Read The Book of (Even More) Awesome Page 4


  3. Bag the bagger. I hate to break it to you but you’re terrible at bagging. Sorry, but look at you—wedging frozen peas beside fresh bread, setting potatoes on eggs, making one bag really heavy and one bag really light. No, you’ve got to leave bagging to the pros. Make sure you grab a line with a bagger to get the job done right.

  4. Take a flyer on the flyer. Customers holding dog-eared flyers are probably going to ask questions or slowly tear out coupons. Just remember this handy line: “Flyer in tow? That line is slow.” Amen, sing it to your mama.

  5. Mo’ cashiers, mo’ problems. We’re looking for quick hands, firm credit card swiping, and purposeful change drawer slamming in cashiers. Avoid lanes with two of them because one’s in Training Mode. Support their development silently and catch them when they’ve learned how to double-bag.

  Yes, picking the fastest-moving line at the grocery store is such a great high. When you get it right, you’re like the undercover cop of the store—spying on customers, eyeballing cashiers, and swooping in smartly to get the job done in style.

  AWESOME!

  Getting a hug from someone you didn’t know you were in a hug relationship with

  My dad’s a side hugger.

  When I go see him at my parents’ place in the burbs, I usually go in for a quick hello or handshake when I’m popping in the door. But my dad’s a slippery senior and he always scoots sideways to squeeze my shoulder, bump hips, and smile his soft, goofy smile through thick boxy glasses just to tell me he’s happy I’m here.

  Now, the funny thing about my dad’s side hugging is that it’s pretty much his only greeting for everybody. Hello! You’re getting a side hug. Goodbye! You’re getting a side hug. Neighbors, nephews, nobodies: Don’t matter who you are, don’t matter why you’re here, you’re getting a side hug. My dad upgrades everybody to side hugs and he’s proud of it.

  I like watching people’s faces when they realize their handshake is mutating before their eyes. Sure, they go for the shake, but my dad suddenly scoots sideways before they know it. When that handshake changes, I notice their face changes too. It goes from a polite thin-lipped smile and eyebrow raise to a full-on toothy grin. They relax and dissolve into the moment for a second and let the power of touch and hallway love remind them that we’re all pretty close out there and, come on, we’re all in this big thing together.

  Getting a hug from someone you didn’t know you had a hug relationship with reminds you somebody cares about you. Sometimes it’s good to skip the high fives and handshakes.

  Sometimes ... it’s just good to hug.

  AWESOME!

  That one person who laughs when you tell a really bad joke

  This is also known as The Pity Laugh and it somehow manages to save your terrible joke from being a complete bomb. See, now you didn’t serve up a dud that hit dead air. No, no, your humor is just a little highbrow and hard to understand, that’s all.

  AWESOME!

  Letting go of the gas pump perfectly so you end on a round number

  I hate $19.98.

  When I’m pumping my car full of some sweet-smelling gasoline, I always get tense when I’m two cents away from a nice, round number. Maybe I’ve got a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket or maybe I’m throwing it on a credit card. Either way, I just can’t be that satisfied with a $20.01 pump. If I hit $20.03 or $20.04, it’s like I wasn’t even paying attention. Call me Slow Hands at that point, because I clearly have no idea what I’m doing.

  But if the opposite happens, if I tap that handle ever so sweetly and let a little thimble of gasoline drip into my tank so the numbers curl up to twenty bucks even, then it’s time to high five the passengers, call the papers, and get ready for a beautifully changeless transaction.

  For a split second you transform.

  Gone is mom driving the kids home from ballet, gone is the pizza driver doing a quick fill before midnight, gone is the suit pumping a fast one before riding the expressway to the office downtown.

  Gone, gone, they’re all just gone.

  People driving by will squint at those pumps and swear they noticed something. Kids staring out the back of the station wagon will turn to each other and drop their jaws. Later on, newspaper reporters will write down eyewitness accounts from old folks on the porch across the street. “It must have been my imagination,” they’ll say. “But I swear I saw someone dressed all in black.”

  If you let go of the gas pump at just the right moment, they’re talking about you.

  Because you are The Pump Ninja.

  AWESOME!

  Finding a parking spot right at the front of the mall just before Christmas

  I’m a terrible parker.

  Yes, I’m the guy who does a five-point turn to get into the spot and a twenty-second slow-mo reverse to get out. I’m the one bumping your bumper at the speed of sloth and the one craning my neck wildly to make sure our mirrors don’t smash when I pull up beside you.

  Since I know my limits behind the wheel I usually head straight for the farthest parking spot in the lot. I’m fine parking under the dim lamp by the swampgrass because for me it means no parking stress and no parking problems. I’m alone in my empty parking zone, baby.

  Now, when that mall’s busy and bumping it’s another story.

  When those spots all fill up I’m a stressed-out incherupper, nervously crawling the lot like a giant tortoise slowly teetering into the forest to die. Yes, I foolishly follow people with bags only to watch as they toss them in the trunk and head back inside. I steer slowly past busy front doors and get caught in pedestrian traffic jams. I creep down entire aisles full of cars and get fooled over and over by Motorbike Mirages.

  It’s pathetic.

  But that’s what makes it so great when I suddenly find a free parking spot right near the front of the mall. That’s when the sun shines shooting beams of light at the tiny rectangular oasis of bumpy asphalt before me.

  I signal quickly and clog up lanes as I fumble back and forth into the spot, screeching and scraping my tires with every turn. But once I’m there I hop right out and smile back to stare at the best parking spot in the lot.

  AWESOME!

  Getting through right away when you call a big company

  Thank you for calling.

  We are experiencing lower than normal call volumes.

  AWESOME!

  Eating the last piece of anything

  Occasionally, a kind soul will come over to a barbecue toting a homemade dessert made from some combination of apples, brown sugar, brownie batter, toffee bits, marshmallows, cherries, and oatmeal. They set their heavy glass dish down on my kitchen counter and peel back the plastic bag to reveal an earth-toned rainbow of deliciosity. We gaze at its beauty for a moment, but then look at the pile of cold weenies and bulk pack of yellow macaroni salad lying on the counter and walk away, knowing that we’ll get to that dessert later, just as soon as we fill our stomachs with all the cheap stuff everyone else picked up from the clearance rack.

  And eventually the end of the meal arrives and the hero dessert is paraded to the table with pomp, fanfare, forks, and a stack of plates. But by now everyone is stuffed, and so while people dip into this rectangle of tastiness, they just don’t have room to send the dish back empty. It inevitably gets Saranwrapped and put in the fridge for leftovers, hasty promises made to return to it another time.

  And that’s when it gets interesting. I’m a pretty big fan of dessert. I like its style. I think it’s cool. And so I eat it as soon as possible. I have a piece here, I have a piece there. It replaces bread the next morning at breakfast, starch the next evening at dinner. I chip away at it until eventually there is only one piece left. And it is the consumption of that last piece, that final, beautiful square of leftover homemade dessert, that is always the sweetest.

  See, by this point it’s an old friend. I know its taste well, having succumbed to its viselike grip over me for a few days since the party. I may actually be sick of it, but I would never admit
it. All I know is that there are only a couple more minutes left of enjoying its company forever.

  It is a very happy yet very sad time.

  There are some ways that eating the last remaining piece of dessert can be made sweeter, though:1. Eating it cold. When that dessert is only a couple feet away from your mouth, there really is no time allowed for heating. (+5 points)

  2. Eating it straight from the big serving dish. This is tricky, because if you’re watching TV you need to awkwardly lift a three-pound glass dish with one hand so you can shovel the dessert into your mouth with the other. Watch out for wobbling. (+10 points)

  3. Methodically scraping every last crumb, ring of dried icing, and molecule of congealed syrup out of the dish, even using a spatula if you have to. Licking is optional here but may be necessary. (+15 points)

  4. The big one. Thinking about the dessert just before you’re about to fall asleep or when you wake up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, thinking about it and not being able to get it out of your head until you walk to the kitchen, your feet freezing on the cold linoleum, touch-grabbing your way through the black maze of your apartment, until you pop open that refrigerator door, its bright light beaming out at you like the gates of heaven opening, and you just grab that Saranwrapped slice of greatness and eat it right on up. (+ 100 points)

  AWESOME!

  Slowing down

  Time is an illusion.

  Baby, we’re all just spinning, gninnips, spinning.

  Electrons spinning in our tall, fleshy bodies, spinning on our big, wet rock, spinning in our bright, white solar system, spinning in our deep, dark galaxy, spinning in our brainbustingly big universe.

  This neverending swirly-twirly headtrip can be a bit much sometimes, so we try to place some delicate order on our bumpy, chaotic lives. We tack calendars on our kitchen cabinets with organized checkerboards of days and weeks and months. We make plans for Saturday night, sleep in on Sunday, and head to work Monday morning. See, now instead of swirling and twirling, we’ve got minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years and lives.

  Oh sure, maybe setting a calendar on the beautiful insanity of life is like placing a square of tissue paper on a hurricane. But without the structure and routine we’d just sort of wander around aimlessly forever, you know what I mean?

  “Hey man, when you gonna finish college?”

  “Dude, I dunno, maybe when my beard touches my knees?”

  No, no, no, we need order, we want order, we crave order, we love order.

  Order gives us birthdays, anniversaries, and hair appointments. Order gives us the recess bell, cake-baking smell, and Christmas Eve with the family. Order gives us library readings, holiday greetings, and long weekends in the summer.

  Order gives us a lot.

  But sometimes it’s great to slow down and get swirly-twirly anyway.

  Sometimes it’s great to set up a crinkly tent on the damp edge of a gushing river and camp out under the stars with someone you love. Sometimes it’s great to shutter in and veg out on the stained corduroy couch during a snowy weekend at school. Sometimes it’s great to slap on baggy khaki shorts and a bright shirt and fly to a distant island just to lie on a hot, sandy beach in front of the blue, glittery ocean.

  Sometimes it’s great to step back and stare at the clouds and sky.

  Sometimes it’s great to let your thoughts float free and float high.

  Sometimes it’s great to close your eyes and let it all just slip away.

  Sometimes it’s great to forget the clock and dream a dream today.

  AWESOME!

  Taking your high heels off at the end of the night and walking home in bare feet

  Give your tired, aching soles a soothing break after a long day of painful slave labor.

  It just feels like sweet release.

  Or so I’ve heard.

  AWESOME!

  When you suddenly remember it’s a long weekend

  Monday is the new Sunday. First off, your TV-watching schedule is messed up. The baseball game was last night so now you’re flipping past Wheel of Fortune and sitcom reruns. But no big deal, because even though the night before school or work is a bit of a drag, you can at least rest knowing you’ve got a four-day week ahead.

  Sunday is the new Saturday. Now you can make late night plans without excuses. No sister-in-laws zipping up diaper bags and tying kids’ shoelaces in the front hallway at 8:30 p.m. this time. Nope, on long-weekend Sundays the party’s just getting started, so toss the seven-year-old on the bed full of jackets and get back to rocking.

  Saturday is Uncharted Territory. This is the Bermuda Triangle of the long weekend. You’ve got two more days to finish your algebra homework, plant the tulip bulbs, or mow the lawn, so that all falls off the radar. Yes, today’s the day for a glue movie marathon, long drive to see the grandkids, or late night out with your old friends from high school.

  When you suddenly remember it’s a long weekend it’s time for some head spins. Your brain races with possibilities ahead and you’re filled with a tingly buzz of excitement. Yes, you ran up the bumpy hills of Monday and Tuesday, scraped by a muddy Wednesday, and clawed through the frozen tundra of Thursday and Friday.

  Now you’re at the top of the mountain breathing the fresh air of the long weekend.

  And it is glorious.

  AWESOME!

  When two cookies melt together in the oven

  If you’re lucky the edges of both cookies had a little bit of burn time to harden and brown before congealing into one giant Siamese cookie masterpiece. Now they’re stuck together in a crispy brown sugar suture that becomes your mouthwatering reward for baking a big beautiful batch of

  AWESOME!

  Elementary school science fairs

  It all starts with poster board.

  Getting mom to drive to the drugstore to load up on the thick flimsy is a great start to a great project. Grab a sheet of white, a sheet of neon pink, and if you’re lucky, one of those thick cardboard three-folds. Come on, we both know that cardboard added scientific integrity to your research—the seventh-grade equivalent of getting your work published in The New England Journal of Awesome.

  But it doesn’t end there. Next you’re grabbing markers, spray paint, baking soda, and Styrofoam. Once you’ve got everything together you’re rushing home and getting down to science, people. The carpeted corner of the unfinished basement becomes your lab and it’s time to spend hours putting on lab coats, staring into microscopes, and pouring bubbling green liquids into beakers.

  Let’s count down six of the classics:6. The solar system. Jabbing those spray-painted Styrofoam balls with a straightened-out coat hanger makes a great splintery sound. Next you’re painting a splotchy brown Australia on Earth and a big eye on Jupiter. If you want your solar system to be to scale, don’t forget to leave Pluto at home and toss Neptune out the car window on the way to school.

  5. Volcano. There are two types of eruptions. First, there’s the Underwhelming Fizz—where you stare deep into the mouth of the fiery beast only to witness some rock-hard hunks of baking soda floating in a pool of nostril-burning vinegar. It’s disappointing, but you can always try again and hope for a Superblow—where everyone stares with wide eyes as red ooze bubbles and slides down your carefully painted volcano onto the GI Joe townspeople below.

  4. The one the kid’s parents obviously did. Also known as robbing your child of the thrill of scientific discovery in exchange for a B+. Come on, Dad, we all know Junior didn’t build that perfectly functioning lawnmower engine.

  3. Growing something. Whether it was lima beans or patches of fresh grass, it was a classic move to study Sunlight vs. Shadow, Music vs. No Music, or Watering Plants vs. Pouring Coke on Them.

  2. Coke is bad. Speaking of Coke, did you have that kid who left a tooth or some nails sitting in it for a month? The groundbreaking research typically concluded with a harsh indictment of the entire soda pop industry. And maybe some scatter
ed business cards for the kid’s dad, who was a dentist.

  1. The one that didn’t work. Every science fair had a few of these gems. They were sad and beautiful at the same time because that long-faced ten-year-old standing in front of a dim lightbulb was learning how to deal with lost efforts and how to get back up after a stumble. Keep that chin up, tiger. You’ll get ’em next time.

  Yes, beautiful science fair moments were always a perfect close to months of hallway passion, energetic classes, and long lonely nights cutting block letters out of construction paper. Letting kids learn, letting kids dream, letting kids try and try and try—well, there’s just so much good that comes of that.

  As they bottle insects, jab wires into lemons, and rub magnets together, you can see the whirring gears spinning with delight. Yes, all that learning just sponges, soaks in, and sticks there forever as a new generation of curiosity seekers gets their buzzing minds moving us all forward and forward and forward ...

  AWESOME!

  The moment after you wake up from a nightmare and suddenly realize it was all just a dream

  With a dropped jaw, buggy eyes, and sweaty palms, your hot, salty head pops up from your warm pillow in a heart-pounding state of emergency. After a second of massively intense panic where you zoom into brain-rushing, adrenaline-gushing overdrive, it suddenly just dawns on you ...

  It was all just a dream.

  It was all just a dream.

  It was all just a dream.

  AWESOME!

  Pain

  It’s there for a reason.