Monday, November 17, 2008

That Darwin Fella May Be Full of Crap

This weekend, I was having a nice little Saturday with my wife. We went to the Home Depot, and were considering the Bed, Bath, and Beyond if there was time. Interrupting my day, several times, was the oh so obnoxious buzz of the cell phone in my pocket. It was Tim. My friend Tim.
Tim's birthday was Sunday, and unbeknownst to me, a slew of emails had been sent out inviting the whole gang out to dinner. Since I hadn't responded to the email that I didn't receive, I was now being subjected to a full on voice mail barrage. When I checked my phone, I turned out that Nick had called, so had my sister, and Mrs. Tim, and Jeff, and Owen, but at the top of the missed calls list was Tim, with a whopping five calls in the last hour and a half.

I listened to the messages, "seven-ing" them as soon as I got the gist of what they were about, "call me, we're all going out..." But Tim's messages were worthy of noting. I don't think he ever really learned how to leave a message. He asks your voice mail questions, then he leaves pauses, as if he's giving you time to fill in your half of the conversation later.

"Hi Mike, this is Tim. What's going on today?"

Ten second pause.

"We're all getting together for dinner tonight, just seeing if you want to come with us?"

About a fifteen second pause.

"Hey, do you have Brian's phone number?"

Ten seconds of strange eerie silence.

"I've been wanting to call him. Have you talked to Stan lately?"

Fifteen second pause.

"Oh, I saw this movie the other day, "Kung Fu Panda," have you seen that one?"

Five second pause.

"It was pretty good."

Ten second pause for me to add my two Kung Fu Panda cents later.

"At least I thought so." (said as if he is defending what I might l say later on about a movie I haven't seen.)

"Well, I guess I'll talk to you again later."


"If you can't make dinner, give us a call later and maybe you want to go for ice cream or soup?"
Seriously, this is what he said. Ice cream or soup. I guess he was trying to turn the 'it's too cold for ice cream' argument before I could even use it.

We did meet up with the gang at a local restaurant, and as soon as we were seated, the topic of conversation was somehow on Tim's pants. He was very excited that he's put on a little weight. We all like to tease him, because he's a grown man, probably around 5'7" or so, but only weighs maybe 125. He seemed very happy that he was now wearing a size 33.

"So, Tim, no more ToughSkins then, huh?" Jeff asked.

"Alright, Timmy, you get to shop at the big boy store," Owen mocked.

I just sat there wondering what could have prompted the cheapest person I know to buy new pants. This is a thirty-three year old man, sitting in a restaurant, wearing a Bugs Bunny sweatshirt he wore in high school. He still has the same hand-me-down, oversized winter coat I recall him putting on for a sophomore year snowball fight. He is Johnny Frugalpants and he spent money unnecessarily? Even though I was afraid of the answer, I had to ask.

"I couldn't get my keys out of my pocket anymore," Tim responded, "The pants were too tight."

While the rest of my friends were busy laughing hysterically, that only led me to: "How exactly did you get the keys into your pocket? Did you put them in there before you put the pants on?"

Owen then suggested that to get some more mileage out of those old jeans, Tim should do the same to get the keys out, just walk across the parking lot to your car while undoing your belt, drop your pants, get the keys, pull 'em back up, and unlock the car.

We all wondered how he carries around his cell phone, which is so large it looks like he's lugging around a brick in his pocket. I do believe he has the first model of mobile phones that evolved enough to crawl out of that little bag, loose the plug into the car cigarette lighter feature, and become truly cordless.

Tim got up to go to the bathroom, and while he was gone, our food arrived. Jeff, always looking to stir up trouble, replaced the wet nap perched on the edge of Tim's plate of ribs with a sugar packet. No one thought Tim would fall for the gag, because of the weight, the shape, and the size differences, not to mention the word SUGAR written in big bold red letters across the thing.

Tim came back from the potty simply amazed that the urinals in the bathroom were a wee bit low. Now I'll admit, the plumber who installed them must have accidentally brought the plans for a fourth grade hallway or something, but I had to relieve myself, so I adapted and overcame. Jeff, who is 6'4", walked into the bathroom behind me, took one look at that kindertoilet and moved to one of the stalls. Tim, however, was flabbergasted; he could not believe the low urinals and how Jeff, being as tall as he is, didn't just give up and pee himself.

Tim: Did you see those urinals in there?

Long pause with no response.

Tim: They were so low I don't know how you could piss in there? (re-read this line, but like Tim, put extra emphasis on the word piss, spit that word out as if it were actually a mouthful of urine.Continue this manner of speech throughout).


Tim: What did you do, Jeff? How could you even piss in those things? (To get the full Tim effect, it may also help to know that the word "things" comes out in a unique Tim manner - try saying "then" and then say "thought." The TH sound is slightly different, in my world "thing" usually sounds more like the soft "thhhhh" of "thought," in Tim's it's the slightly harsher "th" of "then." I don't think - another soft th that Tim makes harsh - there's anything wrong, but it's always struck me as odd the way that word comes out.)

No response. I wanted very badly to respond with a smart ass comment like, "gravity does a pretty good job of taking the pee where ever it needs to go, just be glad the toilets weren't too high," but I learned long ago to try and not encourage Tim. Fortunately every one present understood that rule as well.

The subject was changed, but several times throughout the meal Tim tried to subtly steer it back to the height of the toilets and the problems Jeff must have had with them.

Mrs. Tim: So, Mike, do you have the baby's room all ready?

Mike: Yup, just finished painting last weekend. I'm probably gonna hang som...

Tim: I just want to know how Jeff pissed in that thing.

Later -
Owen: I think the Chicago Bulls are really gonna surprise some people this year.

Jeff: Are they gonna pop out from behind a bush and scare them?

Tim: I just want to know how Jeff pissed in that thing.

Later still -
Jeff - You know, Tim, sometimes when wet naps get really old, they dissolve into little powdery crystals. I betcha didn't know that?

Tim: (looking at Jeff as if he's speaking Swahili) I just want to know how Jeff pissed in that thing.

Even later -
PlainOleWife: Yeah, the doctor said that he's in the 60th percentile for growth and will probably be about seven pounds.
Mrs. Tim: That's what our son weighed (Yup, Tim's a daddy. With another on the way.) when he was born. He was seven pounds one ounce, but don't freak out, they loose a little weight right away. What did he loose, Tim, two ounces?

Tim: I just want to know how Jeff pissed in that thing.

This went on throughout the entire meal, interspersed with Owen, Jeff, and I asking Tim if he would be able to get various things out of his pocket: like sugar packets, wet naps, the tiny urinal, the waitress, one of those dissolving breath mint strips...

Eventually, we all finished eating and Tim went to wipe his barbecue sauce covered hands with his handi-wipe. He tore the little packet open (the sugar packet Jeff had strategically placed on the edge of his plate) and looked at it funny, expecting to see the edge of the towelette so he could pull it out of the packet. My wife started kicking me furiously to make sure I didn't miss the confuddled look on Tim's face as he tried to peek down into the packet to see what happened to his moist napkin. He looked at if kinda sideways, with his head all cocked, like he was a small dog and the sugar packet was a person talking in a high pitched voice, then he stuck his finger in it. When he pulled his finger out, covered in sugar crystals, he looked (apparently it is possible) even more confused, so (yes, he did) he stuck his finger in there again and dug around in there, to check perhaps if the wet nap was some how hidden under the sugar or in a secret compartment or something.

He honestly had no idea what had happened or what to do about it. Finally he looked up at us with a look on his face that reminded me of George W. when he couldn't open that door a few years ago.

By now, Mrs. Tim was the most embarrassed person there has ever been, Owen and PlainOleWife were laughing so hard they were crying, I was choking on a small sip of water, and Jeff, straight-faced in a brilliant manner, looked at Tim and said, "See, I told you the powderize if they get too old, you should have used it quicker."

If Darwin's survival of the fittest thing were true, Tim would have been picked off by circling hawks a long long time ago.


Da Old Man said...

If Tim is real, and you didn't make him up, you should have.
He sounds like a lot of fun.

PlainOleMike said...

Joe - He's real. He is not fun. He's weird, kind of creepy, and has an odd smell about him.

PlancksPost said...

Dude...too funny!

Bee (the one who muses) said...

Ha ha! That was hilarious, Mike!

Just so you know, I'm always nervous when I leave a comment here because I'm afraid of making an ass of myself due to spelling and grammar mistakes. For some reason, I'm taken back to Mrs. Novinger's class and her threats to hang us from her ceiling fan. She was my English teacher. :'o{