The MBA Draft

 Stores that have those Now Hiring signs that are like “Come join our team” as if people are going to be like “I want to play a game!” Sure, I’ll join the “team” as long as I get to full speed chest bump my coworkers when we complete a task, throw some/all of the materials I work with at some point and every December there is a widely televised report about several prospects that the company is interested in bringing on and the five people most likely not to be there come January.

Arrest Room

 Everyone should go to Pelham house of pizza, their cheese pizza and meat lovers calzone are out of this world and the following is in no way a defamatory shot at the establishment 

I went to pick something up at PHOP and towards the back of the dining area there is a door with a sign on it that reads “No public restrooms. Please don’t ask.” 

I laugh every time I see it. Why is that a two sentence message? I mean I am all for unnecessary rambling, but why are you getting so defensive? It’s like, this is not a bathroom, some of us don’t even know what is back here and we don’t want to talk about it, ok? 

I have three theories:

1. The door leads to a secret land called Carnia where ingredients are made cheaply and deliciously and they don’t want their competitors to find out about this huge advantage they have in ingredients shipping time 

2. They don’t fire employees, but every month they choose a worst performing employee, tape up their mouth and limbs and throw them in there 

3. There is a Walter White situation, the business is a front and they are cooking more than just pizza 

Again, the food is delicious, you should definitely go there and after you have purchased something, you should get all panicked and wide eyed and please PLEASE ask if they have a bathroom.

Dehumanifier

 Gossip, secrets and rumors definitely make me uncomfortable, but I recently learned that I get equally on edge when I walk into the basement to the whirring of the dehumidifier and it cuts out the second I reach the bottom of the stairs and all that is left is just this uncomfortable, awkward borderline suspicious level of silence. I just glance over at the inanimate, inaudible appliance like "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" 

I don't mean to revamp any AI invasion arguments, I am just saying, be careful out there people, I think they are planning something.

Babbleonian

 I found this while going through some boxes in the attic at my parent's house. We could talk about the hair, but we are not going to. I was never an artist and I know that. Instead, I would like to focus on what I (and my mother) believe to be letters put together in an attempt to form words.    

I am now convinced that every parent of a child deserves at least honorary (if not a legitimate) bachelor's degree in Linguistics specializing in the study of endangered/extinct languages. Every teacher deserves a master's degree and every teacher who is also a parent should get a PhD, because to me this looks like someone was woken from a deep sleep, blindfolded, given seventeen cups of coffee and then they were asked to draw what the inside of a pinball machine looks like.

Die Yard

 I don't mean to brag, but I have the looks of a movie star. After a day of working outside being hit in the face by branches from trees that are clearly looking for revenge from the years they spent being unintended casualties in paintball battles, slamming my knees on rocks covered in leaves and sneezing my head off, I definitely resemble Bruce Willis towards the end of the Die Hard movies. So, be on the lookout for my screenplay debut, Die Yard. 

Ballpark Figures

 While I can honestly say that I have done my part on all of the group assignments/projects I had been assigned in school, there is one "team effort" I claim that I in fact had little to nothing to do with.

I was probably about eight years old, and we went to visit family in Michigan. My Uncle Bob stopped being a loser for once in his life (don't worry about it) and took us to a Detroit Tigers game. The Detroit Tigers were playing the Tampa Bay Rays at the now extinct, Tiger Stadium. In the sixth inning, the Tampa Bay Rays hit a ball deep to left field which was right where we were sitting. Now, I have gone for a ride on some respiratory system roller coasters in my life, I have seen Braveheart, watched the Red Sox come back from being down 0-3 in the ALCS and seen the Patriots emerge victorious after being down 28-3. This moment was more of an emotional "El Toro" than all of them. I got excited as a player connected with the ball and hit it deep, I got bummed out when I remembered it was a Tampa Bay Rays player and I got really afraid as the ball headed right for our section. My dad put his hand up and knocked it down (a pain he complains about to this day.) The ball proceeded to fall between a folded-up seat in front of us and my brother and another family's chosen fighter dove for it. The Wootang Clan emerged victorious. To this day, my brother will not talk about what happened underneath those seats on the floor planted with popcorn and budding with beer stains that night. Every time I ask, "What was it like, Michael?" He sits still, appears to look right through me, takes a drag on cigarette that seems to have appeared out of nowhere and says "...don't worry about it." What was I doing, you ask? I was sipping on my $12 water, and I am happy to say I only have three payments left on the hot dog, the reason for the markup on the dog I was eating was due to the fact that the pork used in these particular bundled up bunches of meat were from Ancient Egypt and had been blessed by Isis and much like that quote, the meat had aged very poorly. I get to tell people this happened, but as far as my involvement I was not a main character, a supporting character or anything like that. I figured for my part in all of this I would stick to being who I am, an author. 

Pee For This

 I just got the closest I will experience to headlining a UFC event in my life.

I walked out of Market Basket, got in my car and felt the unmistakable urge that comes with Dunkin Donuts coffee divebombing through my digestive system. I thought to myself "It's a fifteen minute drive, I will be fine." I will admit, I was a bit arrogant given my history of dozens of one stop drives to Michigan giving my bladder an air of invincibility, couple that with my career change into education, I thought I was indestructible. The moment the seatbelt squeezed against my stomach, I knew I had made a mistake. I pulled out of the parking lot and put my winter coat on. If you recall, yesterday was rather warm, but I proceeded to turn the heat on in my car thinking I could sweat out the side effects of my incessant coffee sipping. I don't know if this is how that sort of thing works, I'm not a urologist. However, at the very least I thought that the uncomfortable nature of my environment would create an effective aversion to my current obstacle. I felt like a fighter trying to cut weight. You have seen the videos, where they show a Boston area brawler in a sauna on an exercise bike while wearing a space suit, gobbling down ghost peppers while being shown video of the ball bypassing Bill Buckner as someone whispers "David Tyree" in his ear. I may never know what it feels like to have an undefeated fight record, but my seats remain spotless and at this point that is good enough for me.