The Book of Awesome (8 page)

Lastly, there are the
Front Row Crazies
. You know, I used to think people who sat in the front section just had incredibly poor judgment . . .
and incredibly good chiropractor coverage! Hey-ohhhhhhh!
But seriously, craning their necks sky-high, rolling their heads left to right the whole time, what were they thinking? But then I realized that some of these people are just my friend Mike, who always realizes at the last minute that he forgot his glasses and forces us to sit near the front so he can see the screen.

So sure, everybody has
their favorite seat
. The problem is that we don’t always get them.

Some people buy tickets online and line up really early, so when we get to the theater they’re already there, waiting near the garbage can,
smacking their gum
, reading their free movie magazine. No, we’re not going to beat those folks unless we want to play their game. And their game is generally pretty long and tedious.

Other times people seem to know a back route or something. You think you’re going to get a good seat, but suddenly there are
two ladies
sitting there out of nowhere, stretching out their sweaters and purses across a long row to save room for all their friends. They’re like
nervous hens
, eyeing you suspiciously like you might grab an egg and take off. They get right into it too. I’ve seen a stretchy wool sweater cover four seats. That’s some serious wingspan.

Basically, it’s pretty tough to get perfect seats these days. The crowds are big, the crowds are feisty, and the
prime plushes
ain’t easy to come by. But isn’t that what makes it so special when you really nail it? When you skip up those stairs, eye your prize, toss your windbreaker in front of you, and grab your perfect little bank of seats before the big show? I hope you’ll agree that getting those perfect movie seats is like
melted joy
and sizzling happiness served on the big pizza pie of heaven.

Because you won this game, my friend. You came, you sat, and you won.

AWESOME!

On the whole, we’re pretty nasty to waiters and waitresses. We complain they’re wasting our time if the food takes too long to come, we complain they’re trying to rush us out if the food comes too early. We warn about allergies, make special requests, ask for
more bread
, and talk openly about their tip while they’re busing tables next to us. We’re kings barking orders from the booth and they’re sweating peasants in aprons and pieces of flair with dirty washcloths hanging out their back pocket.

Waiters and waitresses have to put up with us and paste wide, toothy grins across their faces, besides. They split bills, sop up spills, and slip and slide across slick kitchen floors for us.

Despite this all-odds-against-them setup, there are a few gems out there, a few rare, bright gems who deliver perfect waiter or waitressessness.
Perfection here is defined solely as bringing free refills to the table without our even asking.
Because nothing beats ice-filled towers of cola arriving unannounced at our table, just as we’re finishing up our spinach and artichoke dip, a perfectly timed palate cleanse before the big entrée. The only things that come close are ice-filled towers of cola arriving unannounced right after the entrée and ice-filled towers of cola arriving unannounced with the check and a handful of mints.

It’s a great scene.

Three hours later, when you lie bloated on the coach, your entire meal swimming in the
carbonated sea
that is your digestive system, I know your eyelids will droop heavily and your posture will slide, but I also know you’ll give a thin, subtle smile and a slow, sure thumbs-up sign when anyone asks “How was dinner?”

AWESOME!

I don’t know how to tie my shoes.

I know, I know, it’s terrible, it’s embarrassing, but I seriously can’t tie my shoes the way most people do. I just—my fingers don’t slide the right way. When I try the loop-around-and-pull-through move, I end up with a
limp and loose
version of the finished product. As a result, I’m stuck with
The Bunny Ears Method
, also known as The Double Loop or Grandma Knot. Yes, I make a loop with my right hand, a loop with my left, and then I tie them together. It’s a tiny bit slower, but that’s not the worst of it.

The worst of it is that it often results in
massive, tightly wound knots
that take forever to untie.

So basically I try to avoid untying my shoes altogether. Instead, I spend one or two minutes wedging and banging my foot into them each time I leave the house. Although this technique results in completely squashing the back of my shoe, I find it preferable than sorting out the granddaddy knot waiting for me down there.

But sometimes there is no choice.

See, at some point my scraggly knot will lie lazily on the side of my shoe, staring up at me with its sad, dusty face. And I can only smile wearily, shake my head, sit down on a step, and get ready to slog away in the five-minute heavyweight title card of
Me vs. The Knot.

I’m not going to lie: I often lose this battle, choosing instead to throw on a pair of sandals or stay home and order pizza. But there are also days where I come out on top. There are days where I stick my fingernail in there as hard as I can and pick and pick and pick until the lace finally starts to give. And then I start pulling it this way and that way until I can finally see
the light at the end of the tunnel
, the moment of truth, the dream becoming a reality.

Those final few seconds of untangling a really big knot happen in a hazy slow motion. A twisted lace becomes loose, and then another, and then there is some frantic untying as it all comes undone.

Yes, whether it’s headphone wires,
Nintendo controllers
, phone cables, or Christmas lights, it sure feels great during the last few seconds of untangling that tightly tied mess.

AWESOME!

The Five Second Rule simply states that any
food dropped on the floor
is perfectly fine to eat as long as you pick it up in less than five seconds.

The rule has many variations, including The Three Second Rule, The Seven Second Rule, and the extremely handy and versatile
The However Long It Takes Me to Pick Up This Food Rule
. But whatever version you use, there’s just no denying why it’s great:

So people, I give you a friend and savior in these tough times: The Five Second Rule. Know it. Love it.

Live by it.

AWESOME!

Advertisers eat me up.

Honestly, whenever I leave the
grocery store
I feel like I’ve just been had by the lot of them. I fully confess it too. I wheel in for toilet paper and wheel out with a fat cart loaded to the gills with
supersize salsa
, a dozen croissants, and two new brands of frozen pizza.

It hits me like a hammer at the cash register, but by then it’s too late.

Yes, I reluctantly pay the bill as my mind flashes back to the
Me of 15 Minutes Ago
, a barely recognizable guy humming down the aisle and happily accepting little sample cups of drinkable yogurt from
sweet old ladies in hairnets
while casually tossing econo-size cheese bricks and vacuum-sealed meat sticks into my shopping cart.

Oh, I’m a happy camper amongst the freshly misted lettuce and bubbling lobster tanks, but when I get to the front and get
cash register slapped
it’s a different story.

If you’re with me, then you know that’s why it so great when you go to the store and
the thing you were going to buy is already on sale
. Suddenly the tables have turned and now you’re calling the shots.

“Oh, what’s this?” you ask innocently, approaching a towering display of toilet paper on sale for half price. “Half off, really? Well that’s perfect because that’s all I came here for anyway. And you know what, may as well get
seven extra dozen
while I’m here too.”

(looking around the store with raised eyebrows)
“Annnnnnnd I guess that’s everything for today.”

Then you mime making a big check mark on your grocery list and smile as you savor the moment sweetly. Yes, now your wallet stays fat,
your smile stays fresh
, and you ride the fast lane straight to Penny-Pinching Heaven.

AWESOME!

Welcome to the world, remote control. We’re happy to have you with us, laptop monitor. You’re free, cell phone.

AWESOME!

Panic sets in very slowly.

It’s early in the morning and you’re heading out for work. After flicking your lights off and stomping your shoes on, you casually tap your pockets and find them surprisingly dentless.

“No big deal,” you think with a mild shrug. “Probably left them on the kitchen counter.”

So you swing by the kitchen only to find no dice, man, no dice at all. You double-check your pants, flip through your purse, and pause for a split second to stare at the microwave clock while doing some math. Figuring you need to leave in seven minutes so you’re not late for work, you suddenly ditch your jacket on the floor and go perform the classic Key Hunting Play in three acts:

Act 1: The Slow Build.
The curtain rises to a scene of you rescanning the kitchen counter, triple-checking your pockets, and then searching the rest of the house in an increasingly frantic panic. You walk all over the carpet as your forehead starts sweating and you begin checking more and more obscure places. Violinists in the pit band work into a frenzy as thunder crashes outside the window, while you check the bathroom counter, desk drawers, and fridge but come up empty.

And it is black.

Act 2: The Detective.
The dusty spotlight shakes and stops on a shot of you pausing by the front door. You grimace at the ceiling, sucking in deep breaths, scratching your head. A dog barks faintly in the distance and thunder cracks again as you suddenly transform into a detective, pausing to retrace your steps from where you saw your keys last.

“I came home, I went upstairs, I changed into sweatpants,” you recall quietly to the hushed crowd. “I ate a frozen burrito, I checked my email, I fell asleep on the couch . . .”

There is a long, drawn-out pause.

And it is black.

Act 3: The Greatest Hits.
Running out of options, your mind flashes back to your greatest hits, a quick-clicking slideshow of places you’ve found your lost keys in the past. The audience is treated to brilliant back-screen images of happier days. Sporting a lower hairline, flatter stomach, and tighter T-shirt, a high school you happily finds the keys in your jeans pocket by the laundry hamper. Late for an end of the year kegger with your boyfriend in college, you frantically trip over empty pizza boxes and video game controllers before finding them wedged tightly between couch cushions.

But as you race around it slowly and painfully dawns on you one by one by one . . .

Those places are all empty today.

Spotlights meet and then dim on your sad and hollow face as the audience suddenly realizes it’s a tragedy. The curtain drops heavily and there is quiet and respectable applause from those who aren’t too shocked to show their appreciation.

But wait . . .

The theater lights stay down, there is some quick whispering, a tiny sizzle of electricity fills the room.

There is an encore!

The curtain lifts for a final fleeting scene of you scrambling around your house trying to form some
drippy, half-baked plan
. You consider calling in sick for the day, getting your girlfriend to come home so you can copy her keys, or changing the locks altogether.

As you race around with your jacket, a tipped-over laundry basket and strewn couch cushions all over the floor, the music gets faster as you scale higher and higher toward
complete lunacy
.

Nearly in tears and on the verge of madness, sweat drips down your face as you suddenly swing open the door with full force and then gasp as you immediately spot them:
hanging in the lock.

The audience leaps to their feet and erupts, filling the theater with
booming applause
, loud whistles, and screams from the balcony.

You smile at them and wink, grab the keys,
kiss them
, and hold them to the sky. Then you run onto the driveway, jump in your car, and zoom off into the distance.

Trumpets blast from the pit band, the standing ovation continues, and big bouquets of bright red roses are tossed onstage as the great play ends with a flourish.

And sure, when this happens in real life you feel stupid, ashamed, and guilty, but
more than anything else
you feel a sweet sense of relief. Your muscles droop, your chest unclenches, and a tidal wave rushes inside you and fills you up with joy.