“Mike, can you come in here for a second?”

I walked into Mary’s office. The fluorescent light was crackling just enough for it to be annoying. I sat down.

“Mike, I think you’re doing a great job here. I just want you to know that first.”

“First?” My washcloths were balled up beneath my ass. I tried my best to inconspicuously re-adjust while pretending to tighten my apron.

She leaned forward. “Yeah, well, the thing is…”

“Excuse me, Mary?” Fernando appeared at the entrance to her office. The room was small and the door was now pushing against my shoulder.

“Yes, Fernando?”

“There’s a problem with the grill. It no working right. Umberto is going like, he going crazy.”

Mary’s eyelids were now at half-mast. She pursed her lips.

“Fernando.”

“Yes, Mary?”

“Handle it.”

Fernando’s eyes grew quite round, like our world-famous bacon-loaded! potato skins.

“Yes, yes, yes Mary. Yes.” He backpedaled out and shut the door behind him.

She waited for the door to *click*. She turned to me.

“You need to smile more.”

I let it soak in.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Mike, you’re a great employee. We love the work you do here. You’re up-selling our sizzling shrimp fajitas! like nobody’s business and your pre-bussing is second to none. But some customers have complained that you’re simply not smiling enough.”
(more…)

Back in college while I was working at the Campus Computer Shop, a chronically cute girl wearing a navy blue down-filled vest wandered in and asked me some questions about iPods. Her vest intrigued me, as I had not really seen anyone wear one outside of a Back to the Future movie. It was also nearly springtime, which made her clothing choice even more interesting. Yet strangely alluring. She browsed for a bit while I gazed longingly from a distance, and then she made with the vamoosing. Never to be seen again.

Well, until about a month later. She was still adorned in that same blue down vest. It was now mid-April and it was starting to get pretty warm, so The Vest caught me off guard. She still looked acutely adorable though, so I let it slide.

I saw her again two weeks later on my way to class. It was 80 degrees out.

But hey! look! a vest!

ATTENTION:

If you wear something “peculiar” every so often, like an Irish Tweed Hat or a Marmot Down Vest, it’s considered funny, or cute. If you wear it more often than you do your own freckles, and at particularly “peculiar” times… well you’ve ventured over into Eccentric Village. Population you.

And Howard Hughes.

And Tom Cruise.

I’ll admit, I’ve asked myself from time to time: Could I date a quirky girl?

The girl with the down-filled vest was cute, plucky, and dammit, precious as all hell. And her stubborn insistence to wear The Vest at all times was strangely endearing. Besides - women with quirks are always portrayed so generously in the movies! I developed a major crush on Meg Ryan after watching When Harry Met Sally, and Sally is the penultimate example of the quirk-filled girl-next-door. Heck, Meg Ryan has built her entire career on portraying heroines brimming with quirky traits. And Vest Girl kinda looked like an Asian Meg Ryan. So, bonus.

My initial infatuation with Vest Girl began to fade, and I started to wonder what our relationship would be like if we had actually dated. Would she insist on wearing the vest to fancy restaurants? Would it stay on in the jacuzzi? Funerals?

Vest Girl: “What exactly do you want from me, Mike?”

“I want you to take The Vest off.”

Vest Girl: “Don’t ask me to do something you know I can’t do.”

“But don’t you think it’s a tad ridiculous?”

Vest Girl: “Why?”

“It’s July.”

Vest Girl: “So I’m ridiculous now? Is that it?”

“No honey, that’s not it at all… You can wear The Vest as much as you’d like. But I have to be honest – it’s putting a bit of a damper on cuddle time.”

Vest Girl: “You don’t enjoy our cuddling?”

“It’s nice, but… it’s like I’m hugging the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters.”

Vest Girl: “Excuse me?”

“Or the Michelin Man.”

Vest Girl: “This is unbelievable. Remember how you used to tell me -

“Take off the damn vest!”

Excessively quirky girls are great to watch on the silver screen and they make wonderful daydream fodder, but they just don’t work in the real world. But such is life. Or as the French say, “Nous aimons le vin et fromage et nous combattons très mal.”

I can only wish you the best in life, Vest Girl, wherever you may be. May your every dream come true and your torso be perpetually warm.

I was leaving campus late one night my junior year after doing some work at the college radio station. As I pulled out of the school’s central parking structure, I came across the same three students I had seen only minutes ago wandering aimlessly in the opposite direction. I rolled down my window.

“Hey, where are you guys trying to get to?”

“The Segundo dorms,” said one of the two girls.

“Oh, OK. You guys just need to cut through campus by following that main road,” -I pointed- “all the way down about half a mile until you see a cluster of four large dorm halls. That’s Segundo.”

“Oh, ok, thank you!”

“Would you guys like a ride? It’s awfully cold out.”

The two girls smiled and their eyebrows spiked with enthusiasm. “Yes, please!”

The guy hesitated. “No, that’s ok. Thank you.” He held his arms out to block the girls from moving forward.

Only then did I realize it was 2 am in the morning and I hadn’t shaven in over a month. I half smiled, amused.

“Are you guys sure? It’s really no problem. It’s half a mile away.”

“No. We’re fine. Thanks,” he replied. The girls looked disappointed.

For the first and hopefully only time in my life I was on the opposite end of a P.S.A. commercial. I was playing the role of the dirty, shady potential kidnapper, and that freshman dude was the hero who did the ‘right thing.’

I thought about pulling out my school ID and proving myself a student. Then I considered bribing them with candy.

I drove off, feeling dirty and dejected, and all I did was innocently offer a group of cold, disoriented freshmen a ride.

Remember Kids!

Beards can keep your face warm in the wintertime, and they’re great for Grizzly Adams Look-Alike Contests, but every so often you will be mistaken for a rapist.

I’m sitting in my Children’s Literature class senior year when a student asks a question about the upcoming essay.

“Professor, is it OK to use personal pronouns?”

“That’s a very good question,” Professor Stenzel replies. “I’ve been having you write journal entries throughout the quarter to teach you to use personal pronouns in your essays. I want you to tell me what you think, not what some academic in a journal thinks. So yes, you may use ‘I’ in your essays.”

One of the TAs fidgets in her chair and mumbles loudly.

“Yes?” The professor looks in her direction.

“Well,” she says, “I just think you should make clear that there is a right and wrong way to use personal pronouns. I just don’t want the students using them too much.”

“Very good point,” he replies. “There is definitely a right and wrong way to use the ‘I’ pronoun.” He moves to the board and begins making columns of ‘Right’ and ‘Wrong’ ways to use ‘I.’

After finishing, the professor turns around and asks, “Does anybody have any questions?” A few people pose their own, and afterwards, just as the professor is about to move on to the next topic, I raise my hand.

“Yes, Mike?”

“Well, professor, I’m assuming it’s ok to use ‘I’ sentences in pairs?”

“What makes you say that, Mike?” The professor raises an eyebrow.

“Well, I figured we’re following the rule, ‘An I for an I’?”

In a lecture hall of 150 students you could hear a pin drop. No laughter. No giggling. Not even an asthmatic cough. Nothing but 5 seconds of horrible, awkward silence.

I clear my throat. “Wow, that went really badly.” More silence. “I definitely need some better material.” And silence.

“I thought it was pretty funny,” says the professor, attempting a save.
I fidget uneasily in my chair. “Well, *cough* I’ll be here until Saturday. Remember to tip your waitress.” This gets a few laughs, but they were most likely out of pity.

The professor picks up his thermos and takes a long sip.

“Mmmmm…” He pauses. “This is full of gin.”

Glorious laughter. The mood of the room I had so brutally killed is finally restored and the class can move on.
Class ends, and I walk over to where the professor is standing admist a group of concerned, questioning students. I had planned on apologizing for the horrible pun I made, but after waiting for 5 minutes, I decide to call it a day and leave the classroom.

I arrive home around 6:30, sit down at my computer and check my e-mail. A letter from Professor Stenzel is waiting in my inbox, entitled ‘Pun-ishment.’ It reads:

Dear Callahanmeister:

An I for an I…. Jeez, I thought my puns were lame! I almost said (when your row-mate talked about Tom Sawyer’s marble finding magic) that it was not so marble-ous.

–John