Not so much a humor piece as an astoundingly insightful social critique of man's post-modern condition.
There are two things that I’ve been noticing more and more lately: little kids falling down, and old men getting angry over little things. There’s no extended metaphor there; in the past couple weeks I have literally seen more little kids bap as they’re toddling along and more grumpy old men become enraged over some little incident than I think I’ve ever seen in my life. I don’t know if these things have always been happening with the frequency I’ve been noticing recently and I just haven’t been paying attention, or if weird coincidences have just led these things to happen when I’m around. Either way, for the past week, almost every day, I have seen either a small child bite it or an old guy yelling at someone. It started last Friday.
I was sitting in my car with some friends making a phone call, deciding whether to eat at Gordo’s or Juan’s Place, when I happened to look over and notice two little girls riding their little pink bikes side by side. If I were a person of a more sentimental temperament, the scene would have undoubtedly struck me as 'cute', and I probably would have made some noise indicating I thought this was so, and would promptly be slapped by my companions. Fortunately, I enjoy things like rare steak, ATV's, and kick-boxing, so I defiantly furrowed my eyebrows at these two little girls, and continued to talk on my phone. However, I couldn't help but notice these two kids, traveling parallel to one another, were very gradually decreasing the space between themselves. At a point, it became clear that these children's destination was not going to be the end of the street (where one of their mother's was waiting), but rather right into one another, a catastrophic crash that would end in tears, runny noses, and the inevitable boo-boo.
Guess what happened next.
Yes, that's right. (In the case that you guessed something other than that these little girls totally smashed into each other in such a rude fashion, please stop reading this and go get yourself a vasectomy.)
So after the two little girls had careened into one another, I started to feel bad because the mother tending to these small children's wounds was glaring at me. While I maintain I couldn't help bursting out in laughter, I realized pointing and shouting was a little excessive, so—crippled by angry-mother guilt — we peeled out and went to Juan’s Place. After enjoying two huge, eat-with-a-fork tacos (If you haven’t had Juan’s Place tacos, go there and get that as soon as you finish this story. Juan’s Place is located at 941 Carleton, cross street on 8th, about three blocks below San Pablo. It is delicious. Trust me.) I went to get in my car, and I noticed an old guy—liverspotted bald head, turkey-neck skin, teeth so foul and yellow they looked like pieces of gnarled wood—shouting at a woman because she took his parking space. He ultimately reduced her to tears. From what I could deduce, it was just because she parked in a spot reserved for him. Isn’t that a little excessive? I thought it was, but I left without comment, because this girl had said she’d give me a sensual foot massage and my feet had been aching all day, and I didn’t want to be late for that.
So, okay, I saw those two things. No big deal, right? Sometimes you see things like that. Sometimes things like that happen. But the next day, I was walking down the street, and some toddler came merrily running up beside me, tripped over something, and just fell flat on his face. I'm talking, BAM!, right on his face. I almost wanted to say something to someone about concussions because this kid ate it so hard. But, remembering my angry-mother guilt, I quickly ran away to hide a smile from the fast-approaching father, who subsequently rescued the little boy with a slick wave of baby-talk. Later that day, I went to a party. It was pretty cool, I guess, just the regular party atmosphere; girls drinking too much and getting back at their fathers by making out with a whole gang of people, guys drinking too much and shouting like they were at a football game. I was schmoozing it up in the kitchen, listening to this little brunette tell me why periwinkle was her favorite color, when the dad of whoevers house it was started flipping out coz someone touched (and I literally mean ‘touched’, like, ‘hey, i’m-gonna-tap-you-lightly-on-the-shoulder-to-get-your-attention’ kind of touched) his bbq out back. The dad threatened to call the cops on the kid, who promptly looked at his shoes and, in true rebellious-youth fashion, left the party without incident. Isn't that extreme, though; calling the police for something as minor as that? I thought so, but I was busy stealing carrot sticks from the fridge so I didn’t say anything.
Okay. Two days in a row. Coincidence, right? Maybe, except that it kept happening. I couldn’t go anywhere without some five year old tumbling down some stairs, or some old man get totally belligerent because a car didn’t slow down for him as he tried to cross the street on a red light. What was going on here? I started to think about these things I kept noticing in a deeper context than just coincidences.
Here’s where I get all Bill Cosby on everyone and make a point (just to ensure it's not too heavy: poop!). What I realized is that I was noticing one of the themes of life play itself out in an obvious way. When we’re young, we fall down a lot, and we learn from our falls, and we get back up. When we’re older, we’ve fallen down so many times that we feel like we’ve paid our dues, and we get upset when everything doesn’t go along just as we’d like it to. I can apply that to my own life. I’ve fallen down so much, as a friend, as a son, as a lover— in social terms, in academic terms, in personal terms — that now that I’ve reached the ripe old age of 18, I just want to take it easy, be able to do what I want, and stay on my feet as much as possible. So yes, it is frustrating when I get blurped for being drunk, or get in trouble for lying, or miss that Eva Langoria interview where <S>they show a totally rude shot of her cleavage</S> she finally takes a definitive stance on strappy sandals. Shoot, I’ve been blurped so many times for being drunk and gotten shit from so many different people for lying to them that I don’t want to have to deal with any of that anymore. But what I’ve realized from watching all these stupendous wipe-outs and blow-ups is that they’re natural, and you just have to recognize that they’re a part of life, and deal with them.
So with that said, I have a message. To all youngsters: buck up. Your friend is gonna talk shit about you, your parents aren't gonna let you go to that three-day long rap concert in Vacaville, that girl/guy you're crushing on is gonna 'love' you back, but only like they 'love' their brother/sister (isn't that the worst line? Don't ever say that to someone, it's obnoxious). You're going to fall flat on your ass, and it is going to bruise your tailbone, and it will hurt. But you gotta think back to when your motor skills were still sketchy and pick yourself up, get over it, and try again. It’s the only way you’re gonna get anything done in life. Believe me. I’m John Downey. I know.
...
So that's all I have to say. I think we've covered a lot of ground here, and hopefully we're both better people coming out of it. Sorry if I got a little up-my-own-ass on that last part, but I felt like I needed more of a resolution. Something concrete, you know. Something to make everyone feel like they didn't just read this for nothing. It's the first rule of writing, after all: don't alienate your reader. I don’t think anyone was alienated with this one. Maybe old men. Maybe little kids, but I don't think little kids are reading this. But maybe they are. If you are a little kid, I would just like to say to you: the world needs more scientists, particularly in medicinal research. I've got a runny nose and it's killing me, so if you could maybe grow up and invent a cure for the common cold, that'd be great, and I'd certainly appreciate it.
The end.
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