Dumb Things I Have Done

Today, as my sister and I walked to the car, I noticed the ol’ rent-a-wreck wearing her muffler a little lower than usual. My reaction upon reaching the car was so typical of me; my sister was almost able to sputter a warning. Almost. After raising myself from the level that afforded me a full view of my rusted exhaust system, I noted to her that its current state was no doubt responsible for the loud rattling noise that followed me wherever I drove. I then kicked the offending noisemaker full on. Because that’s what I do, I answer any who are now asking, why the **** did she do that. I kick things. The muffler managed to last half a block before crashing to the street with a sound resembling that of a set of dishes hitting a concrete floor. This I noted with barely a furrowed brow. Thusly, the loud, vibrating roar that seemed to envelop the car soon afterwards was quite confusing. I looked around to see where it was coming from and saw only parked cars all around. Puzzling. It was another two blocks down, when I used the brakes that it finally occurred to me that the din was emanating from my own vehicle. When I parked and lowered myself to the exhaust vantage point once again, it seemed there was an empty space where the muffler had been. Whoops. Although I intend to take Slally (yes, Slally-no typo) in tomorrow, I am enjoying the wide path my cars’ “obviously, I don’t give a damn” racket gives me.

My next tale begins with a roommate’s psycho ex-boyfriend. This man of unsound mind had been leaving creepy notes on her car and calling at all hours of the night. The mood in our apartment was frazzled and we imagined every noise to be the lovelorn loony. At some point, we’d become convinced that he was tapping the phone line. We’ve reached a “dumb” point in the story already with this, but it gets dumber. Don’t forget who’s writing these tales of addle-brained adventures. While my friend sat, worried and wondering about aforementioned telephone lines, I, as a woman of action, decided to investigate. My complete lack of knowledge of what, exactly, I was looking for was not a source of stagnation and, flashlight in hand, I went into the basement. As I looked around, my sister (who is an unfortunate companion in most of my quests) joined me. We were having difficulty deciding which of the many lines to be found could be the phone lines we were looking for. Then I spied on the wall a large metal box. I was overcome with inquisitiveness. Walking over, I saw large cables running to and from the box and a large handle on the side. I think you know what I did next. If you guessed, she pulled the ****ing handle, you guessed right. Upon pulling this handle down, a metal door came whooshing down over the control panel and all the lights went out. I had shut down the electricity for the entire apartment building. Double whoops. As my sister and I regrouped, we thought beating a very hasty retreat was called for. We made it up to our apartment in record time and comforted our roommate, who was convinced something terrible had gone wrong. “Nope, it’s just me.” I stated, as if this explained it all. And, it did. Luckily, another friend of mine, visiting for the first time, arrived at this point. He’d seen the lights go out in just one building as he walked down the street. He knew instantly that this is where I lived. He walked through the front door as people carrying candles walked down the stairs, asking if we knew what had happened. My sister shrugged and stated she had called the landlord, who would be arriving shortly. Once in the apartment, we explained the actions leading up to our current candlelit state. He laughed his ass off. “I think I know what to do,” he said, grinning. Someone, somewhere was looking out for me. The landlord chose this moment to show up. My Cheshire friend explained that he was sure of what was wrong and what to do to fix the problem. My very relieved landlord showed him into the basement and power was soon restored. Thanks, John B.

There are many adventures from my childhood and many things I needed carefully elucidated to me. I remember being deeply saddened that every pet worm I had chosen and put in a place of honor in the lid of a peanut butter jar ran away from home. That’s, at least what I figured they were doing. So unlovable at five, even worms wouldn’t stay with me. My dad, trying so hard not to snicker, taught me about what happens to worms left in the lid of a peanut butter jar lid, in the sun. After my first tornado warning, my mom had to step up to the “explain what this really means to our freakish daughter” plate.

At six, I was thoroughly convinced that a “tornado” warning was really a “tomato” warning. My childish brain conjured images of huge, vicious killer tomatoes with long, black stick-like arms and legs wielding knives as they tore through neighborhoods, destroying everything in their paths. Their savagery was the reason we hid out in the basement, cowering. I was completely terrified. After mom told me what they really were, I immediately wanted to be outside with my dad, staring at the angry sky. I was denied.

Well, I could go on. And on and on and on. But, this girl won’t tell all of her tales in one fell swoop. I have learned a thing or two from my erroneous endeavors. And, I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to my stories of stupidity. At least, I hope you do. As for me, I have more adventures to live out, more things to kick and more handles to pull. I can only hope that the world is better prepared for all of this than I am.

Jennifer Jordan