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Story Submitted by: Teracia
I has started the day innocently enough. “Chantelle, Lets go” I yell at her door on my way out to the car. Getting her to cooperate is like poking a snake with a stick, sometimes teens move sometimes they strike out. Suddenly we are both in the truck. A silver Ford Ranger, old dependable. We make our way to the Commissary on Fort Hood. If you don’t know what that is its the grocery store on a military base. Things are going splendidly. My daughter grabbing the things I tell her to get and we make our way through virtually unscathed. I told her to grab a gallon of 1 % milk. As I turn the second to last aisle all I can think is “this is almost over”. Chantelle turns to get milk and I walk down the aisle grabbing the numerous things we need for the week. I round the corner. I have made it to the last aisle. Victory is soon going to be mine. I have done the weekly shopping with no argument from my teen daughter and the commissary wasn’t to packed when we got here. That is changing quickly. I am trying my best to finish and get out before church is out and the populous descend on this place. Walking down the frozen foods isle I am focusing on my mental list , yep, I think I have it all except yogurt. And then it happen. My knee gives out pain shoots to my thigh and to my calf. What the Hell! I am now on the ground wondering just what the hell happened to my victory and what the hell happened to my knee. I straighten myself out and get into a sitting position to check out the damage. Its hard to see if your dying holding on to the bar handle of the cart with one hand and looking at the floor and having your hand on the floor trying not to smash your face into it. OK so now I’m seated and oh my god it hurts. OK Teracia don’t panic. Look left to see if people saw you fall on your face. Yes they saw it. Look right, yep, they saw it too. What the hell is that next to my butt. A FISH! A frozen Fish of unknown origin. This place doesn’t sell fresh fish. What the hell? Ouch, knee really hurts. Stop laughing at yourself and get up you look like an idiot, OW OW OW OW, OK the standing thing is not working. Yell for someone to get your big ass off the floor. Cleaning lady that weight maybe 85 pounds. yeah right. Can you go get me a grown up honey? Where the hell is my kid? CHANTELLE? “Mom what the heck are you doing on the floor?”
“Shut up, I slipped on this fish.” Oh My God I said it out loud. HAHAHAHAHA I slipped on this fish and I cant get up. Ah yes finally a man to help me to my feet. Ouch ouch nope still cant stand someone get me a damn chair I’m sick of sitting on the floor next to this now defrosted fish. Just me and my fish. Insert insane laughter from a teen daughter here. OK I have frozen groceries just get me to the car….. shit I brought the truck. The truck with a Standard transmission and its my left knee that is screwed up. How the hell am I going to get home. More insane laughter from a teen that now has told god and every contact in her cell phone that I have broken myself by slipping on a fish. Oh great a manager. No I don’t want an ambulance. I want to get home with my groceries and I want to day to be over. Call hubby on cell phone….. nope hes not answering. How am I going to get home. Hey bagger boy do u know how to drive a standard? We had the bagger boy drive us home and he took a taxi back to work. I kept my fish! Hubby rushed home because of text from daughter and myself and took me to the ER where I then get to tell them my fish story. Ever seen Doctors and nurses try not to laugh when they are giving you morphine. It hurts so bad but Oh my god I slipped on a fish hahahahahahah. And that my friends is all I remember.
So there’s this chick, this girlie, this woman if you’re politically correct, and she’s incredibly wicked stupid, right? I mean stupid like you wouldn’t believe, so stupid it’s painful to hear about. We’ll call her Marie cause, well, that’s her name. I think.
I’m not gonna even try to go into all the ways she’s a moron. Let’s just look at the one example that really can’t be explained away. She’s making a Hot Pocket, right? And I tell her to heat it up for two and a half minutes. So she puts it in the microwave and hits power and sets the time… and sets it for two minutes, fifty seconds.
I stop her. I say no no, two and a half minutes. She looks at me funny. I look at her. I say real slow like, two and a half minutes. She looks at the time. She looks at me. She says questioningly, that too long?
I lick my lips and nod my head. She nods her understanding. She clears the time and tries again, this time shooting for two minutes flat.
I stop her. I say two and a *half* minutes. She looks at me, genuinely confused. I spell it out. Two minutes, thirty seconds. She enters it in. All is well.
Except I have to live with the knowledge that an adult human being, this chick, Marie, doesn’t quite know what half a minute is. Benefit of the doubt, she wasn’t born in America, but isn’t half a minute the same worldwide? Is it different in India or Thailand or Budapest? Is the system of seconds somehow askew?
Or is this one poor, tortured woman absolute proof of a total lack of intelligent life?
This section has been made in recognition of one man. My dad.
Dad is just one of those people. The ones who cause the powers that be to decide to make a sign that says Do Not Stop on Tracks. The ones who make their friends groan during conversations. The ones who are so incredibly, inhumanly stupid that I start to lose faith in humanity.
Just one example – ABC Daytime’s General Hospital has a character on the show named Chloe. Now, I don’t have a problem with that name, I tend to say it without much difficulty. But dad can’t seem to wrap his mind around it. He insists on calling her “Cooey” or “You-know-that-girl.” Maybe he has a mental block, I don’t know, but it’s not that hard a name.
A better example – for my brother’s twenty-second birthday, Dad gave him a knife from Franklin Mint. Chris sort of collects knives, and it was a fairly decent gift. The handle is painted in gold, and a silver eagle’s head sits at its end. The silver feathers wrap completely around the handle except for one sliver where the blade sits when its closed.
Now, I should tell you that one of Dad’s “things” is that he’s way overprotective. Not overprotective like normal overprotective, not overprotective like please don’t jump off the canal locks overprotective, I mean way overprotective. Like warn you to watch out for cars every time you go through a parking lot overprotective. Like having a heart attack every time you stay home alone even though you’re nineteen overprotective. Like asking when you stay home alone whether or not you remembered to eat dinner overprotective. Like finding out you’re going away to college and asking if he can get you to take your mom with you overprotective. I’m convinced it’s a psychological disorder.
Anyway, judging from past experience, I shouldn’t have been surprised when he did what he did next. But that’s the thing with these people; they never fail to amaze you. They never fail to stop themselves and show you that, yes, it is possible to be dumber than they already are.
I’m sure you’re dying to know exactly what he did, so here it is. He took the knife and opened the blade, a good size blade, maybe five or six inches. Now I was expecting a comment or a warning about knife-play, and that did come later on, but that’s not what I’m talking about now. If you’re wondering, though, I believe he told Chris not to kill any of his cats.
No, what I’m talking about now is much, much worse. He opened the blade, turned the knife over in his hand, examined it up and down, and found something disturbing. The feathers, the silver feathers, meet the handle in sort of half-points. Because feathers are pointed at the end. But where the feathers meet the part of the knife where the blade slides in, there’s no handle. So the points are just sitting there, waiting for someone else who belongs on this page to inflict a centimeter-deep mortal wound on themselves. So, because these people spot danger to their own, Dad took his finger, ran it over the feathers, turned to Chris and said…
“Better be careful, it’s kind of sharp right there.”
I don’t think I need to say anymore about my dad.
So in his honor, I give you this section. This is the place to embarrass your friends, to humiliate your family, and to make all those you love think you’re a jerk. Whenever you see someone do something dumb, come up here and tell me about it. If it rates right up there with the dumbest of the dumb, the entire world will get to see it and laugh.
Do Not Stop on Tracks is the section to see just how stupid people can be. This is the section to see just how stupid people actually are.