A Billion to One

I read this entry several times (and rewrote it several times) before uploading it, and yet I got an incredibly queasy feeling every single time.

The odds must have been about a billion to one that I would experience the most embarrassing episode in my life on a desolate highway thirty miles from the nearest town in "remote" western Nebraska (or anywhere else, for that matter).

But I did.

How do I come up with such astronomical odds, which I am convinced are not an exaggeration? Read on:

A few years ago, a man here in western Nebraska tried to recruit me to sell Amway products. There was no way on earth that he was going to get me into that line of work. No way. No way. No way.

Holding true to the Amway stereotype, the guy wouldn't quit trying to recruit me, and I kept refusing with as much bluntness as possible, without being rude. After some further back and forth, he finally said something that caught my attention. He told me that he and some others would be going to an Amway seminar in Rapid City, SD, in a few days and that I was welcome to ride along. As I say, I was not interested in becoming an Amway "disciple," but I was definitely interested in getting a free ride to Rapid City (yes, my life was that boring). I agreed to go along, but I warned him that I still had no intention of joining Amway. He was convinced that he had a new brainwashee, and I was convinced I was going to get a free ride to my home state.

A few days later, we departed on the four-hour drive to Rapid City. Besides me, there were four others in the car. They consisted of the driver (age 55), who was the owner of a local jewelry store. Next came the man who was trying to recruit me (about age 35). He just happened to be the general manager of one of the local TV stations. With him was his wife (also about age 35). Finally, there was a man (age between 35 and 45) who was a low-level employee at the same TV station. This employee, like me, was also a potential Amway recruit. I'll call him Joe since I don't remember his real name. The others don't need names. By the way, I was 30 years old at the time.

I rode in the front passenger seat, while the general manager, his wife and Joe rode in the back (they must have been trying to butter me up by giving me the best seat). All four of these people were total strangers to me, and I felt very out of place, especially since I was going to participate in something that was a total turnoff for me. I was starting to regret my decision to go along.

The five of us visited about various nothings as we drove out of town. I soon learned that Joe (the other "recruit") was a native of New York City. I was amazed that he had ended up at one of our two little TV stations in western Nebraska. I believe I asked him how he managed to end up here, but I no longer remember his answer.

About thirty miles out of town, in the middle of nowhere, the jewelry-store owner started talking about the barbershop quartet to which he belonged. I'm definitely not a singer and definitely not a fan of barbershop quartets, so I stayed out of that boring conversation -- for a while. As they were discussing possible songs to sing at future events, a totally random thought entered my mind -- random, that is, according to the laws of everyday mundane reality, but fated according to the laws of the universe. It was a song that I thought might sound good as sung in the four-part harmony of a barbershop quartet. During a brief pause in the conversation, I told them that the song High 'n' Dry, by Black Oak Arkansas (1973), might be perfect for them.

Why I thought of that particular song, out of the thousands of songs I could have thought of, I don't know. It was a certainty, though, that no barbershop quartet had ever sung it before. I knew it was a silly notion even as I said it, and I knew that he would never listen to me; however, I was just trying to make conversation with these strangers and maybe even introduce something unique into the annals of barbershop-quartet history.

The reader should know that High 'n' Dry is the only soft song on an album filled with exceptionally hard and loud rock songs, most of which have a grating edge to them. I have never been a big fan of exceptionally hard rock, and I figured a 60-year-old jewelry-store owner would be even less of a fan. Therefore, just in case he had heard of Black Oak Arkansas and was ready to dismiss me as a kook, I added an editorial comment to my suggestion. Basically, my entire statement went as follows:

"I know the perfect song for your quartet. It's called High 'n' Dry by Black Oak Arkansas."

Then, after only the briefest of pauses, and with way too much emphasis, I added, "Everything else they sing STINKS, but that song is absolutely great."

This seems to be a good place to let the reader know that Black Oak Arkansas was formed in Arkansas (as one might guess) in the late 1960s.

As my utterance of the word, "stinks," was still ringing in the air, I noted an immediate and uncomfortable silence. No one looked at me or spoke a single word as we raced along that remote highway on the wide-open prairies of western Nebraska. I could tell immediately that this wasn't a normal silence, and instinct -- or, rather, ESP -- caused me to start feeling embarrassed, even though I had no idea why. Was my suggestion of a song by a hard-rock group that bad? Or had I been too crude in my use of the word "stinks"? The silence continued, and it was beginning to generate a distinctly uncomfortable quality throughout the vehicle, or so it seemed to my overactive mind. I was growing confused and embarrassed, fearing that I had, indeed, said something terribly wrong; however, I still had no idea what exactly it may have been. I could feel my face starting to turn red. I turned around and looked at the man from New York City, as well as at the general manager and his wife.

After some more silence, I finally said something to the general manager. I can no longer remember what I said, though, because his reply has blotted it from my memory forever. I may have commented to him, in an extremely roundabout way, about their odd lack of a response to my suggestion. That is the only thing that makes sense now, considering his reply.

He pointed at Joe and said very uncomfortably to me, "Joe was a member of Black Oak Arkansas."

I should just stop right there and let you imagine how I felt, but that wouldn't be right. I wish I could find the right words, but I cannot.

Suffice it to say that the interior of the car started to spin as the blood drained from my head. I think I went into shock because I couldn't feel my body anymore. I couldn't see straight, as I tried to look at Joe (who was originally from NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!!!!! NOT [Blank]ING ARKANSAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and tried to converse with him normally, as if I had said nothing at all; but my voice wasn't working, and my neck refused to hold my head steady. I kept thinking that everyone must surely see it wobbling. I thought about trying to hold it still, but I feared I would overcompensate, like a drunk trying to walk straight, and it would then tip in the other direction.

I may have said to "Joe," with as much fan-like awe as I could muster, and in spite of the absence of all oxygen in my body and most muscle control in my lips, "Really? You were? Wow!"

I knew it was too late to explain that I hadn't really meant it like that, because, no matter how well I explained it, it would sound like a lie. I had said it with way too much emphasis.

We drove along in terrible silence for a while, during which I stared across the back seat, past Joe and out the side window. I couldn't look him (or anyone) in the face, but I wanted to "emit" feelings of "sincerest apologies" by looking in Joe's general direction as often as possible. After a sufficient amount of time had passed, I said, in general, to everyone (this is a very, very rough paraphrase), "You know, I really put my foot in my mouth. There's a reason I said that the way I did, but I don't think anyone is ever going to believe me now. I honestly didn't mean it the way it sounded."

Much to Joe's credit, he tried to ease my guilt. He said, "I only joined the band in their later years. I'm not an original member of the group."

That didn't make me feel better at all because he had obviously chosen to join that particular band because he liked their music (music which I had just said "STINKS"). All the rest of that long, long night, while in the car, then in the seminar and later at a Perkin's Restaurant in Rapid City, I visited with Joe like there was no tomorrow. I tried to apologize for my comment several times without overdoing it, because I was driven by a guilt such as I had never experienced before. He continued to tell me not to worry about it, and he really seemed to mean it. He was a sincerely nice person, and once I dropped the subject, we had a good time discussing other topics (in fact, during the seminar, we had both had fun whispering obnoxious comments and jokes to one another about the various Amway speakers). I still felt like the lowest form of life on earth.

In conclusion, picture the scene: The vast plains of western Nebraska, 30 miles from the nearest town, 1,000 miles from Arkansas, 1,500 miles from New York City, in a car heading to an Amway seminar in South Dakota with four total strangers, talking about barbershop quartets, and I had managed to pick, and then insult, the one band, out of the tens of thousands of bands on earth, that had a former member right there in the car with me.

Final Note 1.) In spite of this horrible incident, High 'n' Dry remains one of my very favorite "feel-good" songs of all time.

Final Note 2.) Oh, yeah..., and I never joined Amway either.

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[Just Because - SF - 2016]

"Less Wordy" Instructions

OK, these revised instructions are for two of my favorite diarists, as well as for anyone else who may have had trouble with my somewhat convoluted instructions in the last entry (I admit, after rereading them, that I could have done a better job of writing them). I guess many local bar flies should be thankful that I'm not employed as a professional "Twister" announcer in their favorite bar. "Oh, what a tangled mass of people we weave, when first we practice..." :-) Speaking of which, my female partner and I got third place in one of those contests once. For someone who is not an exhibitionist (me, in other words), it was a very "exhibitionist-like" experience to be in those risqué positions in front of a huge cheering audience (at least I think they were cheering).

On the off chance that I didn't take DangerSpouse's * note * with a large enough grain of salt, and he really did do this experiment right, I apologize in advance for explaining it to him again. But since I was unable to determine what results he really got, I must assume the worst. Ha.

I must assure all readers, though, that this really does work. The results will definitely cause speculation and conversation, even if it is for only five minutes.

For those of you who have not read my January 2, entry, please read it before reading the rest of this one, even though I cannot tell you what possible good that will do. Well..., maybe you might enjoy reading everything in it except the actual instructions.

Since I really am not too good at writing certain types of instructions, I will make this revision simpler than it really needs to be. Please do not take these simplified instructions as a reflection of my opinion of your comprehension skills (I wouldn't be reading your diaries if I thought you were clueless people :-). Besides, Clarity25, you're ill! If a single blanket thread can cause your mind to do a minor somersault, then I can imagine what my convoluted instructions must have been like to read, especially if your room was spinning at the time!

Now, on with the...

"Less Wordy" Instructions

(By "Less wordy" I mean in quality, not in quantity.)

Step One

Have at the ready a single fruit or vegetable item (apple, orange, banana, watermelon, tomato, potato, etc. -- OK, not the watermelon :-).

Step Two

Have the person who is playing the part of the Guinea pig, stand with BOTH ARMS out to his (or her) side at shoulder level (yes, BOTH ARMS), so that he is forming a perfect letter "T" (or a small "t" if you wish to count the person's head in this graphic representation).

Step Three

The person who is experimenting on the Guinea pig will then put a single fruit or vegetable item in the Guinea pig's LEFT hand.

Step Four

The Guinea pig will take his LEFT hand, which is now holding that fruit or vegetable, and place it at the center of his chest, so that the fruit or vegetable is touching the hollow at the center of his chest. The Guinea pig's right arm must remain out to his side at shoulder level the whole time.

Step Five

The person conducting the experiment will then try to force the Guinea pig's EXTENDED RIGHT ARM downward, while the Guinea pig tries to resist. Continue applying pressure for two or three seconds. If the experimenter "wins," then more power to her. On the other hand, if the Guinea pig successfully resists your attempts to lower his arm, then more power to him. Remember, this isn't really a contest.

Step Six

The Guinea pig will hand the fruit or vegetable item back to the experimenter. The experimenter will then grab the alcoholic beverage and put it in the Guinea pig's LEFT hand. During this transfer, the Guinea pig is welcome to lower his extended right arm momentarily, if he wishes to do so.

Step Seven

The Guinea pig will then place his LEFT hand, which now contains the alcoholic beverage, at the center of his chest, exactly as he did with the fruit, so that it is touching the hollow at the center of his chest. He must once again extend his right arm out to his side at shoulder level.

Step Eight

The experimenter will once again try to force the Guinea pig's right arm down, using the same amount of pressure as he did the first time. The Guinea pig will, once again, try to resist. This is no joke. It really works. You can do your best to alter the results -- without cheating -- but you will not be able to do so.

Alcohol vs. Fruit; Your Body Is Psychic

When I was in college, I learned this "new-age" sort of trick (actually, it's not a trick, but I cannot think of a better word at the moment) from a good friend who worked in a liquor store next door to my apartment (if his boss had only known how much free booze -- Beefeater's gin, etc. -- that he gave me to help me ward off the effects of that painful love affair..., well). In fact, he taught me this "trick" right there in the store one Friday or Saturday evening when I stopped in to visit. Try it on an unsuspecting friend (or spouse).

Note: I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter if the friend/spouse has been drinking or not.
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Step 1: Get: A.) a bottle or can of alcohol (either beer or hard liquor will do) and B.) some sort of fruit or vegetable (apple, orange, potato, tomato).

Step 2: Have your friend hold the fruit directly against the hollow at the center of her (or his) chest with one hand. At the same time, have her stretch the other arm out sideways, exactly at shoulder level (so that her body is forming half of the letter T).

Step 3: You then put your arm (doesn't matter which arm) on top of your friend's outstretched arm, directly over the wrist area. Tell your friend to try to hold her arm in place while you try to force it down. Don't go crazy trying to force it down. Just apply a steady and relatively strong force (no sudden lunges, or anything like that). The goal isn't really for you to beat your friend at this game. You are simply gauging her strength. Apply this pressure for only two or three seconds.

Step 4: Now have your friend switch the fruit with the bottle of beer or liquor (holding it in the very same spot), and then try to force her arm down again. Be sure to use EXACTLY the same amount of pressure that you used the first time.

Please let me know the results.

P.S. Be sure to use the fruit first, or the results will be less apparent. If you don't trust the results, try it in different ways.

The New Year: Changing a 4 to a 5... Wow...

Before reading this entry, please be sure to read the previous entry.

Date: Friday, December 31, 2004 11:53:15 PM

Topic: The New Year: Changing a 4 to a 5... Wow...

What a let down. The alcohol did nothing for me, except to prove to me, once and for all, that it is a waste of time and money (at least for me). It caused me to utter funny comments for about twenty minutes (I can be pretty entertaining when under the influence). After the funniness wore off, I just talked A LOT (which is code for TOO MUCH).

It didn't make me feel better, except that I know I can relax and enjoy living without it from now on.

The effects have already worn off.

It is now fifteen seconds away from the new year here in western Nebraska. ....... Now 10.... now... 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gosh. :-)

I feel different already.

Now what am I gonna do...?

I hate New Year's Eve.

:-/ :-\ :-| :-)