BEHIND THE URINE

"Good afternoon!" I say because that's my greeting of choice after the 12:00 hour. "How can I help you? Wanna see two dwarves going down on each other?"

"I have an appointment with your boss," she says, gently shoving the hell out of her application at me.

"One moment please!" I say with a large smile because I'm so goddamned friendly.

On my way to the boss' office, I glance at the application.

The woman's name is Susan.

I give the application to the boss and smile broadly because ... well ... you know.

He takes her in his office, closes the door and my imagination starts to run wild, but we won't go into that here.

They emerge 20 minutes later and he introduces me to her.

"Uncle Bob, this is Susan," he says.

"No," she says. "It's pronounced 'Shush-inn'."

We both look at her like she's mentally handicapped.

My boss, who's a great guy ... struggles to pronounce her name.

"I'm sorry ... Shush-inn?" he says, looking mildly confused.

I just shook her hand.

Because ... in my book ... your name is pronounced as silent as the "H" in Thibodeau, Sweetie.

I won't grapple with the pronounciation of your name every time I want to address you.

I'll either talk to you without using your name or I'll develop a pet name for you like "Sugar Tits" or "Crazy Lady Who Can't Pronounce Susan".

I walked back to the laboratory portion of the building with Shush-Inn and the boss just so I could hear the boss stumble all over her name while he struggled to introduce her to the rest of the employees.

I wish I'd had a video camera at that moment. The boss was stuttering every time he tried to introduce her and was all "Shushing? Slush Fund? Schwing Schwing?"

I had to cover my mouth and run from the room and burst out laughing back up in the receptionist area.

Poor Shu-Shu.

But that's what you get when you want to be different.

About three times a week, I have to drive down to this dilipated old town in the middle of nowhere to pick up ze piss.

It's a 40 mile drive one way, so that means I spend about 90 minutes on the road, listening to music and just groovin' along.

It's on a two-lane road the whole way and you don't see much traffic on the road.

Following me?

Now ... let's say there's a State Trooper hiding on the road, trying to catch speeders, because we're all out in the middle of nowhere and it's a good bet that we're going over 55 mph on these country roads.

What do drivers do to warn drivers coming from the opposite direction that there's a State Trooper hiding up ahead?

They flash their lights at the oncoming car.

It's a common courtesy that drivers have for each other. It's saying "Hey! Slow down or get a ticket up ahead!"

Drivers always appreciate it when you let them know that a state trooper's up ahead. They usually slam on the brakes and take their speed from 80 mph to 55 mph until they are well past the state trooper.

Yeah.

Well ... here's my game.

I flash my lights at EVERYBODY.

Regardless of whether there's a state trooper around or not.

So you've got these oncoming drivers who see my flashing lights hit the brakes and as we pass each other, they give me a thumbs up because I just saved them the cost of a speeding ticket.

Then they drive 55 mph for the rest of the 40 mile drive, keeping their eyes open for state troopers who don't exist and finally arrive in our city, pissed off at me and late for whatever they were coming to town for.

Hee!

It's not the most fun game in the world, but I get a helluva kick out of doing it.

And hey ... I didn't do anything wrong.

Maybe I'm just a chronic light flasher who can't help flashing his lights.

Sheesh.

Back off, angry trucker. It's a nervous tic.

Usually it's because I'm only driving a short distance ... a few blocks.

I know, I know ... spare me the lectures. I should buckle up every time I get behind the wheel regardless of my distance that I'm driving.

Anyway ... yesterday I'm sitting at a red light and there's an old lady next to me in her car.

She looks over at me while I look over at her.

She scowls and makes a motion like she's putting on her seat belt and then stabs her finger in my direction, letting me know that she disapproves of me driving without a seat belt on.

...While she's puffing on a cigarette.

So I scowled back at her, removed an imaginary cigarette from my mouth and ground it out on my dashboard.

And then stabbed my finger back at her.

The light then turned green.

I'm not sure my message got across, but I'd like to think the old hag voluntarily got on the patch today.

As we all know, the Cos is Diaryland's reigning multi-millionaire who grants favors to all those who need them.

She's like a one-woman Make-A-Wish Foundation and she's the one who signed me back up.

I just figured there was a mistake of some sort because I NEVER RECEIVED AN EMAIL TELLING ME MY MEMBERSHIP WAS EXPIRING, ANDREW and I don't keep up with dates like the end of my Diaryland Gold Membership.

And then when I magically had my graphics, pictures and comments back, I thought the mistake had been fixed.

But the Cos took care of me.

And I appreciate that.

Now ... if anyone wants to step up and pay my power bill for December, email me and we'll work something out.