Be Careful, or Move Faster
I'm going to tell you a story about me. Sit down, get comfortable, toss another log on the fire, and fill up your pint glasses. I'll take a lager while you're at it.
Érase Una Vez, I was walking through a parking lot in the Metrowest district of Orlando, wending my way through impatient and lost tourists trying to find Universal Studios, located just two blocks behind the trees on the other side of the road. We would call it a highway instead of a road up North, as it had 6 lanes and everyone drove well over the posted limit of 55mph, but it still had a sidewalk and the occasional traffic light, so the Floridians named it a state road and left it somewhere ambiguously in the middle. I dodged a car pulling out of that prime parking place right next to the door of the liquor store who didn't realize that you still had to look while pulling out, even if you were on vacation, and I slipped in quickly behind the last customer before the door closed all the way.
Don't worry, no one else was coming, so it wasn't a prick move for not holding the door.
The liquor store had everything I was missing for between 4 and 8 house guests that were coming by my place later. This was early in my Florida adventures, and that was about the largest gathering I'd have before meeting up with Kenneth and venturing into Natura, so the shopping was easy, even if the error bound on people was about 100% of the original 4. I grabbed a case of something, and precariously balanced a bottle, a mixer, and a few limes on top of it, before heading the register and waiting in line. I hate lines, but I chose to focus more on my balancing act than to rush for the register before the others lined up, and meditate upon my own unnecessary haste while waiting for them to ring up. Besides, I almost lost one of the limes before finding the right motions to steady it without a hand. The checkout attendant scoffed a bit, clearly of the opinion that I should have made two trips, but I would not let the chance at the single pass checkout trip of efficiency sneak by.
After an epoch, my turn came. This line wasn't so bad, as at least some people had collected behind me, and lines always seem better to me when you're not last. I tried to carefully place my stack upon the very small surface area of the counter, which was enclosed in a ring of last-minute-buy-crap that I never saw anyone actually buy. Just as I was finishing the motion and steadying the miscreant lime while rotating the case to fit lengthwise, I knocked one of the nips over, which went hurtling to the ground.
It was a hard floor, and the attendant took on a visage of being even less pleased than he was before.
When I was growing up, I was no stranger to breaking things, as my mother would be quick to attest. You don't really know how something works until you take it apart, but the real trouble came when you tried to put it back together (like say, a dishwashing machine) and ended up with a small cache of newly acquired spare parts. I'm sure not all of those screws came from there. My parents took to hiding all of the tools for a while, locking away screwdrivers and torque wrenches as most households would lock away government savings bonds (remember those? They used to work, too!). I began repurposing butter knives, letter openers, and the occasional sewing machine piece to the task, and stayed to the inorganic stuff, as I intuitively understood Adams' dictum; "If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a nonworking cat."
I also learned that I wasn't very good at fixing things that were in broken pieces. Getting rid of all the spare parts came with practice and experience (and a few notes about where things came from on unfamiliar machines), but gluing and soldering were always a mystery to me, and in both cases, I frequently ended up with big goo balls instead of nice clean welds.
That led me to another strategy for dealing with my own penchant for accidental destruction. Get faster.
I'd watched just enough Karate Kid and Bugs Bunny to think that people could do incredible things with quick reflexes. I knew my hands were too tied up in keeping the case from falling to be of any use, so I quickly balanced on one foot, pulled my foot up to align its bottom with the counter front, and gently stalled my leg down to softly cradle the tiny bottle before bringing it to the floor.
The attendant had already decided that he was going to be angry, and screwed his face up into ever more uncomfortable expressions to prevent his mouth from expelling verbal vitriol at my stupidity and destruction of his property. The tall black guy behind me in line shouted out a hearty "yeah!" before beginning an applause that was picked up by the two people behind him. I finished the maneuver with the case, reached down, carefully placed the nip back in its perilous border-like existence, and asked the guy to finish ringing up my bill, after thanking the big guy behind me. He gave me a bit more praise about having seen the whole thing while I closed the monetary transaction before me.
We all have a choice. The preferred answer is probably to be more careful, as my parents harped on while growing up. It might take a lot longer (and a lot more rounds of hackey sack than I now care to admit), but isn't it more fun to push it and fall occasionally?
Thanks for listening.
Érase Una Vez, I was walking through a parking lot in the Metrowest district of Orlando, wending my way through impatient and lost tourists trying to find Universal Studios, located just two blocks behind the trees on the other side of the road. We would call it a highway instead of a road up North, as it had 6 lanes and everyone drove well over the posted limit of 55mph, but it still had a sidewalk and the occasional traffic light, so the Floridians named it a state road and left it somewhere ambiguously in the middle. I dodged a car pulling out of that prime parking place right next to the door of the liquor store who didn't realize that you still had to look while pulling out, even if you were on vacation, and I slipped in quickly behind the last customer before the door closed all the way.
Don't worry, no one else was coming, so it wasn't a prick move for not holding the door.
 |
| Nips! (Credit to Real Tingley) |
After an epoch, my turn came. This line wasn't so bad, as at least some people had collected behind me, and lines always seem better to me when you're not last. I tried to carefully place my stack upon the very small surface area of the counter, which was enclosed in a ring of last-minute-buy-crap that I never saw anyone actually buy. Just as I was finishing the motion and steadying the miscreant lime while rotating the case to fit lengthwise, I knocked one of the nips over, which went hurtling to the ground.
It was a hard floor, and the attendant took on a visage of being even less pleased than he was before.
When I was growing up, I was no stranger to breaking things, as my mother would be quick to attest. You don't really know how something works until you take it apart, but the real trouble came when you tried to put it back together (like say, a dishwashing machine) and ended up with a small cache of newly acquired spare parts. I'm sure not all of those screws came from there. My parents took to hiding all of the tools for a while, locking away screwdrivers and torque wrenches as most households would lock away government savings bonds (remember those? They used to work, too!). I began repurposing butter knives, letter openers, and the occasional sewing machine piece to the task, and stayed to the inorganic stuff, as I intuitively understood Adams' dictum; "If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a nonworking cat."
I also learned that I wasn't very good at fixing things that were in broken pieces. Getting rid of all the spare parts came with practice and experience (and a few notes about where things came from on unfamiliar machines), but gluing and soldering were always a mystery to me, and in both cases, I frequently ended up with big goo balls instead of nice clean welds.
That led me to another strategy for dealing with my own penchant for accidental destruction. Get faster.
I'd watched just enough Karate Kid and Bugs Bunny to think that people could do incredible things with quick reflexes. I knew my hands were too tied up in keeping the case from falling to be of any use, so I quickly balanced on one foot, pulled my foot up to align its bottom with the counter front, and gently stalled my leg down to softly cradle the tiny bottle before bringing it to the floor.
The attendant had already decided that he was going to be angry, and screwed his face up into ever more uncomfortable expressions to prevent his mouth from expelling verbal vitriol at my stupidity and destruction of his property. The tall black guy behind me in line shouted out a hearty "yeah!" before beginning an applause that was picked up by the two people behind him. I finished the maneuver with the case, reached down, carefully placed the nip back in its perilous border-like existence, and asked the guy to finish ringing up my bill, after thanking the big guy behind me. He gave me a bit more praise about having seen the whole thing while I closed the monetary transaction before me.
We all have a choice. The preferred answer is probably to be more careful, as my parents harped on while growing up. It might take a lot longer (and a lot more rounds of hackey sack than I now care to admit), but isn't it more fun to push it and fall occasionally?
Thanks for listening.
