Parking Garage Comedy

Kids. They're fun.

Especially when they think they know everything.

News Flash: They don't.

Headed back to the parking garage ground level where we were parked (the kids were on the third level), they called out they'd meet us in a minute and to follow them. Suddenly, while waiting in the car for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, the cell phone rang.

"Well ... we have a problem" I thought I heard from the driver's side of the car as my better half answered her phone. "Zeke left his keys in the car. They're locked in inside."

The suggestion was put out there: "Just call AAA."

"Can you call for me? He doesn't have AAA and I left my card at home. I don't carry it with me. Besides, my phone is almost dead and I'll probably get cut off in the middle of talking to them ..."

"Don't you have a spare key for the car? We could run you home and grab it ..."

"He has one but it's locked in the car, too. He keeps it in there so he doesn't forget it ..."

Kids. They're a barrel of laughs.

We drove up to the third level of the garage where they were stranded. That's when the comedy (for us, at least) really kicked in to high gear.

"How did you leave your keys in the car?" I asked Zeke.

"I thought I had them. They're in the ignition ..."

"In the ignition?!? Really?!? Don't you check to see if you have your keys before you get out of the car? Or at least before you lock it?"

"Well ... not this time ..."

"And your spare ... it's in the car as well?"

"Yep. You know ... so I don't forget it ..." The sheepish look of embarrassment from him became even more so.

"Good plan there ..." I commented.

"And why don't you have your AAA card handy? You should keep that in your purse wherever you go just in case," mother queried daughter.

"Well, I never need it ..."

That response tripped one of my favorite little triggers. "That's why you shouldn't use the word 'never' ..." It was time for her to dole out a sheepish look, quicker than you could blink.

"If I just had something like a hanger to jimmy the lock I could probably open the door ..." Zeke commented.

"Better response: If you would have made sure you had your keys with you prior to locking your car doors, we could be on the road already to our next destination ..." I noted.

Kids.

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Acro-Numbskull

"Damned kids and their stupid acronyms
and emoticons and stuff ..."

Never being one who shies away from looking words up (regardless of someone stating "It doesn't make any difference, Michael" / "Don't waste your time, Michael" / "It'll be too late by the time you do, Michael" / or any-number-of-excuses-aimed-at-getting-me-not-to-do-something-but-because-I'm-too-damned-stubborn-I-do-it-anyway) I came across a post the other day courtesy of one of my "instigator" friends Jan Snipes*.

The post contained the following image:

Curious, I clicked on it. 

Actually, I clicked on it because I'd studied it for a few moments in an attempt to decipher what the word "YOLO" meant. I knew it was an acronym for a phrase or some such but I hadn't a clue what it might be.

I did give several mental college tries though: 

"You ousted Larry once"

"yellow, orange, lemon, orangutan"

"Yo! Lo!" (Some sort of abbreviated greeting?)

"Why (as in the shortened "Y") obfuscate lesser orders?"

I gave up. I knew I wasn't even close.

Accessing the link for the image, I found that by the title ("Student Writes #YOLO On Their Math Quiz, Teacher Has A Legendary Response!"**) and enlargement of the picture it was a throwaway witticism not taken too kindly by the student's professor.

So it was off to the internet to find out what "YOLO" meant.

And discovering its meaning ("You only live once" for those who aren't in the know) it equates to two things for me: The (further) Decline Of Western Civilization and the equivalent of the word "whatever."

Allow me to translate:

If the student had a problem with the assignment, tossing a vapid acronym at it in response served no purpose whatsoever. That's why I state it was a "whatever" acknowledgment to the problem; it was pointless. Unless, of course, it was meant to rouse the ire of the teacher, which it did to some degree by what he/she wrote.

It's The Decline Of Western Civilization once more (as I've touched on many a time) in that if you're going to do something other than complete the problem you should at least propose to make an argument of some sort. Any kind of argument. Or ... here's a thought: How about writing a sincere notation stating you are unable to do the problem and need help?

... but that would be too easy, wouldn't it?


In conclusion, I suppose I should "get with the program" and quit being such an "acro-numbskull" and learn the likes of "YOLO" and other inane verbiage. (Nope ... ain't gonna happen.)

 
* (sometimes unknowing) instigator, thought provocateur
** And come on: "Legendary" ... ??? Really?

.......... Ruprecht ( needs to STOP being so harsh ) 444

Approaching Dotage ...

Age.

Some say that as you age you become wiser.

Others claim it's hell getting old.

Still others? 

"I look forward to it."

"I'd rather die than get old."

"I've got a year or two on dirt."

"I still have a lot of living left to do."

"Just shoot me. Put me out of my misery before I become ancient beyond my years."

There's no denying: Everything gets old. Or at least older. It's one of the constants in Life.

Me? To the best of my memory, I've never wanted to be any older than I was at any given age. I've been content to let the advancing years come as they may. 

Did I want to be 16 and get my driver's license? No. I knew I'd get there. 21? No. That didn't hold any special meaning for me either. I was certain I'd make it. As a kid, I remember thinking about the year 2,000 - it was a distant point in time I wasn't certain would ever become a reality.

But, of course, it came. And I was there, of course.

I think the only time I've ever looked forward to being a particular age was (and still is) this: When I'm old enough to sit on my front porch, pick up my cane, swing it threateningly over my head and tell those damned kids to get off my lawn. Still, though ... that's some 40 years hence ...

Why all this talk about age? Because of a small little incident that took place last evening.

While getting ice cream (coffee ice cream if you need to know) I broke an ice cream scooper. It wasn't the best ice cream scooper in the world by any stretch of the imagination. In fact it was rather the flimsy piece of equipment, truth be told, and it had seen quite a few years. Its paint was faded and peeling, its interior was pocked with tell tale signs of use and, as evidenced by its mid-scoop failure, it was its time.

Interestingly, as I examined it to see if it could be fixed, I noticed it was nothing more than molded plastic with a chrome steel outer coating. The break point where it snapped from the handle was irreparable - it was too shallow to be reworked effectively. I could have gone through the motions and glued it with heavy-duty adhesive but, no matter the strength of the bond, it would eventually fail once more. The fact of the matter was the scoop's day had come and gone.

It was a little sad. And I was sorry it happened. The tool hadn't aged well, but it put in its time and did the best it could.

Its crooks and kinks revealed themselves and finally gave way to Time.

Everything - everything - gets old ...

.......... Ruprecht ( you can't STOP time )

Meanwhile ...

... at yet another gang initiation ...

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP gang initiations )

Today? I Almost Killed A Kid ...

Today? I almost killed a kid.

Literally.

The light was green and going my way as I approached a four way intersection. I looked right as I entering into the intersection, then I looked left.

I should have looked left first.

Veering around the front of me was a kid flying down the street. His velocity was was uncanny. He was going downhill ... flying. I slammed on my brakes and nearly clipped him at across the right headlight. "What the hell ... ?!??" I yelled out loud.
 
And then, in my left peripheral vision, I caught movement. It was another kid, flying right at me, directly at me. He slammed his brakes squealing while swooping behind me. In the moment - it appeared as if he was mere inches from hitting me. He motored on behind me, never really stopping and kept speeding down the street.

Stopped partially in the intersection, I gathered my wits, looked to my right and saw them both cruise away. I breathed a sigh of relief I hadn't hit anyone. I accelerated and continued out of the intersection on my way.

And then I thought again: "What the hell?" I motored on up to the next light and got into the left turn lane. I decided I wasn't letting those kids get away with this. I was certain that had I clipped that first one? I would have killed him. He would have been splayed across the concrete in a bloody mess. Backpack askew ... front wheel in an odd and obscene oval ... legs at impossible angles ... unnaturally colored asphalt everywhere.

I zipped through a U-turn as the light turned green and began looking for the bicyclists. I caught them ripping down a street to my right and I turned down it. At another light, I caught up with them.

I rolled down my window.

"Hey! You guys have a choice: You can give me your names and numbers ... or I can call the police ..." (Hokay ... not my finest moment. But I was pissed.)

"Why?!?" one of the kids - the one I almost ran over - snapped back.

"Because I just about splattered you all over the road as you ran that red light back there ... that's why ..."

"You're not having me arrested" he replied.

"Both of you! Pull over right there and don't move!" I yelled.

I moved out into the cross street and pulled up to them. They maneuvered 180s and then took off in the opposite direction.

A police officer passed me as they fled and I accelerated up to him. I motioned him to roll down his window: "I just about killed a kid who ran through a red light. Anything you can do?" I asked.

"Was it one of those two kids you were talking to back there?" he asked.

"Yep."

"I'll talk to them ..." the officer acknowledged and swung in their direction.

Another U-turn later I was hoping I'd see the officer with the two kids. I didn't get that satisfaction. But that wasn't the satisfaction I was looking for.

Sure ... it would have been nice to have seen that. But ... honestly? I was just glad I hadn't clocked that boy in light of his bad judgment. It would have made me sick.

In retrospect: I really need to keep my weathered cane in the car so I can wave it at those damned kids ... tell'em to keep off my damned lawn.

Dammit.

In the meantime, I'm content to count my blessings ...

.......... Ruprecht ( STOP )

Life Among The Dead

I was at the L.A. County Fair Labor Day.

Admission was a buck ... the weather was gearing up to be picture perfect ... smokey meats and frolickous noise would be wafting in the air ... people everywhere. What's not to like?

I did the things I like to do at the Fair all by my lonesome. It's rather refreshing getting that opportunity. No needs, no hurrys, no unexpected restroom breaks, no doing what you don't want to do. Just the solitude of indulging in your very own whims.

Toward the end of the day, with seven hours under my belt, I thought it was about time to call it quits. I was still pleasantly satisfied at the smoked turkey leg I'd purchased hours earlier, my feet were beginning to get tired and it was beginning to get overly crowded with late afternoon revelers wanting nothing more than to go on carnival rides. But, finding myself passing the grandstands, I eyed an attraction: Our Body: The Universe Within. This was an exhibit I'd passed up in Vegas one year and missed somewhere else another ... but I saw here the chance to finally catch it and in a relaxed atmosphere no less. With the late afternoon sun beating down on everyone milling about at the Fair, this seemed like the perfect opportunity for physical as well as mental refreshment. (I mean, it had to be air-conditioned inside with all those plasticized bodies, right?)

Let it be said the exhibit was fascinating ... strange ... a bit weird ... brilliantly educational. It was a kick to see everyday average Joes and Josephines gawking in wonder at the exhibits, sometimes screwing up their faces in such manners as to be comical.

Questions by kids were directed at their parents. Boyfriends asked their girlfriends if this wasn't the coolest thing they'd ever seen. Old men and old ladies standing with their hands behind their backs contemplating the human form with steely intensity. Everyone gazed at lucite-encased exhibits of the hands and feet, then looked at their own, marveling at all the tendons within that moved their extremities in the unique and myriad ways they do.

For the most part, everyone was relatively quiet and respectful. There was an overall drone in the place; queries and oohs and aahs, even a few eeews and chuckles.

Relatively quiet, that is, until I got over to one particular exhibit showing a man in motion with muscle stripped away and hanging off his bones to show structure and relative positioning.

Each exhibit in the place was accompanied by a signpost that detailed various body parts and structures being showcased. At this particular model of the man with the dangling musculature, there was a rambunctious 4 year-old inside the roped off area around the display, merrily playing a self-absorbed game of Ring Around The Rosy with the pole holding the sign, gleefully screaming his head off. His parents - a young mother with a baby in her arms, a young father with another in his and several other kids milling about (no clue if they were theirs or not) - did nothing to corral the little boy.

I was right there when a fracas broke out. And it all happened in a span of 10 seconds: I saw the signpost begin to sway until it was at a point where it was coming dangerously close to banging against the plasticized man. I had half a mind to grab the little Buster Brown by his Buster Browns, but was patiently waiting for the parents to say or do something ... anything. Just then, a commotion behind me: a uniformed security guard rushed in and yelled at the kid. She saw, as I did, that the sign was perilously close to gouging the exhibit's head. As she climbed between the ropes to nab the child, the mother finally said something:

"Timothy ... don't do that. Come out here." The guard grabbed him by the shoulder; the mother hadn't moved an inch. "There's no need for that ma'am ... I'll take care of him." But ... she remained there while little Timmy ducked and dodged out of the way of the guard. The father just looked on in boredom.

Timmy finally escaped to his mother's side, a bit frightened by the guard who was stopping the sign from swaying. The mother yelled at the guard: "I said I would handle it!"

Words were then exchanged between the two. The mother walked off in a huff, Timmy in one hand, the other child still cradled in her arm. The father motioned the remainder of the children onward.

The guard, flabbergasted and out of breath, glared as the group retreated into another part of the room. She didn't take her eyes off them the remainder of the time they were in the place.

I continued my examination of the plasticized man on display ... and I could have sworn I saw him sigh in relief as little Timmy walked off.

......................... Ruprecht ( STOP )