Dear Aunt Slugger,
I currently suffer from a variety of health problems, including terminal cancer, kidney failure, schizophrenia, mad cow disease, leprosy, and smallpox. Sometimes, these conditions are hard to manage, and I start to feel depressed about my impending death and--
You know what? If I had a dollar for every whiny letter I get from cancer-ridden schizophrenic lepers, I'd be installing a solid gold toilet in my bathroom right now. The world has enough problems without having to deal with some asshole bitching and moaning about being the first case of hemorrhagic smallpox since 1978.
So instead, we're going to talk about something far more important, which is, of course, your Aunt Slugger's recent struggle with a certain mainstream American airline that shall remain nameless in this column, unless of course that name is accidentally featured in large, boldface letters in the column's headline, which would be unfortunate, but also a sad reality of the internet.
As many of my loyal readers are aware, Aunt Slugger's advice column is headquartered in Cambridge, Massachusetts, which, as you may also be aware, was hit with a massive snowstorm over this past weekend. This past weekend also featured the Christmas holiday, which, for my loyal readers in remote areas of the Amazon River Basin, is a major holiday here in the United States. A few facts on the Christmas holiday:
1.) It always falls on December 25th.
2.) There is a high volume of air travel over the Christmas holiday so that people can see their families.
3.) Because of breakthroughs in modern calendar technology, there is a high likelihood of experiencing winter weather on or around December 25th.
So just keep those facts in your back pocket for a moment while your Aunt Slugger explains her specific situation. Your Aunt Slugger flew from Boston Logan International Airport to a mid-sized Midwestern city. On Christmas Eve, I checked the weather report and saw that most of the East Coast was going to be slammed with snow the day after Christmas, which was also the day I was slated to fly back to Boston. Just to reiterate a key point here: Your Aunt Slugger, who is a professional advice columnist with no formal training in meteorology, knew, several days beforehand, that it was going to snow at around the same time she was scheduled to arrive in Boston. Perhaps it's a stretch to assume this, but I tend to think that at least one airline employee would have also been privy to this weather report, which, for the record, is publicly available using newfangled technology like "the internet" and "newspapers."
Fast forward to the day after Christmas. The East Coast is getting slaughtered with snow and high-speed winds. In Massachusetts, houses are literally falling into the ocean. It was the sort of weather that makes a New Englander hunker down in the basement with extra supplies and a Midwesterner like myself draft blueprints for a bitchin' snowman. But it was not the sort of weather you fly a plane in, even if you are from the Midwest. So I was not surprised when my flight was canceled. I was surprised, though, when the flight was rescheduled for the following morning at 5:45a.m., when (again, using the widely available weather report) it was still supposed to be snowing and gusting wind.
So I phoned the airline. I received the following message (not verbatim, but close enough): "Due to extreme weather conditions, we are unavailable to take your call at this time. Please call again later, or use our website."
So I logged onto the website, which provided absolutely no pertinent information. I tried to call again. I got the same message. I went to Target and bought 50% off Christmas wrapping paper. I called again. I ate a donut. I called again. I fought with my brother over which variety of pizza to get for lunch. I called again. I read two chapters in a book. I called again.
Finally, after getting the same pre-recorded message again, I borrowed a car and drove down to the local airport. I found a representative for my specific airline. I explained my situation. I asked if I could be rescheduled for a later flight the next day or the day after because I was concerned that my flight would be canceled because of the snow. "No fucking way" was the response. The "fucking" was silent, but implied via tone and facial expression.
I got home and checked the status of my new 5:45a.m. flight. As you have already guessed because you are not a tub of unsalted butter, my flight was canceled. I called the airline and received the same pre-recorded message. So I borrowed a car AGAIN and drove back to the airport AGAIN, where I pleaded my case to the same employee. After much sighing and eyeball rolls, she put me on an 8am flight back to Boston on Wednesday - three days after my original departure.
Before I get a bunch of angry e-mails from people who work in the customer service industry, let me clarify two things:
1.) I am aware that airplanes should not be expected to fly in the snow.
2.) I am not one of those people who screams at customer service professionals.
So don't send me some typo-ridden letter pissing about how these people are underpaid and overworked and harassed all day and how I should let the occasional eyeball roll slide and so on and so forth. One of my first jobs was as a welfare caseworker, with over 300 cases and a government cubicle in the basement of an old Sears store. I had the monopoly on overworked and underpaid, so don't talk to me about overworked and under-fucking-paid, OK? Thank you.
Where was I? Ah, yes. So I got home and let my new flight details marinate for a little bit. I tried calling the airline several more times, but got the same message. I saw reports of other stranded passengers receiving vouchers for future air travel.
Finally, yesterday (Tuesday), I got through to someone at the airline. I explained my situation. They confirmed my flight details for Wednesday. I explained that as a longtime airline customer (I had in fact used frequent flier miles to pay for the ticket), I found it frustrating that I had to drive out to the airport twice to reschedule my flight because I couldn't get someone on the phone. I asked if I could get a free upgrade or two free bags on my next flight for the inconvenience.
As you already know because you have at least a preschool education, they told me to go fuck myself.
So this morning, I got up and headed to the airport in the frigid, silent, pre-dawn hours of the Midwest. At this point, I have been wearing the same pair of pants for five days. I am tired. But I am eager to get on the plane and get back to my apartment and my rigorous schedule of snacking and drafting advice columns.
Obviously, I did not make it out on this morning's flight. I am still in the Midwest. Still in the same pair of pants. And still five hours of flying away from unloading these half off gift tags into my closet.
However, there is a bright side to all of this, which is that it's refreshing to see that a business model that involves being under-prepared for a known disruption to the core service of your particular industry and then not giving two fucking shits about your customers not only works, but also sets you up to receive federal aid money.
So you see--what was your name again? You, the cancer patient scratching at that smallpox lesion? Well, whatever your name is, let's just see who has it worse off. At least you're not dealing with the airline industry.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Answering life's deepest questions
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Selling a House
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I come to you seeking advice. We are preparing to sell our house, and we are getting ready to host an open house. Do you have any tips for us? Any pitfalls to avoid?
Regards,
The Sellers
Dear Sellers,
You would never guess it from my lavish advice columnist lifestyle, but your Aunt Slugger has never been a homeowner. I operate out of the Dear Aunt Slugger headquarters, which is inconveniently located in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where the average home is divided into seventy-nine tenement apartments that are infested with mice, rats, caterpillars, fleas, roaches, skunks, and sociopaths. The average Cambridge resident rents these tenements for prices equivalent to 150% of his or her gross income before taxes and change collected from the subway tracks. Occasionally, these apartments are available for sale at absolutely obscene prices, in which case they are referred to as "condos," which makes them sound nice but doesn't necessarily mean that all the dead bodies have been cleared from the bathroom.
So I can't necessarily offer advice on the actual act of selling your house, since I am not familiar with home inspections, appraisals, or mortgage brokers with no self-respect. However, given my vast experience dealing with the rental markets, I can offer some tips on what you probably shouldn't do.
First of all, there's truth in advertising. If you are trying to sell a 2,000 square foot four bedroom home with 1.5 baths and an unfinished basement, you should *not* advertise that you have a 4,000 square foot home with six bedrooms, an elevator, and a carriage house. You would think this would be obvious, but apparently, it is not. When your Aunt Slugger moved to Cambridge, I found a listing for a three-bedroom apartment. As I discovered after I toured it (with the landlord, who looked like a cross between Norman Bates and Dracula), it was a one bedroom apartment with a large walk-in closet (i.e. "the second bedroom") and a living room that "converted into a third bedroom." Despite many years of formal education, I was unable to figure out how exactly that worked. So tempting as it may be to advertise that your dilapidated tool shed is actually "separate servants' quarters," you should avoid doing so.
Additionally, you will want to make the house look as spartan as possible. And I'm not just talking about hiding your toaster oven collection to make the space appear less cluttered; that's a well-known real estate trick. I'm talking about not being there when prospective homebuyers are passing through. When your Aunt Slugger was in graduate school, obtaining a degree that was somehow even less academically rigorous than my undergraduate degree in political science, I was moving from one tenement slum to another. I found a fourth-floor walk-up studio apartment that looked like a pretty good deal - all utilities included, a kitchenette, bay windows. When the apartment broker brought me to look at the apartment, I wasn't able to get a really good look at it because there were three people in there, watching television and cooking dinner. This is just a matter of personal opinion, but I find it awkward to ask to look at the kitchenette when someone is marinating chicken thighs on the stovetop.
Other key tips for selling your house include
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I come to you seeking advice. We are preparing to sell our house, and we are getting ready to host an open house. Do you have any tips for us? Any pitfalls to avoid?
Regards,
The Sellers
Dear Sellers,
You would never guess it from my lavish advice columnist lifestyle, but your Aunt Slugger has never been a homeowner. I operate out of the Dear Aunt Slugger headquarters, which is inconveniently located in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where the average home is divided into seventy-nine tenement apartments that are infested with mice, rats, caterpillars, fleas, roaches, skunks, and sociopaths. The average Cambridge resident rents these tenements for prices equivalent to 150% of his or her gross income before taxes and change collected from the subway tracks. Occasionally, these apartments are available for sale at absolutely obscene prices, in which case they are referred to as "condos," which makes them sound nice but doesn't necessarily mean that all the dead bodies have been cleared from the bathroom.
So I can't necessarily offer advice on the actual act of selling your house, since I am not familiar with home inspections, appraisals, or mortgage brokers with no self-respect. However, given my vast experience dealing with the rental markets, I can offer some tips on what you probably shouldn't do.
First of all, there's truth in advertising. If you are trying to sell a 2,000 square foot four bedroom home with 1.5 baths and an unfinished basement, you should *not* advertise that you have a 4,000 square foot home with six bedrooms, an elevator, and a carriage house. You would think this would be obvious, but apparently, it is not. When your Aunt Slugger moved to Cambridge, I found a listing for a three-bedroom apartment. As I discovered after I toured it (with the landlord, who looked like a cross between Norman Bates and Dracula), it was a one bedroom apartment with a large walk-in closet (i.e. "the second bedroom") and a living room that "converted into a third bedroom." Despite many years of formal education, I was unable to figure out how exactly that worked. So tempting as it may be to advertise that your dilapidated tool shed is actually "separate servants' quarters," you should avoid doing so.
Additionally, you will want to make the house look as spartan as possible. And I'm not just talking about hiding your toaster oven collection to make the space appear less cluttered; that's a well-known real estate trick. I'm talking about not being there when prospective homebuyers are passing through. When your Aunt Slugger was in graduate school, obtaining a degree that was somehow even less academically rigorous than my undergraduate degree in political science, I was moving from one tenement slum to another. I found a fourth-floor walk-up studio apartment that looked like a pretty good deal - all utilities included, a kitchenette, bay windows. When the apartment broker brought me to look at the apartment, I wasn't able to get a really good look at it because there were three people in there, watching television and cooking dinner. This is just a matter of personal opinion, but I find it awkward to ask to look at the kitchenette when someone is marinating chicken thighs on the stovetop.
Other key tips for selling your house include
- Removing all visible pet droppings from common areas
- Putting organic fruits on display
- Sedating your neighbors so that they don't have another fistfight on the front lawn during your open house
- Putting all non-essential furniture, books, toys, exercise equipment and children in an offsite storage facility
- Displaying the china you received for your wedding but which has heretofore remained in boxes
- Not mentioning the demons you exorcised from the attic last year
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Friday, October 22, 2010
'80s Fashion
Dear Slugger,
Why, in the name of everything holy is fashion in 2010 embracing the 80s and early 90s? Didn't it look bad the first time around? Why plaid? Why now? Should anyone selling, purchasing, browsing, or thinking about browsing stirrup pants be shot on sight?
Thank you,
My Clothes Have Pee and Barf on Them So What do I Care About Fall Fashion
Dear MCHPBTSWDICAFF:
The short answer, MCHPBTSWDICAFF, is that I don't know. I don't know how we, as a people, have become so depraved that we openly tolerate people wearing compression tights in public. And for those of you who are saying, "Compression tights? Who's wearing compression tights?" -- you may already be too far gone. Right now, in a hospital somewhere, there's a nurse squeezing the legs of a lower-body trauma victim into a pair of skinny jeans to prevent blood clots, and no one is the wiser.
There have definitely been instances thoughout the history of mankind where people have tolerated some unimaginable atrocities. But we (or at least most of us) usually learn from our mistakes. Bloodletting, for example. Back in the day, people used to believe that you could bleed disease right out of your veins. Using modern science, we know today that this practice is absolutely preposterous, although your Aunt Slugger would not object to trying it on Glenn Beck. So you don't typically see doctors using bloodletting as a medical technique nowadays, because we've learned from our mistakes. And in fact, most people wouldn't tolerate the procedure if they saw it performed on themselves or another human being. There would be intense media coverage, a public outcry, congressional hearings, a criminal investigation, and the creation of Bloodletting Awareness Month. As a people, we simply wouldn't stand for it.
It was one thing when '80s fashion first came in vogue, back in, well, the '80s. We really didn't know any better. It was the fashion equivalent of bloodletting, and we just carried on the best way we knew how, totally oblivious to the fact that we had other options. Your Aunt Slugger, for example, wore a lot of tapered jeans in her day. Granted, at that time, I was also very focused on playing with my Kenner Ewok Family Hut, which I definitely loved more than my brother and possibly more than my parents. So my judgment wasn't as finely tuned as it is now. But we really couldn't have been expected to know; it's only in hindsight that we can reflect upon this period in history and wonder what it was that was infecting our water that caused us to both wear shoulder pads and elect Ronald Reagan not just once, but twice.
Yet somehow, here we are, ignoring the fact that one of the greatest tragedies in the history of mankind - leggings - is repeating itself before our very eyes, and there is not one single thing we can do about it besides kill ourselves. It's the only way I can think of to stop feeling as though I'm living in a John Hughes movie.
In the interest of avoiding pesky and potentially expensive lawsuits that might arise from advocating the grisly torture of anyone wearing stirrup pants, I will only generally address your last question. Sometimes, MCHPBTSWDICAFF, law and morality are not aligned, and it takes a few brave people to stand up for what they know is right. So if you take it upon yourself to bring a loaded weapon into the J.Crew women's pants department...well, just know that history will eventually judge you a hero.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Why, in the name of everything holy is fashion in 2010 embracing the 80s and early 90s? Didn't it look bad the first time around? Why plaid? Why now? Should anyone selling, purchasing, browsing, or thinking about browsing stirrup pants be shot on sight?
Thank you,
My Clothes Have Pee and Barf on Them So What do I Care About Fall Fashion
Dear MCHPBTSWDICAFF:
The short answer, MCHPBTSWDICAFF, is that I don't know. I don't know how we, as a people, have become so depraved that we openly tolerate people wearing compression tights in public. And for those of you who are saying, "Compression tights? Who's wearing compression tights?" -- you may already be too far gone. Right now, in a hospital somewhere, there's a nurse squeezing the legs of a lower-body trauma victim into a pair of skinny jeans to prevent blood clots, and no one is the wiser.
There have definitely been instances thoughout the history of mankind where people have tolerated some unimaginable atrocities. But we (or at least most of us) usually learn from our mistakes. Bloodletting, for example. Back in the day, people used to believe that you could bleed disease right out of your veins. Using modern science, we know today that this practice is absolutely preposterous, although your Aunt Slugger would not object to trying it on Glenn Beck. So you don't typically see doctors using bloodletting as a medical technique nowadays, because we've learned from our mistakes. And in fact, most people wouldn't tolerate the procedure if they saw it performed on themselves or another human being. There would be intense media coverage, a public outcry, congressional hearings, a criminal investigation, and the creation of Bloodletting Awareness Month. As a people, we simply wouldn't stand for it.
It was one thing when '80s fashion first came in vogue, back in, well, the '80s. We really didn't know any better. It was the fashion equivalent of bloodletting, and we just carried on the best way we knew how, totally oblivious to the fact that we had other options. Your Aunt Slugger, for example, wore a lot of tapered jeans in her day. Granted, at that time, I was also very focused on playing with my Kenner Ewok Family Hut, which I definitely loved more than my brother and possibly more than my parents. So my judgment wasn't as finely tuned as it is now. But we really couldn't have been expected to know; it's only in hindsight that we can reflect upon this period in history and wonder what it was that was infecting our water that caused us to both wear shoulder pads and elect Ronald Reagan not just once, but twice.
Yet somehow, here we are, ignoring the fact that one of the greatest tragedies in the history of mankind - leggings - is repeating itself before our very eyes, and there is not one single thing we can do about it besides kill ourselves. It's the only way I can think of to stop feeling as though I'm living in a John Hughes movie.
In the interest of avoiding pesky and potentially expensive lawsuits that might arise from advocating the grisly torture of anyone wearing stirrup pants, I will only generally address your last question. Sometimes, MCHPBTSWDICAFF, law and morality are not aligned, and it takes a few brave people to stand up for what they know is right. So if you take it upon yourself to bring a loaded weapon into the J.Crew women's pants department...well, just know that history will eventually judge you a hero.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Travel Funding
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I was hoping to receive your comments on this situation. What would you say if you found out that a 32-year-old man is going on vacation to DisneyWorld with his parents and an occasional girlfriend? FYI, the parents are funding the entire vacation.
Regards,
Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
This poor man. How very sad. You didn't mention it in your letter, but I can only assume that he has lost his job and is dying of some kind of awful, debilitating terminal illness, because that is the only reason I can think of that a grown man would let his parents pay for him and his pseudo-girlfriend to go to DisneyWorld. It's such a tragedy to see a young man leave this mortal coil so early, before he's had a chance to really -
Dear Aunt Slugger,
Please allow me to clarify. He is not dying of a terminal illness, nor has he lost his job. He actually earns an excellent salary and is in good health.
Regards again,
Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
Well, OK, fuck him then.
Folks, as an advice columnist, I am ethically bound to issue the following public service announcement:
If you are a grown adult, and your parents offer to take you and your on-again, off-again girlfriend/boyfriend to DisneyWorld, the polite (and correct) response is as follows:
"Thanks, Mom and Dad. I would enjoy nothing more than to ride Big Thunder Mountain with you and this woman/man that I've been casually sleeping with for the past couple of weeks. That being said, since I am 32 years of age, and since I have a job, and since I am not a big fucking tool, I will pay for my own flight, hotel, tickets, and fried dough."
Your Aunt Slugger is not opposed to DisneyWorld. I'm not even opposed to adults going to DisneyWorld with their parents. I've been to DisneyWorld as an adult, and I will freely admit that I can't get enough of that shit and am always the first person to jump in line to meet Goofy or get Donald Duck's autograph. The takeaway here is not that DisneyWorld is inherently bad, but that letting your senior citizen parents pay for you and the person you just met in a bathroom stall at a truck stop to go to DisneyWorld makes you the world's biggest asshole.
Now, granted, part of the problem is that the type of parents who would fund such a trip are also the type of parents who would produce the type of deadbeat loser that would accept such an offer, so it's definitely a chicken/egg conundrum. Who's at fault more? The kid for accepting the generosity, or the parents for not using a condom back in 1978?
I will leave you to ponder that philosophical question.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I was hoping to receive your comments on this situation. What would you say if you found out that a 32-year-old man is going on vacation to DisneyWorld with his parents and an occasional girlfriend? FYI, the parents are funding the entire vacation.
Regards,
Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
This poor man. How very sad. You didn't mention it in your letter, but I can only assume that he has lost his job and is dying of some kind of awful, debilitating terminal illness, because that is the only reason I can think of that a grown man would let his parents pay for him and his pseudo-girlfriend to go to DisneyWorld. It's such a tragedy to see a young man leave this mortal coil so early, before he's had a chance to really -
Dear Aunt Slugger,
Please allow me to clarify. He is not dying of a terminal illness, nor has he lost his job. He actually earns an excellent salary and is in good health.
Regards again,
Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
Well, OK, fuck him then.
Folks, as an advice columnist, I am ethically bound to issue the following public service announcement:
If you are a grown adult, and your parents offer to take you and your on-again, off-again girlfriend/boyfriend to DisneyWorld, the polite (and correct) response is as follows:
"Thanks, Mom and Dad. I would enjoy nothing more than to ride Big Thunder Mountain with you and this woman/man that I've been casually sleeping with for the past couple of weeks. That being said, since I am 32 years of age, and since I have a job, and since I am not a big fucking tool, I will pay for my own flight, hotel, tickets, and fried dough."
Your Aunt Slugger is not opposed to DisneyWorld. I'm not even opposed to adults going to DisneyWorld with their parents. I've been to DisneyWorld as an adult, and I will freely admit that I can't get enough of that shit and am always the first person to jump in line to meet Goofy or get Donald Duck's autograph. The takeaway here is not that DisneyWorld is inherently bad, but that letting your senior citizen parents pay for you and the person you just met in a bathroom stall at a truck stop to go to DisneyWorld makes you the world's biggest asshole.
Now, granted, part of the problem is that the type of parents who would fund such a trip are also the type of parents who would produce the type of deadbeat loser that would accept such an offer, so it's definitely a chicken/egg conundrum. Who's at fault more? The kid for accepting the generosity, or the parents for not using a condom back in 1978?
I will leave you to ponder that philosophical question.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Sunday, September 12, 2010
The Gym
Dear Aunt Slugger,
I've recently become concerned about my cardiovascular health and have decided to join a gym. Do you have any good exercise tips for me?
Sincerely,
Trying Not To Die At Age 41
Dear TNTDAA41,
Actually, no. I don't. I stopped paying attention to wellness advice after I was forced to square dance in the seventh grade. If you take nothing else away from my advice columns, at least remember this: Never, under any circumstances, should you ever take fitness tips from a middle-aged junior high school gym teacher wearing a red and white checkered scarf. Those are words to live by.
That being said, I can offer you a number of tips for surviving in a gym environment. I have been to a number of different gyms over the years (none of which, you will note, have square dancing machines), and there are a few things you should know before you go stroke out on the treadmill.
First--and this is very important--unless your gym is located inside the locker room of a professional football team, you are not the most athletically disinclined person there. You just aren't. You will think you are, but you are not. Your average gym goer likes to appear as though he or she is a walking, talking Michelangelo fresco, so you will see these people wearing top-of-the-line gear, grunting on the weight machines, and drinking protein shakes while sprinting at top speed on the treadmill. You will also note that these same people rarely survive more than five minutes at any given exercise. This is sometimes referred to as "circuit training," or, as advice columnists know it, "weakness." So do not be intimidated.
Second, your gym will usually offer personal trainers. Unless you have very specific fitness needs, such as wanting your left thigh to look like a turkey drumstick, you don't need a personal trainer. These people get paid by the hour to convey the following message: "Burn calories." Since I am an advice columnist, and thereby already independently wealthy, I will offer the same message here, free of charge: "Burn calories." You may print out this column and keep it with you when you go to the gym to remind yourself of that message, in case you somehow forget why you've decided to surround yourself with sweaty assholes in unforgiving moisture-wicking shorts.
Third, you should not worry about your appearance at the gym. Wear the following outfit: t-shirt, shorts, socks, sneakers, and deodorant. (PLEASE wear deodorant, especially you, dude in yellow shirt who uses the rowing machine every morning from 6-6:30). For you women, if you consider putting on makeup before you go the gym, you should also consider checking yourself into a mental facility. For you men, if you consider not wearing a shirt, ask yourself the following question: "Am I a model?" If the answer is no, you can't go without the shirt. If the answer is yes, you still can't go without the shirt, given that the modern male model looks as though he's been eating nothing but cocaine and Tic-Tacs for the past two years.
Finally, you will find that people will spend a great deal of time trying to see how far you've gone on the treadmill, or how many flights of stairs you've climbed on the stair machine, or how many gallons of sweat you have produced. Disregard these people. They are the same people who keep meticulous notes about how long you took for lunch at work last Friday and how many times they saw you check the online weather forecast. They are also sociopaths who keep body parts in their pantries, so pay them no heed (except as required to avoid being alone with them near an electric carving knife).
Well, TNTDAA41, I hope this helps. Good luck at your new gym, and remember: If you eat properly, exercise regularly, get 8 hours sleep a night, and drink 10 cups of water a day, you will still die.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
I've recently become concerned about my cardiovascular health and have decided to join a gym. Do you have any good exercise tips for me?
Sincerely,
Trying Not To Die At Age 41
Dear TNTDAA41,
Actually, no. I don't. I stopped paying attention to wellness advice after I was forced to square dance in the seventh grade. If you take nothing else away from my advice columns, at least remember this: Never, under any circumstances, should you ever take fitness tips from a middle-aged junior high school gym teacher wearing a red and white checkered scarf. Those are words to live by.
That being said, I can offer you a number of tips for surviving in a gym environment. I have been to a number of different gyms over the years (none of which, you will note, have square dancing machines), and there are a few things you should know before you go stroke out on the treadmill.
First--and this is very important--unless your gym is located inside the locker room of a professional football team, you are not the most athletically disinclined person there. You just aren't. You will think you are, but you are not. Your average gym goer likes to appear as though he or she is a walking, talking Michelangelo fresco, so you will see these people wearing top-of-the-line gear, grunting on the weight machines, and drinking protein shakes while sprinting at top speed on the treadmill. You will also note that these same people rarely survive more than five minutes at any given exercise. This is sometimes referred to as "circuit training," or, as advice columnists know it, "weakness." So do not be intimidated.
Second, your gym will usually offer personal trainers. Unless you have very specific fitness needs, such as wanting your left thigh to look like a turkey drumstick, you don't need a personal trainer. These people get paid by the hour to convey the following message: "Burn calories." Since I am an advice columnist, and thereby already independently wealthy, I will offer the same message here, free of charge: "Burn calories." You may print out this column and keep it with you when you go to the gym to remind yourself of that message, in case you somehow forget why you've decided to surround yourself with sweaty assholes in unforgiving moisture-wicking shorts.
Third, you should not worry about your appearance at the gym. Wear the following outfit: t-shirt, shorts, socks, sneakers, and deodorant. (PLEASE wear deodorant, especially you, dude in yellow shirt who uses the rowing machine every morning from 6-6:30). For you women, if you consider putting on makeup before you go the gym, you should also consider checking yourself into a mental facility. For you men, if you consider not wearing a shirt, ask yourself the following question: "Am I a model?" If the answer is no, you can't go without the shirt. If the answer is yes, you still can't go without the shirt, given that the modern male model looks as though he's been eating nothing but cocaine and Tic-Tacs for the past two years.
Finally, you will find that people will spend a great deal of time trying to see how far you've gone on the treadmill, or how many flights of stairs you've climbed on the stair machine, or how many gallons of sweat you have produced. Disregard these people. They are the same people who keep meticulous notes about how long you took for lunch at work last Friday and how many times they saw you check the online weather forecast. They are also sociopaths who keep body parts in their pantries, so pay them no heed (except as required to avoid being alone with them near an electric carving knife).
Well, TNTDAA41, I hope this helps. Good luck at your new gym, and remember: If you eat properly, exercise regularly, get 8 hours sleep a night, and drink 10 cups of water a day, you will still die.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Air Travel
Dear Aunt Slugger,
This weekend, I am flying to South Dakota to see the famous Mitchell Corn Palace. I have mixed feelings about this trip, because, although seeing the Corn Palace has been a lifelong dream of mine, I have never flown on an airplane before and I am nervous about what to expect. Do you have any tips for me?
Sincerely,
Doug
Brockton, MA
Dear Doug,
Doug, first and foremost, I hope you have a really nice time at the Corn Palace. I hope you are blessed with many happy memories of…of whatever it is that you do at the Corn Palace.
Now, onto the topic at hand. You’ve come to the right place, Doug. Your Aunt Slugger has a great deal of air travel experience – so much air travel experience, in fact, that even the strongest drugs cannot suppress the memories. I’ve tried; nothing has worked.
As your Aunt Slugger sees it, there are a number of problems with air travel, which I will list here:
1.) The airlines. These assholes will rob you blind at every opportunity, and there is not one single thing you can do about it. We had the opportunity to stop them, we did. Back when they started charging baggage fees, we should have made a statement by filling our suitcases with rotting catfish and sweaty compression shorts. But we didn’t. I wanted to, but the rest of you apathetic dicks didn't back me up.
2.) Security. I know that some of you are going to defend airport security as being critical to the safety of airplane passengers. I get what you’re saying, I really do. You’re clinging to this dream of an airport security utopia wherein suspected terrorists are caught, honest people are treated with dignity, and deer eat right out of your hand while you go through the metal detector. But you need to face reality here: Our airports would be just as safe--possibly safer--if we put a common dairy cow at the entrance to each terminal.
For those of you who are busy drafting e-mails to me in which you ardently defend airport security, stop now. Stop it. Put down the pen. You are only deluding yourself. Airport security, as it is currently conceived, is - how do I say this diplomatically? - a circus.
First, there is the random screening process. Now, my grievance with the random screening process is not the randomness. Your average complaint out the TSA screening process always involves someone's 90-year-old grandma getting frisked and run through the x-ray machine. I am automatically voiding these complaints. Which is it? Do you want to risk that your grandma gets randomly selected to be screened, or do you want to engage in racial profiling and thereby end up somewhere between Adolf Hitler and dog shit on the moral decency spectrum? That's what I thought.
No, my grievance with the screening process is the screening process. It's stupid. And pointless. I was once randomly selected to be screened at Midway airport in Chicago. Your Aunt Slugger is not proud to admit this, but at the time, I was an accountant. Please don't judge me; I was young and I was desperate. Anyway, I was traveling for work, and I had in my possession both a staple remover and a pair of scissors. When I was selected to be screened, my bag went through the x-ray machine again, and HOLY FUCKING GOD THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! It turns out that my staple remover was creating a national emergency. They went through every square inch of my bag. They removed the staple remover and inspected it carefully. After no less than five minutes of thorough investigation (during which time I was patted down), they returned the staple remover to its rightful place and I was able to board the plane.
The scissors - THE SCISSORS - were left in place.
And now, I would like for you to envision a world in which a staple remover is deadlier than a pair of scissors. You can't, can you? Right. The modern human brain is not capable of that kind of absurdity, which is hard to believe when you consider that we spend 80-85% of our days pondering the goings-on of Kate Gosselin and Donald Trump.
To preserve your mental hygiene, I will NOT share with you the details of the time I had a pastry shaped like Oscar the Grouch (fuck you for judging me - you know you would've bought it too) and I put it through the x-ray machine in its own plastic container and the security personnel--there were three of them--kept running it through the machine, backing it up, and running it through again to figure out what it was, rather than just, for example, looking at it with their own eyes. No, I will not share that story with you, because it's so fucking stupid that it will make you suicidal if you think about it for too long.
3.) Other Passengers. This is where the bulk of your trouble is going to occur during the average flight. You can mentally accept the fact that the airlines suck, and you can justify the inanity of airport security as being just another of humanity's great fuck-ups (with germ warfare and skinny jeans being among some of the other greats). But the other passengers...well, if the Oscar the Grouch pastry story didn't make you want to kill yourself, your fellow air travel passengers will. Either way, I am expecting about a 90% mortality rate from reading this column.
You will begin seeing problems at check-in (there's always some asshole who cuts you in line or tries to put a child in his or her checked baggage--which is less of a problem these days because the airlines will let that one go with a higher luggage fee), but your real problems will begin at security (of course). Some of the common offenders include
Once you finally take off (if you make it off the tarmac...good luck), and after you've dealt with the guy who is sitting in your aisle seat and says, "Oh, it's OK, I don't mind the aisle" and pretends as though his middle seat is more attractive and then sighs audibly when you insist on occupying the aisle seat for which you paid an unreasonable fee, you will also encounter
In conclusion, Doug, Google Maps tells me that it's a quick and painless 27-hour drive to the Mitchell Corn Palace. Have fun.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
This weekend, I am flying to South Dakota to see the famous Mitchell Corn Palace. I have mixed feelings about this trip, because, although seeing the Corn Palace has been a lifelong dream of mine, I have never flown on an airplane before and I am nervous about what to expect. Do you have any tips for me?
Sincerely,
Doug
Brockton, MA
Dear Doug,
Doug, first and foremost, I hope you have a really nice time at the Corn Palace. I hope you are blessed with many happy memories of…of whatever it is that you do at the Corn Palace.
Now, onto the topic at hand. You’ve come to the right place, Doug. Your Aunt Slugger has a great deal of air travel experience – so much air travel experience, in fact, that even the strongest drugs cannot suppress the memories. I’ve tried; nothing has worked.
As your Aunt Slugger sees it, there are a number of problems with air travel, which I will list here:
1.) The airlines. These assholes will rob you blind at every opportunity, and there is not one single thing you can do about it. We had the opportunity to stop them, we did. Back when they started charging baggage fees, we should have made a statement by filling our suitcases with rotting catfish and sweaty compression shorts. But we didn’t. I wanted to, but the rest of you apathetic dicks didn't back me up.
2.) Security. I know that some of you are going to defend airport security as being critical to the safety of airplane passengers. I get what you’re saying, I really do. You’re clinging to this dream of an airport security utopia wherein suspected terrorists are caught, honest people are treated with dignity, and deer eat right out of your hand while you go through the metal detector. But you need to face reality here: Our airports would be just as safe--possibly safer--if we put a common dairy cow at the entrance to each terminal.
For those of you who are busy drafting e-mails to me in which you ardently defend airport security, stop now. Stop it. Put down the pen. You are only deluding yourself. Airport security, as it is currently conceived, is - how do I say this diplomatically? - a circus.
First, there is the random screening process. Now, my grievance with the random screening process is not the randomness. Your average complaint out the TSA screening process always involves someone's 90-year-old grandma getting frisked and run through the x-ray machine. I am automatically voiding these complaints. Which is it? Do you want to risk that your grandma gets randomly selected to be screened, or do you want to engage in racial profiling and thereby end up somewhere between Adolf Hitler and dog shit on the moral decency spectrum? That's what I thought.
No, my grievance with the screening process is the screening process. It's stupid. And pointless. I was once randomly selected to be screened at Midway airport in Chicago. Your Aunt Slugger is not proud to admit this, but at the time, I was an accountant. Please don't judge me; I was young and I was desperate. Anyway, I was traveling for work, and I had in my possession both a staple remover and a pair of scissors. When I was selected to be screened, my bag went through the x-ray machine again, and HOLY FUCKING GOD THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! THERE'S SOMETHING IN THIS BAG! It turns out that my staple remover was creating a national emergency. They went through every square inch of my bag. They removed the staple remover and inspected it carefully. After no less than five minutes of thorough investigation (during which time I was patted down), they returned the staple remover to its rightful place and I was able to board the plane.
The scissors - THE SCISSORS - were left in place.
And now, I would like for you to envision a world in which a staple remover is deadlier than a pair of scissors. You can't, can you? Right. The modern human brain is not capable of that kind of absurdity, which is hard to believe when you consider that we spend 80-85% of our days pondering the goings-on of Kate Gosselin and Donald Trump.
To preserve your mental hygiene, I will NOT share with you the details of the time I had a pastry shaped like Oscar the Grouch (fuck you for judging me - you know you would've bought it too) and I put it through the x-ray machine in its own plastic container and the security personnel--there were three of them--kept running it through the machine, backing it up, and running it through again to figure out what it was, rather than just, for example, looking at it with their own eyes. No, I will not share that story with you, because it's so fucking stupid that it will make you suicidal if you think about it for too long.
3.) Other Passengers. This is where the bulk of your trouble is going to occur during the average flight. You can mentally accept the fact that the airlines suck, and you can justify the inanity of airport security as being just another of humanity's great fuck-ups (with germ warfare and skinny jeans being among some of the other greats). But the other passengers...well, if the Oscar the Grouch pastry story didn't make you want to kill yourself, your fellow air travel passengers will. Either way, I am expecting about a 90% mortality rate from reading this column.
You will begin seeing problems at check-in (there's always some asshole who cuts you in line or tries to put a child in his or her checked baggage--which is less of a problem these days because the airlines will let that one go with a higher luggage fee), but your real problems will begin at security (of course). Some of the common offenders include
- People who don't have their shit ready to go through the x-ray machine
- People who refuse to take off their shoes
- People who are afraid of that air puffer machine that checks for weapons (GET YOUR ASS IN THE MACHINE OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL BEAT YOU TO WITHIN AN INCH OF YOUR LIFE WITH MY STAPLE REMOVER)
- People who become upset when security confiscates a full tube of toothpaste (we won't touch on the liquid restrictions - or else I won't be able to finish this column without setting fire to my eyes)
- Women in impractical high-heeled shoes (for no specific reason other than they really bother me. Who wears impractical footwear while traveling? Only an idiot.)
Once you finally take off (if you make it off the tarmac...good luck), and after you've dealt with the guy who is sitting in your aisle seat and says, "Oh, it's OK, I don't mind the aisle" and pretends as though his middle seat is more attractive and then sighs audibly when you insist on occupying the aisle seat for which you paid an unreasonable fee, you will also encounter
- People who scream every time there is mild turbulence
- People who invade your personal space
- People who make cellular phone calls despite clear rules prohibiting it
- People who recline their seat backs onto your lap during the ascent and descent
- People who hit the flight attendant call button instead of the reading light button and don't realize it and then become confused when a flight attendant shows up
- People who try to talk to you when you're sleeping
- People who try to talk to you when you're reading
- People who tell you that they are in the frozen ravioli sales business (really; I wish I were making this up) and then ask what you do and then lecture you on your specific line of work as though they, being in the frozen ravioli business, know more about your line of work (which is not the frozen ravioli business) than you do.
In conclusion, Doug, Google Maps tells me that it's a quick and painless 27-hour drive to the Mitchell Corn Palace. Have fun.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Bicyclists
Dear Aunt Slugger,
Hello. My name is Jeff, and I am a resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Now that summer is upon us, I have noticed that the bicyclists -
Say no more, Jeff. I already know what you're going to ask. You want to know whether or not you would be charged with manslaughter or murder if you just rolled your Subaru Outback right over one of those skinny jean-wearing fucknuts. Although I am not, technically, an attorney, and I do not, technically, have a juris doctorate, and I have not, technically, passed the Massachusetts bar exam, I did receive a B- in an undergraduate Constitutional law course and I usually keep Law & Order on in the background when TNT is running a marathon, so I do fancy myself something of an expert on the subject. The correct answer is neither, because a Subaru Outback won't get the job done and you'll just end up with a messenger bag stuck in your wheel well. It's not worth the effort.
Some of you are reading this with horror and shock and are saying to yourselves, "This column is offensive. I ride my bike all over town and you have just referred to all bicyclists as 'fucknuts' and implied that you would run me over if you had access to a steam roller." That's a typical bicyclist response. You read this column just like you go through intersections - without fucking looking. If you READ ON (i.e. STOP AT A FUCKING RED LIGHT), you will find some CLARIFYING STATEMENTS.
So your Aunt Slugger is not opposed to bicycling as a concept. In fact, your Aunt Slugger used to be quite the avid cyclist. Bicycling is an energy efficient, enjoyable, low-impact way to burn off last night's raw cookie dough binge. With proper gear (a helmet, rear and front lights, light or reflective clothing, and glitter tassles on the handlebars), bicycling can even be a good way to get to and from work (so long as your coworkers aren't slipping on the sweat that's dripping off your nose).
The problem, as your Aunt Slugger sees it, is that there appears to be general confusion among bicyclists; they appear to believe that they are neither pedestrians nor moving vehicles. So I will provide the authoritative clarifying declaration: YOU ARE VEHICLES. THIS MEANS YOU CANNOT RIDE THE WRONG WAY DOWN A NARROW ONE-WAY CAMBRIDGE STREET WHEN AN EMERGENCY VEHICLE IS TRYING TO GET BY. This also means that you cannot (for example) ride down the SIDEWALK next to a street where there is a DEDICATED BIKE LANE and then swerve to narrowly avoid hitting your Aunt Slugger as she steps out onto the sidewalk from her apartment building and then SWEAR AUDIBLY as though it was my fault for having the balls to exit my apartment building on foot.
Bicyclists should also be advised that they need to actually adhere to posted traffic signs. So if you are (for example) approaching an intersection with a stop sign and a pedestrian crosswalk that your Aunt Slugger is utilizing to cross the road safely, you ACTUALLY NEED TO COME TO A STOP. I realize that stop signs can be confusing, given their giant octagonal size, red coloring, and bold letters that read "STOP," but when in doubt, err on the side of caution and COME TO A STOP instead of plowing forth at 25 mph and forcing your Aunt Slugger to make a sideways dive out of your path.
A few other points:
1.) If you are wearing all black clothing and do not have a headlight and tail light on your bike in direct violation of Massachusetts state law and you are bicycling against a red light in Central Square at 11pm, you are not, in fact, entitled to make a rude gesture when I almost hit you.
2.) If you decide to bicycle across a major bridge during a snowstorm in February, you do not actually get to scream at a bus that is accidentally blocking the bike lane because the bike lane is not visible due to the fact that the road has not yet been plowed. YOU. ARE. BIKING. IN. A. SNOWSTORM.
3.) We know that you're fashion forward. We can't help but notice your skinny jeans, $87 witty t-shirt from Urban Outfitters, and sneakers without arch support. It's like looking at a train wreck; we want to look away, but we can't. Nevertheless, your thirst for ridiculous and impractical fashion DOES NOT ABSOLVE YOU OF YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO WEAR A HELMET. Given that you roll around town like an infant on roller skates, YOU ARE A CLINICAL IDIOT IF YOU DO NOT WEAR PROTECTIVE HEADGEAR. Of course, maybe you've weighed the risk; maybe you've said to yourself that you are not concerned about protecting your pea-size reptilian brain from injury. And that makes sense from your perspective, but I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE SPLATTERED ALL OVER THE TRADER JOE'S PARKING LOT. Even if YOU don't care about head injury, the REST OF US still have to be able to sleep at night without having nightmares about your headless, skinny-jean clad body.
Before you start drafting hate mail, let me just point out that I am aware that motorists aren't necessarily innocent here, especially the dark blue Dodge Caravan with license plate # W41 PT2 that cut me off in the Target parking lot yesterday. So I don't want to get a bunch of letters pissing and moaning about the time you you were locking up your bike at Whole Foods and got sideswiped by an SUV whose driver was reading a book, eating lunch, and waxing her eyebrows at the wheel, OK?
Jeff, I hope this answered your question, whatever your question was.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Hello. My name is Jeff, and I am a resident of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Now that summer is upon us, I have noticed that the bicyclists -
Say no more, Jeff. I already know what you're going to ask. You want to know whether or not you would be charged with manslaughter or murder if you just rolled your Subaru Outback right over one of those skinny jean-wearing fucknuts. Although I am not, technically, an attorney, and I do not, technically, have a juris doctorate, and I have not, technically, passed the Massachusetts bar exam, I did receive a B- in an undergraduate Constitutional law course and I usually keep Law & Order on in the background when TNT is running a marathon, so I do fancy myself something of an expert on the subject. The correct answer is neither, because a Subaru Outback won't get the job done and you'll just end up with a messenger bag stuck in your wheel well. It's not worth the effort.
Some of you are reading this with horror and shock and are saying to yourselves, "This column is offensive. I ride my bike all over town and you have just referred to all bicyclists as 'fucknuts' and implied that you would run me over if you had access to a steam roller." That's a typical bicyclist response. You read this column just like you go through intersections - without fucking looking. If you READ ON (i.e. STOP AT A FUCKING RED LIGHT), you will find some CLARIFYING STATEMENTS.
So your Aunt Slugger is not opposed to bicycling as a concept. In fact, your Aunt Slugger used to be quite the avid cyclist. Bicycling is an energy efficient, enjoyable, low-impact way to burn off last night's raw cookie dough binge. With proper gear (a helmet, rear and front lights, light or reflective clothing, and glitter tassles on the handlebars), bicycling can even be a good way to get to and from work (so long as your coworkers aren't slipping on the sweat that's dripping off your nose).
The problem, as your Aunt Slugger sees it, is that there appears to be general confusion among bicyclists; they appear to believe that they are neither pedestrians nor moving vehicles. So I will provide the authoritative clarifying declaration: YOU ARE VEHICLES. THIS MEANS YOU CANNOT RIDE THE WRONG WAY DOWN A NARROW ONE-WAY CAMBRIDGE STREET WHEN AN EMERGENCY VEHICLE IS TRYING TO GET BY. This also means that you cannot (for example) ride down the SIDEWALK next to a street where there is a DEDICATED BIKE LANE and then swerve to narrowly avoid hitting your Aunt Slugger as she steps out onto the sidewalk from her apartment building and then SWEAR AUDIBLY as though it was my fault for having the balls to exit my apartment building on foot.
Bicyclists should also be advised that they need to actually adhere to posted traffic signs. So if you are (for example) approaching an intersection with a stop sign and a pedestrian crosswalk that your Aunt Slugger is utilizing to cross the road safely, you ACTUALLY NEED TO COME TO A STOP. I realize that stop signs can be confusing, given their giant octagonal size, red coloring, and bold letters that read "STOP," but when in doubt, err on the side of caution and COME TO A STOP instead of plowing forth at 25 mph and forcing your Aunt Slugger to make a sideways dive out of your path.
A few other points:
1.) If you are wearing all black clothing and do not have a headlight and tail light on your bike in direct violation of Massachusetts state law and you are bicycling against a red light in Central Square at 11pm, you are not, in fact, entitled to make a rude gesture when I almost hit you.
2.) If you decide to bicycle across a major bridge during a snowstorm in February, you do not actually get to scream at a bus that is accidentally blocking the bike lane because the bike lane is not visible due to the fact that the road has not yet been plowed. YOU. ARE. BIKING. IN. A. SNOWSTORM.
3.) We know that you're fashion forward. We can't help but notice your skinny jeans, $87 witty t-shirt from Urban Outfitters, and sneakers without arch support. It's like looking at a train wreck; we want to look away, but we can't. Nevertheless, your thirst for ridiculous and impractical fashion DOES NOT ABSOLVE YOU OF YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO WEAR A HELMET. Given that you roll around town like an infant on roller skates, YOU ARE A CLINICAL IDIOT IF YOU DO NOT WEAR PROTECTIVE HEADGEAR. Of course, maybe you've weighed the risk; maybe you've said to yourself that you are not concerned about protecting your pea-size reptilian brain from injury. And that makes sense from your perspective, but I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR FACE SPLATTERED ALL OVER THE TRADER JOE'S PARKING LOT. Even if YOU don't care about head injury, the REST OF US still have to be able to sleep at night without having nightmares about your headless, skinny-jean clad body.
Before you start drafting hate mail, let me just point out that I am aware that motorists aren't necessarily innocent here, especially the dark blue Dodge Caravan with license plate # W41 PT2 that cut me off in the Target parking lot yesterday. So I don't want to get a bunch of letters pissing and moaning about the time you you were locking up your bike at Whole Foods and got sideswiped by an SUV whose driver was reading a book, eating lunch, and waxing her eyebrows at the wheel, OK?
Jeff, I hope this answered your question, whatever your question was.
Sincerely,
Aunt Slugger
Monday, February 1, 2010
Public Transit
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
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
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