Especially you, Rocksteady.
In other news, I just perhaps might throw a red stapler (LTT) at one more person who asks if I have lost weight yet again. I know that I’ve blogged about this in the past, but honestly, why is the non-existent fluctuation of my weight something that seems to be a continually running topic in your own minds?
The Glee President: “Dang Brock, you’re really thinning out. You losing weight at all?”
Swamp Thing: “Thinning out? What kind of a behemoth was I before? I’ve been the same weight for five years straight, and you think I’m thinning out?”
The Glee President: “I’m just sayin’, you’re lookin’ pretty good.”
Swamp Thing: “I don’t know whether to say thanks, or to worry if your wife will get jealous from those comments.”
The fact that this came from a guy made the unpleasant inquiry a little bit more awkward. And maybe I am losing weight. How the heck should I know? Guys don’t weigh themselves do they? Maybe my diet of Mt. Dew and sunflower seeds for the past two weeks straight is having an influence on my poundage. Either way, please don’t text me and attempt a shallow compliment that my love handles are losing their volume. I might go a little bit Dwight Schrute on you.
Whew! Now that I’ve got that off my chest, I will address the topic at hand that may put a little chuckle across your face. Last week while I was touring central Utah as a traveling collegiate salesman, I made a pit stop in Richfield, UT and moseyed on over to the Wal-Mart on the outskirts of town. Which I may add is the town’s most happening and popular joint. All the “cool” people shop at Wal-Mart in Richfield.
As I walked through the squeaking glass doors around 11:45 at night, I noticed a fragile old man plopped down in a shaggy brown wheelchair at the entrance. He had on the classic blue vest and smiley face pin that all senior citizens wear when they take on the role of “awkward entrance folks”. This chap was so far ahead in his age though that I don’t even think he knew anyone was even in Wal-Mart to begin with. Heck, he probably didn’t even know that HE was in Wal-Mart.
I felt sympathetic for “Donald” as I bought a package of socks and walked back into the night. And as I hit the road for another couple of hours, my inception-esque thought pattern swirled to the speculation of who and what I will be like when my name is Donald and I’m half-consciously planted in a seat with wheels, making $3.75 an hour to forcefully put a smile on my face. Keep in mind I don’t even think I’m going to make it that far in my life. But that’s a completely different blog post at a later date.
There are all stereotypes as to the personalities of “old people”. There is the sweet Grandpa that always has a drawer in his office full of hidden candy that he “secretly” gives away to his adoring grandkids whenever they pop in for a visit. There is the imitation of Donald who is a jumbled paragraph away from being locked up in the room with the white padded walls and the hug myself jacket. There is also the cranky old geezer who’s always yelling at the kids from down the street to get off his lawn, a combination of the Dad from “That 70’s Show” and Clint Eastwood’s character from Gran Torino.
I think I’ll be that last specimen. An ornery pucker with a scowl splashed across my face that scares Medusa away from my own cave. I think I’m working on being that kind of a guy already. I never share my candy. I always hand out deathly cold glares to random people. I negatively and sarcastically toss out comments to innocent puppies who I think are trying to pick a fight with me with their semi-serious yips.
Yeah, that’s me, in a nutshell. You’ll either love me or hate me as a disheveled Donald who stands at the entrance to Wal-Mart and glares at the customers with a demeanor that will make them one day write their own blogposts about the crazy lunatic who failed to greet them when they went in to buy their own package of socks in Richfield.
I hope by that point in life someone doesn’t walk up to me and ask, “Hey, have you lost weight?”
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