I Blame Coffee For My Impertinence

I was walking, enjoying the crisp winter air and a sinfully good latte, when a woman approached me eager to hand me a flyer.  Usually, I shake my head politely and silently regret the waste of paper; but this time I was under the influence of COFFEE, so I stopped to listen.

In a very self assured tone she declared: "The final judgement is coming, the signs are here, the world is coming to an end."

*sip* I had finally met one of those nice folks on the Internet. 

"When exactly is that going to happen," I asked.

"The date cannot be known, but  very soon", she claimed.

"Within the next 60 years?"

"It is not known."

"Shouldn't we do something about it other than wait to be saved? End violence, poverty, greed and war..."

"We have been ruled by the devil for 6000 years. He is very powerful. He was put in charge of this world."

Hmmh. "If the devil is in charge then that would mean that this is actually HELL. How the frack did I end up here???!?"

I left while she deeply contemplated this novel concept. They do make great coffee in hell though.

Elevator

I am known to wander. I have been accused of wandering in the wrong direction with such confidence that people feel obligated to follow my lead, only to be disappointed that I do not know where I am going either.

I found myself wandering in a high tech building looking for the stairs to exit it. The universal symbol for stairs did not appear to exist. I was thus obligated to seek out one of many confounding elevators, which serviced certain floors but not the one I needed. Finding the right elevator should not be this puzzling in a place where most of its inhabitants appeared as confused as I was.  Finally, I found a set of respectable looking elevators, waited and was confronted by doors opening only to display that they were at their full capacity.

Tired and impatient, I looked around me and saw one elevator awaiting me with open doors.  I quickly stepped in, the doors closed immediately before I had time to notice that it looked somewhat industrial. I pressed "M" and the elevator with me as its lone occupant began to move up instead of down.

Dead Space

I pressed a few useless numbered buttons, next to a card swipe, to prevent it from arriving at the top executive floor. To no avail. The broken elevator was on an ear-popping mission to reach its heavenly destination with me in it.

Top floor. The doors opened wide as did my eyes. It was windy. I was looking at a copter, blades still rotating. Several individuals were running toward me with their cargo. They belonged in this elevator. I clearly did not. I wished I was dreaming or watching a movie. Neither applied.

They were as surprised to see a lone individual in their elevator as I was desperate to be anywhere but in it. I briefly weighed my options:

I am a moron and walked into the wrong elevator. Too honest.
Quality Control. Excellent work, gentlemen. Not credible.
Bond, James Bond...Too cuckoo's nest.

In the end, I opted for silent VIP in suit, pretending that this is exactly where I am supposed to be at this precise moment in time. They were preoccupied and did not ask questions. I offered no explanation.

I waited until they exited at their floor, before I stepped out. I looked back at the elevator.
Instead of call buttons there was a big red sign: FOR STAFF ONLY! TO HELIPAD.

I walked out of this adventure as quickly as I could.

Spontaneous Humor In The Produce Section

I was given the mission of hunting and gathering a variety of edibles, which included tomatoes. Upon arriving at my destination, I was positively excited that my prey was lethargically stacked in pyramid formation waiting to be selected, weighed, clubbed and dragged home.

Standing next to me at the tomato pen was a very polite looking gentleman, equally tasked with providing nourishment for his family.  As we carefully selected this fruit by color and ripeness in contemplative unison, I noticed that some of the tomatoes had some white dust on them.

Closer inspection revealed that the miniscule white dust was moving.  Unless one is married to an entomologist, this presented a problem. Wistfully, I placed them back. "Bugs," I sighed. My fellow tomato hunter paused, confirmed my observation and followed my lead.

I had moved on to a different, less ripe, non-heirloom variety, when I noticed that he had changed his mind and had decided to buy the infested tomatoes after all.

"The bugs. Maybe they're tasty," he explained.
"Some cultures consider insects a delicacy."
"I think I'll boil them."
"Well, it is extra protein."
"And the store is only charging for the tomatoes. I think it's a great deal."
"Never pass up a great bargain," I agreed.
"You're not getting any?"
"I'll be quarantined if I bring those home."
"Aah! She's a vegetarian," he stated.

The Right Gift

There is a saying that a true gift is giving someone what they need, not necessarily what they want.

I have been experiencing the fatigue of frustration lately, especially when it comes to the global situation and the pervasive "let's wait and see if the world can fix itself" attitude.

The other day HQ announced: "I got you something."

Curious, I waited. She presented me with a journal. A journal of the self-contemplation variety made popular by the current recession. HQ obviously knows that I have a (quote) mild (unquote) obsession with writing journals. My favorites are simple, I prefer understated black or brown leather journals. In an emergency, a spiral bound notebook will do. Unfortunately, this one is sporting a garishly bright orange cover with an unfriendly font that begins with "In my humble opinion". A strange gift considering neither one of us is particularly fond of novelty items.

Available at this original company

"You got me a fugly journal?" I asked ungratefully.
HQ looked at me with that smile that states I know you are going to love it. "Never judge a book by its cover," she quipped.
I flipped through it, then slowed down to chuckle and laugh; on the left pages are quotes, since I collect quotes, some of my favorites are among them:

Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity,

and I'm not sure about the former.

Albert Einstein

Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.

Douglas Adams

Many people would sooner die than think.

In fact, they do.

Bertrand Russell

The world is a stage,

but the play is badly cast.

Oscar Wilde

Such is the human race. 

Often it does seem such a pity that Noah...didn't miss the boat.

Mark Twain

On the right hand side are lined pages to write down my thoughts and opinions about what humanity, in my not so humble opinion is doing wrong, prompted by some of our most intellectual thinkers and writers.

An entire journal, devoted to the singular purpose of therapeutic venting about the stupidity of mankind, the people that annoy me, how we are driving ourselves into extinction and make each other more miserable than we have to.

I AM DELIRIOUSLY HAPPY. :)

JOY

Right people, right place, right time equals one lucky happy humpback whale.





I am always astonished when I encounter people who believe that we are the only mammals that can experience emotions such as joy and exuberance. Watching this video confirms my opinion, what she felt was clearly joy and relief. As did I.

My gratitude to the rescuers for saving a majestic life.

Not Under My Umbrella

Umbrellas and I have a shared history of mutual disdain. I prefer not to carry one and umbrellas prefer that I leave them in their store and refrain from donating them to the public.

On one particularly windy evening, I was walking with a friend who carried one of those (piece of) cheap retractable models, that spends the majority of its existence turning itself inside out, spines hailing toward the sky.  We stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk, waited for the signal to tell us that it was highly probable that we would survive crossing the road, when aforementioned umbrella decided to make its dream come true and become an untethered kite.

With a sigh of relief it tore its way free from cheap thread, taking a few spines with it and flew into the open sky at last. We watched wistfully as it fluttered away, carried by wind and weather on its erratic maiden flightpath.  After an exceptionally short run at flight and freedom it landed in a spread out heap of black nylon wings on the windshield of a car.

Not just any car.

A police car. A police car with two startled officers of the law, whose visibility was now reduced to zero thanks to us.

Time stops during these magical moments and my mind began its visual story:

Officer Bellefleur: HQ, we're under attack.
HQ: Are you hurt?
Officer Bellefleur: Unable to assess the situation, complete blackout. We are blind.
HQ: What is the nature of the attack?
Officer Bellefleur: At 19:25 hours a UFO landed on our vehicle. I repeat, we are blind, please send backup.

By this point my law abiding friend had turned a lighter shade of pale, deciding how fast he could run in leather soled shoes. In support, I had already started producing the strange sounds of suppressed laughter until I became incapacitated.

"Stop laughing," he hissed, frightened at the prospect that these particular victims might not appreciate being laughed at.  Sobered by the fact that the cruiser was holding up traffic and no one dared to honk, I composed myself. Briefly. Until I made eye-contact with officer Bellefleur's partner and noticed that he was definitely not getting out to remove what was left of the wayward umbrella since it was quite apparent that this was the best thing that had happened to him all day.

A strong gust of wind lifted the umbrella back into the air. "Sorry," I mouthed insincerely, while trying to breathe.

Lost: One joyful, liberated umbrella. If found, please keep.