pros. They know what they are doing and we should all just calm down and stop looking for the sealed diplomas that usually line the walls of any respected institution. In any case, it was a trip for the books and for the most part I experienced only minor pain. I did learn however, that being assured is something everyone seems to enjoy. There is something about peace of mind that is sought after and its absence makes the even the best of us wonder if Rachelle Ray really will get fat one day, or if perhaps Tyra could be the next Oprah, or if dental hygienists resembling popular television characters are truly certified. Perhaps what was most significant is that in being unsure of others, we begin being unsure of ourselves.
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