The Ordinary Times

Some dogs can’t be had.

Yesterday I had to attend an all day class on how to better our Service Technician Department.  Going in, I knew that it would be painful. I woke up at 6:30 am, last night’s wine stagnant in my limbs. I toddled to the bathroom and pushed the button above the sink for light. Then I stared at myself in the mirror for a minute. “Fuuuuuck,” I said slowly. Sucking it up as I have done so many mornings before this one, I made my way to get coffee and a bagel for the road.

As I drove I decided the only way I was going to make it through the day was to pay as much attention as possible, so that my mind had no choice but to force the words into my hand through the pen to the paper. I’ve learned the only way to make these situations pass quickly is to fully engage them. This was about the time I spotted a stray dog digging through garbage behind Pizza A Go Go.  I contemplated stopping…what if this is someone’s lost dog?? What if it were me? I came to the stop light and decided I couldn’t let him get away. Parked, I walked around the side of the lot. There he was taking a giant dump, minding his own business much like I probably should have been doing.

I knelt down about ten feet from him. “Puppppyyy? Come here!” The dog bared his teeth and growled at me. I stood up. “Be nice….” My voice trailed off as he lunged forward. That guy chased me all the way down the alley back to my car. I guess some dogs don’t want to be had.

8:15 AM. I am lost in Tigard. I considered going home, back to my warm bed and Monday Meow curled up at the foot of it. Instead I answer the unknown number calling my cell phone. “Erin? It’s Colin, your _____  rep. Are you lost? Are you alright?” No. Can you tell me where I am?

Here I am. I’m settled in the corner on a hard plastic chair, with a notepad and my feet propped up. To my right sit about 50 men, filling the room with bad breath and hat hair. An overhead projector looms in front of us, manned by a small bald fellow in a bright red button-down.

About 45 minutes in I decided to keep a tally of how many times my mind wandered off, which was eleven times before twelve, and nine times from noon to three o’clock. The speaker touched on a broad range of topics including geography, diet issues, his marriage and even our solar system. And I quote:

“I had plenty of people tell me I couldn’t play college baseball. They were wrong.”

“My wife’s favorite feature on the Pro9K is the back light.” (Chortling) Making fun of your wife is cool, right? Enabling her to be so fucking uninformed that she can’t even run her own thermostat makes for one helluva industry joke, as long as it looks pretty.

“We call each other hunter-killers. We laugh all the time together.”   Wait, what?

 “Atkins is the men’s diet. You’ll probably notice I won’t be eating any of that pizza for lunch. I control my diet more than most people in the world.” You can believe the rest of us ate the shit out of that ‘za.

“White men CAN jump.”  = (

“My driveway is exposed aggregate concrete? Do you know what that means for me?”  Nobody did.

“You guys are the center of the universe…I mean isn’t Nike here?”

“Who here drinks Starbucks?” (silence) “The secret to affording a $5 cup of coffee is to have someone else buy it for you. TRUE OR FALSE?”  This was about the time I began tallying how many times he asked true or false. We reached 19 before the lunch break, and then I gave up.

“The average home where I live, in Brentwood Tennessee, the average home is $400 grand with 2 refrigerators. We golf.”  Gross.

By 3pm I was cooked. The prescription painkillers had worn off and I didn’t pick up when my boss called. Earlier in the day I had felt a twinge of guilt for attending this expensive class, knowing I will soon embark on a new endeavor and leave his Popsicle stand in the dust. But as I beelined it for the door I realized if anything, those last seven hours reiterated the fact that my exit plan has been a long time coming.