K-Mac drops a pill and it rolls under the washer. What is the etiquette here? The handbook suggests these standard options.
• Offer an empathetic “It sucks to be you.”
• Go into the garage, get the back brace, the knee pads and the Blue Tooth pill grabber, hand them to K-Mac and wish her luck.
• Find out how much the pill cost and if it’s less than the mortgage payment, move on to the next pill in the bottle.
• If it’s one of those pills that can save your life in a pinch, stop pinching.
• Spend fifteen minutes finding the flashlight, get down on hands and knees and turn it on and realize the batteries are dead as a door nail.
• Spend 20 minutes searching for batteries, finding none but locating the long-lost foot to your gorilla suit, hiding next to a small box of tiny nails. Door nails. Hmm. Coincidence?
• Dig out the old gorilla suit from your 20th century collection (mountain) of things you knew you might need someday, put it on, zip on the lost foot, sigh with satisfaction.
• With the gorilla claws, fumble the box of tiny nails which explodes on contact with the floor.
• Shout “Stupid gorilla suit.” K-Mac can’t hear you through the mask and thinks you want polluted Manila soup. She demurs.
• Trying to remove the gorilla suit, the zipper gets stuck. Sweating heavily, you get out your smart phone, get down on hands and knees and hit the flashlight app.
• Pound the floor when you realize you forgot to charge your smart phone.
• Remove 17 tiny nails from your gorilla fist.
• Retrieve an old car aerial from your 20th century collection (mountain) of things you knew you might need someday.
• Stick the aerial under the washer and push out a dust-covered, dried-up Easter Bunny peep from the first Easter.
• Restrain yourself from eating the peep.
• Look at K-Mac and say “Are you sure it went under here?”
• She thinks you said “Sure, get me another beer.” She re-demurs.
•Throw a gorilla-esque tantrum, then grab hold of the front of the washer as if you were planning on throwing it out the window.
• Begin carrying it toward window.
• Stop and whimper “I think I hurt myself.”
• K-Mac posts to Facebook a soon-to-go-viral photo of a gorilla trying to steal her washer. Lots of likes.
• Go on the internet and Google “How to get a pill out from under the washer.”
• Grind one-eighth inch of enamel from teeth, noting article “Why do washing machines pill clothing?”
• Ask very mucho aloud why the firetrucking Mr. Google thinks the next article “Can’t get the fish smell out of clothing?” is relevant.
• Begin sniffing gorilla suit.
• Ask K-Mac “Do you smell flounder?”
• She thinks you said “Do you smell flounder?” She says she will get back to you. In your mask it sounds like she will get back at you.
• Note ad alongside Google list: “Three signs you may have a fatty liver.”
• Start worrying about your liver.
• Find no article that says “Three ways to get a stupid pill out from under your stupid washing machine without weeping in fatty liver despair.”
• Notice pop-up ad that says “Get the best design ideas free.” Click on “No Thanks.” When ad remains, click on “No thanks” again. Once again. Harder. I said harder. NO THANKS!
• Weeping and bleeding from door-nail punctures, you begin speaking in Shakespearean tongues with a gorilla-mask-filtered Mel Gibson accent:
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying NOTHING!
• Take a chill pill.
• Don’t drop it.
• Seriously, dude, do not drop it.
©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2017, all rights reserved.
And yet, for you, twenty-nine dollars (Includes autograph).
A harrowing tale of modern life.