Superman Insurance

     If I was an entrepreneur in Metropolis, I would develop a market for Superman Insurance. I have nothing against Superman but boy does he cause a lot more damage then he realizes.

     

     Firstly: Getting Changed in a Phone Booth 

     When he gets changed in the phone booth it is so quick that nobody even notices. I have never gotten changed in a phone booth before, but I imagine that it would be extremely difficult not to touch the glass enclosure a couple times while taking off my shirt or pants. If Superman bumps into the glass walls getting changed as quickly as he does there would an explosion of glass that sprayed out like grenade shrapnel. Superman Insurance would show up, see a demolished phone booth, assume it was S-Man and cut you a check.

     Secondly: Laser Vision

     Superman may have amazing abilities, but he is far from perfect and I would say that to his face. Having laser vision is a gift, but being a marksman is a skill that needs to be developed and practiced on a regular basis. S-Man won't hit his desired target 100% of the time. Molten sidewalk outside your storefront? covered. Car been lasered in half? covered.  

     Thirdly: Falling From a Building

     Everyone knows that if you fall from a building in Metropolis and yell Superman's name he will catch you. However, Superman rarely takes into consideration the delicacies of the human spine. If you are falling from a building at 35 mph and Superman intercepts you at a ninety-degree angle, you will be in the hospital. So will we, with a check, if you have Superman Insurance.

      Fourthly: Freezy Breath

      In the event that S-Man is fighting a nemesis that uses fire as his main weapon, freezy breath will be Superman's most obvious counter-attack. This could get bad depending on the intensity of the battle. Frozen branches falling on power-lines, pipes bursting, pneumonia, damaged crops, hypothermia and frost bite would all be covered.

    

It would be company policy to never speak about Superman in a negative manner. Our stance would be an empathetic one. Superman makes mistakes just as much as the next guy. His mistakes just happen to be super.

On The Dot

I have heard a lot of people complaining about gas prices lately. Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought. People at my work are regularly quoting prices from around the country and making predictions for later this Summer. I have not once been tempted to chime in, until today.

Have you noticed with the higher prices how difficult it is to pump to the even dollar? You slide your card and put the little kickstand up on the pump. The handle clicks and you look over and it reads $38.27. I venture to guess that many of you are like me and are equally as concerned, if not more, about the $0.27 as you are the $38.

I couldn’t sleep at night if I knew that when that when that transaction posted $38.27 would be taken out. It has to be an even dollar. I don’t want to consider $0.27 when I am doing my budget. It’ll screw the whole thing up for weeks.

So, I go for the even $39. My car doesn’t necessarily need $0.73 more of gas -- my mind does. I do the pulsating grip technique to scoot my way closer to serenity.

(hard squeeze)

$38.45

(hard squeeze)

$38.67

(hard squeeze)

$38.83

(medium squeeze)

$38.94

(little squeeze)

$38.97

(little squeeze)

$38.99

(Pause)

Concentrate, Thomas! You’ve done this a thousand time. If you were a rapper your name would be Lil Squeezie.

(tiny squeeze)

$39.01 

The worst possible outcome. 

Chef Marshall

           Back when I was 24 years old, I trained to be a Certified Nurse’s Assistant. I sat in class, the instructor told us everything that we needed to highlight in our books and we got out early almost everyday. Being a CNA is not difficult, but it was still alarming how easy it was to pass this class. One of the multiple-choice questions on a test asked me what the role of a CNA was. The first option, A, asked if the role of a CNA was to welcome new resident’s to the facility, make them feel at home and provide immediate care for their everyday needs. The other option, B, asked if the CNA’s role was to alienate the resident, and make them feel uncomfortable. When I read this I remember sitting up and looking around the class, and no, not to cheat. It felt like somebody was playing a joke on me.

            Clinicals weren’t much more difficult. I had to serve 100 hours at a long-term care facility. I had a checklist of things that I needed to complete. It included things like give a bed bath, dress a resident, shave a resident, administer range of motion exercises, and assist in feeding a resident. I looked up the place that I was assigned to. It was rated one out of five stars. It was also four blocks from my house.

            One day I was shadowing a CNA who had been working at this place for years. Her name was Tony and she was a firecracker. She laughed, moved at a determined pace and met the needs of the residents with genuine enthusiasm and concern. I think she is what constituted the one star.

            I was trying to keep up with Tony as best as I could. I was helping people into the shower, lathering them up, drying ‘em off and sending them off on their tennis-ball-capped-walker way. I was becoming an efficient helper. Then Tony and I checked to see if Mr. Marshall had wet himself.

            Mr. Marshall would sit on a love seat by the front door for hours. There was a pee pad that he sat on because if he was left unattended for too long, he would wet himself. Sure enough, he had been left unattended for too long.

            Tony and I acted out the routine. I walked Mr. Marshall to his room. Tony picked out some clean clothes for him. She then went to go check on some other students and I took Mr. Marshall to the bathroom to get him cleaned up.

I pulled his pants off and he was standing there in a diaper. I wasn’t quite sure what the procedure was for taking a diaper off before helping someone sit on a toilet. What I figured was, if anything happened between the time I took the diaper off and sat him on the toilet it was no problem because we are in the bathroom and things are allowed to get messy here.

Tony showed up at just the right time. She saw what I was doing and sensed disaster. She suggested that I sit him on the toilet before removing the diaper. I heard what she was saying and knew it was wise. I respected her but, I wanted to do it my way. What a stupid mistake.

As soon as I pulled the tab on the diaper, the weight of the surprise doodoo that was in his diaper forced the other tab to give resulting in the diaper plummeting to the floor like a broken elevator. The feces was dehydrated and had been sat on for a while which flattened it into a disc. It was as thick and round as an Eggo waffle and had the texture of a Boca burger.

Tony laughed really hard. Apparently, I made her day. She promptly reminded me about what she had just suggested. I took it. I deserved it. I grinned and I leaned over to pick up the diaper.

Now, if you have never worn scrubs before, I need to tell you that the pockets on the shirts are too shallow. I don’t know why they are, they just are. If you have something in it that is not secure, when you lean over, it will fall out.

            What I had in my pocket when I leaned over to pick up the diaper was my cell phone. The cell phone was not secured and it did fall into Mr. Marshall’s diaper. An immediate groan came from my inmost. My deflated voice exclaimed,  “OHHH, TOEEEENNY!” She started laughing again. Mr. Marshall had prepared a entrée and my cell phone was the garnish.

Many people will say that working at a long-term care facility is a humbling experience. Many of the residents are reduced to infancy in their physical needs. They require help eating, cleaning themselves and sometimes just help walking down the hall. Knowing that you are giving them things they need but can’t provide themselves is a delicate and honoring position. Much of the work, when explained sounded disgusting, but actually doing it wasn’t. Except for that one moment when my phone fell in a diaper. That was disgusting. Everything else felt normal.

Guy Ladybugs

I feel bad for guy ladybugs. I imagine that their culture is either female dominated with a bunch of momma’s boys fluttering around or they are the toughest guy bugs around because they have been getting crap from day one.

            Eventually, most of us learn to appreciate our names. That is probably what happens with guy ladybugs, but not before a tumultuous adolescence. One day, when they are older, they probably come to the conclusion that there are more important things to care about. I imagine that it would be similar to a human guy with the last name Poopydoodoo.

            With a name like Poopydoodoo, he would be sure to catch laughs in the classroom, and would constantly have to defend his honor on the playground. Kids can be cruel. With a name like Poopydoodoo, he’d always be a target. No matter how hard he could kick a kickball, how good he was at four square, or tetherball, or math, or drawing, everyday he would encounter the issue of something bringing up his name mockingly. When you’re a kid, it’s hard sometimes to understand why people don’t get you.

            After a while, young Poopydoodoo would start to wonder if he even understood why somebody would have a name like his. So, he would ask his Grandfather the why question. His Grandfather would tell him, “It's about time you knew. Your Great Grandfather was an Icelandic man named Peter Bjorganjorgan.  Everyone in the homeland called him Poppy. His greatest dream was to come to America. On the boat ride here, he learned what little English he could. Before he got to Ellis Island, he decided to ask the first American he met for work. When the immigration official inquired of his name, he had no clue what he was being asked, but nonetheless responded, “Poppy do! Poppy do do!” Apparently, Poppy thought the word “do” was synonymous with work. The overtired, overworked immigration official thought nothing of it and registered your Great Grandfather as Mr. Poopydoodoo.”

            I am sure that after a sit down like that, the young boy would despise his name a little less. He should. I mean, it is a silly name, and they should have changed it two generations ago, but his Great Grandfather didn’t care what people called him, he was just glad to be in America.

            Guy ladybugs should take a lesson from the Poopydoodoo family. They should be more excited about their features than concerned about their name. Those little bugs have a ton of things rolling in their favor. First thing rolling in their favor: Easy, gift of flight. Second thing rolling in their favor: Hard shell Lamborghini doors. Third thing rolling in their favor: Humans don’t try to spray you with things or stomp on you. Talk about the insect’s burden, try being a soft-spoken, well-behaved, donates to charity, would rather stay home this weekend and finish Catcher in the Rye(he’s been meaning to get to it for years), keeps to himself SPIDER. AHHHHH! WHERE?! KILL HIM!

Nicknames

            I have been called many things, and I don’t mind being called late for dinner if you used cream of mushroom in that casserole.

My cousin Thomas nicknamed me T-Bone. It stuck for most of my childhood. I loved it. To nickname someone T-Bone whose first named begins with “T” is not very original, however, his explanation for why he gave me the name always amazed me. If you asked him when we were younger, he would tell you I was named T-Bone because I sat on a bench and woke my hamsters up. What an absurd explanation. A back-story was only ever given if asked for. 

I had two hamsters. One was named Sonic. The other was Hedgehog.

I call my girlfriend, Babe. I call her daughter, baby-girl. I call my girlfriend, Sweetheart. She also calls me Babe and Sweetheart. I find it humorous when we are in an argument and she keeps calling me Sweetheart. In those moments, I feel more like Uglyheart. Hearing her call me something tender in moments of disagreements gives me hope that we will get through whatever this is. We always do. She has always been good at looking forward and calling up the best in me.

I still remember my freshman year of high school when one of the nerds told me that he thought it was interesting that I was both a nerd and cool. Still one of the kindest things anyone has ever told me. Recently, almost 10 years after that, my best-friend’s wife told me that she wasn’t sure if I was really cool or just a nerd. Remember, I’m the kid who named his hamsters after a video game character.

I’ve had other alias’s: Bonesaw(variation of T-Bone), Coltrane(this one came from Shane the Brain), Tay Tay(when I hear my nieces and nephew call me this, I can always conjure up a crazy dance to make them laugh), Swampthing(Mokie, my cousin Marc, coined this one. Cover yourself in wet sand, pretend you're a monster and you too can have this nickname, but not before then.).

There are a couple nicknames that float around a group of my friends. They are not normal nicknames. They are temporary, always circumstantial and you never want to be called them.

The first is “The Entertainer”. This is reserved for the emcee of the night. He has been telling the most jokes. He is the one in the spotlight making everyone laugh. The dream sequence in Dumb and Dumber is the template for this nickname. There is one part in that segment where Jim Carry is in a lodge with Mary’s family. We enter to him telling the punch line of a joke; “he said, ‘do you love me?’ and she says, ‘No. But that’s a real nice ski mask.” He then proceeds to throw a bunch of goldfish in his mouth and lights a fart on fire. No matter what he does, everyone bursts out laughing. If any an this niche group of friends catches the other commanding the room like this, he will be sure to be hailed as entertainer.

don't be this guy

“The Godfather” is the other nickname and is far worse to be called. The Godfather is declared if anyone tries to define rules to any activity that we are all involved in. If you are having people over for dinner and tell them which order they are to serve themselves, you will hear “whatever you say Godfather.” If you dispute any rule, whether it is the proper scoring in washers or how to rearrange big-blinds when somebody gets knocked out of a poker game, you will be declared Godfather. It could be the most simple, common rule that just needs to be voiced in front of everyone, but if you are the one to do it, you are sentencing yourself.

The title Godfather comes with the responsibility of answering any question about rules or procedures the rest of the night. In some cases, The Godfather will have to make every decision for the group. When asked to vote on something, it is common to defer by saying that your allegiance lies with the Godfather and whatever he says goes. The trick to the Godfather is to name someone the Godfather first. It is always difficult to get rid of a nickname.

Something even more difficult to do is nickname yourself. It never feels right. You end up looking arrogant and nobody will ever feel comfortable using it. No matter how cool a pair of shoes is you won’t enjoy wearing them if they don’t fit. I have some friends that live in Kewaskum, Wisconsin. I tried to get a couple of them to start calling me T-waskum. They asked why and I stopped my campaign right there. Explaining an idea like that, when you are just then realizing it wasn’t as good as you thought, is like retelling a joke to somebody that didn’t hear it the first time.

Some of my closest friends respond to Bro Bro, Hoodmomma, Bigby, Warhammer and Pup. I knew two brothers in middle school. The oldest was nicknamed Air Fish and his younger brother Air Fish Jr. Nicknames are found in the seasonings cabinets of social interaction. Sometimes they are just absurd and fun. Sometimes they can be a subversive way of telling someone you love them.