i’m not a nervous guy but this one has me primed to be. what paper is this person from again?… doesn’t matter. just ask me the mundane stuff and let’s get this over with.
why me again? i’m not special and last i checked i didn’t cure cancer; neither am i running for political office. oh wait… i remember. my usual blog posts must have gotten more than their usual 3 views.
skeletons. sure i have my share, there’s that time i… and that other time jeff bullied me into… then there was that day in the summer of 1987… but all that is water under the collapsing covered bridge. what i really don’t want to talk about are the three biggest lies i’ve ever told and gotten clean away with. until now perhaps.
- i lost the eraser. ok, so i was six years old and looking back now it doesn’t seem that big of a deal, so why does it still haunt me at times. someone’s god only knows. my mother was a graphic artist and she gave it to me. light pink and translucent, not the usual bland rubber ones the other kids had. it tucked into a blue plastic sleeve so that when i wanted to use it, i only had to push it out from the opposite side.
the best part was that it left no eraser crumbs behind — cleanest job ever and i was the envy of my classmates. i could never remember what happened to it and there’s no use pondering now 42 years later. i told my mom that it was stolen – and for all i know it was, but i think i was simply careless and left it someplace.
either way, it’s still something i don’t want to talk about. go figure.
- i wasn’t really sick. she had come back into town unexpectedly and wanted to get together. ordinarily, i’d want that also but in the time she’d been away, i did what every other twenty-something male was doing — i was playing. not that i was a player… ok, i was a player. a cad. a philanderer. sewing my oats is what my dad would call it.
i eventually grew-up and the lie faded; we never did get together, that night or any subsequent one. this much time later, however, if she found out there would be pain. i’m just not sure who would feel it more, she or i. so, as far as this interview goes, let’s hope the righteous hope.
- “it wasn’t me”, i said. “i use a safety razor and haven’t touched an electric one since i was 19.” that was my story anyway. it was august of 2003, a thursday, and late afternoon. we had taken the day off early and all of us were planning to go out — dinner and a cool bar was the plan. i had been out of the shower for 8 minutes when i began searching for my blade and cream — not the pedestrian barbasol, i had a travel size of Origins brand cream.
nothing. as pilots say when they can’t spot another plane, ‘no joy.’ so i call down to housekeeping (this was a nice hotel!) and ask for a razor but all they had was an electric one some other guest left behind days before. ignore the gross-out thought of using another’s personal appliance, i needed to shave — i’m supposed to meet my party downstairs in 10 minutes.
they bring it up, i tip a fiver. use the towel on my face one more time to make sure it’s dry and check my watch again: 4:09 pm EDT. i plug the thing in and WHAM, LIGHTS OUT! the biggest blackout ever and affected some 55 million throughout the US and Ontario.
who would have thought?
is this reporter late? ask me anything, anything at all. but please don’t ask me about these three. is it hot in here?