I live in constant fear of acting on one of my impulses.
Last July I wrote a semi-true post about impulses I suppressed during a trip to the drugstore. One of these involved grabbing the bun-like ball on a customer’s turban and yelling “Beep! Beep!” In actuality, this impulse occurred with a student in my school. Imagine the consequences of such an act!
Another time, long ago, I worked in a school with a vice-principal whose last name was Putz. Before I met him, I sat in the office chanting my mantra: “Don’t say putz. Do not say putz. Whatever you do, do not say putz” I wasn’t really worried, because the word putz does not exist in my regular daily lexicon. The man was 10 minutes late to our orientation meeting so when he arrived, he said, “sorry to keep you waiting, hope you weren’t bored.”
I replied, “Nope, I was just putzing around.”
::crickets::
What the fuck is wrong with me?!?!?!?!?!
My latest impulse involves handshakes. Whenever I know I am going to have to shake hands with someone semi-important, like the lawyers and house-sellers at my closing the other day, I fear that I am going to tickle their palm with my middle finger, just like your crazy uncle Elmer does at every family picnic. What if I actually did that? I imagine it as I am greeting the person, and hope that my finger will behave. I’m pretty confident in my ability to control it …
But I did say putz, and that worries me. The little Tourettes demon is lurking just behind the curtain. One of these days, I might shake the hand of the Sultan of Brunei and end up giving him a "happy ending". And not the good kind.
Last July I wrote a semi-true post about impulses I suppressed during a trip to the drugstore. One of these involved grabbing the bun-like ball on a customer’s turban and yelling “Beep! Beep!” In actuality, this impulse occurred with a student in my school. Imagine the consequences of such an act!
Another time, long ago, I worked in a school with a vice-principal whose last name was Putz. Before I met him, I sat in the office chanting my mantra: “Don’t say putz. Do not say putz. Whatever you do, do not say putz” I wasn’t really worried, because the word putz does not exist in my regular daily lexicon. The man was 10 minutes late to our orientation meeting so when he arrived, he said, “sorry to keep you waiting, hope you weren’t bored.”
I replied, “Nope, I was just putzing around.”
::crickets::
What the fuck is wrong with me?!?!?!?!?!
My latest impulse involves handshakes. Whenever I know I am going to have to shake hands with someone semi-important, like the lawyers and house-sellers at my closing the other day, I fear that I am going to tickle their palm with my middle finger, just like your crazy uncle Elmer does at every family picnic. What if I actually did that? I imagine it as I am greeting the person, and hope that my finger will behave. I’m pretty confident in my ability to control it …
But I did say putz, and that worries me. The little Tourettes demon is lurking just behind the curtain. One of these days, I might shake the hand of the Sultan of Brunei and end up giving him a "happy ending". And not the good kind.
9 comments:
Ooooh! Please let your instincts run wild,its fun!
And do tape it for my benefit(and delight)
I agree! I think a video of the moment would be quite appreciated by all!
Too much repressing of impulses could be bad for you. You'll have to let it all out on your blog.
Most of my impulses involving my students involve putting them in a closet and "forgetting" they're there until class the next day. There's probably consequences for that too.
I like freudian slips the best. Foot in mouth disease is always less than desirable though.
I love a good 'ol throw back to the July 2005s.
It was a good time.
i think i'd like a "happy ending" and not the good kind.
Hahaha! I loved it! I always say, the more you mess up now, the better the story later!
Always,
Jas...
I worked in a nursing home for five years when I was a young teenager. I did that middle finger thing to one of my old lady friends and her eyes got big as saucers. She said, "You know what that means, don't you?" "No," I replied. "It means you want to have sex with me!" she whispered. I never did it again, that's for damn sure.
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