Stop Signs, Horses, & Willie Nelson
Well, my friends, I’ve had quite a strange week. My interactions with the human race were highly unusual. I invite you to come along as we take a journey back in time…
Sunday
My stomach growls. Burritos on the brain. So, I strut into a snazzy, new taqueria for dinner…
I stroll to the counter with ease. The relaxed confidence of a man who has, in fact, ordered food from restaurants before. But then something catches my eye. A disturbance in the force. The young lady behind the cash register seems agitated. Her mouth looks like an upside-down U shape. Eyebrows are furrowed. An unmistakably intense (and possibly homicidal) look behind the eyes.
Do I sometimes misread situations? Absolutely.
But it certainly seems like she wants to:
(A) Shove habanero peppers into my ears.
Or
(B) Drown me in a deep well of hot salsa.
Get ahold of yourself, man. You’re being crazy. This is a complete stranger.
I look up at the dozen hipster burritos on the menu and ask for some quick guidance:
ME
Hi, I’m just trying to find a burrito that doesn’t have beans…
(She scowls as if I just asked for her social security number)
ME
…because I, uh, don’t really like them…
(She stares into my soul…almost certainly plotting my demise)
ME
Beans, I mean.
(She sighs for the next 42 seconds straight)
ME
It’s my first time here so I’m just kind of looking for a recommendation. Not trying to bug you. Any burrito without beans would be great.
HER (hissing)
Which. One. Do. You. Want?
(I quickly calculate the odds of this burrito being laced with cyanide)
ME
Uh, I think I’m just gonna go. This is a little…uncomfortable.
(She appears to be trying to shoot laser beams out of her eyes)
I walk away.
Very quickly.
Monday
Stomach growling again. I wake up thinking, “Man, I could eat a horse.”
(Very peculiar phrase, by the way)
There will be no horse on my plate. And probably no breakfast burrito. But anything else will do. My stomach is singing show tunes and there’s nothing in the fridge. I quickly grab my keys. On the way out the door, I peek at my phone and see the daily flurry of text messages. My sister’s friend wants to chat about a weekend brunch. My sister just finished a big work assignment so we’re planning to take her out. Cool, yeah, let’s do that! But my immediate priority is grub. My stomach sounds like Freddie Mercury at the 1985 Live Aid concert.
I jump in the car on a mission to munch…
Rounding the corner, I approach a 4-way stop. Not to brag, but I like to think I’m pretty well-versed on the process involved at stop signs. Y’know, considering the steps are:
(A) Stop when it’s your turn to stop.
and
(B) Go when it’s your turn to go.
I wait patiently for my turn to move.
And then I keep waiting.
I stare at the olive green Jaguar in front of me. A vehicle that stopped a good 5 seconds before I did. The driver appears to be alive. As far as I can tell, he isn’t in a coma. We wave at each other to go. It seems I’ve found a situation even more challenging than ordering a burrito. We stare at each other like cowboys at high noon. Repeatedly waving at each other to move.
Will I ever taste food again?
Will I ever lay eyes on a world beyond this stop sign?
Olive green Jaguar and I wave at each other…7 different times.
Humanity has never seen a more awkward interaction.
(Editor’s note: If you arrive at a stop sign 5 seconds before another vehicle does…for the love of God, please just go)
I finally arrive at the bagel shop. Has spring turned to summer? Also, what year is this? I glance at my phone and read the latest text messages. My sister’s friend mentions a tiki bar from Yelp as a possible location. I quickly write that I’ve been there, found it to be a pretty subpar spot, and counter with a few other options in the area.
By the time my bagel is toasted, a message is waiting…from her husband.
“We’re going to sit this one out.”
Huh?
Wait, what happened?
It turns out that dismissing the tiki bar crossed some type of boundary.
Am I in a Twilight Zone episode??
I reach out to my sister’s friend who says she needs to, “Attend to her feelings.”
Clearly, I’m in for an unusual week.
Tuesday
While crouching down in the toothpaste aisle at CVS, I ponder:
“What’s the world record for consecutive days of bizarre interactions?”
Right then, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
I look up to see a nondescript man dressed in 3 different shades of beige.
He leans down…
BEIGE MAN
Are you in line??
(Extremely confusing question. My internal monologue for the next few seconds goes something like this…)
ME
In line for what exactly? I’m super curious. Seeing as I’m hunched over shopping for dental hygiene items right now. Were you under the impression that there’s a line for this? Because, unless laws have changed recently, I believe you can just go ahead and shop for toothpaste. Oh, wait…
Are you referring to the line for the pharmacy? Wow. Normally, this would be an unusual situation. But welcome to my week. How hungry are you? Because I think we’re actually closer to the McDonald’s drive-thru than we are to your pharmacist. I mean, can you even see the pharmacy from here? Just make sure to grab some energy bars from the next aisle. You’ll need those…along with some hiking boots…for the journey all the way to the pharmacy. It might actually be in a different zip code.
(Of course, none of that came out. I just said, “No, I’m not in line.”)
I watched Beige Man shuffle away.
And, in that moment, I wondered if maybe the stress of this very strange week was starting to get to me.
Wednesday
If the week wasn’t already crazy enough…
I went up on stage and slapped someone at the Oscars.
(Oh wait, that wasn’t me)
Thursday
Woke up with a funky little limp. Because that’s how it goes, young readers. Climbing out of bed will, one day, become a full-contact sport for you too. Beware.
Anyway, I decide to limp my way over to the neighborhood coffee shop. I grab a nice, refreshing iced tea and pause to admire the beautiful 1967 Corvette Stingray parked on the street. An attractive young woman (in a very short skirt) stops for a moment to look at it too. As she walks away, I find myself engulfed in a cloud of cigarette smoke. Standing next to me is a scraggly dude in a thick winter coat.
The current temperature? 87 degrees.
CREEPY COAT DUDE
She’s sexy but I’ve seen sexier.
ME (grossed out)
Uh-huh.
CREEPY COAT DUDE
Yeah, I’ve seen way sexier.
(We stand there awkwardly for an eternity)
ME
Alright man, see you later.
CREEPY COAT DUDE
Sixty-nine.
ME (silently)
What. The. Fu-
CREEPY COAT DUDE
Yup, the ‘Vette I had was a ’69. Way sexier than this one.
ME
Ah.
(Narrator: They stood there for the next 29 days just staring at that car)
(At least that’s what it felt like)
Friday
Out the door bright and early to my doctor’s appointment – because I break out in hives now. It’s my new thing. Some type of food allergy that I’m trying to pinpoint.
(So far, I’ve eliminated burrito and horse)
I arrive at my appointment a few minutes late. 85% my fault. The other 15% is courtesy of a Wille Nelson-looking gentleman. I watch in awe as he attempts to back his massive truck into a tiny parking space. Many, many attempts. All of them are mind-numbingly poor. Each one worse than the last.
I start wondering if maybe this is actually Willie Nelson. A lifetime of weed would explain:
(A) His excruciatingly slow speed.
and
(B) His decision to drive a cruise ship on the street.
(Editor’s note: Maybe just pull forward if you can’t crack the code in your first dozen attempts)
I eventually mutter, “Why can’t you just park like a normal person?” but it’s not to be.
The world waits for no man. Unless that man is Willie Nelson behind the wheel of the Titanic.
Finally, Willie notices the line of cars waiting for him to complete his mission. Is he fazed? Not even slightly. With a shrug, he calmly returns to the task at hand. On what feels like my 80th birthday, I’m finally able to scoot by. I hop out and limp my way into the friendly office. A place for healing. A welcome oasis from bizarro week.
I glide up to the receptionist…
Who promptly tells me:
“Your appointment is next Friday.”
Saturday
When a week this strange comes along, there’s really just one cure…
Yeah, that’s right.
I’m talking about the hot and cheesy slice of heaven known as pizza.
I make a beeline to my local slice specialist. Limping to the counter, a handwritten sign grabs my attention. It reads:
“Due to the cardboard shortage, pizza boxes are only provided for takeout orders.”
Totally confused, I ask the lady behind the register:
“Wait, there’s a carboard shortage???”
Immediately, this sweet woman starts laughing as if Jerry Seinfeld has jumped on stage and started riffing.
Sure, I’ve been known to bust out the A+ material. Sometimes even at Walmart, the post office, and grocery stores. But…
A cardboard shortage?
There isn’t a joke within a 20-mile radius of that. And certainly not a funny one. But, somehow, this lady is tickled by my presence. Certainly not the norm over these past few days. So, I keep talking…
“Yeah, now I’ve heard of everything. Lumber shortage, cardboard shortage…”
She’s rolling with laughter. Even using a napkin to wipe a tear from her eye.
What the hell is happening? I’m just reciting a list of shortages. I might as well bring up gas prices too. In fact…
“And what about these gas prices?”
Keep in mind, none of this was an attempt at comedy. You can find funnier routines on C-Span. But this woman had an absolute blast. She was just SO delighted by it all. And as I paid for my slices, she beamed and said:
“Oh, you made my day.”
After the weirdness of this week…one odd run-in after the next…I can’t tell you how nice it felt to hear that. It’s an underrated thing, y’know? Unexpected warmth. The surprising little burst of joy that occurs when two strangers share an interaction – and both leave feeling better from it. As I devoured my slices, a thought lingered in my head…
We all encounter so much weirdness in our lives. And, eventually, I think we just start bracing for impact. We go through enough weird moments that…instinctively…we start closing off.
But what if we consciously try to avoid that?
What if we choose to stay open enough to allow our day to be made by a stranger?
(Even one just making innocuous comments about cardboard)
I think there’s something very beautiful about not bracing for impact.
Maybe it’s something we should aspire to.
