The final re-post from my old website...
I've always been willing to share stories that highlight my moments of ignorance for the humor of those around me. I'm certain that this will be a developing list of short accounts as more events move from memory to mind. I can't say I embarrass easily. Why be bothered by something that no one else will ever remember. Unless of course you post it on the internet...
My Moment of Inspiration.
This one's not great, but the inspiration for me posting these random recollections. While hanging out in the Seuss section of Universal Studios sans any children of our own, I decided it might be cool to take a picture with the Cat in the Hat. We posed as I matched his pasted on smile and captured the special moment on the digital camera. I thanked the cat (got to be polite with the celebrities) and turned to see the Grinch (that green dude who stole Christmas) staring me down. I extended my right hand in an act of intended diplomacy between man and mascot. Not only was my gesture met with apathy, the Grinch gave me the finger. Not that finger, the green thumb and pointer shaped like an "L" extended skyward and resting on his forehead. The Grinch had dubbed me a loser. What can I say? I'm tight with the Cat and not one to loiter too long with negative beings. I'd been dissed by a man (or woman) in six feet of green fuzz. Angry? I was warm enough without hiding within the mask of a fairy tale creature. I simply threw a few fake jabs towards his midsection. Cheer up Grinch.
Caught with My Towel Down
It was the year of our new millennium. I was just a few credits short of graduation and figured I'd load up the class schedule to keep from getting bored. Why else would anyone in their right mind schedule an 8:00 class on a day when they might be able to sleep until 10:00? I was easily convinced by a friend that P.E. Volleyball would look nice on my final transcript. I hadn't taken any Physical Education courses in the previous seven semesters but spent plenty of time at the Rec Center and had actually already been crowned (or rather T-Shirted) as an intramural volleyball champion. We decided to act like novices in the early semester and attempt to be viewed as volleyball wunderkids by the close of the half-semester. We performed gracefully on the court, but my first time in the locker room proved more awkward. Apparently one should not assume that the post-class shower comes complete with towels to dry themselves. After sweating with the sunrise, my buddy had already split for home. I had a class on the same side of campus within the half hour. I'm not capable of leaving the house before showering much less attending a class in clothes moistened by my own sweat. I casually entered the shower with my bar of soap and shampoo (I did not assume community use of those items). After cleaning up, I strutted to the sink area like I owned the place and hit the button on the automatic hand dryer. This served me well in eliminating the water drops from my chest north. Reaching the lower regions of your body with the warm blast of an environmentally wise hand dryer is more difficult. I would have been overjoyed with a few insensitive nature destroying paper towels, but that would have killed the flavor of the moment and this story. I did manage to reach nearly dry when all was said and done without wet feet slipping on the floor below. And I never falsely assumed I'd find a towel waiting for me again. That unique morning I was the circus sideshow in the P.E. building of life.
A Restless Sabbath
Five words I never thought I’d hear at church and five words no one outside of nursery age ever would want to hear there, “Did you crap your pants?” Imagine the terror in my heart on a day when I was wearing my light khakis! And such a strongly stated question indicated that something was definitely awry, so I had to stop and really think about it. I knew I had not, could I have? My mind flashed back to the previous evening. While traveling home from shopping, we grabbed dinner to take home which included a huge ice cream cookie sandwich. To avoid a melted mess we decided to split it in the car. With a twinge of terror, I recalled a chocolate chip dropping to the seat and thinking to myself that I might want to grab that later. Turns out it fell to the seat and having not picked it up as intended, it left a nice not-so-small brown circle on the seat of my dress pants after the ride to church the next morning. I stood in the restroom assessing the situation and glancing at my rear in the mirror. There was no masking the stain. We slid carefully toward our seats with Rachel flanking my soiled hindquarters. I was not scheduled to participate in the collection of the offering that morning but someone had asked me to cover them—I had much more to cover now. I strategically chose the back wall and snuck to the front of the church during the prayer to assume the position without the entire west wall watching my spot move to the front of the church. During songs that required us to stand, I aimed my posterior toward the wall. Was anyone noticing this? Rachel again flanked me on the way to grab my coat after the service. It was long enough to cover my cookie catastrophe but we sprinted for the car anyway. No one had noticed or perhaps they had chosen to be kind. Perhaps somewhere in Wheaton over lunch that day someone was asking, “Did he crap his pants?”
A Little Gunfire Between Friends
If you've met me more than once, you're probably aware of my visual affliction. Colorblindness has lead to more interesting Q & A sessions than true life difficulties. There was one occasion though that it made me both the most hated and loved man in the room at the same moment. While in college, the boys and I headed south to Des Moines for a quiet evening of running around in the dark while firing plastic weapons at each other. The game was Laser Tag. The problem was me. After careful instruction as to who was on the red team and who was green, I realized that all the blinking lights looked the same to my deficient eyes. At the close of the game, stats were given to each team and each player as to their performance during the previous round. My team had fallen short, oh well. Who was the weak link in the chain? It must have been the player on our team who had shot his own teammates over their hated enemies at a clip of about 3 to 1. That link was the Colorblind Kid, the free shooter from the plains of central Iowa who knows right from wrong, but unfortunately not red from green. I had destroyed my own with reckless abandon and lead our team to defeat. Some chose to play another round. I was not asked to participate.
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