Others and the Idiots they are
This week, A Discouraging Word comes to you from the shores of Hilton Head Island, SC, where Hot Wife and I are on a mini-vacation at her parents’ time-share. It’s hot, sunny and by the grace of God, there’s an outdoor bar within walking distance.
In our 1 1/2 days here, I’ve started to notice others. By their Hawaiian print golf shirts, khaki shorts and pasty white complexion, I can only deduce that they, too, are on vacation. I’ve also noticed others being complete idiots on several occasions. They are clearly on holiday, so why the total lack of regard for the human race? Why the complete and utter loss of fashion sense? Is part of going on vacation in America to leave all cognitive thought on the kitchen counter?
Other man: “Honey, where’s my brain?”
Other woman: “I don’t know dear… what does it look like?”
Other man: “Well, it’s… I… I’m not sure…”
Other woman: “It’ll turn up, dear. Let’s go pay $28.95 for lobster and complain we don’t get enough bread…”
Other man: “Yes let’s…”
Every 5 seconds, this conversation happens somewhere in America.
If you’ve been lucky enough to read my other columns, you’ve figured out I’m not a big fan of others. It’s bizarre really… My very career choice hinges on how others perceive me and my work, yet I could be very content if the earth’s population consisted of a few close friends, my wife, plenty of dogs and the occasional hot-chick passer by. All the others just plain annoy me.
I don’t even need to have contact with others to get annoyed. Just yesterday, on the crammed flight down here, another woman, two rows up from me was reading the ingredients and nutritional information on her BOTTLED WATER. It wasn’t a passing glance, either. This was some intense studying going on in 29D. I wanted to stand up and ask, “Are you on some sort of diet that counts zeros, ma’am?” What could she possibly be looking for in her exploration of nothing? Was there some sort of silent sigh of relief? Was she all, “ Ingredients: pure spring water...whew no penicillin… Dodged a bullet there, I’m allergic to penicillin.” When she reached the bottom of the label was her thought, “Bottled in Maine… hmm… maybe I’ll have lobster when I land… I’ll need to ask for extra bread, though…those young waiters never give you enough bread…”
IT”S WATER, LADY! You drink it, you pee. End of story.
The worst place to deal with others is at the bar. This most sacred of places for me can be ruined in seconds by another’s lunacy. Like I said, the Gods gave us an outdoor bar within stumbling distance of where we’re staying. Yesterday, after some intense window shopping in the hot sun, we plopped into a couple of wobbly, wicker chairs at the bar and sipped on some moderately priced frozen cocktails. The bar’s in the middle of a crowded outdoor café, looking at out at the harbor so, Hot Wife and I turned with our drinks to gaze past the sea of Hilton Head T-shirt clad others and enjoy the water views.
Then… The idiot.
A red-faced southern man, drunk and with a good amount of inertia, plows into a nearby trash can and then between Hot Wife and I. He nearly spills our drinks and knocks our basket of Hush Puppies to the ground. No apology, not even the slightest glance of regard for our space. With a mutual eye roll, Hot Wife and I reluctantly move our chairs to the right of the train wreck. The good ol’ boy finally gets the attention of our young barkeep:
Idiot: “Hey…boy!”
Barkeep: “Yes sir, what can I get for you?”
Idiot: “My wife… and my daughter.. well they went and they ordered yer clams…”
Barkeep: “Okay…”
Idiot: “Well, they’re all dried up! Damn near inedible. Now… Now…I’m a very wealthy individual, and I bring quite a lot of cash to this here island…”
Barkeep: “…”
Idiot: “I want to know how you intend to fix the problem of my lovely wife and daughter’s dried clams…”
A laugh ripples through the bar, the idiot looks up with a confused, angry and non-focused face. After a much too long look at everyone staring at him, he turns back to the now grinning employee:
Idiot: “Something funny, boy?”
Barkeep: “No sir, not at all…”
By this point, idiot seemed to have forgotten his wife and daughters’ “problem”, so the bartender quickly pulled three tropical daquiries, that he was making for someone else, handed it to the man and with one statement, “On the house, sir…” the idiot stumbled back to his table in the sun. He spilled two of the comped drinks on his way.
Sadly, the story doesn’t end there. After about a half an hour, after everyone ended their whispering and laughing about the idiot, he came back. This time, he had wife and daughter in tow. The wife was also clearly soused and the daughter, visibly embarrassed. They had paid their check and were on the way out. The wife pushed herself up onto the bar, making her large chest quite visible to all and slurred one thing, sort of in the general direction of the staff: “My daquiries were watered down and my clams very dry.” Without hesitation, an equally drunk idiot patron with a red sox hat and shirtless beer belly blurts out, “Sounds like a personal problem.” There was another group laugh and the drunk family Robinson stormed off into the fray.
My reaction to these incidents always intrigue me. I always want to side with the help. In fact, I try to distance myself from others at the bar, as if to say, “I’m not with these people… I’m with you, the cool, persecuted local. Let’s be friends.” Maybe this comes from my years of working in the service industry. Somehow, I think I can relate. Or, maybe it’s the fact that I get so annoyed with same others that the employees seem annoyed with, I want be in the cool, not annoying crowd.
That’s really all this comes down to, I guess. I want to be in the cool crowd. I want to be the rock star, the guy everyone wonders who that is hanging with the employees. When in fact, I’M really just that other idiot that gets made fun of.
In our 1 1/2 days here, I’ve started to notice others. By their Hawaiian print golf shirts, khaki shorts and pasty white complexion, I can only deduce that they, too, are on vacation. I’ve also noticed others being complete idiots on several occasions. They are clearly on holiday, so why the total lack of regard for the human race? Why the complete and utter loss of fashion sense? Is part of going on vacation in America to leave all cognitive thought on the kitchen counter?
Other man: “Honey, where’s my brain?”
Other woman: “I don’t know dear… what does it look like?”
Other man: “Well, it’s… I… I’m not sure…”
Other woman: “It’ll turn up, dear. Let’s go pay $28.95 for lobster and complain we don’t get enough bread…”
Other man: “Yes let’s…”
Every 5 seconds, this conversation happens somewhere in America.
If you’ve been lucky enough to read my other columns, you’ve figured out I’m not a big fan of others. It’s bizarre really… My very career choice hinges on how others perceive me and my work, yet I could be very content if the earth’s population consisted of a few close friends, my wife, plenty of dogs and the occasional hot-chick passer by. All the others just plain annoy me.
I don’t even need to have contact with others to get annoyed. Just yesterday, on the crammed flight down here, another woman, two rows up from me was reading the ingredients and nutritional information on her BOTTLED WATER. It wasn’t a passing glance, either. This was some intense studying going on in 29D. I wanted to stand up and ask, “Are you on some sort of diet that counts zeros, ma’am?” What could she possibly be looking for in her exploration of nothing? Was there some sort of silent sigh of relief? Was she all, “ Ingredients: pure spring water...whew no penicillin… Dodged a bullet there, I’m allergic to penicillin.” When she reached the bottom of the label was her thought, “Bottled in Maine… hmm… maybe I’ll have lobster when I land… I’ll need to ask for extra bread, though…those young waiters never give you enough bread…”
IT”S WATER, LADY! You drink it, you pee. End of story.
The worst place to deal with others is at the bar. This most sacred of places for me can be ruined in seconds by another’s lunacy. Like I said, the Gods gave us an outdoor bar within stumbling distance of where we’re staying. Yesterday, after some intense window shopping in the hot sun, we plopped into a couple of wobbly, wicker chairs at the bar and sipped on some moderately priced frozen cocktails. The bar’s in the middle of a crowded outdoor café, looking at out at the harbor so, Hot Wife and I turned with our drinks to gaze past the sea of Hilton Head T-shirt clad others and enjoy the water views.
Then… The idiot.
A red-faced southern man, drunk and with a good amount of inertia, plows into a nearby trash can and then between Hot Wife and I. He nearly spills our drinks and knocks our basket of Hush Puppies to the ground. No apology, not even the slightest glance of regard for our space. With a mutual eye roll, Hot Wife and I reluctantly move our chairs to the right of the train wreck. The good ol’ boy finally gets the attention of our young barkeep:
Idiot: “Hey…boy!”
Barkeep: “Yes sir, what can I get for you?”
Idiot: “My wife… and my daughter.. well they went and they ordered yer clams…”
Barkeep: “Okay…”
Idiot: “Well, they’re all dried up! Damn near inedible. Now… Now…I’m a very wealthy individual, and I bring quite a lot of cash to this here island…”
Barkeep: “…”
Idiot: “I want to know how you intend to fix the problem of my lovely wife and daughter’s dried clams…”
A laugh ripples through the bar, the idiot looks up with a confused, angry and non-focused face. After a much too long look at everyone staring at him, he turns back to the now grinning employee:
Idiot: “Something funny, boy?”
Barkeep: “No sir, not at all…”
By this point, idiot seemed to have forgotten his wife and daughters’ “problem”, so the bartender quickly pulled three tropical daquiries, that he was making for someone else, handed it to the man and with one statement, “On the house, sir…” the idiot stumbled back to his table in the sun. He spilled two of the comped drinks on his way.
Sadly, the story doesn’t end there. After about a half an hour, after everyone ended their whispering and laughing about the idiot, he came back. This time, he had wife and daughter in tow. The wife was also clearly soused and the daughter, visibly embarrassed. They had paid their check and were on the way out. The wife pushed herself up onto the bar, making her large chest quite visible to all and slurred one thing, sort of in the general direction of the staff: “My daquiries were watered down and my clams very dry.” Without hesitation, an equally drunk idiot patron with a red sox hat and shirtless beer belly blurts out, “Sounds like a personal problem.” There was another group laugh and the drunk family Robinson stormed off into the fray.
My reaction to these incidents always intrigue me. I always want to side with the help. In fact, I try to distance myself from others at the bar, as if to say, “I’m not with these people… I’m with you, the cool, persecuted local. Let’s be friends.” Maybe this comes from my years of working in the service industry. Somehow, I think I can relate. Or, maybe it’s the fact that I get so annoyed with same others that the employees seem annoyed with, I want be in the cool, not annoying crowd.
That’s really all this comes down to, I guess. I want to be in the cool crowd. I want to be the rock star, the guy everyone wonders who that is hanging with the employees. When in fact, I’M really just that other idiot that gets made fun of.