• Panic in the break room

    John Kauffman, defender of virtue, mentor to the inexperienced, and wellspring of knowledge, was having a bad day. Witness his innocent looking trip to the break room. Suffering from a shortage of “get up and go”, our hero went foraging for coins to appease the vending machine gods. After a fruitless search, our hero discovered a dollar bill in the most unlikely of places, his wallet. Knowing that the vending machine gods were unforgiving to those without exact change, our frugal hero found someone willing to exchange their change for his bill.

    Enter the break room.

    Our hero laid his coins upon their altar and prayed for relief. As many can attest, the vending machine gods can be a mischievous lot. Our hero watched intently as the machine stirred with life. But just as it appeared they would answer his prayer, the machine stopped short of sharing the fruit of its bounty. Our hero was crushed with despair, but thankfully it was merely a ruse to keep him on his toes. Just as he was about to give up hope the machine shared a Twix bar from its basket of plenty. A metallic clang announced the end of hunger; and with it the beginning of a new era of satisfaction, contentment and productivity.

  • The smell of vanity

    Light travels faster than smell.
    Exhibit 1: a man on a bicycle spots a policeman getting into his vehicle, three blocks up the road. After the policeman enters his vehicle, and the man on the bicycle gets within two blocks, the smell of cologne hits the man on the bicycle.

    If you are like the man on the bicycle, you are surprised to learn that men’s cologne could have a blast radius of two blocks. Furthermore, one has to wonder what the conditions inside that car must be like. Could your average scumbag get off, pleading cruel and unusual punishment? And what of that smell? What is the root cause? Is the officer a victim of a freak smoking accident which destroyed his sense of smell? Does he let his two year old help him get ready for work in the morning? Does he suffer from a form of Tourett’s which manifests itself as a series of hand ticks? Did he mistake his cologne for a bottle of body wash? Does he substitute cologne for fabric softener on the rinse cycle?

    I am not a practitioner of the olfactory arts, so maybe my judgment is too harsh. Maybe I should spend a little coin to pretty myself up.

  • Singing in the back seat

    In an age where everything has a sub-category (new-born, infant, toddler, tweener, teenager, young adult, ad infinitum), I have no idea what to call to Beth. To me she is simply a child. Like children from sea to shining sea, her life is about as complicated as a Happy Meal toy. Why then is she singing along with the radio in the back seat with passion, “… why’d you have to go ahead and make things so complicated?”

    It hardly seems like an appropriate anthem for the life of a six year old child, but I guess it could have been worse. She could have been singing “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It.”