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“What do you do?”

I’m asked this question a lot, mostly by other guys and mostly by other guys who don’t know me. As I’m thinking about it, I don’t remember a woman ever asking me that question. I know a lot of times it is just small talk, but I really hate this question because I feel like many, if not most, people categorize you based on your answer. What type of education you have, what kind of person you are and the all-important (to some) how much money you make are all gathered from your answer. All the assumptions are based on the stereotypes the questioner subscribes to, not necessarily fact. I don’t like to be categorized and never have.

When I was in high school I was one of those guys that didn’t really fit in with any specific group. Believe it or not, I was pretty smart so I was in honors-level classes. I also played sports, partly because I love sports and partly because I knew it would keep me out of trouble by giving me something to do after school. On top of those things, I was a bit of a partier on the weekends (sports was only Monday – Friday). The smart kids, despite my good grades, never accepted me as one of them because I played sports and there were quite a few “jocks” that gave the “geeks” a hard time in school; the sports kids, despite overcoming my lack of natural ability with hard work, never accepted me as one of them because I partied on the weekends and “jocks” didn’t hang out with “burnouts”; the party kids, despite being at all the so called big parties with some of the same kids they hung out with, never accepted me as one of them because of the double whammy of being a “geek” and a “jock”, and the only thing a “burnout” hated more than a “jock” was a “geek”.

When I use the terms geek, jock and burnout, I’m not trying to make fun of people (or categorize them) but I’m using them as other people did. I didn’t really subscribe to the whole categorization thing even back then. I had acquaintances from all the different groups and some were actually friends, others like me who didn’t really buy into the whole clique thing, but who nonetheless hung out with a specific group. Still, for the most part I had a couple of close friends that I usually hung out with, my best friend being Tony, the New York Yankee loving, Dallas Cowboy adoring fan I mentioned in this post. He didn’t really fit in either, for some of the same reasons as me, but also for a different reason, too. No matter. We were the 2 Musketeers until our friend Jeff moved to town and then we were the 3 Musketeers. The funny thing is we were our own small diversity group: a somewhat poor white kid from a big Catholic family of nine, a moderately poor black kid from a small Catholic family of three, and a reasonably well off white kid from a small Jewish family of two. I guess we did actually see and understand the differences between us, but we didn’t really care about them or about what anyone else thought about us. The three of us can thank our parents for that.

Why should someone who doesn’t know me care about what I do for work? I don’t really care what anyone I don’t know does for work, unless I just happen to be looking for a crocodile wrangler to remove the crocodile from my back yard. So it looks like I’m going to have to come up with some new answers to the “What do you do?” question to change things up a bit, try some of them out and figure out which ones trip up people the most. Things like:

·     I take the trash out on Monday.

·     I listen to music really loud when I drive.

·     I occasionally take the long way instead of the shortcut.

·     I root for the underdog, unless they’re playing “my team”.

·     I observe people so I can use their quirky habits in the stories I write.

·     I laugh out loud at nothing sometimes.

·     I’m a bit klutzy so I randomly trip over stuff.

·     I take the last brownie.

·     When someone says “Don’t even think about it!” I think about it.

·     I forget stuff a lot... Who are you?

·     I tell my wife and kids I love them everyday. Multiple times.

These are all things I do and there is a bunch more that are more of who I am than the job I do, even if they’re not the kind of things someone is looking to hear, small talk or not. How someone chooses to categorize me after hearing any of those lines is up to them.

Taller and Thinner

I’ve seen a couple of really crazy TV commercials for men lately. Well, at least I think they’re crazy. I understand that a lot of advertising plays on people’s insecurities, but are there really so many insecure men out there these days? We’ve seen the commercials and infomercials for men who are losing their hair for years, and today there are multiple companies telling us why they are the best at restoring our confidence. For those who aren’t losing their hair but maybe having it turning gray on them as they get older, there are multiple companies who can help you out. You can change the gray just a little or all the way back to your original color in just a few minutes – while a pretty young woman just happens to be outside your apartment door, waiting to borrow a cup of sugar, or milk, or something. Only when you feel secure enough with your hair color should you open that door. However, there are two I’ve seen lately that just make me shake my head in disbelief.

The first one was for men who have put on a little weight over the last, I don’t know, ten or twenty years. It’s not for a new diet plan, it’s not for a new weight loss miracle pill and it’s not for a new exercise machine. No, this is for undershirts that make you look slimmer. Not that they make you any slimmer than you are now, they just make you look 1 – 3 inches slimmer. So guys, we can eat everything and anything that we want, however unhealthy it may be, and we can look skinnier. Exercise? We don’t need no stinking exercise! We can be seven-days-a-week couch potatoes and put on one of the InstaSlim shirts and voila – that spare tire has been fixed!

The other ad was for all of us short guys. You know, us pitiful little guys who don’t get noticed by the women and get passed over for jobs and promotions because we’re wee, little men. But us hapless men now have a way to change that by just using these inserts in our shoes. It’s kind of like your teenage years all over again – you can grow up to three inches overnight! Put the MaxTall inserts in your shoes and all of a sudden the boss recognizes your talents and makes you his right-hand man. Sneak the maximum number of these into your shoes and suddenly the girl of your dreams gazes lovingly into your eyes and we have a love connection! Oh, I forgot to mention that the ad talks about short guys as being “only” 5’9”. I know plenty of guys my height who don’t think 5’9” is short at all. Heck, for some of us that would make us feel NBA-sized compared to where we are now.

Here’s the thing that confuses me about using these products. What happens if you do actually attract someone because you look thinner? You just look so good that she won’t be able to keep her hands off of you…oh, except that you can’t let her touch you because then she’ll feel your physique aid. Let’s be real, it’s just a girdle for guys. It kind of reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where George’s father and Kramer come up with the Manzier (or Bro if you prefer). As for the other commercial, what happens if you attract someone because you’re suddenly taller? Sooner or later you’re going to have to take off your shoes with the inserts and then she’ll unexpectedly be looking down at you. And probably looking down on you, too. Adios, au revoir, auf wiedersehen, goodnight!

My parents always taught us to find people who like you and accept you for who you are, not for what you are or do, and to accept others for who they are. In other words, don’t hang around with someone just because they’re captain of the football team or drive a nice car or have a lot of money, but because they’re nice people and are fun to spend time with. They never said that looks didn’t matter at all, but that shouldn’t be the major factor in liking someone. They taught us that character counts, both other people’s and our own. I had a couple of close friends growing up that I knew would always be there if I needed them and would always have my back. That gave me confidence to just be myself and not feel like I had to impress anybody. I’ve been married for 22 years to a beautiful, smart, talented, caring and loving woman who has always loved me for me who I am, even as I’ve gained weight, lost some hair and had a lot of it turn grey. Now that’s security.

To Tell the Truth

When I was a kid my parents always told me to tell the truth. If you do something wrong and get caught, just tell the truth. Don’t try to cover it up, don’t try to deny it and never try to blame it on someone else. Those are all good guidelines and I tried to follow them, but I didn’t always tell the truth. One of the first times that I can remember where I realized I could lie and actually get away with it, was in third grade. Not that I never lied before that, but I remember this one like it was yesterday!

It occurred just after recess on a fine spring morning. Two lucky people got to bring balls out to recess but they had to return them to the closet at the back of the room afterward. On this particular day my good friend Smitty got one of the balls, and as we were hanging up our coats he went into the closet to return it. I thought it would be funny to close the door and leave him in the dark, so after taking a quick look around, I shut the door. Just as I was pulling it shut, he turned around and saw what was happening. He started running toward the door, terror in his eyes, but he was too slow to react. The door closed in his face and I quickly went back to my seat, chuckling to myself that I put one over on my buddy. I figured he’d just open the door, try to get me back and then go to his desk. However, there was one small detail I didn’t know about that closet door; it didn’t open from the inside. Smitty found out pretty quick and started banging on the door.

My teacher, Mrs. O’Reilly, went and opened the door. She was a no-nonsense, old-school teacher and asked Smitty why he was disturbing her class. Five seconds later, I was asked to join the two of them at the back of the class. Mrs. O’Reilly pointed at Smitty, who had tears in his eyes, and asked me if I had shut the door on him. If I said yes, I’d be in trouble; if I said no, I’d still be in trouble if she didn’t believe me. I looked at Smitty, my friend who lived on the next street over from mine, begging me to tell the truth to get him out of trouble. I looked at Mrs. O’Reilly, my teacher wanting to know what the heck was going on, and… I lied through my teeth. I denied closing the door on Smitty, all the while looking straight into her eyes. And she believed me!

Looking back on this time got me thinking, what if we all had to tell the truth? Imagine some of the interactions that would take place.

Your boss: What were you thinking?

You: I wasn’t!

Old acquaintance: Hey, we should get together and hang out.

You: Sorry, I have better things to do than relive the 90’s.

Co-worker: Have you seen the new Vampire show on the WB?

You: I’d rather poke my eyes out with a dirty screwdriver.

The person who tripped, fell and spilled their meal all over the floor: You think that’s funny?

You: Yes. Yes, I do.

Your teenage son: Why can’t you drive me to Johnny’s house?

You: Because that would mean I have to get up off the couch, get dressed and leave the house.

Your wife: Does this outfit make me look fat?

That’s where the corollary to the always-tell-the-truth rule comes in. My parents taught us that sometimes you shouldn’t say anything at all, if you don’t have anything nice to say. That’s another good guideline to follow. No cover up, no denial, no blame. And no lie.