I'm Pretty Sure It's Not You...
Yep. I'm pretty sure it's not you...
Oh, I'm sorry.
I have a nasty habit of responding to rhetorical questions, and when the drunk twentysomething in the train loudly proclaimed "Who's the best daddy in the world?" while he jammed his pinky up his napping four year-old daughter's nostril (and his buddy giggled like a schoolgirl), I felt compelled to answer.
To myself at least.
I know, I know, I took the easy way out. But our modern day Ward Cleaver in a Giants Jersey was already threatening to pop someone in the jaw for shooting him a dirty look when he tripped wheeling his one-year old daughter onto the train and screamed at his four year old (as well as his buddy Joey) to, and I quote, "hurry the fuck up."
Where was I? I was headed into the office on a Saturday and saw no point making a bad day worse by getting into a "you talking to me?"-off after suggesting that this guy just might not end up on the podium at the SuperDad Winternationals.
Plus, I was like three doors down from them.
But seriously, when you are so drunk you can hardly stand up, The Man has decided that He has the right to take your keys - hell, even the whole car in some states - away from you.
As all Good Americans know, our Dear Leader decided long ago that if he was going to start putting his Grand Vision for Freedom into action, he was going to have to publicly declare that he would never drink again (despite the occasional Washington rumors to the contrary).
Somehow, though, not only are We The People not allowed to shoot this guy a dirty look, and not only did he walk idly by our fine Boys in Blue stumbling drunk and dragging his crying daughter with nary a second glance, but we all had to sit there and listen to him proclaim that he was the World Champion of Fatherhood.
Now I know it's a little hypocritical to go on this mini-rant about drunks on a site called Drink at Work, but I'm pretty sure even the most amoral of my compatriots here aren't sneaking off to day care centers with plastic bottles of Zhenka vodka stashed under their trenchcoats to help the centers' adults get through another episode of The Wiggles...
I mean, I've spent the better part of the last decade fucking up, fixing things, and then fucking up at something else. I've wandered the earth, from bar to tavern to pub to delightful natural wilderness, back to bar, unsure of what I wanted to do with myself.
I know, I've been a mess.
Guess what? I've waited to have kids, until I felt like I had my shit together, until I felt like I was actually in a place where it made sense to take some responsibility...
Apparently, based on what I saw today, I was really over-thinking things.
Oh, I still don't want kids right now.
And I definitely think that it sucks that we live in a world where you need two references, a credit check and two and a half months' rent in advance to get 300 square feet of drafty apartment - but only one "happy accident" with an off-brand rubber to become the patriarch of a new, not-so-noble line.
But this guy's self-declared title came at an important time for me.
Yep, you guessed it - the day after I saw the National Arm-Wrestling Championships on ESPN2.
Those events, clearly meshed by the Fates themselves for my benefit, made me realize that while neither he nor I deserve the Best Dad In The World title (both for obvious reasons) and my unfortunate "I can just punch through the door and unlock it from the other side!" wrist injury twelve years ago forever ended my competitive hand grappling career, there just has to be some obscure championship I could win.
I can feel it!
Oh, and don't drink and drive.
Oh, I'm sorry.
I have a nasty habit of responding to rhetorical questions, and when the drunk twentysomething in the train loudly proclaimed "Who's the best daddy in the world?" while he jammed his pinky up his napping four year-old daughter's nostril (and his buddy giggled like a schoolgirl), I felt compelled to answer.
To myself at least.
I know, I know, I took the easy way out. But our modern day Ward Cleaver in a Giants Jersey was already threatening to pop someone in the jaw for shooting him a dirty look when he tripped wheeling his one-year old daughter onto the train and screamed at his four year old (as well as his buddy Joey) to, and I quote, "hurry the fuck up."
Where was I? I was headed into the office on a Saturday and saw no point making a bad day worse by getting into a "you talking to me?"-off after suggesting that this guy just might not end up on the podium at the SuperDad Winternationals.
Plus, I was like three doors down from them.
But seriously, when you are so drunk you can hardly stand up, The Man has decided that He has the right to take your keys - hell, even the whole car in some states - away from you.
As all Good Americans know, our Dear Leader decided long ago that if he was going to start putting his Grand Vision for Freedom into action, he was going to have to publicly declare that he would never drink again (despite the occasional Washington rumors to the contrary).
Somehow, though, not only are We The People not allowed to shoot this guy a dirty look, and not only did he walk idly by our fine Boys in Blue stumbling drunk and dragging his crying daughter with nary a second glance, but we all had to sit there and listen to him proclaim that he was the World Champion of Fatherhood.
Now I know it's a little hypocritical to go on this mini-rant about drunks on a site called Drink at Work, but I'm pretty sure even the most amoral of my compatriots here aren't sneaking off to day care centers with plastic bottles of Zhenka vodka stashed under their trenchcoats to help the centers' adults get through another episode of The Wiggles...
I mean, I've spent the better part of the last decade fucking up, fixing things, and then fucking up at something else. I've wandered the earth, from bar to tavern to pub to delightful natural wilderness, back to bar, unsure of what I wanted to do with myself.
I know, I've been a mess.
Guess what? I've waited to have kids, until I felt like I had my shit together, until I felt like I was actually in a place where it made sense to take some responsibility...
Apparently, based on what I saw today, I was really over-thinking things.
Oh, I still don't want kids right now.
And I definitely think that it sucks that we live in a world where you need two references, a credit check and two and a half months' rent in advance to get 300 square feet of drafty apartment - but only one "happy accident" with an off-brand rubber to become the patriarch of a new, not-so-noble line.
But this guy's self-declared title came at an important time for me.
Yep, you guessed it - the day after I saw the National Arm-Wrestling Championships on ESPN2.
Those events, clearly meshed by the Fates themselves for my benefit, made me realize that while neither he nor I deserve the Best Dad In The World title (both for obvious reasons) and my unfortunate "I can just punch through the door and unlock it from the other side!" wrist injury twelve years ago forever ended my competitive hand grappling career, there just has to be some obscure championship I could win.
I can feel it!
Oh, and don't drink and drive.
posted by Matt at 3:08 PM
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