Category: Funny Business

There was a meme a while back that proclaimed, “Dear Naps, I’m sorry I was mean to you when I was a kid,” or something to that effect.

Apparently, there were and are children who don’t like going to sleep early in the day. I must confess that I was not one of those kids.

Sleep – and any opportunity to sleep – has always been a real treat for me. Even if an adult was trying to trick me into it, I played along.

For example, I distinctly remember the ruse Mrs. Baker, my first grade teacher, used to prompt naptime. After we’d come in from recess, she’d say, “Children, put your heads down on your desk and close your eyes … we’re going to play the quiet game.”

I saw right through that scam. I’m sure there were some low information first graders who thought the goal was to merely sit in silence, but I knew Ms. B wanted us to cat nap (even though no cats were involved).

I never told my nice teacher this, but in my mind the “quiet game” was the “snooze and drool” game – and it was a game I played to win. Within seconds of her command, my oversized noggin was nudged against my folded arms and I was drifting away. Before you knew it, I was dreaming about eating paste with Dick, Jane, Sally, Spot, Puff and other characters from the Dick and Jane Literary Universe.

Sadly, sanctioned naps were phased out by the time I was in third grade, and that made me sad. I was always down for the quiet game and felt it should have a permanent role in my continuing education. And by sitting in the back of the classroom for the balance of my grammar school years, it did.

Fortunately, I even managed to make time for naps in high school and frankly, it was easy to do. If you played a sport, physical education was replaced by something called “Athletics.” Basically, if you were on a varsity team, you were exempt from P.E. classes so you were given a free period.

I did not waste mine.

I played soccer and ran cross country, and practices were always after school. I felt the best way to prepare for those workouts was to sleep during Athletics.

If you don’t think the top bleacher of a high school gym is a good place to nap, well, you’re wrong. The sound of bouncing basketballs and whistles is quite soothing once you get used to it.

And as for college, many of my elective courses were simply fronts for naps.

I took Music Appreciation 101 and was told by the instructor on the first day that the tests would be based strictly on material from the textbook. Classes, on the other hand, were for listening and enjoying various musical genres. So, I read the book at night, and used the class to catch some Zzzzzzs.

I’ve often wondered what music was played during that class.

Not even my social life was immune to naps.

Once – following a romantic dinner at Wanda’s House of Lard – my date wanted to see A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors.

I’d already lost interest in the franchise, so this was a perfect title for what I had planned over its 96-minute run time.

The hope was I could convince her that I was closing my eyes because Freddy Krueger scared me, but she didn’t buy it.

We never went out again, and I can only assume it was due to my loud snoring during a pivotal Heather Langenkamp scene.

Now, jump to the present. I’m retired, and that means I don’t have to give a reason for taking a nap. I can do it anywhere at any time and you’re all powerless to stop me. If I choose to flop down in the middle of the spice aisle at my local supermarket, you should step over me and mind your own business.

When at home, naps usually take place right after lunch. Two dogs and two cats will pile up with me, and more often than not, the nap lasts the full 90-minute cycle.

The hour and a half naps are great because they’re like a fun-size regular sleep. I also apparently burrow my head in my pillow because when I arise my hair calls to mind Professor Irwin Corey (put that name in your search engine, kids).

And the best part of taking naps now is that sometimes, I don’t even need them … I just take them for sport. While there are those among us who think sleep is wasting valuable time, to me it is valuable time – and time well spent.

So, if I were to make a meme, it’d probably read, “Dear Naps, thank you for always being there for me.” Not great, but perhaps I can come up with something a bit catchier.

Let me sleep on it.

Things are different once you get old.

Everything hurts a little, and some things tend to hurt a lot. I consider myself in pretty good shape, but Father Time is gonna make sure I grind a gear now and then.

For example, if I say “I just smoked a joint,” what I mean is I tweaked my knee when I tried to stand up.

“What happened Scott? Why are you cursing and screaming?”

“Don’t mind me … I smoked a joint. Now I’m gonna try to claw my way back onto the futon. Just make sure the fire department and hospice are on standby.”

Aging also means that younger people, although well-meaning, can be patronizing. I get called darlin’ and honey a lot when I’m at restaurants. Not by other customers – that would be weird – but by the female waitstaff.

“Would you like another cup of coffee, darlin’?”

“Honey, are you sure you don’t want a dollop of butter with that baked potato?”

It doesn’t really bother me, I just don’t feel like a darlin’ or honey. I’m more of a Mean Motor Scooter.

First time a server tops off my water and calls me a Mean Motor Scooter, that standard tip is gonna get upgraded by at least a quarter.

And in a cruel twist, I no longer get carded when buying alcohol. I used to take it as a compliment when I’d get asked for my ID … it meant they thought I looked young. Now either nothing is said as the bottle is bagged or I hear things like, “What was it like before they invented liquor?”

And of course, doctor visits increase with age, which leads me to today’s column.

As I said, I’m fortunate in that I’m relatively healthy, but once you start carrying around a Medicare card it’s important to get various components of your engine checked frequently.

And trips to the doctor – whether it’s the general practitioner, urologist, dermatologist or witch – means hanging with the hoi polloi in waiting rooms.

This is not my favorite activity.

As my trips around the sun keep adding up, my patience tends to wear thin with inconsiderate humanoids.

Recently, I went in for my annual physical. The appointment was at 9 a.m. but I was checked in by 8:15; sometimes if I get there early, I’m taken back early.

This was a bad idea.

Two seats down a patient was playing a game on his phone, and he was sure that the rest of us wanted to hear it.

I don’t know what the game was, but the sound effects can be best described as bean farts followed by a high-pitched voice shouting “WOW!” a lot.

Fortunately for our game player, he was called back before I could assault him.

Then there was Dwayne. I know his name is Dwayne because he was on speakerphone with his wife.

Her name’s Tess.

“Did you make it there OK, Dwayne?

“Sure did, Tess. Had to park on the sixth level. Then I took the elevator down to the second level where they have the skywalk. Then I had to walk what seemed like a mile to get to another elevator so I could go up to four. I had to stop and pee first, though.”

“You want fish?”

“What?”

“You want fish for supper?”

“What kind of fish?”

“The kind of fish you eat.”

“I reckon.”

“You want bacon?”

“No, I said I RECKON.”

“Oh, I thought you said bacon.”

“Look, I’m gonna go … there’s a fellow coming at me with an aluminum bat.”

That last part didn’t happen but only because I left the bat in my car.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the people who don’t know how to carry on quiet conversations about sensitive topics.

I think I speak for everyone in the waiting room when I say we have no interest in your visit to the proctologist. The only times I want to hear the words “rectum” and anus” are in a limerick.

I used to be able to ignore such things, but then again, I didn’t spend as much time in waiting rooms back in the day when I was a whipper-snapper.

So, going forward, I need to figure out some way to deal with this. I have earbuds, but I’m afraid if I use them, I’ll miss hearing my name called.

I also have a shovel, but if I bring it with me and start bashing folks in the side of the face, the police might get involved.

Actually, I should try to be a better person. Even those who say “anus” and “rectum” aloud are fighting battles I know nothing about.

Perhaps if I took the time to listen to these folks, who knows?

Maybe I’d become friends with them.

Not Dwayne, though. His house probably smells like fish.

High school was a long time ago for me, so many of the things that happened during those four years have faded from memory.

I still recall scoring my first goal in a soccer match (left-footed, no less … meaning it was an accident), losing my one and only after school fight (pugilism was never my strong suit, nor was being particularly strong), and renting a gray tuxedo for my senior prom (I guess I wanted to look like David Byrne from Talking Heads. Psycho Killer was a song that reallyspoke to me).

What stands out more than anything, though, was learning to be an ACE driver.

Yep, as part of my school’s drivers education program, we had to watch an old 1960s-era film about safe driving. The spokesperson, if I remember correctly, was Junior Miss Teen America USA Ingénue (or something along those lines), and she urged me to be an ACE driver – alert, courteous and educated.

And you know what?

Junior Miss Teen America USA Ingénue (or something along those lines) had a huge impact on my life, because I never forgot that acronym and the lessons that it taught. It has been my mantra ever since I got behind the wheel of my dad’s 1972 Gran Torino and thought, “Man, I hope Clint Eastwood makes a movie about this car in 2008.”

Alert? Darn tootin I’m alert … I’m “six cups of Italian Roast coffee and half a box of Vivarin plus I think I just saw a snake” alert when I’m driving.

I’m constantly watching for kids playing in the street, animals walking in the street, naked old people wandering onto the street, and super-smart monkeys who’ve escaped from a lab and join the kids, animals and naked old people on the street in an effort to give rise to a planet of the apes.

Courteous?

That’s me, baby. To a fault.

If I see you creeping up to a four-way stop, I’ll creep even slower because I’m a giver and I want you to be first and go first. And if we get to our stop sign destinations at the same time, I’ll wave you through.

And if you’re courteous, you might, in turn, try to wave me through.

But then I’ll frantically wave you through again and in an effort to avoid conflict and further eye contact, shift into reverse and start driving backwards, hoping there are no kids, critters, nude oldsters and talking apes back there.

Educated?

Absolutely. I even made the dean’s list a couple of times in college (although, admittedly, I don’t know what the list was for and how he planned to use it).

Of course, being an ACE driver means being educated in the ways of the Department of Motor Vehicles. To that end, here’s  a sample question on a DMV Written Driving Test:

Using a cell phone while operating a motor vehicle is considered a distraction because: (A) It causes the driver to be concerned about the cost of the call; (B) It occupies the driver’s hands, eyes, and mind; or (C) It is an activity that draws the attention of other drivers.

The correct answer (spoiler alert) is B. When watching a video of funny cats on your phone, you should always pull over because your hands, eyes, and mind should be on cats and only cats. They’re a hoot.

Being an ACE driver has served me well during my 48 years of operating a motor vehicle. During that time I have gotten only two speeding tickets (both in South Carolina, where the po-pos didn’t approve of me going 77 in a 70-mile zone), and one citation for an expired tag (I just plain forgot one year).

And how, you ask, have I been able to keep such a (relatively) clean record?

All because of that cheesy film I watched during my sophomore year in high school.

So, I’d like to publicly thank Junior Miss Teen America USA Ingénue (or something along those lines) for the words of wisdom she shared – wisdom I’ve carried with me spanning five decades now.

Later today when I head to the grocery store to replenish my supply of fruits and vegetables, I’ll be alert (looking both ways to make sure smart monkeys aren’t in my path); courteous (if we’re both headed for the parking spot right next to the store entrance, I’ll let you have it unless I’m in a hurry and/or don’t like your looks); and educated (I’ll keep my college diploma in the passenger’s seat and show it to you upon request).

Happy motoring, fellow ACE drivers. I look forward to seeing you at the next four-way stop.