Did I say that out loud? - Thanksgiving

 

Today was the first day back at work after the Thanksgiving holiday.

As is always the case with these things, everyone I saw asked the same question: 

"How was your Thanksgiving?"

Eventually, I began to get a bit sick of it.  My tolerance of the question went through four phases:

1) Participation - acknowledge and share some tidbit of your life.

"My Thanksgiving was great, Thanks!  We had a fun day with amazing pumpkin pie and cherry pie!"

2) Deflection - make it about them.

"My Thanksgiving was great, Thanks!  How was yours?"

3) Attrition  - create some friction.

"Thanksgiving was fascinating.  I am amazed at how you Americans can take an innocent vegetable and turn it into a killer by turning it into a dish that can cause a heart attack."

4) Aggression!

"Well I was thankful that y'all didn't kill of all the native Americans, so at least we can have casinos."

To read more of the Did I Say That Out Loud? series, click the category link on the left.

Did I say that out loud? - Bar Brawl

 

We were watching the World Cup at a British pub.  People were going out the back Emergency Exit to have cigarettes, and were propping the door open with a block of wood.  Being an emergency exit, it locked automatically and you couldn't get in from outside.

I saw a Server go up to the door and close it because, obviously, it's against fire rules to prop an Emergency Exit open, and the pub could get into trouble.

Then I get a call on my cellphone.  It's far too noisy to take it in the pub, so I head outside.

Now, here's the thing with those doors that close automatically.  If you close them veeeeeeery gently, they don't actually click closed, but they look closed.  I went out and did my little trick with the door.

Then I see a guy outside on his cellphone.

"Did you just close the door?" he snaps at me.

"No," I said and, demonstrating my devastatingly brilliant trick, pull the door slightly to show that it is, indeed, open.

"This door closes automatically!" he snaps at me.  "We have to prop it open!  You see this block of wood here?  We need to prop it open with this block of wood!"

Just writing the dialog doesn't convey how patronizing his tone was.  

I ignored it, and let him prop open the door while I attended to my call.

Next thing, a male Server comes out.  He sees me first, and starts admonishing me for propping open the door.

I can play the submissive female to keep life simple when I have to, but I only have a certain amount of tolerance for it.

"Look," I said, "it wasn't me.  HE propped the door open.  And I just got shat on my HIM, and now I'm getting shat on by YOU and I can only stand to be shat on by one man a day!

By this time Mr-Prop-It-Open has come up to join the conversation.

"I didn't shit on you!" he protested.  "I was just trying to be safe."

The stupidity of him advocating safety as an excuse to break a fire rule wasn't lost on me, but I have learnt to make rapid calculations in my mind these days: 

How dumb is this person on a scale of 1-10?

How complicated is this issue to explain, on a scale of 1-10?

How much do I not give a shit to bother explaining this, on a scale of 1-10?

If the combined score is >15, I don't bother.  There's no ROI for my time and mental energy.

I didn't have a problem with the Server.  He was doing his job, and I had a chat with him afterwards to explain that I was not irritated with him.

But Guy No. 1 was getting on my tits.

I turned to him, to deliver my final, acid, soap-opera-worthy blow.  In my head, I could hear a movie soundtrack of violins.

I turned to the little shit and turned on my strongest, poshest English accent, and added a hint of spitting cobra:

 "I seem to have given you the wrong impression.  I.  Am.  Not.  STUPID."

I pranced off into the pub, as the violins screeched to a resounding crescendo.

And that, my dears, is how stupid alcohol makes you.

Tell your children.

 To see more in the Did I Say That Out Loud series, click here.

Did I say that out loud? - Baffling

 

Do you have Asperger's syndrome?

You don't?

So you are able to visually determine how the other person is feeling based on looking at their facial expression? 

OK, let me make this easier for you.

Can you tell when someone is sad?  Happy?  Just by looking at their face?

You can?

Oh, so it's not that, then.

OK...

Are you visually impaired?  Can you read small type?

[Sigh]

Again, let me make this easy for you.

Can you see my face clearly?

You can.  Good.

So you can see my face, and you can determine a person's emotional state based on facial expression.

Then, I have to admit, I'm completely baffled.

Baffled?  It means that I don't know what to do or say next.  I'm stumped.

Why?

Because all I want you to do is piss off.

Because I know that's written all over my face.

Because in spite of both of these things, YOU KEEP TALKING TO ME!

That's why.

Did I say that out loud - Parade

 

Sometimes I see a situation and a really terrible thing to say pops into my head.  I occasionally even shock myself.  So, rather than say them out loud, I'm going to write them here.

Today we went to get coffee and, as we drove to our local coffee shop (they know what I drink now - it really is time for me to get a job) we stopped for ages and ages at an intersection waiting for hundreds of teenage girls to walk across the road.

When we finally got into the domain of the caffeine fix, I asked the barista what was going on.  

She told me that the Catholic school was up the road one way, the church was down the road the other way and that, every Tuesday, the girls walked over for mass.

And this thought popped into my head:

"Great.  A weekly pubescent parade for the local pedophiles."

Did I say that out loud - Handstand Man

 

Sometimes I see a situation and a really terrible thing to say pops into my head.  I occasionally even shock myself.  So, rather than say them out loud, I'm going to write them here.

Yesterday morning I went to yoga class.  I arrived ten minutes before and, as per usual, there were a few people already there, mats set up, some lying down and resting, some stretching, even one woman doing ab exercises.

And then there was the old guy.

He was up the front of the room, against the mirror, doing extreme moves.  He did downward dog with his hands against the wall, pushing himself into a higher-arsed pose. 

Then he flipped himself up into a full handstand agains the wall.

And this thought popped into my head.

I could go over to him, bend down so my mouth was near his ear, and say:

"The fact that you can do that doesn't make you any less old and wrinkled, you know."