Now before I start today, I should tell you what made me come up with this shit.
Yesterday, I wrote about a mad moment where I actually thought for a second that the Michelin Man and The Pilsbury Doughboy might be brothers. A friend of mine told me that she was a little disappointed, as she thought I'd go into a bit more detail. She thought I was joking. I wasn't, I didn't really want to elaborate on a moment of sheer stupidity.
However, having far too much time on my hands, and having just that kind of mind, I started to wonder how I could elaborate. The possibilities were endless.
After an all day search in the National Archives, I uncovered a fact. It turns out my instincts were not off at all. The Pilsbury Doughboy and Michelin Man are, in fact, brothers.
Their story is an amazing one. A story that has been buried for years.
I publish this only to set the record straight, and in the hope that it will bring this strange family some peace:
In the Mid 80's, , the Ghostbusters, whilst trying to save the world, crossed the streams on their proton packs. This is a verifiable fact, as can be seen in the documentary 'Ghostbusters', released in 1984. This documentary was a huge success, documenting a small businesses rise to the top after a battle with foolish skeptics and nay-sayers.
This small business saved the world.
However, the method they used had an unforseen side effect, a side effect that would change two people's lives irreversibly.
The first person was Casper the friendly Ghost. Casper, a long time campaigner for undead rights, sensing the surge in supernatural activites in New York, travelled there to protest the fact that not all ghosts are evil. It was a decision that would change his life forever.
The resulting implosion, caused by the Ghostbusters' reckless solution, affected Casper's Ectoplasmic matrix. The shockwave passed directly through him, causing his genetic material mixed with another's.
Three months later, the terrible truth became known.
The Staypuft Marshmallow man was pregnant.
In a little known interniew, Staypuft commented:
"I'm a 30 story tall male, made completely of marshmallow. All I really feared was fire and over-enthusistic boyscouts. I never even considered the possibility of getting pregnant. I mean, who would?"
Casper was shocked. Spending that first 3 months in hospital, recovering from injuries caused by the Ghostbusters, a bombshell was dropped on him. He was about to become a father.
The news got even worse. The children were not developing correctly. Doctors told the terrified parents that one of their children would never grow more than 6 inches tall, while the other was already 2 feet in length. There was nothing the doctors could do.
Obviously and righteously angry, Staypuft and Casper went to the supreme court. They attempted to sue the Ghostbusters. A decision they would come to regret.
At the time, the Ghostbusters were world famous. The world population had them on a pedestal for saving everyone on the planet. Also being doctors, and because of the merchandising deals after the release of their documentary, they had become very rich men. For example, Dr. Venkman had a 50 foot high, solid gold statue made of himself.
It pissed champagne.
The Ghostbusters could afford the best legal representation in the world. In fact, they managed to recruit Johnnie Cochran, who later went on to successfully defend OJ Simpson, a close friend of Egon Spengler.
Staypuft and Casper's case was decimated. They were forced to pay all legal costs, and were counter-sued by the Ghostbusters, resulting in them becoming bankrupt, literally millions in debt.
Things got so bad that Casper had to take a part time job in a spookhouse at the Alabama State Fair, while Staypuft had to sell his entire left leg to the Boyscouts of America for their annual Jamboree. As Dr. Egon Spengler commented:
"These freaks never had a chance. Sure we accidentally impregnated a giant marshmallow man, but we saved the fucking world! We rule! WAAAAAHOOOOO!!!"
There was a good side, however. Having been through so much adversity, Casper and Staypuft found themselves drawn together. The began a life-long relationship, and shortly before the birth of their children, they were married in the world's first Homosexual, Interspecies, necrophiliac marriage in San Francisco. Both being male, the two decided that Casper would assume Staypuft's surname, 'Puft'.
The wedding turned out to be a mistake. It caused an international outrage, and resulted in further tradgedy.
The world was not yet ready to accept homo-interspec-necro marriages, and it caused moral outrage as it was realised that these two 'freaks' would soon be raising twins. The multiheaded hydra of homophobia, necrophobia, racism and speciesism reared its ugly heads.
Allegedly, there were back room deals and money changed hands, but eventually the Supreme Court, citing the reasons that the couple had no money, were made primarily of marshmallow and that Casper was unable to touch anything, judged them unfit parents.
Early 1985, Staypuft gave birth. The children were taken. Neither of the parents got to hold, or even see, their new babies.
The twins began their life in anonymity, known only as Steve and Phil. It would be 5 years before the parents would see their children again.
Life for Staypuft and Casper went from bad to worse. Due to the publicity, neither could hold down a job. They were the constant target for hate mail and racial attacks. For two years they lived under a bridge. Due to Staypuft's size, it was the Golden Gate bridge. Drivers would throw things from their cars at them.
The twins' lives were slightly different. Despite being ridiculed and made fun of for their size and appearance, they lived more or less ordinary lives. For example, Steve was 8 feet tall by the time he was 5, whereas Phil never grew past 5 inches tall. Their pasty white appearance made them the constant focus of attacks in the kindegarten playground.
Those lives would be interrupted on the twin's 5th birthdays, due to an unexpected twist of fate.
Their Parents, their real Parents, found a discarded lottery ticket.
A ticket worth 500 million.
The driver of the car that threw it, after realizing his mistake, threw himself off the the very bridge the Pufts used to live under.
How ironic.
Staypuft and Casper could not believe their luck. After 5 years of enduring hatred and hardship, an act of hate from an incredibly stupid driver had solved all their problems. They finally had the power to fight the injustice that had been inflicted on them. They hired a team of lawyers, who luckily, instead of seeing a ghost and 30 storey monster, saw only green.
In late 1990, Their case went to supreme court.
They won.
It was a time of great celebration. The couple had even managed to prove that the Ghostbuster's reckless 'saving the world' technique caused global warming, premature baldness, and in rare cases, genital warts.
The case bankrupted the Ghostbusters and they faded from sight, never to be seen again.
There is a rumour that they are currently working at the same carwash as MC Hammer.
Finally, the couple could meet their children for the first time. However, the reunion was not an easy one.
Phil, the vertically challenged twin, was happy to be back with his real parents. It had made him uneasy to be the way he was while living with normal people. Finally having an explanation for his diminutive stature, and parents that loved him made his life complete. Later, when he was old enough to understand the sacrifices and everything his parents went through, he made the following statement:
"My parents are examples to the human race. If we could all be like them, the world would be a much better place. Oh, and Peter Venkman can suck my c**k!"
In an act of retribution, he had taken Venkman's gold statue, altered it so that its penis was less than a quarter inch in length and put it on permanent display in Times Square. A loudspeaker inside shouts: "Hey everyone! I'm Peter Venkman, and I have a really, really, really small penis!" every minute.
The New Yorkers now set their watches by it.
With an investment from his parents, Phil opened his own bakery chain, where his tiny, pale doughy appearance was no longer a disability, it was a perfect marketing ploy.
Now a multi-billionaire, Phil 'Pilsbury Doughboy' Puft, has started a foundation for Ghost/monster hybrid children. Considering he and his brother are the only ones in the universe, it has made him a very rich man. He know lives in a miniature mansion on his parent's property. He still finds it funny that people think that he's a CGI animation on his company's advertisments.
Steve, however, was a completely different story. He had advanced so quickly in school that by the time he was 4, he had finished school, college and University and was looking for a job in the Auto industry.
Tired of his constant battle with predjudice, the last thing Steve needed was a similarly freakish brother...and gay ghost and monster parents. To Steve, it was the final straw. His parents represented everything he had tried to fight against for his whole life. He blamed them for all his problems. His new parents and brother would put him several steps back from acceptance.
Their first meeting was videotaped, and bizarrely, took place in cloud city on Bespin. At the time Casper had developed a reaction to the tibana gas, and was wheezing uncontrolably. The video is just 40 seconds long. Steve was hanging from a gantry, and Casper said:
"Steve! (wheeze, wheeze.) I am your father. (Wheeze.) Search your feelings, you know it to be true!"
Steve replied, in an unnecessarily whiny voice:
"Noooo! That's not true!"
In a fit of sheer depression, he let go of the gantry and fell. Luckily, he survived due to a conveniently placed ventilation shaft.
Steve refused to adopt the 'Puft' surname, and started his own tire business under the assumed surname 'Michelin'. An anagram of "I linch me".
Psychologists believe that this shows the depth of Steve's self-hatred, and also his lack of good spelling. (Much like the author).
Steve's company grew, and made him rich in his own right.
Unfortunately, just when things were looking up for Steve, he got sued by George Lucas for breach of copyright. Apparently Lucas had seen the tape of Steve's first meeting with his father. It nearly bankrupted him.
Casper escaped being sued, however, as in an example of incredible foresight, he had acquired an incriminating videotape of George Lucas performing lude acts with a Wookie.
Years later, in a very rare interview, Steve Michelin said:
"Those freaks aren't my parents, it's nothing but a rumour. I don't know why they tried to claim me, but I think they're just after a cut of my business."
When asked why they would want any of his comparatively tiny business, when the Puft family fortune is currently at 7.5 billion dollars, he stated:
"7.5 billion? 7.5 billion? Are you sure?....I gotta go call my mommy and daddy!"
Steve Puft now lives in an oversized mansion on his parent's property.
------------------------------------------------------------
There you have it people, a true miracle of our time.
Two parents, thrown together in an unplanned pregnancy, fighting the system for the love of family.
Truly, the Puft Family is an example to us all.
The Ghostbusters, however, once heroes...are still washing cars.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Out of my Mind...back in 10 minutes.
Do you ever have one of those days when it seems your brain takes a vacation?
You know, you find yourself completely baffled by the simplest household task, and find yourself thinking some really out there thoughts that just don't make sense.
Today has been one of those days. What happened shortly after I woke up today should have tipped me off, and I should have gone straight back to bed.
My wife (I mention her a lot, from now on I'll refer to her by her nickname, Sunny) was already awake, and having already cleaned up the kitchen (have I mentioned how much I love that woman?), she was sitting on the couch watching TV.
Now I'm not the most mentally agile person first thing in the morning, not even on my best days. I'm definately a night person (as you can probably tell by the time on my posts), and first thing in the morning, I kinda regress to neandarthal man.
"Ug, me want cigarette, coffee and breakfast."
Well, today I managed to get my T-shirt on the right way round and right side out after the first 3 attempts, which was actually a good sign.
I was, however, being lulled into a false sense of security.
Now, the wife is an 'any time of day person'. Now you may think I'm nuts, but I think I deserve my 18 hours sleep every day...whereas the wife fires on all cylinders, even if she's had 2 hours sleep all week...although she does get progressively more moody.
That, I can deal with, however...I just keep the chocolate handy and a nice shiny object, like a quarter, to keep her distracted. She's like a kitten with shiny things. Just flash a coin...
"Oooooh, pretty!"
Ok, I'm going off on a tangent here.
So I flopped onto the couch next to her, and started to form a dastardly plan to trick her into making some coffee. It took me a few minutes, but I finally came up with a tactical plan that would have impressed Alexander the Great. I turned to her, and sprang my plan like a bear trap:
"Sweetie?" I said. "Will you go and make us some coffee please?"
"Ok." she said, and headed of into the kitchen.
Yes, I'm just that devious. They don't call me 'Mr. Devious' for nothing. In fact, they don't call me 'Mr. Devious' at all.
In fact, I only have one nickname, and that's the one my wife made up for me, it's "Get off your ass and actually do some work around here."
The sad thing is I know I deserve it. A lesser (or more sane woman) would have shot me by now.
Anyhoo...
When she got back with the coffee we sat watching TV for a while. I'm not sure what the show was, but after a while the advert for Michelin tires came on.
I was mesmerised. Something seemed wrong. That's when I realised I was in for a bad day.
Somehow, in all seriousness, I said:
"Have you ever noticed how similar the Michelin Man and the Pilsbury Dough Boy look? Do you reckon they're brothers or something?"
Sunny froze, coffee halfway to her lips. She turned her head to look at me with glacial slowness, and gave me a look that said: "I hope against hope that that's a joke, because if it isn't...what the hell have I married?"
I just looked at her waiting for her opinion. Slowly my brain caught up with what I'd just said.
"ha ha ha." I said.
The wife was not convinced. (Told you no-one calls me Mr. Devious)
That was just the start. Today I have managed to:
1) Look for the remote for 15 minutes, before finding it...in my hand.
2) Managed to leave said remote in the fridge while getting a drink, resulting in me being remoteless for 2 hours this evening.
3) Filled a glass with milk, put the glass in the fridge, and brought the gallon jug into the living room with me.
I have days like that every so often. In fact, a lot more often than I like.
I don't get it. I have a tested 140 IQ, have a Bachelor of Arts degree...I'm meant to be intelligent, however, while still being able to form a cogent sentence, give an in-depth and insightful critique on the movie we're watching...my common sense, basic motor skills and grip on reality just vanish.
As the Mythbuster says: "I reject your reality, and substitute my own."
I've managed to do some truly stupid things, like unhook the dishwasher without first turning off the water or put my watch on upside down, and wonder why it's still light outside at 10pm.
On one particular 'stupid day' I was surfing the net with a cigarette in one hand, and a Q-tip in the other. Can you guess what happened there?
Let's just say it involved ear wax in the mouth, and red hot burning tobacco in my ear.
I'm just worried that one day I'm going to decide to look down the barrel of my rifle to check if it's loaded
Sometimes the best thing you can do after getting out of bed, is get straight back in and wait for a new day.
Am I the only one?
For God's sake, I hope so.
It's a scary thought that there are people like me walking around out there.
You know, you find yourself completely baffled by the simplest household task, and find yourself thinking some really out there thoughts that just don't make sense.
Today has been one of those days. What happened shortly after I woke up today should have tipped me off, and I should have gone straight back to bed.
My wife (I mention her a lot, from now on I'll refer to her by her nickname, Sunny) was already awake, and having already cleaned up the kitchen (have I mentioned how much I love that woman?), she was sitting on the couch watching TV.
Now I'm not the most mentally agile person first thing in the morning, not even on my best days. I'm definately a night person (as you can probably tell by the time on my posts), and first thing in the morning, I kinda regress to neandarthal man.
"Ug, me want cigarette, coffee and breakfast."
Well, today I managed to get my T-shirt on the right way round and right side out after the first 3 attempts, which was actually a good sign.
I was, however, being lulled into a false sense of security.
Now, the wife is an 'any time of day person'. Now you may think I'm nuts, but I think I deserve my 18 hours sleep every day...whereas the wife fires on all cylinders, even if she's had 2 hours sleep all week...although she does get progressively more moody.
That, I can deal with, however...I just keep the chocolate handy and a nice shiny object, like a quarter, to keep her distracted. She's like a kitten with shiny things. Just flash a coin...
"Oooooh, pretty!"
Ok, I'm going off on a tangent here.
So I flopped onto the couch next to her, and started to form a dastardly plan to trick her into making some coffee. It took me a few minutes, but I finally came up with a tactical plan that would have impressed Alexander the Great. I turned to her, and sprang my plan like a bear trap:
"Sweetie?" I said. "Will you go and make us some coffee please?"
"Ok." she said, and headed of into the kitchen.
Yes, I'm just that devious. They don't call me 'Mr. Devious' for nothing. In fact, they don't call me 'Mr. Devious' at all.
In fact, I only have one nickname, and that's the one my wife made up for me, it's "Get off your ass and actually do some work around here."
The sad thing is I know I deserve it. A lesser (or more sane woman) would have shot me by now.
Anyhoo...
When she got back with the coffee we sat watching TV for a while. I'm not sure what the show was, but after a while the advert for Michelin tires came on.
I was mesmerised. Something seemed wrong. That's when I realised I was in for a bad day.
Somehow, in all seriousness, I said:
"Have you ever noticed how similar the Michelin Man and the Pilsbury Dough Boy look? Do you reckon they're brothers or something?"
Sunny froze, coffee halfway to her lips. She turned her head to look at me with glacial slowness, and gave me a look that said: "I hope against hope that that's a joke, because if it isn't...what the hell have I married?"
I just looked at her waiting for her opinion. Slowly my brain caught up with what I'd just said.
"ha ha ha." I said.
The wife was not convinced. (Told you no-one calls me Mr. Devious)
That was just the start. Today I have managed to:
1) Look for the remote for 15 minutes, before finding it...in my hand.
2) Managed to leave said remote in the fridge while getting a drink, resulting in me being remoteless for 2 hours this evening.
3) Filled a glass with milk, put the glass in the fridge, and brought the gallon jug into the living room with me.
I have days like that every so often. In fact, a lot more often than I like.
I don't get it. I have a tested 140 IQ, have a Bachelor of Arts degree...I'm meant to be intelligent, however, while still being able to form a cogent sentence, give an in-depth and insightful critique on the movie we're watching...my common sense, basic motor skills and grip on reality just vanish.
As the Mythbuster says: "I reject your reality, and substitute my own."
I've managed to do some truly stupid things, like unhook the dishwasher without first turning off the water or put my watch on upside down, and wonder why it's still light outside at 10pm.
On one particular 'stupid day' I was surfing the net with a cigarette in one hand, and a Q-tip in the other. Can you guess what happened there?
Let's just say it involved ear wax in the mouth, and red hot burning tobacco in my ear.
I'm just worried that one day I'm going to decide to look down the barrel of my rifle to check if it's loaded
Sometimes the best thing you can do after getting out of bed, is get straight back in and wait for a new day.
Am I the only one?
For God's sake, I hope so.
It's a scary thought that there are people like me walking around out there.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Carpocalypse Now.
First Rule of Driving: Anyone traveling slower than you is an idiot. Anyone traveling faster is a maniac.
I’m going to say something now that may shock you to your very core.
I am a man, and I am a really bad driver.
Ok, I’m maybe not quite that bad. I’m a safe driver and can get to point B from point A…Unless of course that journey involves any reversing for more than 10 yards, parallel parking, or any maneuver that is not in the “left or right turn” category.
You see, my problem was I passed my test (On the first attempt… I have no idea how that happened), and within a few weeks my mother traded in our stick shift for an automatic. Then in an effort to save money to come to the USA, I didn’t buy a car, and bought a motorcycle instead (Ok, ok, it was a 100cc scooter…not so much a Hog as a Piglet).
Moving to the US completely screwed me up. Imagine what it’s like to Change from left hand drive to right hand drive…when you haven’t driven a car, especially a stick shift in years.
Oh, it was fun…
On my first attempt to drive in the USA, I Started down the road, looked out of the side window looking for the mirror, put the window wipers on looking for the cigarette lighter…then opened the door and fell out of the car while trying to change gear.
It’s a good job my 10 years as a Ninja taught me how to tuck and roll.
Of course, the wife carried on in a driverless car at 70mph…at least she did before she hit that tree. It turned out ok though. I think she’s gotten used to the nickname ‘Tree-head’ (The doctors couldn’t remove it, but I think it’s great, I can climb her head and hide when she gets mad…It’s fun watching her whip her head around, trying to look at the top of her own head).
Usually, after driving with me, it takes my passengers about 20 minutes with a crowbar and Vaseline to release their fingers from the dashboard. In fact, the wife’s fingerprints are now permanently embedded on the dash. (Which is a good thing, I can make a cast of them and frame her for stuff if she tried to make me watch Home and Garden TV again.)
I also suspect that my passenger’s nervousness may also have something to do with the fact I’m not quite used to driving on the right yet. Looking only to the right when making a left turn in the USA can be suicide.
Let me tell you, pulling onto a highway, then realizing you’re going north on the southbound side…let’s just say it can do wonders for your constipation.
I even got a phone call from the wife once while I was driving. She warned me some maniac was going the wrong way on I-85. I had to laugh. One driver going the wrong way? One driver? There wasn’t just one! …there were bloody hundreds of them!
(Bad-dum Tshhh!)
Let’s face it, I’m in the minority. I don’t mean the minority of bad drivers…I mean the tiny minority of bad drivers (whose numbers are truly legion) that admit to being bad drivers.
The bad driver story usually goes like this.
“Tom Peters is a mild newspaper reporter… yet he hides a dark secret. By day or by night, he continues his life as a normal, unremarkable person…But when he gets into his car, he instantly transforms into… (Da Da Da DAAAAAH) King of the road, ASSHOLE MAN!!!!”
Why is it, even the most incompetent driver in the world thinks they instantly transform into Nigel Mansel or Dale Earnhart the second they get behind the wheel?
Begone foul shade! For I am Driver Asshole Man, and the roads belong to me!!!
The other driving phenomenon I’ve discovered can be summed up in a simple equation:
B=sc x VS
Or in plain English, Bravery is equal to the size of the car multiplied by the volume of the stereo.
I don’t know what it is, but the average person’s bravery increases by about a million percent when they get in the car. You know the story, you’re driving along, when suddenly you hear the distinctive ‘thud…thud…thudthudthud…thud…thud’ of a car stereo at a million decibels coming up behind you.
This happened to me recently. Someone was driving along, their stereo kicking me in the chest from 20 miles away. They cut me off, forcing me to swerve, and then had the nerve to lean on their horn.
I pulled up next to them at the traffic light.
The driver?
A 17 year old, about 5 feet tall, maybe 80lbs. However, his car has made him brave enough to nearly kill someone twice his size, and then complain because I didn’t die. You see, I’m just over 6”1, weigh in at 270lbs. I could have crushed that guy into a fine powder if the fancy took me.
Something tells me if I accidentally trod on his foot in the street, he wouldn’t say shit, and if he did open his mouth…it would be to apologize.
The car, however, makes all the difference.
The car becomes a suit of armor.
When these people get into their car, they might as well be getting into an armor-plated titanium hover-tank…and a titanium hover-tank equipped with weapons of mass destruction at that.
People who are mortally afraid of fluffy bunnies, daisies and cute ickle babies become invincible behind the wheel. They fear no man, and develop a degree of testicular fortitude possessed by very few people in real life. They attain a degree of bravery that the most toughened, battle hardened, special ops soldier would be proud of. In other words, the most mild mannered person in the world can turn into a raving, invulnerable psycho behind the wheel. They have the fear of someone fighting a paraplegic midget with a chainsaw, while the midget is armed only with a small cardboard tube.
Think about it. The car is the only place in the known universe where a 70lb Chess club nerd is willing to flip off an 8 foot tall, 400lb Nazi with facial tattoos.
You can, however, get your revenge on these people.
The funniest thing to do when someone leans on their horn because you very rudely ignored their psychic turn signal is pull along side them at the lights.
Get as close to them as possible, wind your window down and stare at them. Open your eyes as wide as you can, breathe heavily and then start twitching. I mean, act like you’re the world’s biggest psycho.
Act like you’re the kind of person that would make Leatherface from “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” say: “Now hold on, that’s a little extreme, isn’t it? Calm down a bit, that man.”
Watch them squirm. More than likely, they’ll stare straight ahead, as though completely oblivious to your presence. Either that, or they’ll suddenly get very interested in their car stereo. When they ignore you, start hammering on your horn and start literally screaming as loud as you can. Start screaming the weirdest, most absolutely off the wall shit you can think of.
Have fun. Be creative:
“YOU STREET LAMP BEARDED DONKEY THUMPER! OH, YEAH! I’LL CHROME YOUR MILLENIUM COFFEE BUCKET FOR YOU, YOU GRANDMA HATCHERY WORKER!!!! I”LL MAKE YOU WISH YOUR MILK WAS GREEN IN A PURPLE LEGWARMER!!! I’LL PAINT YOUR ALUMINIUM SIDING WITH A GORILLA TOE, YOU STUPID PEWTER AQUARIUM ORNAMENT!!!”
Scream as fast as you possibly can and work up a lot of spittle, covering your side window in a steady stream of it. Banging your head on your steering wheel also adds to the effect, especially if you laugh manically and hysterically in between tirades.
If you do this just right, you can get them to cry sometimes. You see, it doesn’t matter how big the other driver is. If you convince them you’re a solid gold, platinum plated psychopath, they’ll just want away from there as soon as possible.
Of course, if they start screaming back…get the hell out of there… Balls to the red light.
You can have some real fun with driving. I think it’s a testament to the fact I’ve not got my work permit yet, and have been unemployed for a year that lets me think of these. Boredom is a wonderful catalyst for creativity.
So next time you’re driving try some of these:
1) Wait for your passenger to zone out and start daydreaming. Then scream as loud as you
possibly can. Their reaction is great. (Actually my brother thought of this one).
2) Keep a white cane in your car and a pair of dark glasses. When you get out of the car in a parking lot, put on the glasses and work your way into the store with the cane. This is also fun to do getting into your car in a crowded parking lot…be sure to drive out at 5mph. A golden Labrador on the passenger seat adds to the effect.
3) In a parking lot, wait for someone who looks distracted to squeeze by your car. Wait until they’re right on top of you, and ‘accidentally’ blast your horn…be sure to offer to pick their groceries off the floor for them.
4) Go into a friends car, turn the wipers on, put the radio to full blast, put flour and confetti in all their air vents, and turn them on to full. Watch the fun when they start the engine.
5) When driving a friend somewhere, take the most convoluted route possible. Make a 2 mile journey take 10. If they ask where you’re going, mutter “Gotta shake ‘em off.” And stare at them. If they tell you to stop being stupid…insist that they’re ‘one of them’.
6) Stop to help someone who has broken down. Make up as much jargon as you possibly can (Have you checked the dongle flooper? They can get clogged if your rocker boxes are misaligned). Once they tell you you’re talking bullshit, Look hurt and indignant, walk round to the front of the car, look under the hood and with a smile of realization on your face say: “Aaaah! This is one of those cars with one of them ‘engines’, is it? I hear they run on some form of refined oil. I’ll stick with the barber hair, thank you very much!” Get back in your car and drive away, shaking your head...Act like you're pedaling.
7) In a crowded car, wait for the song on the radio to finish, then start singing the last song in time with the new one. Continue to do this with every song. If anyone asks what you’re doing, look confused, like you don’t get the joke.
8) Say “I need a bathroom break”…then look like you’re concentrating for a minute or so, then say “That’s better”
9) Offer someone a lift, then when you get to your car, get in the back seat and start making ‘car noises’.
10) Try to start your car with a breadstick. If anyone comments on this, ask them to be quiet and tell them, you’ll ‘get it in a minute’…keep this up for as long as possible.
11) When filling your car with gas, talk dirty to the car, and make a big moment of putting the nozzle in the gas can. Be as dirty as you like.
Ok, by now you’re probably thinking I’ve lost my marbles…but the magic pixies tell me I’m fine. Anyway, what do you know? You’re just a figment of my imagination.
I’m going to say something now that may shock you to your very core.
I am a man, and I am a really bad driver.
Ok, I’m maybe not quite that bad. I’m a safe driver and can get to point B from point A…Unless of course that journey involves any reversing for more than 10 yards, parallel parking, or any maneuver that is not in the “left or right turn” category.
You see, my problem was I passed my test (On the first attempt… I have no idea how that happened), and within a few weeks my mother traded in our stick shift for an automatic. Then in an effort to save money to come to the USA, I didn’t buy a car, and bought a motorcycle instead (Ok, ok, it was a 100cc scooter…not so much a Hog as a Piglet).
Moving to the US completely screwed me up. Imagine what it’s like to Change from left hand drive to right hand drive…when you haven’t driven a car, especially a stick shift in years.
Oh, it was fun…
On my first attempt to drive in the USA, I Started down the road, looked out of the side window looking for the mirror, put the window wipers on looking for the cigarette lighter…then opened the door and fell out of the car while trying to change gear.
It’s a good job my 10 years as a Ninja taught me how to tuck and roll.
Of course, the wife carried on in a driverless car at 70mph…at least she did before she hit that tree. It turned out ok though. I think she’s gotten used to the nickname ‘Tree-head’ (The doctors couldn’t remove it, but I think it’s great, I can climb her head and hide when she gets mad…It’s fun watching her whip her head around, trying to look at the top of her own head).
Usually, after driving with me, it takes my passengers about 20 minutes with a crowbar and Vaseline to release their fingers from the dashboard. In fact, the wife’s fingerprints are now permanently embedded on the dash. (Which is a good thing, I can make a cast of them and frame her for stuff if she tried to make me watch Home and Garden TV again.)
I also suspect that my passenger’s nervousness may also have something to do with the fact I’m not quite used to driving on the right yet. Looking only to the right when making a left turn in the USA can be suicide.
Let me tell you, pulling onto a highway, then realizing you’re going north on the southbound side…let’s just say it can do wonders for your constipation.
I even got a phone call from the wife once while I was driving. She warned me some maniac was going the wrong way on I-85. I had to laugh. One driver going the wrong way? One driver? There wasn’t just one! …there were bloody hundreds of them!
(Bad-dum Tshhh!)
Let’s face it, I’m in the minority. I don’t mean the minority of bad drivers…I mean the tiny minority of bad drivers (whose numbers are truly legion) that admit to being bad drivers.
The bad driver story usually goes like this.
“Tom Peters is a mild newspaper reporter… yet he hides a dark secret. By day or by night, he continues his life as a normal, unremarkable person…But when he gets into his car, he instantly transforms into… (Da Da Da DAAAAAH) King of the road, ASSHOLE MAN!!!!”
Why is it, even the most incompetent driver in the world thinks they instantly transform into Nigel Mansel or Dale Earnhart the second they get behind the wheel?
Begone foul shade! For I am Driver Asshole Man, and the roads belong to me!!!
The other driving phenomenon I’ve discovered can be summed up in a simple equation:
B=sc x VS
Or in plain English, Bravery is equal to the size of the car multiplied by the volume of the stereo.
I don’t know what it is, but the average person’s bravery increases by about a million percent when they get in the car. You know the story, you’re driving along, when suddenly you hear the distinctive ‘thud…thud…thudthudthud…thud…thud’ of a car stereo at a million decibels coming up behind you.
This happened to me recently. Someone was driving along, their stereo kicking me in the chest from 20 miles away. They cut me off, forcing me to swerve, and then had the nerve to lean on their horn.
I pulled up next to them at the traffic light.
The driver?
A 17 year old, about 5 feet tall, maybe 80lbs. However, his car has made him brave enough to nearly kill someone twice his size, and then complain because I didn’t die. You see, I’m just over 6”1, weigh in at 270lbs. I could have crushed that guy into a fine powder if the fancy took me.
Something tells me if I accidentally trod on his foot in the street, he wouldn’t say shit, and if he did open his mouth…it would be to apologize.
The car, however, makes all the difference.
The car becomes a suit of armor.
When these people get into their car, they might as well be getting into an armor-plated titanium hover-tank…and a titanium hover-tank equipped with weapons of mass destruction at that.
People who are mortally afraid of fluffy bunnies, daisies and cute ickle babies become invincible behind the wheel. They fear no man, and develop a degree of testicular fortitude possessed by very few people in real life. They attain a degree of bravery that the most toughened, battle hardened, special ops soldier would be proud of. In other words, the most mild mannered person in the world can turn into a raving, invulnerable psycho behind the wheel. They have the fear of someone fighting a paraplegic midget with a chainsaw, while the midget is armed only with a small cardboard tube.
Think about it. The car is the only place in the known universe where a 70lb Chess club nerd is willing to flip off an 8 foot tall, 400lb Nazi with facial tattoos.
You can, however, get your revenge on these people.
The funniest thing to do when someone leans on their horn because you very rudely ignored their psychic turn signal is pull along side them at the lights.
Get as close to them as possible, wind your window down and stare at them. Open your eyes as wide as you can, breathe heavily and then start twitching. I mean, act like you’re the world’s biggest psycho.
Act like you’re the kind of person that would make Leatherface from “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” say: “Now hold on, that’s a little extreme, isn’t it? Calm down a bit, that man.”
Watch them squirm. More than likely, they’ll stare straight ahead, as though completely oblivious to your presence. Either that, or they’ll suddenly get very interested in their car stereo. When they ignore you, start hammering on your horn and start literally screaming as loud as you can. Start screaming the weirdest, most absolutely off the wall shit you can think of.
Have fun. Be creative:
“YOU STREET LAMP BEARDED DONKEY THUMPER! OH, YEAH! I’LL CHROME YOUR MILLENIUM COFFEE BUCKET FOR YOU, YOU GRANDMA HATCHERY WORKER!!!! I”LL MAKE YOU WISH YOUR MILK WAS GREEN IN A PURPLE LEGWARMER!!! I’LL PAINT YOUR ALUMINIUM SIDING WITH A GORILLA TOE, YOU STUPID PEWTER AQUARIUM ORNAMENT!!!”
Scream as fast as you possibly can and work up a lot of spittle, covering your side window in a steady stream of it. Banging your head on your steering wheel also adds to the effect, especially if you laugh manically and hysterically in between tirades.
If you do this just right, you can get them to cry sometimes. You see, it doesn’t matter how big the other driver is. If you convince them you’re a solid gold, platinum plated psychopath, they’ll just want away from there as soon as possible.
Of course, if they start screaming back…get the hell out of there… Balls to the red light.
You can have some real fun with driving. I think it’s a testament to the fact I’ve not got my work permit yet, and have been unemployed for a year that lets me think of these. Boredom is a wonderful catalyst for creativity.
So next time you’re driving try some of these:
1) Wait for your passenger to zone out and start daydreaming. Then scream as loud as you
possibly can. Their reaction is great. (Actually my brother thought of this one).
2) Keep a white cane in your car and a pair of dark glasses. When you get out of the car in a parking lot, put on the glasses and work your way into the store with the cane. This is also fun to do getting into your car in a crowded parking lot…be sure to drive out at 5mph. A golden Labrador on the passenger seat adds to the effect.
3) In a parking lot, wait for someone who looks distracted to squeeze by your car. Wait until they’re right on top of you, and ‘accidentally’ blast your horn…be sure to offer to pick their groceries off the floor for them.
4) Go into a friends car, turn the wipers on, put the radio to full blast, put flour and confetti in all their air vents, and turn them on to full. Watch the fun when they start the engine.
5) When driving a friend somewhere, take the most convoluted route possible. Make a 2 mile journey take 10. If they ask where you’re going, mutter “Gotta shake ‘em off.” And stare at them. If they tell you to stop being stupid…insist that they’re ‘one of them’.
6) Stop to help someone who has broken down. Make up as much jargon as you possibly can (Have you checked the dongle flooper? They can get clogged if your rocker boxes are misaligned). Once they tell you you’re talking bullshit, Look hurt and indignant, walk round to the front of the car, look under the hood and with a smile of realization on your face say: “Aaaah! This is one of those cars with one of them ‘engines’, is it? I hear they run on some form of refined oil. I’ll stick with the barber hair, thank you very much!” Get back in your car and drive away, shaking your head...Act like you're pedaling.
7) In a crowded car, wait for the song on the radio to finish, then start singing the last song in time with the new one. Continue to do this with every song. If anyone asks what you’re doing, look confused, like you don’t get the joke.
8) Say “I need a bathroom break”…then look like you’re concentrating for a minute or so, then say “That’s better”
9) Offer someone a lift, then when you get to your car, get in the back seat and start making ‘car noises’.
10) Try to start your car with a breadstick. If anyone comments on this, ask them to be quiet and tell them, you’ll ‘get it in a minute’…keep this up for as long as possible.
11) When filling your car with gas, talk dirty to the car, and make a big moment of putting the nozzle in the gas can. Be as dirty as you like.
Ok, by now you’re probably thinking I’ve lost my marbles…but the magic pixies tell me I’m fine. Anyway, what do you know? You’re just a figment of my imagination.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Cotton-wool generation
School.
Now there’s a word that conjures up memories, be they of fun times, playing football at break, hanging out with good friends, or pant-wettingly, daily humiliating experiences.
Now, I never liked school, in fact I hated it. I thought the people who told you that ‘School days are the happiest days of your life’ were obviously on crack. The same routine, day in and day out. Learning things that you’ll never use in your life (like trigonometry, since leaving school, I’ve never had to work out the tangent of the angle from the hypotenuse and opposite…I know, I was a shocked as you are). Detention, lines, explaining to your teacher why you didn’t do your homework again. The usually day in day out crap your average student has to deal with.
However, as an adult, even though I hated school when I was there, I realized that it was important. After all, very few things that are worthwhile are fun.
School appears to have changed a bit since I was there, though, and I can honestly say that I feel sorry for every school pupil in the western world right now…although not for the reason you probably think.
Some bright spark, in the interests of good ideas that don’t work in real life, has changed the way school, the most formative years of your life, works. They’ve taken the school experience, and have willfully and completely divorced it from every aspect of real life.
I first became aware of this when my cousin became a teacher. We where talking about her new job.I asked her what it felt like to wield the dreaded red pen. I was amazed to hear they no longer use a red pen.They now, by law, have to use a green one.
Of course I asked her why.
“Because red is considered too aggressive.”
Pardon my language, but …What the fuck!?
In this time of political correctness, the people in charge have removed everything that can be considered offensive, aggressive or competitive from school. It’s not allowed any more. Everyone is the same, regardless of intelligence or effort level.
For example, when I was in primary school, (back in the Halcyon days of the 1990's) if you did well at something you got a house point. The house points were marked on a chart, 6 feet high, where everyone could see it. Your points where right next to everyone else’s. Everyone could see how they where doing in comparison to everyone else. Also, if you where bad, you got a de-merit, which put a black mark over one of your points (That was in addition to some sort of punishment, like being made to stay inside at break time, or in senior school, detention).
House points encouraged competitiveness. If you where ahead of the pack, great, if you lagged behind, oh well, sucks for you, try harder!
Not any more.
Any ‘public’ display of how good or bad you’re doing is no longer allowed because it ‘may make a child feel inferior’.
Oooookaaaay.
I hate to burst some bubbles here, but if you had the least house points in the class….you were inferior to everyone else.
Inferiority is a fact of life. It may be shameful, it may damage your high valued ‘self esteem’, but that’s the point. It’s supposed to. No matter how well you do in life, or in a particular field, chances are there’s someone better than you. Deal with it. It’s not nice to know you’re not as good as someone else…but it’s not supposed to!
That’s the point. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has to learn how to deal with coming second. You can either feel sorry for yourself, cry that it’s not fair, or go and complain and whine to someone... Or, you can knuckle down and work harder, put in the effort and improve.
Apparently, now, learning this lesson is no longer important. Instead you have to make sure that a child’s ‘self-worth’ is not affected. Self-esteem is now the most important thing. God forbid a student is made to feel inferior, that he isn’t just as good, intelligent or important as everyone else. That fact that they might not be as intelligent as everyone else doesn’t factor into it.
Am I wrong in thinking that someone should actually have to achieve something before they can feel good about themselves?
Self-esteem can go to hell.
Imagine being one of these kids. Leaving school, a world where everyone is the same, there is no such thing as second place, and what you feel is more important that what you achieve. Then you go for your first job interview… and don’t get it.
Holy shit! Someone is better than you. Who knew life was marked on actual achievements, rather than the fact that you believe you deserve that job just as much as everyone else? Duck everyone! The sky is falling down!
Even if they pass that hurdle, they start work, and suddenly, how well you do and what you can achieve becomes the most important thing in your life. In the real world, if you work for a big company and you drop the ball, you’re in the shit. No question.
You can be sure your boss isn’t going to send you a memo, written in green ink to not be confrontational, and let you know that while you completely fucked up and cost the company a few million dollars, everything is ok, because at least you tried…and here’s a bonus for ‘taking part’.
It’s just not going to happen, but that’s what the school system is leading kids to believe.
Everyone, apparently, is the same as everyone else…trying to be the best is wrong, and losing, failing and screwing up doesn’t matter.
Oh, how I wish that were actually true.
Even school sports days have changed:
Sport is all about competition. Sport was actually invented as a safe alternative to warfare, so one person, town or country could compete against another and see who was the best, without actually having to kill anyone. That’s the whole point of sport. Two people, or two teams compete to see who is better. One wins, the other loses. It’s a way to measure your own skills against everyone else’s, to find out how good you really are. How good you think you are isn’t a factor.
Not at school though. Even if you come last, you get a medal for taking part.
There are even sports today like Tee-Ball, a version of Baseball, that isn’t even scored! Everyone gets their turn batting and fielding…then everyone goes home. Someone has come along, and to protect these poor children’s sense of self worth, has completely removed the point of the activity. It’s like shooting at a target with blank bullets.
What’s next?
“What a great World Cup this has been people. The score is ‘everyone had a good time and got some nice exercise’. Both teams are getting their ‘taking part’ award right now. Isn’t this great, all the players are feeling really good about themselves!”
In short, winners and losers have been removed from schools, and unfortunately, without losers, there can be no winners. As a child, when you win something, be it a good grade or a medal for coming first in the 100 meter sprint…doesn’t it de-value the whole thing that everyone gets a reward as well as you? ‘Taking part’ is the important thing, the fact that you worked hard and put the effort in to become better than everyone else no longer matters.
This may seem an off the wall example, but what ‘Syndrome’ in ‘The Incredibles’, is remarkably true and illustrates my point entirely. He says he is going to use his inventions to be a superhero, then when he’s had his fun, sell them. He says:
“Then everyone can be super; and when everyone is super…no one will be.”
No Winners. No Losers.
It’s going to be one hell of a culture shock when these kids meet real life.
Life is competition. Life is about winning and losing. Life isn’t fair. Sure, it’s not a nice thought, but it’s true and ignoring it won’t go away.
By now, many of you may think I’m saying this because I was an over-achiever at school, won on sports day, got straight A’s and was an all round model student who doesn’t know what it was like to be bad at something. That I think my own achievements were overshadowed and devalued by the other kids getting a reward as well.
You could not be more wrong.
I was a strictly average student, sucked royally at sports, and the only award I won at school was ‘best costume’ at a Halloween party. No, I tell a lie, I once came second in the shot-putt on sports day.
However, coming second was a victory for me.
Why?
Because the year before I came last, so I worked hard to do better. That’s my point. If everyone was given a medal, I’d have got home, put it on a shelf and thought no more about it.
Instead, coming last hurt. It was embarrassing to officially be the worst shot-putter in the school, especially as I was representing my ‘house’ and had people counting on me. After losing I made sure that next year, the same thing would not happen again.
I learned how to deal with failure, and learned the only way to prevent it was to work harder. I didn’t come first, but I learned that if I worked even harder, it was possible.
Looking at the house point chart showed me I could do better. Seeing only the winner on sports day with a trophy made me want one even more. Getting a piece of work back with crosses on it in bright red ink let me know I’d failed and had to work harder.
I left school knowing that you had to work to succeed. You had to earn your rewards. I knew what failure felt like and how to deal with it.
We’re raising a generation of children who have no idea what the real world is like, where there are no real consequences for your actions and it is impossible to lose.
When these children leave school, how are they going to deal with their first failure? They’ve not experienced it before. In life, when you fail, you don’t get a ‘do over’, you don’t get credit for taking part, you don’t get a reward for at least trying. You get fired, you get in trouble… you end up with a real problem to deal with.
Self esteem, self worth and confidence are all very nice. But in a world where failing can be the difference between eating and not eating that week… not teaching our children that it’s possible to lose is a very dangerous thing.
In life, employers want the best people available. If you fail, you lose your job. Turning up and ‘trying’ isn’t enough.
I know it’s not a nice thought. But that’s life.
You just have to know how to deal with it; and wrapping our children in cotton wool to protect their poor, fragile sense of self-esteem isn’t going to help them.
Self-esteem is not given. You have to earn it.
Now there’s a word that conjures up memories, be they of fun times, playing football at break, hanging out with good friends, or pant-wettingly, daily humiliating experiences.
Now, I never liked school, in fact I hated it. I thought the people who told you that ‘School days are the happiest days of your life’ were obviously on crack. The same routine, day in and day out. Learning things that you’ll never use in your life (like trigonometry, since leaving school, I’ve never had to work out the tangent of the angle from the hypotenuse and opposite…I know, I was a shocked as you are). Detention, lines, explaining to your teacher why you didn’t do your homework again. The usually day in day out crap your average student has to deal with.
However, as an adult, even though I hated school when I was there, I realized that it was important. After all, very few things that are worthwhile are fun.
School appears to have changed a bit since I was there, though, and I can honestly say that I feel sorry for every school pupil in the western world right now…although not for the reason you probably think.
Some bright spark, in the interests of good ideas that don’t work in real life, has changed the way school, the most formative years of your life, works. They’ve taken the school experience, and have willfully and completely divorced it from every aspect of real life.
I first became aware of this when my cousin became a teacher. We where talking about her new job.I asked her what it felt like to wield the dreaded red pen. I was amazed to hear they no longer use a red pen.They now, by law, have to use a green one.
Of course I asked her why.
“Because red is considered too aggressive.”
Pardon my language, but …What the fuck!?
In this time of political correctness, the people in charge have removed everything that can be considered offensive, aggressive or competitive from school. It’s not allowed any more. Everyone is the same, regardless of intelligence or effort level.
For example, when I was in primary school, (back in the Halcyon days of the 1990's) if you did well at something you got a house point. The house points were marked on a chart, 6 feet high, where everyone could see it. Your points where right next to everyone else’s. Everyone could see how they where doing in comparison to everyone else. Also, if you where bad, you got a de-merit, which put a black mark over one of your points (That was in addition to some sort of punishment, like being made to stay inside at break time, or in senior school, detention).
House points encouraged competitiveness. If you where ahead of the pack, great, if you lagged behind, oh well, sucks for you, try harder!
Not any more.
Any ‘public’ display of how good or bad you’re doing is no longer allowed because it ‘may make a child feel inferior’.
Oooookaaaay.
I hate to burst some bubbles here, but if you had the least house points in the class….you were inferior to everyone else.
Inferiority is a fact of life. It may be shameful, it may damage your high valued ‘self esteem’, but that’s the point. It’s supposed to. No matter how well you do in life, or in a particular field, chances are there’s someone better than you. Deal with it. It’s not nice to know you’re not as good as someone else…but it’s not supposed to!
That’s the point. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has to learn how to deal with coming second. You can either feel sorry for yourself, cry that it’s not fair, or go and complain and whine to someone... Or, you can knuckle down and work harder, put in the effort and improve.
Apparently, now, learning this lesson is no longer important. Instead you have to make sure that a child’s ‘self-worth’ is not affected. Self-esteem is now the most important thing. God forbid a student is made to feel inferior, that he isn’t just as good, intelligent or important as everyone else. That fact that they might not be as intelligent as everyone else doesn’t factor into it.
Am I wrong in thinking that someone should actually have to achieve something before they can feel good about themselves?
Self-esteem can go to hell.
Imagine being one of these kids. Leaving school, a world where everyone is the same, there is no such thing as second place, and what you feel is more important that what you achieve. Then you go for your first job interview… and don’t get it.
Holy shit! Someone is better than you. Who knew life was marked on actual achievements, rather than the fact that you believe you deserve that job just as much as everyone else? Duck everyone! The sky is falling down!
Even if they pass that hurdle, they start work, and suddenly, how well you do and what you can achieve becomes the most important thing in your life. In the real world, if you work for a big company and you drop the ball, you’re in the shit. No question.
You can be sure your boss isn’t going to send you a memo, written in green ink to not be confrontational, and let you know that while you completely fucked up and cost the company a few million dollars, everything is ok, because at least you tried…and here’s a bonus for ‘taking part’.
It’s just not going to happen, but that’s what the school system is leading kids to believe.
Everyone, apparently, is the same as everyone else…trying to be the best is wrong, and losing, failing and screwing up doesn’t matter.
Oh, how I wish that were actually true.
Even school sports days have changed:
Sport is all about competition. Sport was actually invented as a safe alternative to warfare, so one person, town or country could compete against another and see who was the best, without actually having to kill anyone. That’s the whole point of sport. Two people, or two teams compete to see who is better. One wins, the other loses. It’s a way to measure your own skills against everyone else’s, to find out how good you really are. How good you think you are isn’t a factor.
Not at school though. Even if you come last, you get a medal for taking part.
There are even sports today like Tee-Ball, a version of Baseball, that isn’t even scored! Everyone gets their turn batting and fielding…then everyone goes home. Someone has come along, and to protect these poor children’s sense of self worth, has completely removed the point of the activity. It’s like shooting at a target with blank bullets.
What’s next?
“What a great World Cup this has been people. The score is ‘everyone had a good time and got some nice exercise’. Both teams are getting their ‘taking part’ award right now. Isn’t this great, all the players are feeling really good about themselves!”
In short, winners and losers have been removed from schools, and unfortunately, without losers, there can be no winners. As a child, when you win something, be it a good grade or a medal for coming first in the 100 meter sprint…doesn’t it de-value the whole thing that everyone gets a reward as well as you? ‘Taking part’ is the important thing, the fact that you worked hard and put the effort in to become better than everyone else no longer matters.
This may seem an off the wall example, but what ‘Syndrome’ in ‘The Incredibles’, is remarkably true and illustrates my point entirely. He says he is going to use his inventions to be a superhero, then when he’s had his fun, sell them. He says:
“Then everyone can be super; and when everyone is super…no one will be.”
No Winners. No Losers.
It’s going to be one hell of a culture shock when these kids meet real life.
Life is competition. Life is about winning and losing. Life isn’t fair. Sure, it’s not a nice thought, but it’s true and ignoring it won’t go away.
By now, many of you may think I’m saying this because I was an over-achiever at school, won on sports day, got straight A’s and was an all round model student who doesn’t know what it was like to be bad at something. That I think my own achievements were overshadowed and devalued by the other kids getting a reward as well.
You could not be more wrong.
I was a strictly average student, sucked royally at sports, and the only award I won at school was ‘best costume’ at a Halloween party. No, I tell a lie, I once came second in the shot-putt on sports day.
However, coming second was a victory for me.
Why?
Because the year before I came last, so I worked hard to do better. That’s my point. If everyone was given a medal, I’d have got home, put it on a shelf and thought no more about it.
Instead, coming last hurt. It was embarrassing to officially be the worst shot-putter in the school, especially as I was representing my ‘house’ and had people counting on me. After losing I made sure that next year, the same thing would not happen again.
I learned how to deal with failure, and learned the only way to prevent it was to work harder. I didn’t come first, but I learned that if I worked even harder, it was possible.
Looking at the house point chart showed me I could do better. Seeing only the winner on sports day with a trophy made me want one even more. Getting a piece of work back with crosses on it in bright red ink let me know I’d failed and had to work harder.
I left school knowing that you had to work to succeed. You had to earn your rewards. I knew what failure felt like and how to deal with it.
We’re raising a generation of children who have no idea what the real world is like, where there are no real consequences for your actions and it is impossible to lose.
When these children leave school, how are they going to deal with their first failure? They’ve not experienced it before. In life, when you fail, you don’t get a ‘do over’, you don’t get credit for taking part, you don’t get a reward for at least trying. You get fired, you get in trouble… you end up with a real problem to deal with.
Self esteem, self worth and confidence are all very nice. But in a world where failing can be the difference between eating and not eating that week… not teaching our children that it’s possible to lose is a very dangerous thing.
In life, employers want the best people available. If you fail, you lose your job. Turning up and ‘trying’ isn’t enough.
I know it’s not a nice thought. But that’s life.
You just have to know how to deal with it; and wrapping our children in cotton wool to protect their poor, fragile sense of self-esteem isn’t going to help them.
Self-esteem is not given. You have to earn it.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Gimme $20 and I'll try not to break your stuff!
I went to the post office today. I was there to send a package to my parents back in England.
Now anyone who's tried to send an international package recently will know what an 'experience' that can be.
On the surface I think they do a good job. It takes seven days for a package to get from where I live now back to the UK, and it’s fairly cheap. For example, another delivery service quoted me three hundred dollars to deliver the same package on the same timescale.
In the grand scheme of things twenty dollars is cheap…I mean if someone handed me a package and said “Here’s twenty dollars, take this to England for me.” I’d tell them exactly what they could do with that package, and it would involve ‘delivering’ it to a specific part of their anatomy.
Under the surface, however, things ain’t so peachy. I handed over my package and got the usual security questions, delivered in the same bored tone of voice. Now, these questions border on the bizaare, and are completely useless. The result of the usual out-of touch executives coming up with a security measure that adds nothing to the actual security, but takes up lots of time, energy and paperwork.
Let’s face it, if I was some sort of international terrorist, exactly how likely would I be to answer the question: “Is there anything dangerous, illegal or perishable in this package?” with: “Yes, there’s a bomb, a half pound of weapons grade plutonium, and the packing peanuts are stuffed with anthrax.”
This has exactly the same effectiveness as the questionnaire I had to answer on the plane on the way over here that asks ‘Are you carrying anything illegal?’ and ‘Are you currently, or ever have been, part of a terrorist organization?’
I bet Osama’s shitting himself.
“Are you a terrorist?”
“Yes…I mean no!…shit.”
The post office should get in touch with the FBI. Forget investigations and evidence, all you have to do to solve a crime is go up to the suspect and ask: "Did you do it?" I mean, no one could possibly lie could they?
Anyway… back to the Post Office.
What really got me was when I was asked: “Do you want to buy insurance?”
Now let me get this straight. This is a service that specializes entirely in taking things from Point A to Point B. I’m already paying them for this.
Why do I have to pay extra in order to be reimbursed is they destroy, lose or damage what I’m sending? Shouldn’t they be liable anyway?
It almost sounds like a threat if you ask me. “Pay up or your stuff goes missing!”
This doesn’t happen in any other business in the world. In fact, the opposite is true.
If you go and rent a car, you have to pay extra for insurance that means you’re not liable if the car gets damaged. If we followed the same rules the post office follows, we could tell the car dealer to pay us, or at least knock a little off the rental price to insure that we don’t bring it back destroyed.
If you pay someone for a service, you shouldn’t have to pay extra to make sure they do their job. Isn’t that all covered by the fact you’re already paying them? If they screw up, shouldn’t they be responsible?
If the world was sane, you would automatically get the cost of your package reimbursed if the Post Office lost it. For that matter, you would get your postage back as well.
The world, however, is not sane. Every time you leave your home, you enter the asylum.
Imagine being in hospital, and just as the anesthetist puts the mask on your face, the surgeon leans over you and says, “Hey Buddy, slip me fifty bucks and I’ll make sure you come around.”
You’d shit yourself! You could also guarantee that that Doctor wouldn’t be practicing medicine any more.
I think we should all adopt the Post Office’s business practices. Go into work tomorrow and tell your boss you need a raise. When he asks why, tell him if he pays you an extra 2 dollars an hour, you’ll make sure you won’t accidentally ‘lose’ half the year’s budget. Also tell him that if he pays you extra, and you do screw up, it’ll give him the right to fire you. See what reaction you get.
It just doesn’t make sense.
It particularly pisses me off because last month I sent my Dad a package for his birthday…it never arrived. I followed all the rules. I answered the security questions, I filled out the customs label, I put on the correct amount of postage. Result? A Birthday Cake, birthday card, and a package of very expensive coffee lost in the Postal Service limbo, and twenty dollars postage I’ll never see again. Why? Because I didn’t double the price of the postage by sending it insured.
It doesn’t end there. I once sent some jewelry from the UK to America. That I did insure. After postage and insurance, the cost of sending it was over half what I’d paid for the jewelry in the first place.
As I handed the package over, the woman behind the counter informed me, matter of factly: “Oh, because this is an international package, it’s only insured to the value of twenty five pounds.”
What!?!?!?
The jewelry (earrings) cost 40GBP, postage was 10GBP and the insurance cost was 15GBP. If it got lost or damaged, I’d get the grand total of 25 back.
Do the math. All I was insured against was the cost of the postage…and what I’d paid for the insurance in the first place!
Of course, it was now ‘in the computer’ and I couldn’t ‘unbuy’ the insurance. Apparently, the difference between insured and uninsured is 10 measly GBP.
How does this happen? If you think about it, it’s ludicrous. I have to pay them extra just to make sure I get my money back if they lose my package…and they still don’t have to pay me for the package they lost!
Can you imagine that in any other business?
“Ok, here’s the deal. We’ll store your twenty thousand dollar car for 2 weeks. It’ll cost you two grand. However, if you pay me three ‘n’ a half, I’ll give you your money back if it gets stolen.”
“But… what about the cost of my car?”
“Don’t ask me, pal, that’s your problem.”
I don’t think so.
Here’s what I suggest you do. Rather than buy things and post them…buy them off the internet and have them directly shipped to where you want them to go. A lot of websites have free shipping, and even if you do have to pay extra for international shipping, at least if they lose it, you get another one free of charge, and don’t have to pay any extra to have the new one shipped.
Anyway, I have to go now. I have to inform my Father-in Law that he now has to pay me $20 every time I borrow his lawnmower, just to make sure I’ll fix or replace it if I break it.
Bastards.
Now anyone who's tried to send an international package recently will know what an 'experience' that can be.
On the surface I think they do a good job. It takes seven days for a package to get from where I live now back to the UK, and it’s fairly cheap. For example, another delivery service quoted me three hundred dollars to deliver the same package on the same timescale.
In the grand scheme of things twenty dollars is cheap…I mean if someone handed me a package and said “Here’s twenty dollars, take this to England for me.” I’d tell them exactly what they could do with that package, and it would involve ‘delivering’ it to a specific part of their anatomy.
Under the surface, however, things ain’t so peachy. I handed over my package and got the usual security questions, delivered in the same bored tone of voice. Now, these questions border on the bizaare, and are completely useless. The result of the usual out-of touch executives coming up with a security measure that adds nothing to the actual security, but takes up lots of time, energy and paperwork.
Let’s face it, if I was some sort of international terrorist, exactly how likely would I be to answer the question: “Is there anything dangerous, illegal or perishable in this package?” with: “Yes, there’s a bomb, a half pound of weapons grade plutonium, and the packing peanuts are stuffed with anthrax.”
This has exactly the same effectiveness as the questionnaire I had to answer on the plane on the way over here that asks ‘Are you carrying anything illegal?’ and ‘Are you currently, or ever have been, part of a terrorist organization?’
I bet Osama’s shitting himself.
“Are you a terrorist?”
“Yes…I mean no!…shit.”
The post office should get in touch with the FBI. Forget investigations and evidence, all you have to do to solve a crime is go up to the suspect and ask: "Did you do it?" I mean, no one could possibly lie could they?
Anyway… back to the Post Office.
What really got me was when I was asked: “Do you want to buy insurance?”
Now let me get this straight. This is a service that specializes entirely in taking things from Point A to Point B. I’m already paying them for this.
Why do I have to pay extra in order to be reimbursed is they destroy, lose or damage what I’m sending? Shouldn’t they be liable anyway?
It almost sounds like a threat if you ask me. “Pay up or your stuff goes missing!”
This doesn’t happen in any other business in the world. In fact, the opposite is true.
If you go and rent a car, you have to pay extra for insurance that means you’re not liable if the car gets damaged. If we followed the same rules the post office follows, we could tell the car dealer to pay us, or at least knock a little off the rental price to insure that we don’t bring it back destroyed.
If you pay someone for a service, you shouldn’t have to pay extra to make sure they do their job. Isn’t that all covered by the fact you’re already paying them? If they screw up, shouldn’t they be responsible?
If the world was sane, you would automatically get the cost of your package reimbursed if the Post Office lost it. For that matter, you would get your postage back as well.
The world, however, is not sane. Every time you leave your home, you enter the asylum.
Imagine being in hospital, and just as the anesthetist puts the mask on your face, the surgeon leans over you and says, “Hey Buddy, slip me fifty bucks and I’ll make sure you come around.”
You’d shit yourself! You could also guarantee that that Doctor wouldn’t be practicing medicine any more.
I think we should all adopt the Post Office’s business practices. Go into work tomorrow and tell your boss you need a raise. When he asks why, tell him if he pays you an extra 2 dollars an hour, you’ll make sure you won’t accidentally ‘lose’ half the year’s budget. Also tell him that if he pays you extra, and you do screw up, it’ll give him the right to fire you. See what reaction you get.
It just doesn’t make sense.
It particularly pisses me off because last month I sent my Dad a package for his birthday…it never arrived. I followed all the rules. I answered the security questions, I filled out the customs label, I put on the correct amount of postage. Result? A Birthday Cake, birthday card, and a package of very expensive coffee lost in the Postal Service limbo, and twenty dollars postage I’ll never see again. Why? Because I didn’t double the price of the postage by sending it insured.
It doesn’t end there. I once sent some jewelry from the UK to America. That I did insure. After postage and insurance, the cost of sending it was over half what I’d paid for the jewelry in the first place.
As I handed the package over, the woman behind the counter informed me, matter of factly: “Oh, because this is an international package, it’s only insured to the value of twenty five pounds.”
What!?!?!?
The jewelry (earrings) cost 40GBP, postage was 10GBP and the insurance cost was 15GBP. If it got lost or damaged, I’d get the grand total of 25 back.
Do the math. All I was insured against was the cost of the postage…and what I’d paid for the insurance in the first place!
Of course, it was now ‘in the computer’ and I couldn’t ‘unbuy’ the insurance. Apparently, the difference between insured and uninsured is 10 measly GBP.
How does this happen? If you think about it, it’s ludicrous. I have to pay them extra just to make sure I get my money back if they lose my package…and they still don’t have to pay me for the package they lost!
Can you imagine that in any other business?
“Ok, here’s the deal. We’ll store your twenty thousand dollar car for 2 weeks. It’ll cost you two grand. However, if you pay me three ‘n’ a half, I’ll give you your money back if it gets stolen.”
“But… what about the cost of my car?”
“Don’t ask me, pal, that’s your problem.”
I don’t think so.
Here’s what I suggest you do. Rather than buy things and post them…buy them off the internet and have them directly shipped to where you want them to go. A lot of websites have free shipping, and even if you do have to pay extra for international shipping, at least if they lose it, you get another one free of charge, and don’t have to pay any extra to have the new one shipped.
Anyway, I have to go now. I have to inform my Father-in Law that he now has to pay me $20 every time I borrow his lawnmower, just to make sure I’ll fix or replace it if I break it.
Bastards.
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