It came to
my attention recently that there are a few key phrases in my day to day life
that apparently just need to come out of my mouth. I was washing a dog at work, and I did what I
always do: I rinsed it down, filled my hands with the special tearless shampoo,
turned back to the dog and cheerfully announced, “Face shampoo!” Bemused, I asked the dog, “Do I always say
that?” Well, if the dog knew the answer
to that question it didn’t tell me, but I was pretty sure I had developed the
habit of declaring the imminent application of the face shampoo upon each dog’s
face. Upon further investigation, the
declaration was often followed by the clarification: “…for your face!” in
equally cheerful tones.
This discovery
made me stop and consider what other things pop out of my mouth unobserved and
on a routine basis. As it turns out,
motorcyclists trigger this Tourette’s-ish phenomenon; specifically those foolish motorcyclists who
feel compelled to ride about without protective headgear, eliciting from me the
exasperated, single-word command, “Helmet!”
Also a common driving expression that I unwittingly spout when I find
myself at a four-way stop: “My turn!” ...well, its justified...it is, after all, my turn...
And I don’t know if it counts as a phrase,
although it is a form of vocalization, but I find myself inclined to hum whilst
I shop. I’m not a crazy driver, but it’s
not always possible to take turns at a creepingly-slow pace, and sometimes if
I’m driving home and taking turns and there are groceries in the back….well,
sometimes those groceries shift. At
which point I end up hollering, “Hang on, everybody!” And I can’t help it. If I have a passenger who knows about this
urge of mine, then yes, they laugh at me.
Grocery shopping is a trying time for me. People would do well to get out of my way,
and usually they just don’t put in the effort to do so. Lazy swine.
One day, in the midst of such unfortunate circumstances, I found a
strange source of amusement. I was
enduring the bad luck of having to deal with not only poky customers, but a
wheel on my cart that had somehow been slightly flattened in one spot, so that
it clunked with every turn. One might
ask why I didn’t just trade that cart in for a better one. Well, that cart was the one I had traded in for one that leaned
heavily to the port side, and I didn’t have all day to be switching carts out
for better ones, so I stuck with the clunky cart.
I was trucking right along, making good time
toward the grocery section despite my clunking, when a woman who apparently had
all day to shop pulled out in front of me and proceeded along at a snail’s
pace. At first I was annoyed, until I
realized that the rhythm of my cart wheel’s clunking was heaping effective guilt
upon her. The sound of my approach was
as follows: “Clunk clunk clunk clunk
clunk—clunk…clunk….clunk…….clunk………clunk…….….”
That woman knew what she had done, and my cart wheel had informed her of
her wrongdoing. Had informed everyone in
the near vicinity of her wrongdoing. She
hung her head in shame and I veered off into the cookie aisle, wholly
satisfied.
Listen shoppers, if you’re
not going to shop at high speeds, then for pete’s sake, move over and let
others pass. It’s not a complex
notion. Alas, I cannot criticize with a
clear conscience, because let’s face it, I do dumb stuff. The other day I came home from buying
groceries, filled my arms with bags, approached the door, and held up the
key. The van key. What did I think I was I going to do, start
the house?
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