The Time I Almost Got Fired From My Job in High School

This can get you in a lot of trouble.

Hi! It's been a while, yes? Well, let's get right to it.

When you're an adult and you work in a field where you're an "at-will" employee — meaning you can get canned for pretty much any reason, and you don't have the backing of a powerful tax-enhanced union that guarantees job security and mandated break times — you can never be very confident when it comes to job stability.

I've had three situations involving job loss or potential job loss:

Music I Love to Hate to Love, Part I

Sigh.

So, Whitney Houston died, and as a result, we've been hearing several of her biggest hits, from "The Greatest Love of All" to "I Will Always Love You." But the song of hers that comes to mind  — that is, my mind — is one of a number of songs I categorize as songs I hate, but listen to anyway.

The Whitney song I'm talking about, by the way, is "Love Will Save the Day," which I talked about in my other blog that discusses the reviews of "Dean of American Rock Critics" Robert Christgau.

Enough about Whitney (for now). I'd like to discuss some other songs that I'm ashamed to have had (and may still have) on various CDs, iPods, and cell phones.

The Time I Tried to Sell My English Teacher's Car

Best offer.

Now that I have children and grownup/parental responsibilities and no sleep and uh, a job, I no longer have a lot of free time.

And because I no longer have a lot of free time, one of the many things I don't experience much anymore is...boredom.

Sure, I'm bored at work (where do you think I'm writing this post?), but I actually have things I'm supposed to be doing with my day. I'm speaking of the boredom where you literally have nothing to do. (I don't count extra studying or other productive pursuits as "something to do"; this is an underachiever who's writing this post.)

Although I'd often just suffer through my boredom complaining about being bored, occasionally my boredom would compel me to engage in mischievous activity.

This post describes one of those times.

One Out of Three Ain't Bad (Or, My Fights, Round 3)

You're gonna need more pants.

I'd call this the "rubber match" post of the trilogy of posts regarding my notable pugilistic shenanigans, only to be a true rubber match, you need to have split the first two bouts with your opponent.

My first fight, in sixth grade, could at best be scored a technical draw or a no contest: though my opponent drew blood, the sight of said blood compelled him to end the fight prematurely.

My second fight, in ninth grade, was clearly a loss via technical knockout. I could argue that I was fighting well out of my weight class, but no one cares.

My third fight occurred during the following school year, and this time it happened in front of a very large audience. Does this intrigue you?

"Never Give Up" Is Not Always a Wise Adage (Or, My Fights, Round 2)

Actually, there
isshame in losing

If you remember, or even care, I'd mentioned that I'd been in a few major fights (note: "few" = "three"), one of which I'd already blogged about.

That scrum took place in sixth grade, and it contained only one punch, resulting in (my) bloody nose and the fight being halted by the freaked-out guy who landed it.

My next big brawl took place three years later. The changes between sixth grade and ninth grade include a few inches and a number of pounds, but that didn't help me because the guy I was fighting was not a sixth-grader himself, but a larger-than-average tenth grader.

Add to this the fact that I really had no motivation to fight this guy, and what we end up with is one of those Worst Day Of My Life days.

All right, then! Let's get to it!

The "Park & Ride" Story, Part 2

This is what it feels like: a wax bonfire.

So anyway, for what it's worth, I turned 40 today.

But enough about present-day me. Let's get to the second part of the story about the time I went to the Park & Ride near the Long Island Expressway and had a couple of interesting encounters.

When we ended the previous story, my friend Chuck freaked out when two otherwise harmless gentlemen revealed to us that they were gay, and he hauled ass out of the parking lot.

I'm not sure what Chuck was afraid of, because I don't think we were in danger of unsolicited sodomy from 10 feet and two layers of car door away. Somehow, though, I was able to convince everyone to return to the scene of the no-crime. Before we returned, Tony insisted we switch seats so I could ride shotgun so it would be easier for me to handle the conversation.

Once we returned...

The "Park & Ride" Story, Part 1

Gather 'round for story Story time!

Throughout one's life, all sorts of events occur. If you're me — and if you are me, please accept my condolences and return my gloves — most of these events are mundane. Somehow, I've been attempting to make many of these mundane happenings somewhat interesting to you, the reader.

Occasionally I'll recall a more memorable event — that is, something less trivial than some book from elementary school that I was reminded of when I mowed the lawn — that I refer to as a capital-S "Story." These are events from my past that, for a short-to-long while, I've told and retold, particularly in settings where telling tales like these are appropriate. Some of my recently recalled Stories include:

• The 7-Eleven Story
• The Mushroom Night Story

I categorize these memories slightly differently the other pieces of my past. I think that's because the Stories have more shelf life than the other events. I do eventually abandon some of my Stories, however, either because I'd forgotten them or because they don't seem as funny anymore due to evolving mores or my age.

CAN I SELL THIS POST ANY WORSE
The following story probably doesn't seem very amusing today — it might seem sad, or even pathetic (and I'm not talking about just my personal involvement — but with enough context, I'm hoping you'll understand what was going in the mindset of the people involved, even if you're shaking your head in disgust anyway.

Wow, what an intro. Are you ready for the Story?