Mile Nerd

Curtains

I’ve had a long, strange love affair with game shows…

1997:
All my buddies were busy making plans. A week filled with keg stands and pretty girls in small bikinis. It was time for spring break debauchery. My plans, on the other hand, were a bit different. All centered around a gray-haired man named Bob. Or maybe I’d call him Mr. Barker. Either way, I’d find out soon enough. No Florida in my future. I was headed out west to try my luck on The Price Is Right. And my 21-year-old brain kept visualizing the same image…

Holding a shiny set of keys.  

The idea of showing up empty-handed and leaving with a new car a few hours later?

It. Blew. My. Mind.

Honestly, how cool is that? Especially for deal people like us!  

Yeah, well, nobody else was even slightly interested in this oddball plan. Kelley (from a different yearslong journey) was the only one who shared any of my passion. But, alas, we were a broke pair of college kids. She didn’t have the cash to make it work and I was still years away from having a fat stack of miles and points. So I jumped on my US Airways jet plane of dreams alone…

California was a bizarre and incredibly exciting place. It truly felt like a different world from West Virginia. I booked a room at the Farmer’s Daughter Motel across the street from CBS. I’m quite certain it was a dump but all I remember is hope and possibilities. I slept maybe two hours that night. There was just so much excitement in the air…

I walked across the street soon after sunrise and joined a couple hundred people already in line. Many of them friendly. Some of them eccentric. A few seemed to be visitors from a neighboring planet. While I didn’t get called down to play a game that day, I did learn a very important game show lesson…

They want lunatics.

If you lose your mind telling producers your name…imagine what might you do if you win a car?

Ah, got it.

I also noticed how the first person in line got chosen to play. Maybe that’s always the case? Interesting…

After scarfing down a quick dinner that night and taking a power nap, I showed up again. Just after midnight. Me and my trusty Farmer’s Daughter Motel blanket wrapped tight. The groggy CBS security guard looked confused. He asked why I was there before quickly realizing the answer. He dished out an enthusiastic high-five for my passion.

The show that day? Man, it was a blur. All the lights, sounds, and nonstop cheering totally hypnotizes people. Everything moves at turbo speed. Before I knew it, Bob Barker called my name and the curtain opened…revealing a car.

YES!

Apparently, I lost that game. It’s hard to remember much of anything since I was floating ten feet off the ground. I left with a bed and a desk. It certainly didn’t feel like a victory. I was there to win a car. And that didn’t happen. Also, I’d never calculated how bad it might feel to lose a car. This would be a very long flight back to West Virginia.

As I left the studio, I walked past a line of hundreds of people waiting for the next taping. They asked how it went and I shared my story. Maybe they felt bad. I don’t know, maybe it was impossible to miss the disappointment in my eyes…because they stood up and gave me a round of applause. That actually felt pretty nice. After doing my paperwork, I checked out of the motel and headed to my jet plane of pain.

Man, I really would love to give it another shot one day. But The Price Is Right stores all that information and it’s once per lifetime. Oh well…

Over a decade later:
On the phone one day, my mom mentioned:
“Hey, you should try The Price Is Right again. You live in the same city now. And you really wanted to win a car in college. Remember?”

Uh, of course I remember.

Annoyed, I explained how it’s once per lifetime and I already had my shot at a car. They keep records…it’s not like I can just sneak in. But moms are persistent. Unfazed, she said, “Just double-check.” I looked it up the next day. And, sure enough, the rule had changed. Price Is Right had a new host and it was now once per decade. Hell yeah!

Ok, no screwing around this time. It’s obvious what this takes:

1. Act like a crazy person to get on.
2. When it’s game time, calm the fuck down.

Everyone gets rattled. Keep your feet on the ground…don’t float away into the clouds with all that noise and excitement…and you’ll have a real shot to win.

Sure enough, I got my chance. This time, I won my game. Just never got to play for the real goal. I left with a fancy Jura espresso machine and $4,500. Great day, of course. But still no showcase. And still no car.  

A few years later:
The dream was technically winning a car from The Price Is Right. But I was 0-for-2 there and couldn’t go back for years. So, Let’s Make A Deal entered the equation. It was the day after Halloween so I quickly grabbed a couple of clearance items. This show requires a costume. Hmm…a referee outfit and a giant bling dollar-sign necklace? Kind of random but I can make it work.

(Editor’s note: It’s not hard to get to play on a game show. Just requires a few seconds of acting like an insane person. The challenging part is getting to play for the right prize. That requires some luck. And, of course, winning that prize)

I showed up bright and early. Said I was a referee who takes bribes, went crazy, and did the whole song and dance. A few hours later, I got my chance to play…

Stay calm, dude. You know the deal. Feet on the ground. Don’t get distracted by the chaos and float away.

Before I knew it, I was up $1500 with a chance to trade it in. Did I want the mystery item behind the curtain? YES!

Hmm, that’s a pretty badass motorcycle. I don’t actually know how to ride one…but, hey, this was a hell of a day. Ideally, it would’ve had a couple more wheels. Maybe I’ll get another shot one day.

But then, at the end of the show, I received a heaping dose of luck…

Do I want to trade my winnings for a chance at the Big Deal Of The Day? Absolutely!!!

Alright dude, you’ve got a commercial break to figure this out. There’s a car behind either door 1, 2, or 3. I gotta pick the right one.

Everyone surrounding me is yelling:
“Three! Three! Three!”

But then something catches my attention…

Sitting right behind me is a mysterious-looking gentleman who hasn’t spoken a word the entire day. While everyone around him is hopping around and cheering, he’s just sitting there silently. Peacefully. Long dreadlocks almost making him look like a medicine man. I turn around and ask:
“What door do you think?”

With a James Earl Jones level of bass in his voice, he utters a single word:
“One.”

Ok, door 1 it is.

The doors open…

My winnings?

2500 bucks, a trip to San Antonio, and FINALLY…

A brand-new motherfucking car.

A few years later:
Another shot at Let’s Make A Deal. Can’t remember if their rule was 3 or 5 years in between. But, by then, the dance was clear. Do the usual lunatic act and then calm down to play. Won a trip to Chicago. Didn’t get a shot at a car.

Which brings us back to the present day…

Another decade since the last Price Is Right attempt…

Here’s the thing, guys. And I’ll be perfectly honest about this. A lot of time has gone by. Things have changed. And, frankly, it’s more embarrassing than exciting now. But it’s still a chance at a car. And I’m not in any position to say no to that. Here’s the issue…

These things tend to be on a studio lot where they film tv shows. Some of which I have been in. Price Is Right, for example, is right down the hall from a soap opera that I’ve recurred on. Which means there are people a few feet away who I’ve had working relationships with. Friends and castmates. It’s potentially very awkward.

(Editor’s note: That is certainly not intended as a brag. Just the reality of the situation. By the way, this is why I almost never mention my job in over a decade of writing posts here. There are always a few people who will get weird if I do. Which makes me feel weird. Whatever. The point is, it’s an embarrassing thing for me to do at this point. Standing in line right down the hall from people I hope I don’t run into, etc)

But, hey, it’s still a no-brainer.

When push comes to shove, it’s a chance to win a car. There’s no way I can turn that down.

So I do my Zoom and give Price Is Right yet another shot. This has been unfinished business for over two decades now. The good news? They want me on Dream Car Week (which only comes around once per year). Suddenly a very different level of opportunity. No Kias and Hyundais at this show. Last year, they gave away an Alfa Romeo, a Corvette, a Maserati, and so on.

So I decided to go to work.

I don’t know how to properly express the level of this weirdness. With a week before the show, I decided to dedicate literally every free minute to memorizing prices. I went full-on Rain Man. Binging episodes from last season, making a detailed spreadsheet, and memorizing every single item. Yes, all of them. It started with cars and just kept going.

-Egg whites? $7.49
-Heated car throw blanket? $39
-Container of parmesan? $5.49

I. Knew. Every. Single. Item.

I had it all memorized. Over 700 rows in Excel. It kind of just happened. Now all I needed was a shot at a car and I’d win one. No doubt about it. Luck would still be a big factor. But I’d reduced that down as much as I could. It was all about getting a chance to win the right prize…one with four wheels.

I asked my buddy Raja if he wanted to join. They like contestants to bring at least one friend. He jumped at the opportunity. I remember having that kind of excitement to go to game shows. But now it was all about taking care of business.

Game time…

The alarm goes off at 5:30, I’m in an Uber a few minutes later, and standing in line at the now-familiar studio lot within an hour. The waiting begins. Raja shows up and greets me with an excited hug. I immediately pull a printout from my back pocket and ask if he can quiz me.

-BMW 840i? $94,756.
-Maserati Levante? $84,395.  
-And so on.

Raja is shocked. Wait bro, did you memorize every single car price?

Yeah, man.

And all the other items too.

After a week of this, I feel like a giant calculator. Overflowing with numbers. I don’t even need to act crazy this time. I might have actually lost my mind for real. And then other people in line start realizing what’s happening. They begin quizzing me too. In between all of their standing-in-line festivities. I get it. Game shows are for people who are just excited to be there and have fun. I really do get it. But I am not here for fun. I’m here for one reason – to win a car. And, frankly, I could use a big win right now. So while everyone else is playing around for the next 3 hours as we wait to go in…I’m working. Just as I have been, non-stop, for the last week.

We finally get to our quick little interview and I go nuts because I know that’s what they want to see. But it’s all an act. The second it’s over, I get very calm and keep focusing on my numbers.

The show begins. I’m not one of the first 4 people called down. To review, my “line buddies” were:
(A) An extremely fun, young black couple who were posting playful Instagram videos for hours from the line.
(B) A white older mother in a motorized scooter. Accompanied by her 20 year-old daughter. Both are very friendly.
(C) A middle-aged Asian lady with an older white man who looks like a friendly Donald Sutherland. Very supportive couple who are exceptionally kind to each other.
(D) A 35-ish high-energy blonde chick who I’m quite certain has killed someone at some point in her life.

The lady from A, the young daughter from B, and the old man from C all get up to bid. Each of them deep in the floating state that comes from all the lights, sounds, and excitement. The young daughter (Shelby) is particularly rattled. She means to bid $2001 and says 201 instead.

Friendly Donald Sutherland plays his game and loses.

They call another person down. Also not me. Everyone is floaty and bidding terribly. The next person loses his game too. Man, I’ll need to get called down soon to have a few shots at bidding…

And then I get called down.

Acting crazy like I know they want…a chest bump, a quick robot dance, and so on. But immediately calming down to go to work. The item up for bid? A robo vac.

Shit.

There are 9 or 10 tricky items that vary in price even for the identical brand. This is one of them. Last season, they used 4 different robo vac brands and this was the one with two prices for the exact same thing. It’s a 50/50 chance. I guess one price but it’s the other. The guy goes up and loses a Camaro.

I knew every grocery price in that game and would have won it. Fuck. That might have been my shot.

The next item for bid is a knife and cookware set. This combination was not given away last season. I throw out an educated guess and win. YES! Now I just need to be playing for a car. Come on, baby.

But…no. It’s a tool set, some Michael Kors accessories, a TV, and a ping pong table. I deflate immediately. Sure, this stuff is fine. But I’m just not here for this. Oh well, there’s still a chance at the showcase. The tool set wasn’t used last season either so I mumble out a guess and end up losing. But these prizes didn’t matter. I’ve got one chance left at the car. All my energy now moves to hoping for some luck at the wheel. If I can just get to the showcase…

In the meantime, Shelby is really struggling. In my game, her bid was $150. There hasn’t been a bidding item priced under $200 since the Nixon administration. She’s totally floating. I’m bumming hard about not getting a shot at the car but Raja is having so much fun that he gestures to Shelby between dance moves. As in, “She needs help, bro.” I walk up to her at the next commercial break and say, “Hey just look at me. I know all of these.”

Shelby looks over for the next bidding item (a trip to Carmel) and repeats the number I shout out. She wins the trip, gets on stage, and the curtain opens to reveal…a shiny black Mercedes. Oh man, I know this one too. The Camaro and Mercedes could have been mine and…instead…a knife set. But Shelby clearly needs a hand. She tries to find me but is floating hard. I put up a 4 but she can’t see around the camera. She loses the Benz.

Next up is the possibly homicidal blonde – Amber. She saw what happened last round with Shelby and asks for help too. By this time, almost everyone has realized there’s a weird rain man supernerd in the room. I give Amber the bid and she wins. Her reward? A chance to play Plinko. She looks right at me for each item and follows my hand signals perfectly. She wins each chip and ends up with $22,500.

At the commercial break, she sprints over. Yelling, “THANK YOU SO MUCH” directly into my ear from half an inch away. She’s the only winner from any of the 6 games.

My final chance arrives. But I’ll need some luck with this wheel. No memorizing can save the day now.

Dammit, I should have had a Camaro or Mercedes but played for a fucking ping pong table!

Stop. Now isn’t the time for that, dude. Stay positive. There’s one last opportunity for the day…

I spin 60 cents. Being first in line, I know I’ll need to spin again for a higher number…

And I go over.

I’m full-on crushed.

Shelby moves on to the showcase against friendly Donald Sutherland.

At least a dozen people come over to hand out handshakes and hugs. By now, everyone knows what’s happening with the rain man shit. But it’s all for naught. Somehow, I still managed to come out of this carless. Raja dances over and says we have one job left…we have to help Shelby.

Friendly Donald Sutherland passes on his showcase. Oh, wait. I think I’m really close on this one. Shelby follows my hand signals and places the bid perfectly. I don’t make eye contact with Sutherland on his turn. I don’t know his showcase as accurately and, anyway, the job is to help Shelby.

Drew Carey reads off the prices…

Holy shit, Shelby is within 98 dollars.

She wins BOTH showcases. Her handicapped mom joins her onstage and is overwhelmed by tears. They both look over and put their hands on their hearts. I’m exhausted, happy for them, and super bummed for myself all at once. A bunch of emotions.

In the room with the paperwork, 20 year-old Shelby runs over and gives me a massive hug that feels like a visit to the chiropractor. She still seems to be floating. This brand-new Audi will be her first car. Sutherland taps me on the shoulder and jokes that he could have used some help too. I laugh politely but feel pretty gutted.

Shelby and her mom ask if Raja and I want to have a celebration drink with them. Sure, why not. Everyone is on cloud nine (except for me). We walk over to the farmer’s market and order a round of drinks and food. They insist on buying our lunch and are incredibly grateful. They politely try to feel bad for me but, come on, it’s impossible for them to feel anything but excitement. As they should. They just had a $70,000 day.

It turns out they really needed a win too. Shelby’s mom broke her back 5 years ago after falling off the roof while patching a leak. Thus the scooter. She’s been on disability for $1000/month ever since. Shelby’s dad just died in December. And the mom has been trying to bounce back after heart surgery a couple months ago. These are nice people. They’ve had a rough go of it and deserve a day like this. We trade numbers and hugs as they say thanks for the 50^th time.

In the end, there’s no deep lesson from my long, strange history with game shows. But I guess I did learn something along the way…

Losing sucks. But it’s better than knowing you never took your shots. And maybe that’s all we can do. Keep taking shots and hope that a few of them go down. Keep shooting in spite of all the misses. It seems like, so often, we can barely slide a piece of paper through the tiny gap between winning and losing. Even with things as random and silly as game shows. So much, big and small, seems to come down to a single moment. And a lot of those moments don’t go our way. It’s not very profound, but I guess that’s what I learned from all this wackiness. Keep shooting. Who knows what might be lurking behind the next curtain…

Pilot Light

I remember dreaming of what life might have in store.

Wild adventures that awaited

Daring paths I would explore.

Surely, years will pass so gracefully and I’ll remain carefree.

Childhood spirit never wavering,

Firmly rooted as a tree.

Our futures look so vibrant through the lens of youthful eyes.

No darkness yet from sunsets,

One continuous sunrise.

Reminders still unneeded – how to “focus on today.”  

Staying in the present…

Is there any other way?

You grab my hand and dance with me. We’re not scared to act out yet.

Scraping knees and maybe elbows

These bumps and bruises we’ll forget.

Let’s fall on this grass in wonderment of all the stars at night.

We imagine who lives up there

Under magical moonlight.

Bit by bit and piece by piece, the daring path begins to change.

Adulthood has a different plan

And we safely rearrange.

Our wild spirit and those carefree days now get buried by routine.  

Becoming well-behaved and fearful?

None of that at all foreseen.

The bruises all remembered. Stay in moments? Such a fight.

No longer on the grass

Or even watching stars at night.

Momentum over time adds up. Life’s punches landed hard.

We tried our best to block a few

But now are clearly scarred.

Youth felt like exploration back when days were led by heart.

It used to lead our movie,

Now recast in this bit part.

Turns out that we are not, in fact, as solid as a tree.

So much along the way is lost.

Time did not pass so gracefully.

The question sits impatiently, submerged beneath each day:

Is the wild-eyed kid inside you still?

Or lost and gone away?

Deal Or No Deal

The neon sign in the window caught my attention…

“Powerball jackpot: 346 million”

Sure, why not. I walked into the 7-Eleven with visions of gold coins raining from the sky. Imaging Porsches and palaces. As I strolled through the oh-so-familiar scent of convenience store hot dogs, I began daydreaming about life in Hawaii. How much does a yacht cost, anyway? Maybe I’ll get a fleet of them.

There was just one guy in line. A lone person standing between me and my jackpot. He was an old, skinny bald man with a day’s worth of gray stubble. Regular guy. Soft spoken…maybe a bit sad. Just buying a pack of Hostess donuts. He inserted his debit card into the machine and the annoyed clerk shook his head…

“No money.”

The surprised old man asked in a whisper:
 “Declined?”

The clerk announced:
“Zeeeeeee-ro”
(Along with the extra E’s, he also made the shape of a zero with his right hand)

The old man gently took his card, looked down at the floor, and walked away.

The clerk continued on. With a mocking tone, he exclaimed:
“No money, no honey!”

The old man flinched. Clearly feeling defeated. And, I assume, humiliated.

He exited the 7-11 without looking back. Never shifting his gaze from the ground.

If I was in a more confrontational mood (as is often the case), I certainly would have had some words for the clerk. Maybe:
A) “Hey man, did you really need to laugh at the guy?”

Or more likely…

B) “Seriously, dude? What the fuck were you thinking?”

But I didn’t feel confrontational in that particular moment. More sad than angry, I guess. I just bought my 2 lotto tickets and mumbled, “Lemme get the donuts too.”

Editor’s Note:
By spending $1.79 on a stranger, I claimed my rightful place as greatest human in the world. I handed the sad, old man his donuts and soft jazz music started to play. All of his pain was erased by those sweet, powdery snacks. We laughed together and embraced as we watched a beautiful sunset from the roof of the store.  

Is that how our magical encounter went?

Fuck, no.

In reality, I awkwardly handed him the pack of donuts. He smiled the only tiny smile he was capable of. No cinematic moment. No powerful words. And no gesture from me that changed his life. He whispered a quick thanks and climbed into an old Ford Explorer. It was full of clothes. He was clearly living in it.

Look, you guys know I write about interactions that make me feel something. But, occasionally, they also help me find a combination of words I’ve been digging for. A larger observation. So, here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately…

Collectively, we are starting to forget how hard this shit is.
(Life, I mean)

We certainly remember when it comes to ourselves. Or people we admire. But this life is hard for everyone. At different times and to different degrees. When did we start forgetting that in our conflicts?

At some point, we forgot how to disagree. No, not just about politics. This is a deeper issue now. We’re losing touch with how important it is to see the humanity in those who upset us.

At this rate, it’ll be hard for us to see anything BUT our differences soon. We have a shared handicap now – an inability to work out disagreements. Is conflict new? Hell no. We’re just getting worse at it. So much of our communication is in writing these days. And our handicap has grown with these advances. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. This issue is no longer limited to how we behave online. It has infiltrated our “real world” personal relationships too.

In conflicts with people we care about, I believe there are 3 major things we should all commit to. The list could be much longer. But these are the main things I see forgotten by normal, non-lunatic types. The common symptoms of our handicap. We should write these principles in stone as we navigate our strange new world. Because…if we can’t even do this basic shit? Oof.

1. Commit to not getting lost in the black hole of back-and-forth written arguments.
How many times do we need to experience it? Written arguments have a 0% success rate.

Still can’t help yourself? Well, here’s a spoiler alert:
A written argument will never go well.

I get it. Having a tough conversation in person or on the phone is challenging. Feels harder. Sometimes scarier. But you have to find the words. And the balls. You need to keep it out of print. That basic level of discipline is so important. Not allowing yourself to go down the black hole of written arguments. At least not with someone you care about. At this point, we should know better. We understand how difficult it is to read tone. We understand that intense words seem way colder in print. We know how common misinterpretations are.

Serious conversations with people we care about? They do not belong in writing.

(We are decades into email and text messages. This should be obvious by now)

2. Don’t run from conflict.
Be open to disagreements, arguments, and difficult conversations. Again, just NOT in writing. The first step of success is showing up, right? So, show up for those moments.

Our technological growth has stunted our emotional growth. But it’s ok to feel things. When you’re in a conflict with someone you care about, that person isn’t a sociopath. Right? So, put on your grown-up pants. Allow room for emotions. Both in yourself and others.

If a friend or loved one is angry with you? Well, sometimes we deserve it. And sometimes we don’t. But did you think you’d get through life without being wrong? Without upsetting the people you care about? Show up for those conflicts. Hear people out. If you’re confused about a reaction or interpretation, ask questions. Take a chance. Is there any long-term health without allowing conversations to evolve?

Sometimes you’re wrong, sometimes you’re not. But the ultimate goal isn’t to assign blame. It should be to deepen understanding. When you cut off communication, there’s nowhere for a relationship to go. No way it can grow. Don’t delude yourself (or others). If you care about someone, you will have the tough conversations.

3. This shit is hard (life, I mean). So, try to remember that.
When someone you care about is upset, really try to understand their journey. Their experience in this life has been so different from yours. And no matter how close you are to them, the old quote remains true:
“Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

You may think you know. But you will never know. Their battle is theirs alone.

We judge others by their actions and ourselves by our intentions. Because, well, we’re handicapped. That’s why it’s so easy to see others as wrong and so much easier to excuse ourselves.

We know our shit has been hard. What if we try to remember it more with others?

Seasons

A friend of mine died this week.

It’s part of an unspoken agreement we all make. You have permission to get older…but need to lose people you love in order to do it.

Julia was tough. Dishing out top-level sarcasm like Steph Curry passing a basketball. Highly skilled. Hilarious. But, like most tough people, she was incredibly sensitive. I imagine you know what that’s like. I think we all do. Toughness becomes a type of armor, doesn’t it? We strap it on and protect ourselves. So often…and for so many years…that it starts happening automatically. Until we’re left with a new challenge. Remembering how to take our armor off.

I don’t know all the specifics of Julia’s childhood. She never elaborated. But I do know it was a deep wound. When she most needed kindness, I get the impression that it was in very short supply.

By the time I met her as an adult, she always seemed to be accompanied by a dog. Fostering more of them with each passing year. And cats too. She eventually moved to Georgia, in big part, to provide them with a spacious yard. I watched rescue dog after rescue dog come into her life. Terrified. Sometimes broken. But, without fail, they always grew to be well-adjusted after spending a little time in her home. After receiving a much-needed dose of kindness.

We look at people with a bunch of pets and instinctively think of them as weird. Man, we can be quick to judge, can’t we? I think Julia got something from animals that she never could from humans. I think she knew what it was like to feel terrified and broken. Because I think that’s how it goes for people sometimes. We all get a different roll of the dice. But those animals brought love into her life. They would never hurt her and she would never hurt them. That’s how it goes sometimes too. We can receive a gift and be a gift all at once.

Julia got sick soon after moving to Georgia. Courtesy of a rare form of cancer that landed in her lap one random day. Quickly, the aggressive chemo started. They gave it their best shot. But, in spite of that effort, the treatment failed. Her doctor shared the news. A few months to live – maybe six. And she didn’t particularly feel like talking about that either. Just kept working, making sarcastic jokes, and continuing on with our “important” debates about world topics. Like why Netflix makes so many bad movies. She, of course, spent much of her remaining energy on finding loving homes for her pets. Clearly, she knew her clock was ticking fast. But she seemed very interested in hearing about my day-to-day problems. I think her plate was too heavy. The daily nonsense on mine was easier to digest. And it blew my mind to realize something…

My most serious problems can literally function as a form of light distraction for someone else.

Of course, she never put it that way. And she didn’t feel that way about it. She just craved any sense of normalcy. Because I think she still wanted to be of service. Her body gave out, not her heart. I think she still needed a place to put her kindness.

At the very end, she knew it was over. No longer able to eat. Very tired and ready to go to sleep. In our last conversation, I told her that she was loved in this life. That I knew it wasn’t always easy for her to feel it. But she really did make life better and happier for people. I told her how much her friendship meant to me. And that I would always treasure those memories.

We humans do so many mental dances. But one of them really stands out…

We lose people over and over again. Then, after some time goes by, we jump right back into our default state. A kind of day-to-day forgetting that it will happen to us too. Sure, our brains understand the idea. But we behave as if this life will last forever. And we can’t seem to shake that mental routine. Not until it’s too late.

I wonder what Julia would do with one more day.

I wonder what any of our lost loved ones might say to us in one last conversation.

And, one day, people will be left wondering that about us too.

Our clocks are ticking fast.

Can we ever figure out a way to remember that?

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 80^th 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.