A Dose Of Dugan

So I have alluded to it in past blogs but I can now say it without any reservations … “(Accepting) Average” is officially done and it is glorious!  I finally finished the last chapter last week.

In all honesty, I am very proud of it.  I poured my soul into it and invested a lot of blood, sweat and tears (but mostly urine from peeing every 30 minutes while writing it).

 Look … I’m pretty sure it’s not going to bring me fame and fortune.  And I’m pretty sure Mr. Pulitzer isn’t about to knock down my door with one of his precious awards.  Oh, and I know the grammar police a field-day will have with the book since I have chosen not to pay someone a boat-load of money to edit it (I like to think of my book as being “in the buff” in regards to its non-edited state.  It’s an au natural book … kind of like me).

And maybe it won’t get me on the Today Show so I can tell Matt Lauer how truly unhappy he is with his job because he is average at interviewing C-list “celebs” and doing stories about puppy dogs that chase a flash-light (which he is and it’s obvious to anyone that watches because it’s not his passion). 

But you know what?  It’s already all been worth it. 

Last week I sent the first two chapters of the book to a guy I work with that isn’t completely happy with his career/life right now.  He’s starting to hit that 30-something doldrums of “oh crap, where is my career going and how did this happen to me!?”  So I sent him just the first two chapters … something to wet his appetite.  Now mind you, this guy is not one for hyperbole or easily impressed.  He’s kind of a tight-ass actually.  So anyway … I shot him the first two chapters and he read it this past weekend. 

Yesterday morning when I came in to work he sent me an IM.  It simply read …

“wow - you are truly a gentleman and a scholar my friend. After reading the first 2 chapters I have a great regard and respect for you. I think I have been lucky to know you - straight from the heart.”

That is not a joke!!!  He was completely sincere!  That is what (Accepting) Average is all about!!!  That is what (Accepting) Average brings to the table and how it moves men and women of all types.  (Accepting) Average is no joke!!!  It is real life and it may or may not have your baby while you are reading it!!!

And that was just the first two chapters of the book!  I told him wait until he reads the next 8!  He told me he could not wait.  He wants it on Kindle right away. 

Well, he’s going to have to wait a couple of days at least.  I am currently in final discussions with many publishers (actually web-sites that let you publish a book yourself) and am deciding between a number of pretty sweet financial deals (if I order 100 copies of my book  it costs me $6.32 a copy where if I order 500 copies it only costs me $5.48 a book!!!!).  So I need to speak with my agent (my wife) and determine what is the best deal for me (how much she will let me piss away on publishing my own book).

I know you are chomping at the bit for the book and no one could blame you for your unadulterated giddiness.  But you have waited this long, I simply ask your patience for a couple more weeks while I determine the steep financial impact to my family and whether (Accepting) Average should have 1,000 copies in its first edition or 100,000.

Seriously though, if anyone knows a “real” publisher though, shoot me an e-mail.  I am exploring all options.

I know I haven’t blogged in awhile.  There are a lot of reasons why.  I’ve been busy of course … working a lot.  I’ve been under the weather … when I do have some free time, I’m trying to rest.  And lastly and probably the biggest reason, I haven’t been able to pull the trigger on any one blog.  I feel like I have become overly critical of what I write.  Is what I am writing funny?  Does what I write have a deeper meaning? 

The thing is … that was never the intention of my blog.  I never intended it to become something where I strained to publish blogs.  But for some reason, I now do.  I have probably written 8 blogs since my last posting … but have posted none of them because I didn’t think they were of high enough quality.  I’m very frustrated that is what I have become. 

So today, instead of trying to write the perfect blog … instead of trying to write the funniest or most insightful blog … I’m just going to write about what is going on in my life right now, because there is a lot. 

So … the biggest news in my life right now … is of course … my wife and I welcomed our third daughter a couple weeks early last Thursday.  It really was special and went incredibly smoothly.  So far, mother and daughter are doing amazingly well. 

Unfortunately, I am as sick as I have been in years and our other two daughters are sick as well, so I haven’t gotten to spend as much time with my new daughter as I’d like.  But I’m not worried; I know there will be many sleepless nights ahead where she sleeps on daddy’s chest all night.  I feel incredibly blessed right now. 

The key will be if our new daughter can survive the next 12 months of her two older sisters over-loving her (if we turn our back on our 3 year old for even a second, she has the new baby covered in 7 blankets and 4pacifiers before we can even say stop).  And I’m pretty sure the new baby will be deaf from my oldest singing constantly to her … either that or she will be the youngest person ever to understand what it means to be tone deaf. 

I love my oldest daughter more than anything, but she watched too much American Idol this past year and has now become the worst singer in history.  It’s really cute and she tries so incredibly hard … but it is just astonishing how off key she is … and that is saying something coming from me as I am a horrific singer.    

It is quite comical actually.  I’m pretty sure our new baby pretends to be asleep whenever her sisters are around.  She is only 6 days old but has already developed a keen sense of survival. 

So what else is going on in my life … well a dirty little secret is that my first book “Accepting Average”, for all intent and purposes, is done.  I’m pretty much just procrastinating finishing it because once it is done done … then I am no longer that guy writing a book … I’m just all of a sudden that guy that has written a really crappy book that nobody will read.  That’s not nearly as interesting.

The book really became an exploration of things we could be great at and finding our passion by learning to accept average in our lives.  The funny part is that there are actually so many things I could be great at … so many things I am passionate about and could do every day for the rest of my life.  I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it the last 5 weeks … things I am/would be great at.

For example … I would be a phenomenal burrito taster.  Seriously … I am like a burrito eating savant and my intestines were literally created to house massive quantities of spicy mexcian food.  I’m pretty sure that is why God put me on earth … to house spicy Mexican food and of course have a beautiful family and three incredible kids … but mostly as intermediary for spicy Mexican food. 

What else?  Well … I’d be great at testing fountain soda machines, test subject for ADD research, professional urinator, pop a shot hustler, liver transplant recipient, professional Christmas tree waterer (I am phenomenal at keeping my tree regular … although it died when we were in the hospital), professional predictor of the exact month that relationships will end from the “Bachelor” and the “Bachelorette”, commentator on crappy CW shows on the CW.

The world is really my oyster … so much potential.  I remember in 2^nd grade … my teacher asked our class what we all wanted to be when we grew up.  Most kids said things like “teacher, doctor … professional athlete.”  I answered succinctly … “God.”  I figured why limit myself.  And back then … I really thought being God was going to be possible (and some would argue that is exactly what I am on the basketball court).

It’s amazing how perspective changes as you get older.  Somewhere along the line I went from wanting to be, and thinking I could be, God … to thinking my ceiling is now somewhere between professional burrito eater and test subject for ADD research. 

What else is going on in my life?  What else have I been up to?  I bought a Justin Bieber poster the other day.  That was pretty exciting.  I always thought for the longest time that about the most awkward thing a man could buy is condoms.  And that is for a couple of reasons really … not the least of which is the person usually working the register at drug stores is really young, really old … or really not the kind of person I want to picture me using condoms.

 Second, nothing really goes with them when you buy condoms … and nobody buys just condoms … we try to hide it with some other items, but it’s usually those items that make it even more awkward (I once bought condoms, duct tape, a pack of gum and WD-40 … I was pretty much telling the world that I was ready to party).

Lastly, you are pretty much announcing to complete strangers the size of your man-hood.  And if it is a drug store, grocery store or gas station you frequent, then you are announcing the size of your man-hood to friendgers (that’s a word I came up with to cover off on the random people we are friendly with, see often, but really know nothing about other than that they sell me my fountain soda and may or may not like the freaky stuff in bed). 

So I always thought buying condoms was about the most awkward thing a man could buy.  That is of course until I needed a new ball-cock … and then that quickly became #1 on my list.

But after this Holiday season … it is easily buying a Justin Bieber poster.  It pretty much screams … “HEY!  Look at me!!!  Pedophile over here!”   That is especially true when you ask the sales girl at Spencer’s Gifts if they have any Bieber posters and she picks out a shot of Bieber with his shirt half off, soaking wet, and staring longingly at you.  

I literally had to ask her in front of an elderly couple if they had any Bieber posters, where he isn’t so dreamy and maybe isn’t completely soaking wet … you know, one that didn’t make me look like a complete pervert.  There is nothing normal about a 33 year old man buying a Bieber poster … even if it was for a 13 year old girl that is part of a family that my wife, our friend Jen and I adopted for Xmas (see … even saying you are buying it for a 13 year old girl sounds creepy).

I’m trying to think … any other major things going on?  Oh … I’ve pretty much accepted that I am a fountain soda addict and it’s not healthy.  The final nail in the coffin was yesterday morning when I went to my local Sunoco to get my daily 44oz fountain soda and the fine people of Sunoco had a Xmas card waiting for me and in no way did it seem strange to me that we would be exchanging Holiday cards.  I walked in and all of them yelled. “DUGAN!!!!  We have something for you!!!”  That was a little much … it might be time to take a break from fountain soda. 

Other than that, I just continue to rock the crap out of the world.  I’m trying hard to find a rec-league starting in February to bring Shooter back out of retirement … so far there have been no takers.  I’m looking forward to some time off from work next week and getting to know my newest daughter.  I’m sure all three of my daughters will give me plenty to blog about over the next couple of months. 

That’s about it … oh, and just writing a blog.

Sometimes it feels like the world is just crumbling around us.  I mean … there are all kinds of major problems in this world … the economy, the climate, the wars, poverty … the Sabres being 1-4 in their last 5 games.  But while those are probably the biggest and most obvious … there is another one that is just  a notch below those.  A crisis that has been growing slowly but surely and has finally reached its tipping point.  So what is it? 

Simply put … improper urinal behavior. 

I’m serious … I feel like urinal etiquette is at an all-time low.  It is nearing epidemic proportions.  And since I literally have to pee every 25 minutes … it has a major impact on my life.  So I thought I would create some general guidelines … some high level rules that everyone should follow to improve the urinal experience for all … but more specifically, for me since I spend half my day in a bathroom.

Let’s start from the beginning … when you walk into the bathroom, proper urinal etiquette depends greatly on the number of urinals in the bathroom and how many are being used.  If there are an odd number of urinals and no one is using one, it is your responsibility to take an end urinal.  This is just common sense yet you would be amazed how many men like to snuggle up to me while peeing and take the urinal next to me. 

Whatever you do, don’t take the middle urinal.  If there are 3 urinals, and someone is using an end urinal … then take the other end urinal.  Never under any circumstances take a urinal right next to someone else unless there are no other urinals available.  And never create an odd-numbered situation that forces someone to take a urinal next to you (NOTE: this also applies to stalls … never create an odd number situation when choosing a stall).

If you do have to use a urinal next to someone else, please follow these simple rules:

1.       It is ok to look down when you arrive at the urinal … but only for initial aiming purposes.  Never, ever continue to look down the entire time you are peeing next to someone.  Just line the bad boy up and then look up and stare straight ahead until you are done.  Under no circumstances is it ever ok to ever turn your head to either side.  Head up, eyes straight ahead … can’t lose.

2.       Keep the noises you make to a minimum.  No grunting, moaning or heavy breathing.  Seriously, I know how much of a relief it can be to make it to the urinal just in time when you have to go badly … but that doesn’t give you the right to sound like you are having an orgasm while peeing next to another guy. 

3.       No farting.  Can’t emphasize this enough … NO FARTING!  Seriously, I don’t want to hear it and I certainly don’t want to smell it.  It interrupts my flow.  Pinch it in at all costs.  I don’t care what it takes or if it causes internal bleeding.  I don’t care, just don’t let it out.  And if you do somehow let one sneak out … just pretend it didn’t happen.  Don’t comment on it, don’t adjust yourself, and certainly don’t let another one out.  Just zip up as fast as you can, flush, wash your hands and go about your day.  But never comment on it … which leads into the next rule.

4.       No small talk at urinals.  If you really feel the need to talk to some random dude while you both hold your Johnsons … there are other places for that.  The restroom is not one of them.  I don’t care about your day, the weather, or the game last night.  When I am peeing I care about a good steady flow and 30 seconds of me time.  It’s not a social club … it’s a urinal.

5.       Speaking of steady flow … don’t try to impress anyone by peeing hard and changing up the flow of your pee.  “Great … it takes you a long time to pee because you are peeing really slow … big deal!  Oh … you must be able to hold a lot of urine inside of you because you are peeing so loud.”  Get over yourself and keep a steady flow like a normal person.

6.       Do not take calls at the urinal.  If you are standing there and your phone rings … don’t answer it.  Just let it ring out.  Trust me, the people on the phone don’t want to talk to you while you are peeing and the guy standing next to you doesn’t want you losing concentration and spraying on him while you are fumbling for your phone. 

7.       Lastly, please do whatever you can to limit splash-back … especially in the summer time when I am wearing sandals.  I don’t want to see splash-back out of the corner of my eye and I certainly don’t want it misting on my feet.

I would say the biggest question mark about me as a father … before I had kids … was how I would handle my kids playing sports (oh, and how long it would be before I’d be in jail for assaulting another kid for looking at my kids the wrong way).  Let’s be honest.  I am sort of … “high-strung”.  And some would argue that I may be a little … “over competitive” at times.  So it’s natural for people to question just how I would handle my kids in competitive situations.    

Look … I am a winner.  Winning is what I do, it’s what makes me Shooter (as well as the part about hating teammates and never passing the ball).  So I naturally expect … no, I naturally know that my kids are winners as well.  You should see them, just two cherubic walking mounds of winner.  Everything about them screams Winner. 

So a couple weeks back I get home from work and my wife informed me that my oldest daughter had some difficulty at dance class.  Apparently, there was a new move they learned and she couldn’t do it the first or second time so she pouted, threw a fit and quit.  Now when I first heard this I’ll be honest … I was kind of proud!  I’ve long believed that if something is hard to do, it’s just not worth doing.  And if you can’t do it, quit.  That’s just a fact of life … I’m pretty sure it is in the Bible.

So when my wife told me about this, my face must have shown that I was kind of happy because my wife gave me one of those looks like … “don’t you even dare tell her that you are proud of her!  You are not supposed to be happy about this.  You need to be a father here … man up!”  My wife has a very expressive face, and her one look said all that.

So man up is exactly what I did.  I sat my daughter down and said,

“Look at me.  Honey, please look at me.  I am not kidding here.  You need to listen to me.  You do not quit.  Don’t ever quit.  You are a Condon and Condon’s are winners!  You want to be a winner right?  You like winning?  Then you never, ever quit!  Shooter doesn’t quit!  Shooter is a winner.  Who is Shooter?!  Say it … tell me! That’s right, I am.  And if you want to be like Shooter you don’t quit!  Got it?”

My daughter looked at me with sheer terror and amazement.  She was just bewildered about what had happened.  But my motivational talk worked.  She looked right at me and said, “Ok daddy.  I won’t quit.  I promise.  I’ll never quit again! Go Shooter!”

Meanwhile my wife looked at me like “wtf are you?  What did I marry?”

Later that night my wife approached me and asked me what my little motivational talk was all about.  “That was something”, she said.  “What exactly were you trying to do there?  You literally scared the shit out of the poor girl.  She’s never going to quit anything ever again.”

I’ll admit I felt a little bad.  I didn’t want to scare the poor girl, I just wanted to be a good father.  Unfortunately I’m not sure my personality always lends itself to being the best father possible.  So when I went to bed that night, I made a promise to myself that I would lighten up a little with my kids.  Well … that promise lasted all off about three days.

It lasted only three days because three days later, it was 9:30pm at night and I was watching the Yankees lose in game 5 of the ALDS.  I was sitting downstairs, enjoying my jack and diet, minding my peace when I heard the pitter-patter of little feet upstairs followed by a … “daddy?  Daddy?  Can I watch your show with you?”

It was my youngest daughter refusing to sleep.  My wife and other daughter were out cold so I went upstairs and told my youngest daughter she needed to sleep in her own bed, daddy was watching his game and she needed to sleep.  She said she wanted to sleep on the couch and wanted to be next to daddy.  I’m a softy so I relented and brought her downstairs and made her a bed on the couch for her to rest.   She was so cute laying there … staring right at me as I watched the Yankees piss away another season.  After about 5 minutes she asked me, “What are you watching Daddy?”  I responded, “The Yankees honey.  Daddy is watching the Yankees lose and waste another season.”

She said, “yeah!  We like the Yankees.”  And that made me smile and I said yes we do.  We like them a lot.  For a brief moment it didn’t matter that the Yankees were losing or that my daughter wasn’t asleep yet.  No, we were watching “our” team together.  This was special daddy and daughter time damn it!  That feeling lasted for all of about 5 seconds because right at the moment I was feeling good about myself … my daughter decided to stab me in the back and stomp all over my rotting carcass.

Because out of seemingly no where she said, “ … and we like the Red-Sox!  We like the Red-Sox!”  

I asked her, “what do you just say to me?  What did you just say!!!?”  She said, “we like the Red-Sox and the Yankees.”

I said to her, “no.  We don’t like both.  You don’t like the Red-Sox.  Your Auntie Jen likes the Red-Sox and is trying to brain-wash you.  You like the Yankees.  We like the Yankees.  They represent everything that is good in life.  We don’t like the Red-Sox.  They represent everything that is bad in the world.  We just like the Yankees.”

To which she responded … “yup … and the Red-Sox.”  I put my head in my hands and started to quietly weep on the inside.  I said, “Honey.  You are a winner.  And the Yankees are winners.  The Red-Sox are not.  They are not champions.  We do not like the Red-Sox.”  She got pretty upset at me and yelled at me repeatedly about liking the Yankees AND the Red-Sox.

So I lost it (yes, I know I need help.  I am debating the Yankees and Red-Sox with my 3 year old daughter at 9:30pm on a Thursday night.).   I tried really hard to think of the best way to explain the importance and gravity of what she was saying.  This was about two days before her 3^rd birthday and she still was using pacifiers (she called them paddy’s).  This night she had two on her … a pink one and a purple one.

So I said to her, “Honey … you can’t like both the Yankees and the Red-Sox.  That is just not the way life works and honestly, you are hurting dad’s feelings when you say you like the Red-Sox.  You are hurting daddy.  You don’t want daddy to hurt do you?  You must choose just one.  That’s the way life works.  You have to pick one.  It’s like someone says to you that you can only have one paddy … the pink one or the purple one.  You can only choose one paddy and you must pick it now and it will shape your life forever.  That’s like the Yankees and the Red-Sox.  So you must choose just one; either the Yankees or the Red-Sox.  This is arguably the most important decision you will ever make.  And remember that when you say you like the Red-Sox it makes daddy cry inside.  So which one is it honey?”

My daughter looked at me very nervously … I worried for a moment that I may have come on too strong.  Then she paused and asked … “ummmmm … I can only choose just one?”  I said yup … and she said, “ummmmm … I choose the purple paddy!”

And with that I realized that maybe; just maybe, it may be time to tone down the Shooter around the kids.

We all have that one person in our lives … that one person we know is toxic for us but we just can’t find the strength to rid them from our lives for good.  We hold on to those brief moments where they give us hope only to have them rip it away from us time and time again.  And yet we never say enough … we never can find the strength to quit them for good.  And so we continually allow them into our lives with our hopes running high, and more times than not, they disappoint us in spectacular fashion.

Now, I’m pretty sure I am that person for the majority of people in my life.  But I also have that one person in my life.  That one person that I just can’t seem to quit and I want to … God I just want him out of my life!  That person for me is Dallas Cowboys starting quarterback Tony Romo … and I hate him … but I need him like a baby needs its binky.

I have a Tony Romo jersey and I have a Tony Romo bobble-head doll and after every game I look at them and say to myself no more.  I will not be held hostage by you anymore Tony Romo!  And then 7 days later during the next game, I’m all in again. 

If you’re not a Cowboys fan then consider yourself lucky.  The last couple of years have taken a lot out of all Cowboys fans because rooting Tony Romo is like getting kicked in the balls for 3 hour every game. 

The pain is just excruciating and you want it to stop and would do anything to make it go away.  You are begging and pleading for Romo to stop!  And then suddenly he does stop and actually gives you a bag of ice to ice down your testicles.  And it feels amazing … the ice does.  In fact, it feels so good that you almost think it was worth getting kicked in your testicles by Tony Romo just so you can ice down your throbbing balls.  Hell, you even go tell others about it. 

You tell them how good the ice feels and maybe they should, you know, try letting Tony Romo kick them in the balls sometime.  You say. “Trust me.  The kicking part sucks … but you will love the time you get to ice down your balls!” 

And then, without warning, Romo just starts teeing off on your balls again … this time much harder … and he forces you to watch that ice melt right in front of your face. 

That’s about the only way I can think of describing what it is like to root for Tony Romo … just getting kicked in the balls for 3 straight hours with brief 5 minute breaks to ice them down … only so he can kick you some more.

I’m serious.  For most of the game it is just painful.  You are yelling at the tv, begging him to stop.  Hell, I find myself pleading with the defense to break his leg, arm … anything.  Just make Romo go away!  I literally root for the opposing defense against my favorite team in the world.  That is the Tony Romo era for me summed up in a nutshell. 

And then almost inexplicably he does something so amazing that you talk yourself back into him.  For a brief moment he gives you a glimpse of what heaven looks like and you’re like … “Alright!  Here we go!  Romo has turned the corner and is leading us to the promise land.”  You start calling your friends and talking trash about how good Romo is.  Tell them there is still room on the bandwagon.  You even wake up your pregnant, sleeping wife to tell her about the magic of Romo and how this is the year the Cowboys are winning it all with Romo leading the way!  You tell her that you would marry him if he asked you right now!

You convince yourself, “he’s changed!  This is a new Romo.  Bad Romo is gone baby!  Good Romo is here to stay!  He won’t kick me in the balls anymore … he promised!”

And then just as quickly as he converted you, he goes back to kicking you in the balls and this time it is with a fury and passion that just seems evil. 

He starts throwing INTs left and right … dropping snaps like he has baby oil on his hands … and the whole time he does it with an “aw shucks” look that makes you want to reach through the television and gouge his beady little eye-balls out!

Two nights ago the Cowboys played on Monday Night Football against the Redskins (btw … I may hate Tony Romo but I HATE the freaking Redskins).  In one 3 hour game, Tony Romo made me experience more emotions than I would normally in 3 years … the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.  There is no middle ground with Romo.  He was so bad for so much of the game and of course made one or two simply great plays.  But overall, you couldn’t help but feel like you just got kicked in the testicles for 3 hours and the ice to ice them down sat there melting right in front of you. 

He literally threw one pass without looking.  I’m serious … he just kind of underhanded/side-armed it 30 yards down the field straight up into the air.  Of course it was intercepted.  It was amazing in its ineptitude.  During the game I literally counted 13 passes that he threw that hit one of the defenders in the hands instead of a Cowboys player.  He legitimately could have had 13 interceptions Monday night and I wouldn’t have been remotely fazed.  13!!!

My brother-in-law texted me during the game and wrote “Watching Romo play football is like eating glass.”   I simply responded, “I’d rather be eating glass.”

That’s how painful Monday night was.  And guess what, after the game the ESPN analysts were RAVING about his performance.  One of them called it his best game ever!  Three hours of getting kicked in the balls by him, preferring to eat glass and it was one of his best games ever; aka the Tony Romo era.

So I hate you Tony Romo.  I hate all the pain you cause me and my family.  I hate that you make me wake up my wife in the middle of the night to tell her about the terrible things you have done to me.  I hate that you make me wake my wife up 20 minutes later to tell her how much I love you. 

I don’t want you in my life anymore, but I need you.  I just wish I knew how to quit you.

By the way … the Cowboys actually won two nights ago … imagine what I feel like when they lose.

As many people know, I kind of have a diet fountain soda fetish.  Some say it’s more like an obsession.  I drink about 60-80 ounces of diet fountain soda a day.  It’s not the healthiest addiction, but it’s a hell of a lot healthier then some of my previous/other addictions. 

One of the side benefits of my addiction is that I have forged some pretty strong relationships with my “dealers”.  When I lived in South Bend … the 7-11 there actually gave me free slurpees and fountain soda because  I was there so much (ok, full disclosure … they gave me free drinks because the two ladies behind the counter there had a thing for me.  Granted, it really wasn’t a fair battle.  Both of them were right in my sweet spot demographic.  African American, age 20-40, 200-250 lbs … no more or less.  For whatever reason, that is my demographic.  Women that meet those criteria love me.  They call me “stupid” … that is a term of endearment.). 

Over the last 4 years I have established some pretty solid relationships with the people that work at my local Sunoco.  I’m like Norm Peterson walking into that place every morning … everyone knows my name. 

So this past Sunday morning I strolled into my local dealer looking for my 44oz fix.  A man by the name of Sam was working behind the counter.  Nice guy … very friendly with my kids and let’s them have cups of ice for free.  So Sam and I are the only two in the store this morning and he looks frazzled … he just looks really run down.  So I make some small-chat with him.  I ask Sam, “what’s up man?  You look like sh*t?  Everything ok?

Sam is about 22, Indian, very polite and always calls me sir … I’m pretty sure once you buy over 100 fountain sodas in a given year at Sunoco, they start calling you sir (they started calling me sir in March.  I really am expecting a Xmas card from Sunoco this year).  So Sam says to me, “Sir, you’re married, right?”  I respond “of course … been married for 6 wonderful years.   Best years of my life” … or something similar to that.

He says, “Can I ask you some advice then … some advice about women?”  I know what you’re thinking; this is getting a little personal for a casual fountain soda dealer/fountain soda junkie relationship.  And you’re right … I was thinking the same thing but I have a pretty high opinion of myself, especially when it comes to the ways of the woman.  So I tell Sam to ask me anything.

So Sam says, “sir, I’m not married but my girlfriend … I just don’t know what to do anymore.  She is always on me for being too conservative and not opening up.  So the other day we are … you know … in bed … ”

And yes, he is implying what you think he is implying. 

“And she tells me to open up and tell her what I am thinking.  And then I do … and she just loses it on me and calls me disgusting and leaves the room.  What am I supposed to do?  Do I not tell her what’s on my mind when she asks me what’s on my mind?”

Now at this point I pretty much wished I was never addicted to fountain soda … or at least that Sam was a 250lb 40year-old African-American woman so my fountain soda was at least free.

 I’ll be honest; my conversations with Sam up to this point had never really escalated past the point of “how’s your day going?”  “How about those Patriots?”  “I see you’re going with the 64 oz cup today … good choice sir. You should try the 128oz cup sometime.”  And of course, “do these jeans make my ass look fat?”  You know … the usual gas station attendant and fountain soda addict small talk.

And now here he hits me with the fact he likes the freaky stuff in the bed-room and his lady friend is not down with it.  Most people would probably say something like, “wow … that’s a tough one man.  Good luck with that.”  And then leave and never, ever come back.  But I am not most people … besides, like I already said … I’m an expert when it comes to women and lord knows I have no problem giving my opinion.  Also, this Sunoco has quality fountain soda with the perfect sized crushed ice.  I’d hate to have to find a new dealer. 

So I say to Sam, “Sam … that’s a tough one.  Look, you can’t read women.  Never try to guess what they are thinking.  And never ask them what they are thinking because you are supposed to know.  And if they tell you everything is fine, it’s not fine.  And they don’t want to know what you are actually thinking.  They want to know that you know enough to tell them what they want you to be thinking.  But never ever tell them what you are really thinking when it’s not what they want you to be thinking.”

Sam was very grateful … said something about it being the best advice he had ever gotten.  He was still talking about positions in bed or something and drawing pictures to illustrate as I walked out the front door pretty proud of myself.

As I got in my car I started thinking to myself something wasn’t right.  I mean, I barely knew this guy … he knew nothing about me other then I spend $100 a week on fountain sodas.  And yet he thought I was the kind of guy perfect to ask what to do when your girlfriend/wife gets upset about something you say?  He was flat out implying that I am a walking jack-ass that must say inappropriate things all the time so I must be experienced in how to react.

As I drove home and drank my 44oz fountain soda … it was an empty feeling.  Am I really that jack-ass that says inappropriate things at inopportune times? 

Apparently I am because last night, I told my wife the story.  She’s met Sam and was pretty taken aback that he would open up to me like that.  He’s a pretty reserved and quiet guy.

But I said to my wife that part of me felt offended … like Sam pegged me as the kind of guy that says stuff that gets himself in trouble with his lady.  That I was hurt that he would assume I had experience in offending people with my comments.

My wife simply said, “well, he sure did ask the right guy.”