Temporary Giant

A rambling, stream of consciousness post composed on and posted from my phone from the discomfort of a car dealership service waiting room. 

I’ve never known what it is like to be tall. The only way I’m going to see six feet is if I stand around with two friends. 

But today, I feel tall. I feel like a giant. I don’t like it. 

Perhaps I don’t like it because I know that I’m not a real giant. I am faux tall. I’m just sitting at a tiny table, in a tiny chair. 

At the place where we have our cars serviced, there is a waiting area. The waiting area is more like a punishment area. You can sit in lovely Naugahyde upholstered chairs and be forced to endure watching Kathie Lee Gifford’s deranged ramblings or sit at a table. 

I’m at the table. The choice between the Naugahyde seating and sitting at the table is hard. Here at the table, Kathi Lee is muffled, but that benefit comes at a cost – comfort and humility. 

You see, the table is a kindergarten sized one, with four matching chairs. Its presence here would make sense if I’d ever seen a child here or if it had something other than car magazines on it. 

So here I sit, on this tiny wooden chair. By my calculations, for me to be this out of proportion with a normal sized chair I would have to be at least nine feet tall. 

I’m wedged into a corner. I’ve considered moving to the Naugahyde area whenever someone leaves, but by the time I get up, another customer comes in and sits in those plush, big people sized seats. No one seems to consider that the giant at the table might want to watch Kathi Lee. 

I don’t want to watch Kathi Lee, but it hurts that no one considers a giant’s feelings. 

So here I sit in my tiny chair, at my kindergarten table, pretending that I’m tall. I’m tall, listening to Marshall Chapman and writing an essay on being faux tall on my phone. I’d really like to get out of here. This tiny chair makes my ass hurt. 

I’m sorry, that was rather strongly worded. You don’t understand what it’s like for giants like me. We’ve got our own special problems.  Fe, fi, fo, fum, hurry up and fix my car, I want to be five foot nine again. 


Let’s Talk About Poop

You know, back in the day, people walked their dogs just as they do now. Also, back in the day, saying “back in the day” wasn’t an idiom. I’m not here to talk about idioms. I’m here to talk about poop.

Not just any poop, your dog’s poop. Yes your dog’s. No, not everyone’s dog’s poop, just your dog’s. Read the rest of this entry »

I’m Sick Of Frozen

You know what? Enough is enough. Though I have not seen (and will not ever see) the movie Frozen, I am officially sick of it.

As best I can tell from the blizzard of crap for sale in stores, the movie has three characters. There is a blonde girl who smirks a lot, a red-haired girl who seems secondary to the blonde girl and a snow man who looks like a demented pile of soft-serve ice cream. They live somewhere cold, because, well, Frozen, right? Of course it is frozen; soft-serve ice cream can’t just walk around on a magical island near the equator, can it? Read the rest of this entry »

Comfort Inn, My Ass

I’m taking on a delicate subject. I find that when I’m touching on delicate subjects, doing so in a gentle and soothing way is best. This is a tale of things that should be handled gently, handled in a way that is anything but gentle.

After a long day of travel, I wanted a few minutes of peace before enjoying a visit with my son at his university. I’d selected a Comfort Inn for my stay. I checked in, dropped my luggage, plugged in my iPhone and walked in to the bathroom to take some relief which I really should have taken miles and miles sooner.

I told you this was a delicate subject.

It Gets Worse From Here, Hang On

This is not the toilet paper in this story. It’s really not fair for me to use it as an example. I apologize in advance. (image by TristanB CCbySA3.0)

So after that relief, I reached for the toilet paper. A tug at the end of the roll got the amount of paper I needed. My finger tips told my brain that this was not my usual grade of toilet tissue. My brain was too focused on the task at hand to listen to my fingers. I went on and did what we all do with toilet paper.

Not only was this not my usual grade of toilet tissue, it was nearly as harsh as my usual grade of sandpaper. Read the rest of this entry »

An Open Letter To Eric

Dear Eric,

Congratulations you on your entrepreneurial spirit. It takes guts and drive to open a business. My guts drive me in other directions, but I admire those who put themselves out there to open their own shop. You might think a guy like me wouldn’t feel that way about someone who has opened a body piercing shop, but I do.

Ow, OW! (image by Eric Magnan CCbySA4.0)

I admire that you’ve identified a niche you can market to. That niche – people who want new niches poked into their body – isn’t one I’m part of. But you are filling the needs of people who need puncture wounds and stimulating the local economy; good for you, sir.

Because I think I know a lot about people and a little about everything else, I’m going to point something out. Maybe you’ll think I’m presumptuous to say anything. After all, you know body piercing and you’ve got a business permit; you’re light years ahead of me, business wise. But I’m older. I’ve spent my life studying human nature and I have to comment on the most visible part of your marketing plan. Yes, the sign you have out by the road. Read the rest of this entry »

An Open Letter To The Kid In The Food Court

Dear Food Court Kid,

L Type Socket Spanner - Wrench

You, metaphorically speaking. (Photo credit: tudedude)

I’m in my fifties and I forget a lot of things. But you know, I remember being nineteen, just like you.

Yup, I remember picking up a third job during the summer to be able to pay for school. I recall working my butt off in college. In my free time, I did things I probably wouldn’t do now. And I remember how awkward it felt on that precipice between being a kid and an adult.

You’re Kind Of A Tool. Well, A Lot A Tool.

Well, maybe I wasn’t just like you. On my worst day, I wasn’t nearly the tool that you seem to be.

English: A megaphone vector image created usin...

Subtle. Try it some time. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Being loud sometimes is part of being nineteen. But part of successfully navigating that precipice into adulthood is recognizing that there’s a difference between “loud sometimes” and being so loud that you can assure yourself that all around you can enjoy your wit. You see, there is a difference between someone hearing you and  them enjoying what they hear. Read the rest of this entry »

The One Where I Try Not To Sound Insensitive


(Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

It is 1:57 a.m. . For my military and European friends, that’s 0157. I don’t usually start writing at 0157, but I’ve been awake since 0113. I have Apple to thank for that.

I’m writing this, and hoping I don’t come across as any more of a jerk than usual, so I’m going to write it carefully.

You see, I care. I care about people. People I’m related to, I care. People I know, I care. Same for people I don’t know yet, people I’ll never know and dogs.  I am one caring individual. Hopefully, you believe that; I care about your opinion. Read the rest of this entry »

Bad Perfume: The Solution

I’ve written extensively, or perhaps twice, about an experience I had with a bad perfume. Because I don’t like when folks point out problems but never help with a solution, I will provide a simple and effective way to eradicate the issue of people who bathe themselves in scent.

My solution is simple and non-violent. There will be no need for legislation or protest marches. The problem demands unified action by all those affected by strong perfumes and aftershave. Read the rest of this entry »