They called her Clean-Fingers McGee. She never missed. They said you could bet your life on her fingers being clean. Come to think of it, if you ever shook hands with her, that’s pretty much what you were doing.
Although not generally known, McGee had a secret. When using public restrooms, she would pull up her pants before exiting the stall and making her way across the tile of questionable cleanliness to the sinks to wash her hands.
You see, McGee was deathly afraid of shuffling across public restrooms with pants around her ankles. This condition, which is more common than most people think, is known as talocruralpantaloonlocophobia.
Curious, we decided to conduct a study.
One thing we know for sure: When it comes to restroom habits the concept of sequencing is of vital importance. Fact: Persons exiting restroom stalls with their pants up and belts secured are doing it wrong.
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My wife and I were out to dinner and having our usually jolly time. Things were clicking. My jokes were firing on all cylinders. I was witty. Our repartee was fast and furious on a highly intellectual level.
As we exited the restaurant I was feeling pretty good. (It could happen.) I saw four people behind us. They were far enough back that I could have let the door close and no slight would have been perceived. I decided to be nice and waited to hold open the door.
They came through single file. As she passed, the first person actually said, I kid you not, “Thank you.”
Wow. It’s a modern day miracle. I’m now that much closer to sainthood. I was momentarily stunned and at a loss for words. As quickly as I could I responded with, “You’re welcome.”
Oops. By then the third person was already walking by. She heard what I said and turned and looked at me. With dagger eyes. Of hatred and death.
Ah. She thought I was talking to her and assumed I was being snotty because she decidedly did not bother to say thank you.
Good intentions: 0. Crass misunderstandings: 1.
Bad form, Mr. Smee. Bad form.
And now some politeness tips from yours truly.
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Tonight, on a very special edition of Sunday Regurgitation (self-reblog) we go all the way back to 2009 when this blog was in its infancy. That means diapers. And, once upon a time, I wrote about another kind of especially nefarious shit known as “you gotta love what you do.”
I thought it was brilliant. I thought it was prophetic. I think it contained words.
Fast-forward to today and a thought-provoking piece I found on Slate.com entitled, “In the Name of Love.” Among other things, it makes this bold claim:
Elites embrace the “do what you love” mantra. But it devalues work and hurts workers.
That sound you just heard was my heart leaping in my chest. Over four years later and someone is preaching to my choir. Yessss!
I love it when the rest of the world catches up.
Today’s offering features my original post and the recently found bit of goodness. Sorry, I’m fresh out of palette cleansers.
Self Reblog: Thoughts on “loving what you do”
Sweet Kismet: Slate.com – In the Name of Love
Sure, football is stupid, only a game, and something certain so-called manly men do to squeeze precious nectar of testosterone out of their nutsacks like an orange on a juicer.
In other words, you have come to the right place for inciteful NFL postseason analysis.
It’s the playoffs.
Those of you who caught my microblog on Twitter of the San Diego Chargers vs. The Denver Broncos already know what to expect. I’m going to hit it and I’m going to hit it hard.
The San Diego Chargers could have beaten Peyton Manning and The Denver Broncos in Mile High Stadium if they had followed my carefully developed strategy. Since Peyton’s offense was too powerful, my advice was to not field a defense and allow the Broncos to score at will. (This is essentially what happened.) Then, when on offense, the Chargers could break out their secret weapon and run the fake punt on first down. Every first down of the game.
–Tom B. Taker
Alas, the Chargers failed to heed my advice, so I’m forced to offer my predictions for the rest of the playoffs.
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