Category: People Am Dumb

Stupid people do stupid things stupidly.

I realize in rereading the previous postings of this story that it’s probably taken folks longer to read this retelling than it actually took to fly from Nebraska to Chicago. 

Speaking of Nebraska, let’s go back in time a bit and relive my experiences there.  Join me won’t you?

Oh, and if you’re expecting the plot of the story to advance or to find out what happened with the Air Marshal who did not like Roxette… well… all I can say is that you’ll really enjoy Part V.

So anyway, Nebraska.  I’m from the East Coast.  People on the East Coast have our impressions of states like Nebraska, Arkansas, Iowa, and Wyoming formed completely by television and movie stereotypes.  I expected everyone in Nebraska to be eating raw corn and riding a cow.  I expect everyone in Arkansas to attack people on canoe trips.  I expect everyone in Iowa to be like everyone in Nebraska minus the cows.  I expect Wyoming to be empty except for Dick Cheney. 

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Since it’s been over a month since the last installment of this saga was posted, readers may want to refresh themselves regarding the highlights of the story to this point.

I’m With Stupid

I’m With Stupid, pt II: The Empire is Stupid

If you want to pretend Quentin Tarantino wrote this story, read these all out of order and then praise my cleverness.

No, that wasn’t a dig at Tarantino.  I think he’s praiseworthy and clever.  M. Night Samalaundrymat is not clever.  Well, maybe once.  And by “maybe” I, of course, mean “never”.  OK, enough on film makers and one trick ponies.

So there I was,  hurtling down the runway, strapped into a United Airbus A320, at speeds approaching Ludicrous, and Ton’s O’Fun next to me cried “Havoc!” and let slip the poot of war.

That sentence was a very wordy and comma-abusive way of saying, “She farted”.

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Well… I got busy today. No story this week. Sorry. But in honor of Charlie’s last day of work with me… enjoy this classic. 

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People that know me would not dispute the fact that it is a well understood notion that I consider myself to be the absolute center and most important piece of my own universe.  If I were to be shown the entire infinite universe in one viewing with my being as represented by a speck of a speck with a red arrow pointing to it stating “You Are Here”, instead of feeling small and insignificant, I’d probably point out that I was clearly more significant to the universe otherwise I wouldn’t have merited the sign.  It’s not an overdeveloped sense of self importance, it’s a right where it should be sense of self importance.  Despite being so terribly important in my own little brain, I don’t flaunt that.  I’m very much aware that I am the only person who considers me the center of the universe and as such I don’t demand special attention… although I will accept it if offered.  I’m very careful to make sure that my mental fiefdom doesn’t intrude upon anyone else’s.  This little balance of power has worked rather well for the most part.  I wander around blithely feeling important but not imposing that on anyone and the rest of the world acts in kind.  It all falls down when I run into someone who thinks they’re the center of their own universe and I should care in the slightest.

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On my recent trip, I had an awesome twist of fate that allowed me to fly first class for a short leg of my journey.  It was only an hour long flight, but first class is first class.  I was all excited about my wide seat (the chair in the plane… not my butt- more on that later), my awesome legroom, and my free drink service.  That would all have to wait, however.  It’d be quite a while before I’d actually get on the plane

I strolled up to the United ticket counter as cavalierly as one with first class tickets can.  I skilled past the four people in the coach ticket line and went straight up to the empty first class line.  I stood there for days.

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Why should I pay $45 for a cup of coffee?  Do I really need a cookie larger than my head?  What about a rice krispy block bigger than my shoe?  I could always just get a bottle of juice that’s half the size but double the price of the same juice in a grocery store.  How does Starbuck’s stay in business?

Is it really good coffee?  Arguable.  Is it the post-high school barista behind the counter that has encyclopedic knowledge of coffee, grinds, and flavored syrup?  No, they make me feel stupid.  Sometimes I think they make up words just to see if anyone notices.

“Welcome to Starbucks, would you like to try our new Cafe Ochorina with cinnamon or a Triple Rumplemint Frappamochaspresso?”

“Um… ok.”

“And what size would you like that?”

“Medium.”

“Sir, our sizes are “piney”, “umbligo”, and “Vesuvius”

“Is one of those medium?”

“You’ll have to leave, sir.  Try the Dunkin Donuts around the corner.” 

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So, when last we met… our hero, me, was getting in his car to leave the shopping center.

It was about 3.00AM and there was no one in sight for miles.  At this time of night, many of the area stoplights aren’t operating normally.  They flash red in one direction and yellow in another.  Yellow flashing lights mean you have the right of way, red flashing lights mean to treat the intersection like a stop sign.  You stop… look around… and go on your way.

That’s what I did.  I approached the first red flashing light.  I stopped.  I fiddled with the radio for a second.  Noticed the Chuckles wagon behind me.  I made my left turn. 

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So while Armando had been fighting with the clerk, “Chuckles” had been picking through and examining the surplus Lean Cuisines that Armando couldn’t afford.  He seemed very interested in the steak and peppers.  Aside from being curious about someone else’s stuff and not seeming to mind rifling through it in front of them, he seemed on the normal end of the nut case spectrum.  He was buying a single bottle of water and four or five blueberries.

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