Free Speech for the Dumb

I was in the back of a city car being driven to a drug test. This was my third time getting tested in about a year.

This meant that instead of doing my job, I was being taken to a building to pee in a cup to prove I wasn't smoking the jazz cigarettes, a process that could last up to two hours depending on the backlog.

It was evaluation season, and I was wondering how I was going to get everything finished and approved and signed in the next week or so, but couldn't get too worked up about it, because, honestly, for as much I might grumble about being taken away from my work, not doing evaluations and having an official excuse wasn't that bad.

Plus, the two HR guys driving me were acting as an unintentional comedy team.

"You're driving way too fast."

"I have to - you drive like an old lady."

"Maybe, but I'll get us there in one piece, and without a ticket. Who's gonna pay for that, anyway?"

The driver (who was going sort of fast, honestly. I mean, what's the rush?) was an old Florida cowboy type. I can't remember his name. Like the nerdy guy riding shotgun, they've both long retired. Let's call them Cowboy and the Nerd.

I wasn't paying too much attention, just hanging out in the backseat, looking down the river from the bridge, wondering how long this was going to take, and pondering what I'd get for lunch later when I heard Cowboy give his philosophy on the police.

"You know, they work for you, right? I mean, we're taxpayers," Cowboy said. The cops were also taxpayers and we were working for them also, but I wanted to see where Cowboy went with this.
"So anytime I get pulled over I just tell them whatever I want, like, 'how did you pass the physical to get on the force,' or 'Looks like you've been hitting the donuts too hard lately, buddy.' And they have to take it - they can't do anything to you. It's free speech."

"You really do that?" the Nerd asked.

"Oh yeah, everytime," replied the Cowboy. "Most of the time they're too shocked to do anything and just let me go. If they write me a ticket, I just ball it up in front of them and make fun of them. There's nothing they can do about it. It's in the Constitution."

Cowboy didn't sound like he was lying, and I'm not sure if he was or not. In any case, he believed what he was saying.

The Nerd was quiet after that, possibly trying to think of a rebuttal. I was in the back thinking, "You might be able to pull that off, Cowboy, but I'm gonna stay with my usual acting polite and still usually getting a ticket anyway plan."

And I've stuck with that plan ever since. According to a 20 second internet search, you can't get arrested (legally) for swearing at or flipping off a cop, so I'm assuming going all Don Rickles on an officer is similarly protected by our Founding Fathers. Needless to say, I'm not going to be the one to try it out, but if you do, please let me know your experiences.

Oh - and I totally passed my drug test, by the way.

September Gurls

Before September, I had never been to a drive-in, even though many of my favorite movies were designed for the place*. I had also never seen Devo, both of which sort of seem wrong. I mean, that stuff is sort of embedded in my DNA, you know?

I've since rectified both of these mistakes, and in the words of Larry David, fall is shaping up to be "pretty good. Pritty, pritty good." I went to both with my girlfriend (yeah, seriously. Says so right on the Facebook and everything.), and I've been feeling a strange ...happiness lately, which is an odd sensation, especially if you compare back to entries from a year ago, when I wasn't sleeping and would regularly torture myself with feelings of failure and disappointment. Even work is shaping up to be OK.

There's a slight coolness in the air. Fall is coming. October's annual binging on old horror movies and Misfits, Roky Erickson, Cramps and Halloween novelty songs is just a week away. And yes, I realize many of you are asking, "How is that different from the rest of the year." Shut up. That's how.


You also might be thinking, "You being happy is all well and good, but I come here for the stories of embarrassment and awkwardness. Are you gonna be like those comedians who start families and then turn all lame and unfunny?"

Well, even though that's the second somewhat crappy question you've asked, not to worry, I've got 40 plus years of that shit stockpiled. That well ain't running dry anytime soon, trust me.

In the meantime, if Devo plays anywhere near you, go see them. Seriously. I paid double what I would have if I had jumped on the tickets earlier, but it was totally worth it. I mean, check out this kid. Look how much fun this little guy's having. That could be you:

* Been trying to figure out how to write up the drive-in story for a while now. Suffice to say it involves embarrassment, lowering property values, and a comparison between the comfort of sleeping in a Honda Civic versus a Nissan Cube.

Advice to my Imaginary Son on the Occasion of his Acceptance into College

Son, as you prepare to embark on your new life away from your mother and me I’m awash in many different feelings. You’ve always been a great son, and I’ve tried to impart as much wisdom as I could throughout your life. But this is one piece of fatherly wisdom that might top everything, something I wish your grandfather had shared with me before I left home. Are you paying attention? Write this shit down.

I know this might come as a shock, especially given your hot mom, but your old man never felt he got all the action he should have in college. Or pre-college. Or post-college, now that I think about it.

Let’s be honest. You missed out on the genetic lottery. You inherited both my looks and my grating personality, so I should tell you that you’re going to have to work twice as hard as other guys. Unfortunately, you’ve also inherited my crippling laziness, so we both know that ain’t gonna happen. So here’s what you need to do.
Fake a British accent. You have all summer.

If anyone asks where you’re from, just make something up. Hotpence. Stratford on the Willshire. Saint Blimeyston. Trust me, you’re gonna be around Americans. They won't know. Call your apartment a flat and the TV a telly and the battle's halfway won.

I’ve put a lot of thought into this. You should strike a balance between jaded European baffled by our hick ways and enthusiastic visitor. Try this - "Your supie's big enough to drive me lorry in!" or "You yanks know nothing about real football."

If you get stuck, just make up words. Like I just did there with "supie." Now it means supermarket.

Let's face it. You're awkward and clumsy, even more so than the usual 19 year old. Luckily, this can work for you. Girls will think you're overcoming a cultural barrier, so they won't be expecting too much from you. Plus, with your new accent it will all seem charming and witty.

Sure, there's a downside, you might have to keep faking that accent for years if you find someone you really like, but if romantic comedies have taught us anything, you can explain everything with a huge romantic gesture and everything will work out fine.

This accent isn't just for matters of romance. Think how future employers will melt when they hear your British tones during an interview. So you finished last in your class - who cares! Every company wants to add some class and European sophistication to their operation. You'll be turning down job offers left and right!

So I'm effectively grounding you for the summer to give you practice time. Trust me, you'll thank me soon enough.

Cherrio,
Dad

Advice My Parents Gave Me

"You should write a best seller. You know, like that John Grisham."