Dear Aunt Slugger,
It is my understanding that you use public transit on a regular basis. Do you have any tips for those of us who are considering making the switch?
Sincerely,
Randolph from Manitoba
Dear Randolph,
Why yes, in point of fact, I do use public transit on a regular basis, and I have the immune system to prove it. Over the years, public transportation has gotten a bad rap because it's never on time and it's dirty and there's crime sometimes and the subway rats will feast on your toes if you stand in one place for more than nineteen seconds (two seconds in New York City). But in reality, people who are afraid of public transit for those reasons are probably the same people who buy organic rutabagas at Whole Foods, and their opinions are automatically void. No, you should be afraid of public transit for the same reason you should be afraid of major sporting events, corporate team-building activities, and PTA meetings: Because these things bring out the worst in humanity, and that reality can be hard to take, especially if you are not medicated properly.
So my job is to prepare you for the kinds of people you will see aboard public transit. Knowing your enemy is half the battle, readers. Below is a list of the most common types of public transit offenders; keep this list on hand at all times.
We will start with
People Who Talk on Their Cell Phones. This group is multiplying at an unprecedented rate, now that cell phone technology has improved and many devices can now receive a signal in an underground train. The human race is capable of a mind-blowing number of inane cell phone conversations, and you will hear most of them on public transit. Most people are oblivious to the fact that they are talking at top volume, but some people will try to keep their voices low, and they think they are being polite. Notice to those people: WE CAN STILL HEAR YOU, and YOU ARE STILL BEING AN ASSHOLE. Some people also believe that they are entitled to take business calls while in an enclosed subway car. If you receive a work-related phone call while you're on a train or a bus, ask yourself this question: "Am I a doctor?" If the answer is "No," then you are not permitted to take the call. There are no exceptions. If you are the Chairman of the Federal Reserve, that $80 trillion unregulated hedge fund will still be collapsing when you get off the train, so you can deal with it then. God gave us overpriced text messaging plans for a reason; use them.
And speaking of things that are overpriced, let's talk about
People Who Wear Large Camping Backpacks. I have no objection if you want to commune with nature; my concern is that I now have two broken ribs from getting a Nalgene directly to the chest. Be aware of your volume, people. If your backpack weighs more than my grandmother, it's time to take a cab, carbon footprint or not.
And on the subject of other people who should take cabs, let's discuss
People Who Have Never Used Public Transit and Have No Common Sense. Now, let me preface this one by noting that your Aunt Slugger grew up in a small Midwestern town that did not have an extensive public transit system, so I never used it until I got to a larger city. So Aunt Slugger is not passing judgment on folks who have never used public transit; their blood pressure is probably lower because of that fact. But Aunt Slugger IS passing judgment on the fucknuts who have never used public transit AND are totally oblivious to their surroundings. If you don't know whether you need to be on a specific train, DO NOT STAND IN THE DOORWAY AND BLOCK THE OTHER PASSENGERS FROM BOARDING THE TRAIN WHILE YOU CONSULT YOUR MAP. Try to have a game plan before you get to the doorway. Ask another passenger. Countless people travel all around the world and are able to board trains and buses in foreign cities without holding up the entire metropolitan transit system. Model this behavior.
These are often the same people who become confused when they have to stand on the train or bus because it is crowded. Now, let me once again preface this by noting that Aunt Slugger has never taken a formal physics class. I was a high school dropout, and a political science major in college, which is essentially the same thing as not having gone to college. So I dodged physics and still don't understand why your face explodes if you go down too far while scuba diving. Yet somehow - against all odds - I figured out that you need to hold onto something while standing on a moving train. And if you make the mistake once, that's fine; train and bus drivers are highly skilled in the art of stopping and starting at random. But if you REPEATEDLY find yourself being thrown eighteen feet and landing in someone's lap every time the train starts moving, it is TIME TO GRAB AHOLD OF SOMETHING. Please. For your own safety. Please.
Moving on, let's not forget
People Who Are Afraid to Touch Anything. I was once on a crowded train with a woman who doused herself with antibacterial hand gel after inadvertently touching a handrail. The key to a successful relationship with public transit is making peace with the fact that you will be exposed, on a daily basis, to some highly toxic shit. If you make it the week without contracting leprosy, you've done well for yourself. The same applies to riding in an airplane, sitting in a doctor's office waiting room, or eating a Filet o' Fish. If you can't come to grips with this reality, you DO NOT BELONG ON PUBLIC TRANSIT.
Finally, we should be sure to talk about
People Who Are Afraid of You. These are people who are riding public transit out of some tragic necessity - like their vehicle was towed because they parked it in front of a fire station - and are clearly VERY AFRAID of you and the rest of the users of public transit. These are the people who say things like, "Don't ride the [name of subway line] because it goes to [name of a neighborhood without Whole Foods]." During rush hour traffic, these people will grip their bags in white-knuckled terror, because in their minds, anyone who rides public transit is desperate and will rob them blind, despite the fact that the average rider is a 30-something disheartened finance professional who is contemplating the cold reality that he or she will spend the next 30 years of his or life reading the Wall Street Journal and looking at Excel spreadsheets. These people are more annoying than any of the aforementioned groups, because they will gasp in terror whenever you open your backpack to dig out your keys, your iPod, or your copy of Betty Crocker's Guide to Bisquick.
So there you have it. These are the folks you need to look out for, readers. I'm not saying there's anything you can DO about them, but at least you won't be surprised when you get hit in the face with a camping backpack, or when your eardrum bursts from listening to someone yell "ARE YOU THERE? HELLO? I THINK I LOST YOU" into his or her cell phone, or when you try to get out some chapstick and someone accuses you of going for your gun.
I hope that helps, Randolph, and that you are able to navigate the complex public transit systems of Manitoba with ease.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Monday, February 1, 2010
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Visiting the Dentist
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I am supposed to go the dentist for a routine cleaning soon, and I understand that you had your teeth cleaned recently. Do you have any tips or suggestions?
Lars from Winston-Salem
Dear Lars,
Well, Lars, I'd like to tell you that it'll be all right. I'd like to tell you not to worry. I'd like to tell you not to lose sleep over it. Yes, Lars, I'd LIKE to tell you all of that, but Aunt Slugger doesn't believe in sugarcoating the truth. It's going to be awful, Lars, and if you have any sort of suicidal tendencies, you may want to pre-medicate.
The first thing you need to know is that brushing three times a day and flossing after you eat a bean burrito from Qdoba is no longer considered proper dental hygiene. And if you use a manual toothbrush, you may as well have someone take a baseball bat to your teeth and just ask for a whole new set when you get to the dentist.
Up until recently, your Aunt Slugger fancied herself something of a model of good oral hygiene. She brushes three times a day, rinses with mouthwash, and flosses occasionally. She has had only one cavity in more than three decades of life, and has never had to wear braces. While she acknowledges her flossing shortcomings, she doesn't necessarily think of herself as a terrible person and until recently did not experience white-knuckled terror at the dentist's office.
WELL. Readers, if you find yourself in Aunt Slugger's camp, you need to know that you are, in the mind of your dental hygienist, a hardened serial killer. It turns out that proper dental hygiene consists of brushing with an electric toothbrush, flossing, rinsing with Listerine, rinsing with anticavity mouthwash, and (get ready for this one) MASSAGING YOUR GUMS. You can imagine how much of an epic asshole your Aunt Slugger felt like when she had to admit that not only is her flossing sporadic, but she also doesn't get around to massaging her gums very often (i.e. never).
So given that engaging in modern dental hygiene would effectively take up about 95% of the average person's day, and given that most people have other obligations - like working, taking care of family members, and sitting on the couch with a bucket of fried chicken while watching Lifetime movies - you might think that your dental hygienist would be used to hearing people say that they don't necessarily find the time to light some candles and massage their gums for twenty minutes. You might also think that your dental hygienist would look at you and say, "You're a grown adult with a full-time job, and while I'd love for you to make time to give your mouth a spa treatment, I understand if you cannot."
And you would be wrong. Your Aunt Slugger was forced to PROVE TO HER DENTAL HYGIENIST THAT SHE KNOWS HOW TO FLOSS AND MASSAGE HER GUMS. She was also told that there is "no excuse for not flossing," which is actually false, because the excuse "I forgot" is more than sufficient.
But being interrogated by the East German Secret Police is not the only thing you have to worry about, Lars. You should also prepare yourself for the "Ultrasonic." After her bug-eyed hygienist made your Aunt Slugger feel like a complete dickhead, she used a high-powered device that operates a bit like a miniature fire hose to allegedly remove Aunt Slugger's plaque (of which there was reportedly a minimal amount, FYI, but this did NOT mean that Aunt Slugger was congratulated for her efforts - she was again reminded of the fact that she should be beaten to death for having small amounts of plaque on her back molars). Aunt Slugger also had to hold the suction thing (presumably because the hygienist's other hand was busy giving Aunt Slugger the middle finger for not flossing regularly), which didn't work, because most of the water from the Ultrasonic splashed onto her face instead of onto her teeth. Let us just say that it would not surprise Aunt Slugger if the Ultrasonic is also marketed as a waterboarding tool.
So there you have it, Lars. Be prepared to say goodbye to your happy childhood memories of receiving a rhubarb fluoride treatment and a smiling tooth sticker from your cheerful neighborhood dentist. Times have changed, Lars. In fact, as we speak, your dentist is probably interviewing former Gitmo interrogators to be your dental hygienist. I wish you all the best, Lars, but you may want to wish your loved ones farewell before you go get those teeth cleaned.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I am supposed to go the dentist for a routine cleaning soon, and I understand that you had your teeth cleaned recently. Do you have any tips or suggestions?
Lars from Winston-Salem
Dear Lars,
Well, Lars, I'd like to tell you that it'll be all right. I'd like to tell you not to worry. I'd like to tell you not to lose sleep over it. Yes, Lars, I'd LIKE to tell you all of that, but Aunt Slugger doesn't believe in sugarcoating the truth. It's going to be awful, Lars, and if you have any sort of suicidal tendencies, you may want to pre-medicate.
The first thing you need to know is that brushing three times a day and flossing after you eat a bean burrito from Qdoba is no longer considered proper dental hygiene. And if you use a manual toothbrush, you may as well have someone take a baseball bat to your teeth and just ask for a whole new set when you get to the dentist.
Up until recently, your Aunt Slugger fancied herself something of a model of good oral hygiene. She brushes three times a day, rinses with mouthwash, and flosses occasionally. She has had only one cavity in more than three decades of life, and has never had to wear braces. While she acknowledges her flossing shortcomings, she doesn't necessarily think of herself as a terrible person and until recently did not experience white-knuckled terror at the dentist's office.
WELL. Readers, if you find yourself in Aunt Slugger's camp, you need to know that you are, in the mind of your dental hygienist, a hardened serial killer. It turns out that proper dental hygiene consists of brushing with an electric toothbrush, flossing, rinsing with Listerine, rinsing with anticavity mouthwash, and (get ready for this one) MASSAGING YOUR GUMS. You can imagine how much of an epic asshole your Aunt Slugger felt like when she had to admit that not only is her flossing sporadic, but she also doesn't get around to massaging her gums very often (i.e. never).
So given that engaging in modern dental hygiene would effectively take up about 95% of the average person's day, and given that most people have other obligations - like working, taking care of family members, and sitting on the couch with a bucket of fried chicken while watching Lifetime movies - you might think that your dental hygienist would be used to hearing people say that they don't necessarily find the time to light some candles and massage their gums for twenty minutes. You might also think that your dental hygienist would look at you and say, "You're a grown adult with a full-time job, and while I'd love for you to make time to give your mouth a spa treatment, I understand if you cannot."
And you would be wrong. Your Aunt Slugger was forced to PROVE TO HER DENTAL HYGIENIST THAT SHE KNOWS HOW TO FLOSS AND MASSAGE HER GUMS. She was also told that there is "no excuse for not flossing," which is actually false, because the excuse "I forgot" is more than sufficient.
But being interrogated by the East German Secret Police is not the only thing you have to worry about, Lars. You should also prepare yourself for the "Ultrasonic." After her bug-eyed hygienist made your Aunt Slugger feel like a complete dickhead, she used a high-powered device that operates a bit like a miniature fire hose to allegedly remove Aunt Slugger's plaque (of which there was reportedly a minimal amount, FYI, but this did NOT mean that Aunt Slugger was congratulated for her efforts - she was again reminded of the fact that she should be beaten to death for having small amounts of plaque on her back molars). Aunt Slugger also had to hold the suction thing (presumably because the hygienist's other hand was busy giving Aunt Slugger the middle finger for not flossing regularly), which didn't work, because most of the water from the Ultrasonic splashed onto her face instead of onto her teeth. Let us just say that it would not surprise Aunt Slugger if the Ultrasonic is also marketed as a waterboarding tool.
So there you have it, Lars. Be prepared to say goodbye to your happy childhood memories of receiving a rhubarb fluoride treatment and a smiling tooth sticker from your cheerful neighborhood dentist. Times have changed, Lars. In fact, as we speak, your dentist is probably interviewing former Gitmo interrogators to be your dental hygienist. I wish you all the best, Lars, but you may want to wish your loved ones farewell before you go get those teeth cleaned.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Holidays with the Family
Dear Aunt Slugger,
What is the best way to survive a holiday meal at your spouse's crazy grandparents' house?
Sincerely,
Pass the Scotch For My Sanity
Readers, the holiday season is upon us! For many of us, this means tons of great opportunities to interact with our beloved family members and add more scars to our livers.
PTSFMS, I am sorry I didn't get to this question in time for Thanksgiving. Assuming you aren't hooked up to a ventilator somewhere after trying to impale yourself repeatedly with a meat thermometer, I hope this advice will at least come in handy for the Christmas season.
In order to properly answer this question, it's important to ascertain exactly how crazy your grandparents-in-law are. On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being "they let the cat eat fresh Atlantic salmon at the dining room table," 5 being "there are puddles of urine on the stairs," and 10 being "you aren't sure whether this is a honey-glazed ham or a human thigh," exactly how crazy are we talking here?
For grandparents that register anywhere between a 1 and 4, you are probably fine to rely exclusively on your scotch, though I still recommend a single malt Lowland scotch, served directly out of the bottle. You're also going to want to maintain a cranberry sauce to scotch ratio (CSSR) of 1:12.
In-laws that clock in between a 5 and 8 require more advance preparation. In the days leading up to your visit, you should develop a debilitating addiction to valium or xanax. On the day of the visit, you should pre-medicate by telling your local animal control officer that there is a bear in your backyard, and then stepping in front of the tranquilizer gun at just the right moment. (This may take several tries.) You will also want to wear waterproof hunting boots, and you should only eat foods whose pedigree can be established with certainty (i.e. you opened the can of Beanee Weenies yourself). Your CSSR should be 1:24.
When dealing with relatives that score a 9 or 10 on the scale, you should maintain complete control of your faculties (which unfortunately means no scotch, but feel free to soak up as many shirley temples as you can). Citing allergies to gluten, egg, legumes, turkey, dairy, nuts, and water, you should bring your own food. And if your relatives leave the room, listen through the wall for the words "It puts the lotion in the bucket."
But the best way to survive a holiday meal at your in-laws' house? Don't go. Become a Scientologist, shun your extended relatives, and enjoy some peace and damn quiet with a Hungryman dinner in front of the TV.
Best of luck to you.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
What is the best way to survive a holiday meal at your spouse's crazy grandparents' house?
Sincerely,
Pass the Scotch For My Sanity
Readers, the holiday season is upon us! For many of us, this means tons of great opportunities to interact with our beloved family members and add more scars to our livers.
PTSFMS, I am sorry I didn't get to this question in time for Thanksgiving. Assuming you aren't hooked up to a ventilator somewhere after trying to impale yourself repeatedly with a meat thermometer, I hope this advice will at least come in handy for the Christmas season.
In order to properly answer this question, it's important to ascertain exactly how crazy your grandparents-in-law are. On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being "they let the cat eat fresh Atlantic salmon at the dining room table," 5 being "there are puddles of urine on the stairs," and 10 being "you aren't sure whether this is a honey-glazed ham or a human thigh," exactly how crazy are we talking here?
For grandparents that register anywhere between a 1 and 4, you are probably fine to rely exclusively on your scotch, though I still recommend a single malt Lowland scotch, served directly out of the bottle. You're also going to want to maintain a cranberry sauce to scotch ratio (CSSR) of 1:12.
In-laws that clock in between a 5 and 8 require more advance preparation. In the days leading up to your visit, you should develop a debilitating addiction to valium or xanax. On the day of the visit, you should pre-medicate by telling your local animal control officer that there is a bear in your backyard, and then stepping in front of the tranquilizer gun at just the right moment. (This may take several tries.) You will also want to wear waterproof hunting boots, and you should only eat foods whose pedigree can be established with certainty (i.e. you opened the can of Beanee Weenies yourself). Your CSSR should be 1:24.
When dealing with relatives that score a 9 or 10 on the scale, you should maintain complete control of your faculties (which unfortunately means no scotch, but feel free to soak up as many shirley temples as you can). Citing allergies to gluten, egg, legumes, turkey, dairy, nuts, and water, you should bring your own food. And if your relatives leave the room, listen through the wall for the words "It puts the lotion in the bucket."
But the best way to survive a holiday meal at your in-laws' house? Don't go. Become a Scientologist, shun your extended relatives, and enjoy some peace and damn quiet with a Hungryman dinner in front of the TV.
Best of luck to you.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Office Dress Codes
Dear Aunt Slugger,
As you know, most offices have some sort of dress code policy. While perusing my office's dress code, I noticed that it addressed short skirts, flip flops, and jeans, but I did not find anything in the policy regarding tight fitting shirts. Is there a polite way to tell someone that his or her shirt is so tight that I am concerned that the buttons may pop off and land in my eye? Also, please confirm whether there is a law against neon-colored shirts in an office environment.
As you know, most offices have some sort of dress code policy. While perusing my office's dress code, I noticed that it addressed short skirts, flip flops, and jeans, but I did not find anything in the policy regarding tight fitting shirts. Is there a polite way to tell someone that his or her shirt is so tight that I am concerned that the buttons may pop off and land in my eye? Also, please confirm whether there is a law against neon-colored shirts in an office environment.
Sincerely,
Go Celtics!
Dear Larry Byrd:
First of all, I'd like to thank you for addressing this matter, because we certainly can't rely on our elected officials to deal with this. While they were sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan this week, the rest of us were wondering when someone will send 30,000 troops stop people from buying size XS graphic tees at Urban Outfitters.
Well, don't hold your breath. It's the elephant in the room - literally - and no one wants to deal with it. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that there is at least one United States Senator inside a Washington D.C. Brooks Brothers right now, trying to squeeze into a slim-fit, non-iron tattersall diddy with French cuffs and a 14.5" neck, when in fact we all know that the poor bastard would really just be better off draping a queen size comforter around his body and calling it a day.
So we can't expect legislative action, and ever since that cottage cheese-eating, New Hampshire rock-climbing hippie David Souter retired from the Supreme Court, we can't expect any majority opinions forcing people to buy the correct size, either.
Readers, this issue remains a mystery to me. Except in the case of certain college football sweatshirts, very few articles of clothing actually showcase the size on a visible portion of the garment. Yet people seem ABSOLUTELY INSISTENT on buying the wrong size and thereby drawing attention to any imperfections. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that Aunt Slugger hasn't eaten her fair share of Hostess Pudding Pies dipped in Cheez Whiz over the years. What I'm saying is that God gave us fabric stores for a reason, and we should not be afraid to go buy twenty yards of white muslin and fashion ourselves a housedress after a hard night of drinking and dunking fried Clark bars in tubs of butter.
So to get back to the question at hand, the unfortunate answer, Larry B., is that until we see some action at the federal level, your best course of action is to buy a pair of welding goggles and a kevlar vest to protect yourself from projectile buttons.
Oh, and if the culprit is not only wearing tight clothing, but also neon clothing, you should pour hydrochloric acid in your eyes.
Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Dear Larry Byrd:
First of all, I'd like to thank you for addressing this matter, because we certainly can't rely on our elected officials to deal with this. While they were sending 30,000 more troops to Afghanistan this week, the rest of us were wondering when someone will send 30,000 troops stop people from buying size XS graphic tees at Urban Outfitters.
Well, don't hold your breath. It's the elephant in the room - literally - and no one wants to deal with it. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee that there is at least one United States Senator inside a Washington D.C. Brooks Brothers right now, trying to squeeze into a slim-fit, non-iron tattersall diddy with French cuffs and a 14.5" neck, when in fact we all know that the poor bastard would really just be better off draping a queen size comforter around his body and calling it a day.
So we can't expect legislative action, and ever since that cottage cheese-eating, New Hampshire rock-climbing hippie David Souter retired from the Supreme Court, we can't expect any majority opinions forcing people to buy the correct size, either.
Readers, this issue remains a mystery to me. Except in the case of certain college football sweatshirts, very few articles of clothing actually showcase the size on a visible portion of the garment. Yet people seem ABSOLUTELY INSISTENT on buying the wrong size and thereby drawing attention to any imperfections. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that Aunt Slugger hasn't eaten her fair share of Hostess Pudding Pies dipped in Cheez Whiz over the years. What I'm saying is that God gave us fabric stores for a reason, and we should not be afraid to go buy twenty yards of white muslin and fashion ourselves a housedress after a hard night of drinking and dunking fried Clark bars in tubs of butter.
So to get back to the question at hand, the unfortunate answer, Larry B., is that until we see some action at the federal level, your best course of action is to buy a pair of welding goggles and a kevlar vest to protect yourself from projectile buttons.
Oh, and if the culprit is not only wearing tight clothing, but also neon clothing, you should pour hydrochloric acid in your eyes.
Hope this helps.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Hospital Waiting Rooms
Dear Aunt Slugger,
Recently, my sister and I spent some time in a hospital waiting room with a young man that tried to impress us (and seemingly hit on my sister) by telling us about his collection of 9 millimeter guns and a certain "Desert Storm" weapon and silencer he was hoping to purchase. My sister nodded along and feigned interest while I put on some headphones and pretended not to hear him. Keeping in mind that his uncle was sharing a hospital room with our father, what was the correct way to respond to this situation?
Sincerely,
Dad, We Love You, But This Waiting Room is Really Inconvenient
Dear DWLYBTWRIRI:
First of all, it's important for Aunt Slugger to determine specifically WHICH Desert Storm weapon your waiting room friend was looking to purchase? Was it the Tapeworm, Hopper-9, or LYF-07 Stymie? Because if it was the LYF-07 Stymie, that is a BAD ASS weapon and if this guy really needs to get one, I can certainly put him in touch with--what was that? Oh, fine. Sorry, DWLYBTWRIRI, but the stuffed shirts in our legal department have asked me not to continue on with this paragraph.
Whatever.
Anyway, DWLYBTWRIRI, let's make sure we have all the facts here. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm going to sum up the situation with bullet points (no pun intended):
- You were in a hospital waiting room.
- Your father was hospitalized.
- The gun afficianado's uncle was also hospitalized.
- This guy decided, with emotions running high, that there's no better time to bag a lady than while his uncle is languishing in a hospital bed a few feet away.
- He further decided that he would put on his best game and discuss his gun collection.
Quite frankly, you have nothing to complain about. Your hospital waiting room experience is only atypical in the sense that you were not in the presence of at least nineteen other psychotic whackjobs. I include the emergency room doctors in this statement as well, all of whom have been awake since 1973 and all of whom believe that the single greatest medical threat facing our nation is earwax. I have never been to a doctor's office or hospital and NOT had my ears drained, cleaned, and buffed. You can go into an emergency room HOLDING YOUR LIVER IN YOUR HAND, and you will be told that you have a serious earwax situation. And for those of you who think that the cure for earwax doesn't involve strapping you down and putting a hot pink liquid laxative in your ear, you obviously have never lived.
So you do not have my sympathy, DWLYBTWRIRI. Not at all. The fact that you only had one conversation about silencers during the course of your wait means that you got off lucky.
Your earwax problem, on the other hand, is out of control, but we'll save that for another column.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Recently, my sister and I spent some time in a hospital waiting room with a young man that tried to impress us (and seemingly hit on my sister) by telling us about his collection of 9 millimeter guns and a certain "Desert Storm" weapon and silencer he was hoping to purchase. My sister nodded along and feigned interest while I put on some headphones and pretended not to hear him. Keeping in mind that his uncle was sharing a hospital room with our father, what was the correct way to respond to this situation?
Sincerely,
Dad, We Love You, But This Waiting Room is Really Inconvenient
Dear DWLYBTWRIRI:
First of all, it's important for Aunt Slugger to determine specifically WHICH Desert Storm weapon your waiting room friend was looking to purchase? Was it the Tapeworm, Hopper-9, or LYF-07 Stymie? Because if it was the LYF-07 Stymie, that is a BAD ASS weapon and if this guy really needs to get one, I can certainly put him in touch with--what was that? Oh, fine. Sorry, DWLYBTWRIRI, but the stuffed shirts in our legal department have asked me not to continue on with this paragraph.
Whatever.
Anyway, DWLYBTWRIRI, let's make sure we have all the facts here. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm going to sum up the situation with bullet points (no pun intended):
- You were in a hospital waiting room.
- Your father was hospitalized.
- The gun afficianado's uncle was also hospitalized.
- This guy decided, with emotions running high, that there's no better time to bag a lady than while his uncle is languishing in a hospital bed a few feet away.
- He further decided that he would put on his best game and discuss his gun collection.
Quite frankly, you have nothing to complain about. Your hospital waiting room experience is only atypical in the sense that you were not in the presence of at least nineteen other psychotic whackjobs. I include the emergency room doctors in this statement as well, all of whom have been awake since 1973 and all of whom believe that the single greatest medical threat facing our nation is earwax. I have never been to a doctor's office or hospital and NOT had my ears drained, cleaned, and buffed. You can go into an emergency room HOLDING YOUR LIVER IN YOUR HAND, and you will be told that you have a serious earwax situation. And for those of you who think that the cure for earwax doesn't involve strapping you down and putting a hot pink liquid laxative in your ear, you obviously have never lived.
So you do not have my sympathy, DWLYBTWRIRI. Not at all. The fact that you only had one conversation about silencers during the course of your wait means that you got off lucky.
Your earwax problem, on the other hand, is out of control, but we'll save that for another column.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Car Buying Tips
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I am in the market for a new car. Do you have any car-buying tips you can share?
Sincerely,
Ted of North Dakota
Dear Ted,
Ted, I'm glad you came to me with this important question. Buying a car can be a painful, labor-intensive process that can leave you financially and emotionally drained. Many people--like your dear Aunt Slugger, for example--have had such bad experiences buying cars that they have plans to either never buy another car, or commit suicide when it becomes manifest that buying another car is necessary. But hopefully, with my tips, you will be able to drive off the lot with your new car while whistling "The Next Episode" by Dr. Dre, featuring Snoop Dogg.
To begin, it's important to understand that there are four steps to buying a car. These are
1.) Browsing.
2.) Selecting.
3.) Negotiating.
4.) Death.
No! Sorry! The fourth step is actually "Purchasing." My mistake. In this column, I will provide you with detailed guidance for each step of the process. Each section is formatted to print on a 4"x6" notecard for you to use as a reference while you're huddled inside a bathroom stall, trying to get some time away from your car salesperson.
STEP 1, BROWSING:
The first thing you will need to do is decide what type of car you're interested in, and you can do this by browsing the lots at car dealerships. The ideal time to browse car lots is at 3:30a.m. on Christmas Day, because you can be reasonably certain that you will be left alone, but this is not always practical, and you might have to browse during normal daylight hours.
If you do decide to browse during daylight hours, you should plan which day you intend to go browsing, and then spend a few months before that training with an Olympic sprinter. This will give you a fighting chance of outrunning the salespeople that see you browsing. Although the cheetah has long been considered the fastest land animal, recent studies have suggested that a car salesman traveling at top speed toward a potential Honda buyer might actually be faster. Don't be deceived by appearances, either: Even a rotund car salesperson can go from donut to 60mph in less than two seconds.
STEP 2, SELECTING:
Once you have browsed the full range of vehicle options, you should narrow your choice down to a Toyota, because that is what Aunt Slugger drives. You should decide whether you want cloth interior or leather interior, manual transmission or automatic transmission, four-door or two-door, etc. You should write your selection down on a piece of paper and hand this to the car salesman, who will say, "You know, we have something like that in stock," and then he will take you out to look at something completely different. Keep referring to your piece of paper, and eventually, you might get something resembling what you originally requested. Keep in mind that you will never get the color you want, and you will always have to pay for some kind of embellishment that you don't want, like a sun roof or an espresso maker in the glove compartment.
STEP 3, NEGOTIATING:
There are a number of online research tools that will provide statistics on the amount of money that you should pay for a particular vehicle. No two tools will show the same amount, and it doesn't matter, anyway, because your car salesman will dismiss any pricing literature as being biased because it is sponsored by [name one--another car company, OPEC, Michael Moore, the French government, Charles Manson, etc]. To determine how much you want to pay, you should look at the sticker price, lob 20% off of that, and come to terms with the fact that you're going to get fucked no matter what you do.
STEP 4, PURCHASING:
Once you are done negotiating, you will meet with a financing expert, who will promptly change the price upon which you have just agreed. This is because your financing expert will start tossing in extras without your knowledge. Watch your financing expert closely, because if you're not careful, you'll drive off the lot with a fifteen-year limited warranty on your cup holders.
Your financing expert will also try to steal your trade-in. He or she will say things like, "Well, I mean, your antique 1948 Rolls Royce isn't even LISTED in the Kelley Blue Book, so you're lucky we're giving you 87 cents for it." This is why you are better off trying to sell your car to a strung-out college student on Craigslist.
Well, Ted, I hope this helps! Remember, buying a new vehicle doesn't have to be a terrible experience. With my tips, Ted, your car-buying experience should be an easy and painless--oh, who am I kidding? It's going to be fucking awful. You'd better get started on a bottle of valium now.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I am in the market for a new car. Do you have any car-buying tips you can share?
Sincerely,
Ted of North Dakota
Dear Ted,
Ted, I'm glad you came to me with this important question. Buying a car can be a painful, labor-intensive process that can leave you financially and emotionally drained. Many people--like your dear Aunt Slugger, for example--have had such bad experiences buying cars that they have plans to either never buy another car, or commit suicide when it becomes manifest that buying another car is necessary. But hopefully, with my tips, you will be able to drive off the lot with your new car while whistling "The Next Episode" by Dr. Dre, featuring Snoop Dogg.
To begin, it's important to understand that there are four steps to buying a car. These are
1.) Browsing.
2.) Selecting.
3.) Negotiating.
4.) Death.
No! Sorry! The fourth step is actually "Purchasing." My mistake. In this column, I will provide you with detailed guidance for each step of the process. Each section is formatted to print on a 4"x6" notecard for you to use as a reference while you're huddled inside a bathroom stall, trying to get some time away from your car salesperson.
STEP 1, BROWSING:
The first thing you will need to do is decide what type of car you're interested in, and you can do this by browsing the lots at car dealerships. The ideal time to browse car lots is at 3:30a.m. on Christmas Day, because you can be reasonably certain that you will be left alone, but this is not always practical, and you might have to browse during normal daylight hours.
If you do decide to browse during daylight hours, you should plan which day you intend to go browsing, and then spend a few months before that training with an Olympic sprinter. This will give you a fighting chance of outrunning the salespeople that see you browsing. Although the cheetah has long been considered the fastest land animal, recent studies have suggested that a car salesman traveling at top speed toward a potential Honda buyer might actually be faster. Don't be deceived by appearances, either: Even a rotund car salesperson can go from donut to 60mph in less than two seconds.
STEP 2, SELECTING:
Once you have browsed the full range of vehicle options, you should narrow your choice down to a Toyota, because that is what Aunt Slugger drives. You should decide whether you want cloth interior or leather interior, manual transmission or automatic transmission, four-door or two-door, etc. You should write your selection down on a piece of paper and hand this to the car salesman, who will say, "You know, we have something like that in stock," and then he will take you out to look at something completely different. Keep referring to your piece of paper, and eventually, you might get something resembling what you originally requested. Keep in mind that you will never get the color you want, and you will always have to pay for some kind of embellishment that you don't want, like a sun roof or an espresso maker in the glove compartment.
STEP 3, NEGOTIATING:
There are a number of online research tools that will provide statistics on the amount of money that you should pay for a particular vehicle. No two tools will show the same amount, and it doesn't matter, anyway, because your car salesman will dismiss any pricing literature as being biased because it is sponsored by [name one--another car company, OPEC, Michael Moore, the French government, Charles Manson, etc]. To determine how much you want to pay, you should look at the sticker price, lob 20% off of that, and come to terms with the fact that you're going to get fucked no matter what you do.
STEP 4, PURCHASING:
Once you are done negotiating, you will meet with a financing expert, who will promptly change the price upon which you have just agreed. This is because your financing expert will start tossing in extras without your knowledge. Watch your financing expert closely, because if you're not careful, you'll drive off the lot with a fifteen-year limited warranty on your cup holders.
Your financing expert will also try to steal your trade-in. He or she will say things like, "Well, I mean, your antique 1948 Rolls Royce isn't even LISTED in the Kelley Blue Book, so you're lucky we're giving you 87 cents for it." This is why you are better off trying to sell your car to a strung-out college student on Craigslist.
Well, Ted, I hope this helps! Remember, buying a new vehicle doesn't have to be a terrible experience. With my tips, Ted, your car-buying experience should be an easy and painless--oh, who am I kidding? It's going to be fucking awful. You'd better get started on a bottle of valium now.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Fashion
Dear Aunt Slugger,
Not only is October the time to brush up on Holiday baking and other various domestic duties, it is also the time to brush up on Fall Fashion and look forward to Spring 2010 trends. I have come across several new "trends" and I need your opinion. Sometimes (especially in the case of the sequined forehead heart) it is tough to differentiate the outrageously awful from the outrageously fabulous fashion idea:
1.) Sequin Heart on forehead? Lindsey Lohan was the artistic advisor for Ungaro's collection--made its debut in Paris this past week. Sexy? Office appropriate?
2.) "Mantyhose"---by lingerie designer Unconditional. Should I buy these for my (somewhere out there) boyfriend??
3.) "Tufted" fur jackets? Will PETA allow this? I do live in the Northeast, tough territory.
4.) "Baby Bump Pad" by Jean Paul Gaultier - I'm not pregnant, but isn't this the sexiest???!!!
Thanks for all your advice.
Sincerely,
Is the Baby Bump a Good Way to Get a Date?
Dear ITBBAGWTGAD,
I'd like to begin this column by thanking ITBBAGWTGAD for addressing this critical topic. Although recent data suggest that the world financial markets are on the road to recovery, we are still plagued by news of lay-offs around the country, which means that you, readers, need to act swiftly and shrewdly when it comes to making your spring fashion choices. Appearance is everything, and you wouldn't want to find out that you ended up on the chopping block because you wore the wrong shoes with your mantyhose.
First of all, let's be very clear on something: We here in the general populace cannot be relied upon to make avant-garde and fashion-forward decisions about our clothing. This is why we have fashion designers. Were it not for fashion designers, people would wear pajamas to work, high heels wouldn't exist, and President Barack Obama would give his state of the union address wearing nothing more than a fleece bathrobe and a shower cap, and we as a society wouldn't think anything of it. The only thing saving us from sinking to such depravity and comfort is the fashion community, and we should always defer to their judgment. If they send a woman down the runway wearing a hunting vest and a box of fish sticks, you should grab your rifle and tartar sauce and walk with confidence.
Unfortunately, due to strict, unwritten social guidelines, some items are not appropriate for some situations. So, while a giant sequin forehead heart might be considered acceptable or even desirable in a private equity firm, a rheumatologist's office might frown upon it, or at least only allow it on Fridays. The same goes for the tufted fur jacket. Many clubs and bars will ONLY allow you onto the premises if your clothing appears to serve no function whatsoever and is made from sloth carcasses, whereas other establishments have standing orders to club you to death if you wear anything other than a garment made entirely from recycled flaxseed. In these situations, you should use your best judgment, or ask a friend who might be familiar with the scene. If you can't gauge the dress code, it is ALWAYS best to err on the side of caution and wear your mantyhose.
As for the cutting-edge maternity shirt from Jean Paul Gaultier, I can think of no other single piece of maternity attire that says, "I am a classy, confident pregnant woman, and I shall wear this beautiful shirt that resembles--in both style and comfort level--a gladiator breastplate." You should wear this top regardless of your pregnancy status, as I can say with total confidence that this garment will net you a lot of attention from 19-year-old drunk college students, people who like to re-enact ancient battle scenes, and men who are legally blind.
Good luck navigating the fashion waters, readers!
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
(Photos courtesy www.nymag.com)
1.) Sequin Heart on forehead? Lindsey Lohan was the artistic advisor for Ungaro's collection--made its debut in Paris this past week. Sexy? Office appropriate?
2.) "Mantyhose"---by lingerie designer Unconditional. Should I buy these for my (somewhere out there) boyfriend??
3.) "Tufted" fur jackets? Will PETA allow this? I do live in the Northeast, tough territory.
4.) "Baby Bump Pad" by Jean Paul Gaultier - I'm not pregnant, but isn't this the sexiest???!!!
Thanks for all your advice.
Sincerely,
Is the Baby Bump a Good Way to Get a Date?
Dear ITBBAGWTGAD,
I'd like to begin this column by thanking ITBBAGWTGAD for addressing this critical topic. Although recent data suggest that the world financial markets are on the road to recovery, we are still plagued by news of lay-offs around the country, which means that you, readers, need to act swiftly and shrewdly when it comes to making your spring fashion choices. Appearance is everything, and you wouldn't want to find out that you ended up on the chopping block because you wore the wrong shoes with your mantyhose.
First of all, let's be very clear on something: We here in the general populace cannot be relied upon to make avant-garde and fashion-forward decisions about our clothing. This is why we have fashion designers. Were it not for fashion designers, people would wear pajamas to work, high heels wouldn't exist, and President Barack Obama would give his state of the union address wearing nothing more than a fleece bathrobe and a shower cap, and we as a society wouldn't think anything of it. The only thing saving us from sinking to such depravity and comfort is the fashion community, and we should always defer to their judgment. If they send a woman down the runway wearing a hunting vest and a box of fish sticks, you should grab your rifle and tartar sauce and walk with confidence.
Unfortunately, due to strict, unwritten social guidelines, some items are not appropriate for some situations. So, while a giant sequin forehead heart might be considered acceptable or even desirable in a private equity firm, a rheumatologist's office might frown upon it, or at least only allow it on Fridays. The same goes for the tufted fur jacket. Many clubs and bars will ONLY allow you onto the premises if your clothing appears to serve no function whatsoever and is made from sloth carcasses, whereas other establishments have standing orders to club you to death if you wear anything other than a garment made entirely from recycled flaxseed. In these situations, you should use your best judgment, or ask a friend who might be familiar with the scene. If you can't gauge the dress code, it is ALWAYS best to err on the side of caution and wear your mantyhose.
As for the cutting-edge maternity shirt from Jean Paul Gaultier, I can think of no other single piece of maternity attire that says, "I am a classy, confident pregnant woman, and I shall wear this beautiful shirt that resembles--in both style and comfort level--a gladiator breastplate." You should wear this top regardless of your pregnancy status, as I can say with total confidence that this garment will net you a lot of attention from 19-year-old drunk college students, people who like to re-enact ancient battle scenes, and men who are legally blind.
Good luck navigating the fashion waters, readers!
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
(Photos courtesy www.nymag.com)
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