Throughout my life, I have endured an extensive neurological
history which has resulted in over a dozen surgeries. As anyone who has had an
operation or broken limbs will tell you, I was constantly being asked “how did
that happen?” It’s gotten to the point where I decided that I either needed to
carry around a tape-recording of me explaining the stories behind the scars, or
I could just start making up these outlandish stories to account for the
anatomical abrasions. Given the constant headache that comes with using all of
the medical mumbo jumbo, I have chosen the latter option more often than not. When asked about the scars on my head, chest
and abdomen, I now go off in one of three directions:
1. I gave birth to Wolverine from the X-Men
2. I was Edward Scissorhands first customer while
he was in barber school
3. I got in a knife fight in Detroit (this story is
reluctantly verified by family I have that live in the area)
Toward the end of the summer in 2006, I had to undergo
surgery to have my appendix removed. The surgery went smoothly and I would be
cleared to go home in a few days. As I lay in the hospital bed looking at the
newest addition to my collection of cuts, I tried to think up a story that
would allow me to avoid the truth and having to use words such as “pus-laden
bacteria” and “ooze.” (Such terminology was what I believed caused everyone to
eventually be bothered by the word moist)
With the help of my dad, we constructed a tale explaining
how we had taken part in the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona, Spain and my
father had used both his speed and a threat of not having a roof over my head
when I returned to the United States to persuade me to pick up the rear as we
ran through the narrow Spanish streets. Unfortunately, my cross country and
track experience were no match for the powerful and determined bulls and I was
trampled and stuck by several horns. The nurses thought this story was hysterical
and as a parting gift I received a framed picture of a torero and a bull. This
picture hung above my bed for many years and served a great purpose. You see,
dream catchers simply net the bad dreams and allow them to collect and
eventually seep into your subconscious while you sleep. The bull and torero
teamed up to demolish any nightmarish thoughts that crept into my room and
prevent me from having a sweet and sound slumber.
It’s been years since then and I recently bought a plane
ticket to take a trip to Spain this fall. I couldn’t help but be reminded of
that funny story. Both the fond memories of that picture and the fact that the
Running of the Bulls takes place in July have alleviated my worries that what
was once just a fictional story may come to fruition. However, my concerns associated
with international travel have not been altogether eliminated, but rather, shifted.
Pickpockets are a group of people who have allowed their
sense of greed and desire for wealth to cloud their judgement of both right and
wrong and acceptable personal zones. These people use crowded quarters and
swift movements to steal merchandise and money from unsuspecting victims who
take a few seconds to even realize when a traffic light directly in front of
them goes from red to green (sorry, I got a little too personal there). They
will be my biggest concern while vacationing in Europe.
As a precautionary measure, I have decided to keep my money
and any valuables tucked into my socks. The items a potential pickpocket will
discover if he decides to go rummaging through my Wranglers are as follows:
some old gum, a half ripped ketchup packet, an open paper clip, a Chinese finger
trap, a loaded mousetrap, the buzzer from the game Taboo and a laminated index
card with Exodus 20:15 printed on it, which clearly reads “thou shalt not steal.”
It’s really such a shame that the skills and abilities that
these people have are being used for evil too. Just imagine all of the good
they could do. You know those flyers we get in the mail from local restaurants?
Imagine if pickpockets went around stuffing those into the pockets of tourists
who have no idea where they want to eat. A pickpocket could probably give someone
a back-rub without them even realizing it!
“Man, my back is killing me after that long train ride, how
about you?”
“I don’t know why, but I feel great.”
Pickpockets could turn from taking to giving and write
people little notes of encouragement that they would find later on in the day:
Hi, I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of neatly
folding your bills and organizing them in ascending monetary value. I noticed
that you smiled in the picture on your driver’s license. Most Americans don’t
do that and I commend you and I think your teeth are beautiful. Although in all
fairness, I do most of my pick-pocketing in England and everyone’s mouth over there
looks like Cujo so I’m not the greatest judge of what is considered acceptable
dental hygiene, but keep it up and enjoy the rest of your stay!
Sincerely,
Sergio
If I were to take the words of both the 26th
president of the United States, Theodore Roosevelt and Uncle Ben Parker from Spider-man,
mash them together and add a subtract a few words of my own, the quote would
look something like this: “With soft and swift hands comes great responsibility.”
So a final question to all of the pocket plundering penny pirates out there: Are you
going to choose treat your special ability and the rest of humanity like some
snobby kids beaten up, Doritos fingerprint stained Gameboy Pocket or will you
choose to be a Pocketful of Sunshine?
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