Lest you think I lead a humdrum workaday life devoid of action sequences, I will have you know that this past week, in a dramatic act of mediocre parallel parking, I passed the test to receive my driver’s license. Not to brag or anything, but in the state of Maine this is a highly honorific honor, reserved only for the state’s best and brightest, bearing in mind that an estimated 96.5% of those in this category are technically squirrels.*
No doubt you assume this is cause for revelry, and are consumed by the burning need to send me large wads of cash. Thank you. But before I accept them, I should like to point out that I am currently het up** over the whole organ donation thing. I agreed to it because I felt the call that compels every individual, sooner or later, to act in the name of the highest moral obligation to which mankind can respond, namely, it was really easy. All you had to do was tick a box, next to which it said something like this:
X Yes, I am interested in donating my organs, and while you’re at it, please send me more information about Buns of Steel.***
So of course I ticked the box, in the heat of the moment, because it looked really good. Everything looks really good if all you have to do is tick a box. Same goes for anything accompanied by a smiley emoticon. God knows what would happen if we – mere mortals – encountered both in one place. Consider the possibilities:
X Yes, I agree to tongue-bathe the nearest DMV agent’s cat at his/her earliest convenience. :)
It was only as I headed over to get my picture taken that I started to feel like a total doofwad. Maybe it was just the DMV’s particular brand of Insta-Blemish photography (“Now With 75% More Pockmarks!”), but I think it ran deeper than that. I don’t know what it was, but something inside me suddenly huckled tight to the realization that these were MY organs, MINE, accompanied by the need to bellow, “NO! MY ORGANS! MINE!!!”****
This is not to suggest I am against donating your organs. On the contrary: I’m more than happy to donate YOUR organs. It’s mine I want to keep. I like them, and take them almost everywhere I go, such as restrooms, England, IHOP, etc. On the other hand, I can see how, in certain situations, it might be nice to have the option of instantaneously expelling one’s vital organs, especially if this could be effected by a cool trigger-word, such as “COWABUNGA!!!” This could come in handy, in a pinch:
CAPTAIN’S VOICE: Folks, from the flight deck, due to weather conditions, instead of La Guardia, we will be landing in Raleigh-Durham. We apologize for th…
YOU: COWABUNGA!!!!!
I guess this wouldn’t weigh so heavily on my mind if not for my new place of higher learning, esteemed Bolumbia University, and the initiative recently implemented by its president Nick “Baddabing” Baddaboom, cracking down on us transfer students. Oh, sure, they still accept transfer students, but according to the stipulations of President Baddaboom’s initiative, each of us must contribute to the university, prior to matriculation, “a vital organ of youse choice” [sic*****]. Fortunately, the approved list thus far includes phlegm.
All this talk of Bolumbia brings me to the subject of my recent readers’ poll, and the following acknowledgement that the poll was, in fact, totally useless, seeing as I just now decided to place myself in a school that wasn’t even one of the choices:
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:
ALL THE STUFF I JUST SAID … SO THERE.
On the bright side, those of you respondents anticipating the burden of a live-in supermarket manager will be pleased to know I now have an alternate use for the members of The Store’s management team. Yes, at first blush it may seem a senseless waste of life, I agree******, but it warms my heart to know that one of the people they help might be you, and if God forbid such dire straits should come to pass, you will be better off with managerial organs than without them, though you might at any time experience a sudden, raging thirst to page for clean-up in aisle six. Me, I will be out engaging in action sequences, so whatever you do, just don’t page me. Not if you know what’s good for youse.
*In some cases licenses may also be awarded to, in the words of the Maine driver’s manual, “certain varieties of moss.”
**This is a temporary fix. It is because I am currently facing toward Bangor. Later I will face toward Boston, at which point I will be het down.
***Of course they will expect you to donate these, too.
****This is a great conversation-starter at parties, once the shrimp cocktail is gone and there is nothing else to do. Try it! You’ll be amazed how fast a conversation will start!
*****Latin, meaning “sic.”
******Honestly? I can’t get too worked up. All those dweebs ever did was price Hamburger Helper.
©2008, Nicola McEldowney
The Snark Ascending
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