I Wish I Was the Liar I Once Was

I went for a walk in the old neighborhood today.  I was telling a story about a lie I told 340 times.   Oddly, I was happy that the lie worked.  So it was worth it.  One person believed the lie, and most importantly, I knew it.  If I didn't know it, telling the lie 340 times would have been a waste.  But wait, I didn't tell a lie with words.   Nor by not saying something.  Not really much of a lie, nor a liar.

The old house is looking great.  The stone house across the alley is looking a little spooky.  But back then it was reversed.  The stone house was sharp.  Our house was shambles.

So, every day when I got off the bus, which stopped across the street from the stone house, I would pretend to walk toward the stone house.  If there was anybody I knew on the #29 Williams Avenue bus I didn't want them to know my true residence.  Sometimes the bus would leave quickly, sometimes it would linger.  When it lingered I had to be clever about stalling.  Maybe tie my shoe, pretend to drop something, whatever.   I had to do this 340 times for every day I went to school at Central Catholic.   After I transferred to Lincoln there was no chance that anybody from school was on the #29 Williams Avenue bus.  

One day, and only once, one of my classmates made the comment I waited so long to hear:  "Ya, I know where you live Sinclair, that ugly old stone house.  hahahaha loser!!!"   Or something like that.  Well the joke's on him.  And if he knew the truth now, the joke's still on him.  The shabby house is looking good.



Also stopped at the old Little Chapel of the Chimes.  Also looking good.

Note to old friend.

Hi Stephanie, Hope you're doing well. Here's a little something that you might find amusing, but no guarantees. I sometimes over-estimate my cleverness.

But here goes anyway: I just started a job in the Pearl last Thursday. The office is in the same building that Keen was in; the same floor; and my desk is inches away from the old AP desk. Also, my last day with Keen was August 28th. My first day with Puppet Labs was August 29th, two years and four jobs later. Time warp!

So on my second day we had new employee introductions (and I didn't get the memo). With no warning I had to say something interesting about myself. This little story saved me.

Did you ever get something stuck in your ear? It's never pretty. It happened to me and immediately I recalled the words of Rusty Nails (the clown): Never stick anything in your ear bigger than your elbow.

But this isn't about clowns, or the useless use of healthcare, or about my ability to remember only the quotations of clowns. No, it's about blaming my sister.

She had invited me to her church for a special service. I was excited to go, but knowing how loud the music was, I made one big preparation: Earplugs. Fortunately I had a drawer full. All sizes and shapes.

Some time earlier I had worked next to a person who had smoked for years. She spent most of the day coughing up a lung, or whatever mucus/fungus/grungeous was coagulating in her throat. (nice lady though)

I can skillfully ignore many sounds, but this was killing me. I bought progressively stronger earplugs. I search the city, from drug stores to hardware stores. Starting with the little foam ones that come in bright orange or green up to the one that basically put my head in a vise (it looked like a pair of headphones).

For the church service I didn't choose the "Vise". That would have been too conspicuous and would have sent the wrong message. I chose a nice pair I had picked up at a hardware store. These are difficult to describe, but I'll try. They felt like they were made of rubber...they could have been fake rubber. Each was about an inch long. It was like a stick poking through three disks. The first being the largest, then the other two progressively smaller. A clever and effective design.

They worked pretty well. Not good enough for the work situation, but I kept them in the plug drawer just in case. Good thing.

The day came and I was prepared. Prepared for excessive noise without sending the wrong message. To be extra polite, I installed my earplugs before entering the church. I was still in my car in fact. I didn't want to take any chances.

All went well. I enjoyed the service, and nobody ever noticed I was wearing earplugs. But...oh no. As soon as I removed the earplugs I could not hear out of my right ear. It was really plugged up. And not one to stick things in my ear (smaller than my elbow) I left it alone. But soon I couldn't resist. This was different. I made a few good tries at extracting what was blocking up my ear but finally came to my senses and went to the doctor. They had a good laugh and plugged in the waterpik.

The ball of wax was huge and ugly. I was warned not to stick anything in my ear and sent on my way. Without insurance this would have cost $127 (about eight years ago)

My advice to my sister: God is not deaf. I'm sure he only cares whether you are in tune.

ps: my advice fell on deaf ears. She still goes to load churches with enormous amplifiers and I go to quiet churches with no amplifiers.

We Were all Lost and Empty Handed

Here's a good story with a good hidden lesson.

When I was a new uncle I didn't know nothin' about unclin'. All I wanted to do was make the kids happy and not throw fits in public when we were out.

Back then we were all lost. I was overdoing it and didn't know it and the kids were overgetting it and also didn't know it.

One Saturday morning 5-year-old Michael and I walked into the local McDonalds. We both never liked the place except for breakfast. But at that time we didn't know it.

In my usual attempt to please I offered him anything on the menu. Anything. He couldn't come up with an answer. Figuring he probably couldn't read yet, I read the entire menu board to him twice. The answer behind every item was "no". Twice.

I was stumped. I knew he had been to McDonalds before. Surely there was something there he liked. And I think it was his idea to go there. So, being confident we had covered everything on the menu I asked him one more time what he wanted. "A Happy Meal".

I don't know if they sell Happy Meals at 8:30 am and if they did I wasn't buying one.

I clearly remember what I was thinking at the moment. He made a mistake about choosing this place. There really wasn't anything here he wanted. He simply didn't know you can't have a hamburger for breakfast and now he knew. Clearly logical.

So we turned and left. Empty-handed. Headed for my first choice: Starbucks.

This is the unclin' part I didn't understand. You can't walk away from McDonald's empty-handed. I never saw such weeping.

It all ended well because he discovered a passion for Starbuck's cinnamon rolls. But in another sad turn soon discovered an allergy to cinnamon (1999 to be exact).

PS: If you can find the hidden lesson here, please pass it on. I have no idea.

The Worst Thing I Ever Did To an Old Lady

Do you have some unpleasant image that plays over and over in your mind from sun-up to sun-down every day? No? Consider yourself anointed.

Sometime in my late teens I would often go grocery shopping with my dad. Just yesterday (fathers day) I was recalling what a pleasant memory this is. Just us two. Not much said, but that's good.

We would usually go to what was then the friendliest store in town: Waremart. I don't know what happened to Waremart. Where did it go? Nobody knows where.

My job was to push the cart. What else could I do?

When we arrived at Waremart I usually had to start scoping for a cart as soon as we got out of the car. For whatever reason Waremart had a shortage of carts. It was a drudgery to go all the way into the store only to discover there were no carts; then walk all the way out of the store to find one in the parking lot.

On one such evening I found myself in this very debacle. All the way into the store, then all the way out looking for a cart. Oh, my good fortune: here coming toward me is a lady returning her empty cart to the front of the store. "Thank you" I graciously said as I accepted the transfer of possession from her to me. I turned and proceeded back into the store to find dad.

Oops.

The 'check engine' light just illuminated in my brain. The lady wasn't returning the cart. She had the smarts to get one from the lot BEFORE walking all the way into the store.

And I just stole it from her.

One good thing about this: I knew long before I became an adult why adults don't like teenagers.