Beyond the Dura

I met a couple of nice people in the airport today. One guy who was “Big and Tall” named Kevin who sold Flame Resistant clothing. The other a young woman who looked like Kate on the show Lost. She was reading a book called, “Cranial Sacral Therapy: Beyond the Dura”. Kevin was eating Combos. Just a stretch here, but I’m thinking Kate is smarter than Kevin. I doubt Kevin even knew that there was anything beyond the dura.
One disturbing thing, and actually is the reason I started to write, was I saw a guy in line in front of me, in a suit. Normally this doesn’t disturb me, but what did, was his eating of his booger. He picked it. Looked down at it, and you could see him kinda say, “Oh. I didn’t know you were the booger I was picking.” And popped in his mouth.
I usually don’t get grossed out. I have actually won gross out ‘contests’ with friends and family, but this was a little too gross for me. I wasn’t even paying this guy much attention because there were much more interesting people in line with me. Like the 60 year old retired hooker and the girl who looked like Kate from Lost. But the Booger eating lawyer stole the show. After he consumed the dried mucous flake, I had to concentrate on not staring at him in awe. I had to adjust my face a few times because I realized I had a look on it like I smelled a musty warm garlic fart. I kept asking myself questions that, thank God no one answered like:

Does he think he’s by himself in one of America’s largest Airports?!?
Does he not realize or care that other people are watching out for Booger Eating lawyers just for material for their Blogs?!
Why did he appear to say in gleeful surprise “Oh.” And then eat it?!
What causes a professional to not stop eating boogers in the 1st grade?!
Did he eat a “Brain Booger” before his bar exam?!
Has he ever said, “What? It’s just a booger.”?

This puts me in a different sub conversation but relates directly to this.
I went to the bathroom before boarding, and noticed in the stall a couple of numbers for a good time, and that someone had flicked a couple of boogers on the stall doors. WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS? THERE IS TOILET PAPER ONE FOOT FROM YOUR LEFT HAND? Is it the art of flicking the booger that is so compelling that they cannot resist doing it? Do these people say to themselves, “I could wipe the booger on some TP, but I really want to see this one Fly!”? This is not the first I’ve seen this. I’ve seen it from coast to coast. Even in the corporate office where I work. There is either a national problem with booger throwing, or some booger throwing stalker is following me around the country. I rarely ask readers of this blog to reply or comment, but if you have a theory about the “Snot Phenomenon” please comment at the bottom of this post.

I’m sure some of you were reading this and going, “Why does he always write about bodily fluids and noises?” While some of you were wishing, “Man, I hope he writes more about that 60 year old retired hooker.”I’ll address both of these in a little bit, but first I wanted to dispel a myth that Northeastern people are Rude.
I have a theory about this. I don’t think they are rude. I think they are so used to people not asking them how they are doing, that they become accustomed to keeping their heads down and keeping to themselves. I was bored a couple of evenings on this audit so I conducted a few little experiments.
The first one dealt with me finding a Duncan Donuts franchise. If you’ve not been to the North east, this is incredibly easy, as they are on every corner. Next was to find a DD franchise without a Drive thru. A little tougher task but completely possible due to the large number of franchises. Next was to find a DD franchise with nothing but “Foreigners” manning their respective posts at the counter, fryers, and coffee machines. Easiest part of the experiment, by the way. In the 4 or 5 DD franchises I went to, I saw no person working in them who was not from the southern or eastern part of India. (Long story how I know this) The unknowing participant in my little experiment was a short little Indian named “Runs with Doughnuts”. No. I’m just kidding. Her real name was, and I’m sure my recollection is going to butcher this, Mahindra. Now besides the fact that I thought Mahindra was either a Tractor making company or one of the villains Godzilla faced, I had a semi controlled environment to conduct my “experiment” or theory.
Mahindra wore a lot of darker colored Gold, and some beads and some greenish looking mother of pearl jewelry. She wore her DD hat and shirt. One of the other employees with her had a much longer name that covered three or four nametags, which is why I didn’t use her in my experiment or story. Mahindra was about 4’10 “ or so in height .
When I walked in I turned the southern accent up a few notches so I could get her attention. When she said in her “More Indian than English” accent, “Welcome to Duncan Donuts. How can I help you?” I replied, “Well………Dadburnit. I don’t know. Do you have any coffee?” She smiled at me, and said, “Oh yes sir. We have very good coffee. Would you like a large with cream and sugar?” “Yes Ma’am. That sounds mighty fine.” I said, hoping my exaggerated accent would arouse her curiosity where I was from. It did.
She looked at me like I burped in Dolphin, handed me my coffee, which was the perfect flavor and temperature, and said, “Here you go. Where are you from?” I replied ecstatic that my little plan worked, “I’m from South Texas.” She said, “Oh really? I could tell by your accent you were not from around here.” I said with an Aw shucks grin, “Is it that obvious?” “It is a little obvious, yes.” She said with a little smile. I said, “I thought you knew that because I wasn’t being rude. It seems as though many of the people up here are a little rude. Do you find that to be the case?” She says, “I used to, but not anymore. So many of the people here just keep to themselves. My first thought was that they just didn’t want to be bothered by small talk, but if you ask them a sincere question like ‘how are you today’ or ‘nice day today.’ They will respond in kind. If I do not say anything, they will not have a conversation. My cousin lives in Houston and she loves the hospitality there. She said she doesn’t have to drag the conversation out of people. Do you live near Houston?” I replied, “Not too far away. Great coffee by the way. Good talking to you. You have a nice night.” She said, “You too sir.”
It felt great to have a theory partially proven. I set out the rest of the week to solidify it by talking to the refinery operators at the plant in New Jersey, the Puerto Rican workers at the hotel I stayed at, and the wait staff at at every restaurant I ate at. I can happily say that Mahindra was right every single time, and that in essence, people from the Northeast are rude; they just talk funny.
I know to some of you this kind of “theory testing” is either pathetic or awkward, or maybe even creepy. It’s really just a study of people and cultures though. And although they are intriguing at times, I have gotten a hold of a weird one every now and again. So much so that a couple of times like today, I have regretted asking a simple question like, “how are you today?” to my pilot. The response coming back at you like a fastball, with the pilot suddenly swatting at something that isn’t there, “Well I’d be better if it weren’t for these damn bees!”
See why I say partially proven?
;)

Bucket of Rocksalt

A few weeks ago, minutes after my Wife told me to slow down a little bit, I got pulled over by a Wilson county deputy. My wife looked at me with bewilderment and said, you guessed it, "I told you to slow down.". In the interest of time (kind of ironic now) I didn't want to be late for a flight to California.
That's what landed me in defensive driving today and to be honest is the perfect ending point for this week.
Despite all of the crappy events of the week, I've found a few little things that made me giggle and that I thought you might find funny as well.

1. This week while in Houston there were two ladies outside a bathroom at a refinery I was at. Both were leaning up against the wall in between the men’s and women’s bathrooms taking account of all who entered each room, while talking of budgets or cost reductions. I was in a hurry after eating the curry cayenne sprinkled doughnuts so I paid them little attention when entering as I literally had a much more pressing issue at hand. Upon leaving the restroom, one of ladies paused in her conversation, looked at me, then glanced down at her watch, as if to say, "Ten minutes in the bathroom. He pooped." or "3 minutes in; she peed." or "she's going in with her purse, she’s on her period” or “he is going in with his purse, he’s gay.”

2. My Defensive Driving Teacher is shaped like a dodge ball. He looks like a globe with two carrots shoved in the bottom of it. He’s a nice enough guy but he did say a couple of funny and strange things. One of the questions he asked the room of 30 was, “Is the Railroad track a safe place for pedestrians to walk?” Nobody said anything. I think most were shocked by the silliness of the question, but there were a few in the class that I could tell were pondering it. Redneck in the back row (not me) raises his hand.

AppleBodied Teacher: “Yes sir?”
Redneck: “My foot doctor has a Mercedes.”
AppleBodied Teacher: “What?! Oh. No sir. I said pedestrian, not podiatrist.”
Redneck: “Oooohhhh. Then no. But it is safe for the trains.”

Another statement made by the AppleBodied Teacher was “Brown is the color of fun. Signs, I mean.” This is also something I didn’t know.
We were talked down to so much, that by the end of the six hours, that I will never get back, you actually felt drained. I can only think of one other time when I felt this dumb. I was asked, “Hey what time is it?”. I had the Milk Carton in my right and a rather full glass of milk in my left hand and absentmindedly looked at the watch on my left wrist. This caused the milk to leave the glass and go a little in my belly button, but mostly all over my genitals.

3. You ever get dressed and go somewhere only to realize much much too late that a piece of what you are wearing smells less fresh than it should? I’m not talking about that ball cap you own that smells like a port o potty in a public park, or the “draws” you decided to flip over inside out and “recycle”. I’m talking about an undershirt or shirt or maybe you thought that these were the “clean pants”. No? Me neither.
But something I did notice today, as well as the sweet lady named Nikole (Her spelling) and the gentleman named Juan sitting to my left may have as well, was the fact that I have never washed these particular tennis shoes. Because the class was so boring, I found myself shifting my feet trying I guess to make the uncomfortable chairs more comfortable. Periodically throughout the day I catch a whiff of what smelled most like garbage whose contents where made up of ancient Mold and the Baby diapers my mother changed off me. I subtly looked around my fellow students judging them saying in my head, “he must not bathe.” Or “She must have a Moldy Baby.” Around lunch time it dawned on me that it was me. I crossed my legs with my foot on my lap and a smell that would gag a maggot reached my senses while I was chewing on some pizza. I bet the lady Nikole thought that I had that disease Restless Leg Syndrome, because while almost choking on my pizza, I kick my leg straight really fast so she won’t look at me like I have the other disease “Moldy Diarhea”. I smile and keep my disgusting feet away from her, Juan and I. I put them under the chair of a fat red headed woman who asked too many questions and made this horrible class longer.
I close with the words of the redneck in this class, that I will never forget as Long as I live. “I’d rather paper cut my taint to hell, and pop a squat on a 5 gallon buck of Rock salt than be here in this sumbitch.” Amen. Pass the Tylenol.
;)