Smart AND Alive

Somehow I have gained a reputation of someone of intelligence. Not sure how that happened, I wish I did. Group perceptions of me have not always been positive; the weird kid, the small one, the one who never should wear sweatpants without a belt.

For those who wish to shake off the terrible nickname and perhaps move to the next phase of therapy, I have some advice. Follow this one easy step and you will appear as a computer genius:

Read.

I refuse to keep track of how often I'm asked "how did you know how to do that" when I know the answer was staring the person in the face, in English, in 10 point MS Sans Serif. Some numbers don't make you feel better, like the fat content in the Double Quarter Pounder and the amount of calories the average human should never eat.

Suffice to say that I have become accustomed to reading almost everything presented to me. The exception is any email longer than a paragraph. Life is too short to go on and on about whatever caused you to ask me for what I will refuse. Just put what you want in the subject line so I can put "no" in the reply.

Recently I was in a business. On the inside door, in bold letters, was the simple demand:

Please take off your shoes HERE!!!!

I say it is a demand not a request by the number of exclamation points. Someone inhaled a lot of sharpie fumes to make that point 4 times.

I gladly left my somewhat snowy shoes at the door and wandered in. I wasn't sure if each exclamation point was a tally of the number of corporal retributions for breaking the rule, but I could not claim ignorance. The sign could have been an eye test for pilots, the kind they must read while flying past.

During my wanderings in the building I was approached by an employee of the facility. I did not know this person from Adam, although I suspect Adam would also have listened out of fear for physical safety and physical intimidation through sheer size. This thankfully gentle giant said:

Man who could crush me with a handshake: You should wear shoes.
Me: Ummmm. Yeah. About that. Didn't the, you know, wow you're tall. The sign... at the front...
Dude who could seriously scare Chuck Norris: If you don't wear shoes, then the Janitor won't have a job to do.
Me: Oh.

I was tempted to say "With that logic, I should make myself useful by not using the garbage cans? Maybe I get you a second cleaner if I just fail house training and defile the floor? Is there an unemployed general contractor who would appreciate me to do some general mayhem?"

At this point I reflect fondly on public school. Only through the repeated hazings and mistreatment could I learn the valuable lesson of "Shut the HECK up when you have something witty to say." A little part of my logical side died at that moment. That was a small loss compared to the complete annihilation of my existence through a fatal case of foot-in-mouth disease.

I did put on my shoes, and mused gratefully upon the two lessons that have kept me alive, and intact for so long. Read carefully, and don't mouth off unless you have a clear path to run away.