Tales of being a moron

Tales of Being a Moron, Vol. 1

I decided to start this website for two main reasons:  One, people kept saying, “You should write a blog!” which is what originally incepted the idea into my mind.  However, the second and more important reason was that I thought it would be nice to have a full anthology of all the stupid things I’ve ever done.  Well no, that’s not entirely fair, as theres not enough bandwidth in the world for that; so instead, let’s say some of the more memorable stupid things I’ve done.  So here we are at volume one which will likely become the longest running category in this new online anonymous diary of sorts.

About a year ago (I’m not exactly sure when but probably late fall/early winterish), my friend Jasmine* and I went shopping.  This is a big event for me as I typically only go clothes shopping a few times a year when necessity dictates it must be done.  As the truth of the matter is, I find shopping both painful and boring most of the time.  Going through racks of clothes trying to figure out what will actually look good, the extreme annoyance of trying things on in a cramped, dirty dressing room, followed by watching my hard earned cash get sucked away, is just not my idea of a good time.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Thankfully Jasmine is great to shop with.  She helps me find what I need and encourages me to try on things I normally wouldn’t.  We have fun and it becomes much less of a chore.  So, after an exhausting afternoon of hitting stores together, we finally reached the best part wherein we go to one of the restaurants in the mall for a late lunch and chat-fest.  She sadly no longer lives in the same city that I do, but we still work for the same company and always have plenty to talk about.  I was anxious while waiting for our table because I was seriously so thirsty that I thought I was going to die; like Sahara desert, the-end-is-near, level of dehydration.  I was desperate for water.

The tables were all pre-set with both water and wine glasses.  After we were seated, I saw our waitress walking around refilling customers’ glasses.  That’s when I noticed it.  The way she poured.  It was wrong.  SO WRONG YOU GUYS.  The pitcher she was pouring from had a long clear spout.  As she went from glass to glass, she dipped the spout directly into the water that was already in there.  The water that had already been sipped!  She was like a bee spreading nectar from flower to flower, that is, if flowers were liquid and instead of nectar, it was the putrid biological mixture of tap water, saliva, bacteria, deadly viruses and plague residue.

Okay, you might be picking up on something around about now.  I might be, just a wee little bit, of a germaphobe.  I’m that person you see opening the bathroom door with a paper towel.  I’m that person who would rather dig through her purse for five minutes than dare use the community pen at the doctor’s office.  I’m aware it’s stupid and in complete defiance of logic when my children are basically the biggest germ-bags ever who regularly coat me in pathogens resulting in my catching every possible illness anyway.  But I just can’t help myself.  It’s a deeply ingrained behavior.

So there I was, watching with horror as her approach neared, and fearfully calculating how many people I was effectively going to be sharing a glass of water with.  But the thirst was so strong.  I was so, so thirsty.  I had planned on ordering a pop as well but I just didn’t think I could wait that long.  The walking and dry mall air sucked all the life-giving fluid out of me and I felt too desperate at that point.  In my brain a hopeless tug-of-war broke out between the part of me that didn’t want to drink the germ-soup and the other part of me that was willing to do whatever it takes to survive.  Ultimately, after she poured the water into my glass directly in front of my parched gaze, I could not withstand the temptation.  I drank the germ water.

Now, Jasmine is an actual sane person, so she wasn’t under-going the same turmoil that I was but she did empathize when I complained to her about it; agreeing that it was actually rather unhygienic and unsanitary.  After our meal was over, I thought aloud that it would be nice to somehow indirectly inform our waitress of the error of her ways so that going forward she wouldn’t do that anymore.  Jasmine nicely suggested that maybe I could call later and mention something to her manager.  But I mean com’on, Im not a nark guys.  I don’t want to get the poor girl in trouble. I just want her to alter the behavior that displeases me going forward (that doesn’t sound anally retentive at all, does it?)

“I know!” I announced to Jas proudly, “I’ll just leave her a note!  That way, she doesn’t get in trouble or anything, but I can let her know to stop doing that!”

“Great idea!”  Jasmine smiles.

So, after we each pay, I flip the receipt over to leave my pertinent advice.  Please note, I of course gave a good tip; I always do.  In fact, that might even be another disorder of mine all on its own because in the past even when a waiter completely forgot about me or was blatantly rude, I still always gave a proper tip.  It’s yet another facet of my personality that is deeply ingrained and there’s just no changing it.  I just can’t under-tip even if given horrible service.  Just.  Can’t.  Do it.

Anyway, I write down a short note just briefly noting my water-pouring observations and why she shouldn’t refill the glasses that way.  Now that would have probably been enough had I just left it as is.  However, I’m one of those people that doesn’t seem to recognize when they should leave well enough alone.  So, of course, like the smug idiot I’m known to be, I smirk and tell Jasmine that I’m going to include a diagram as well.

So I add a drawing beneath my note that looked something like this:

restaurant receipt with drawing on it right wrong


Now I’m literally giggling at my own drawing while Jas just rolls her eyes like ‘here we go again,’ but she doesn’t try to dissuade me or anything; just observes semi-bemusedly.  We finally leave the restaurant and begin the long walk to the other side of the mall where we are parked.  I randomly think of the note and start chuckling and turn to Jasmine to say,

“Hahaha!  I wish I could have seen her face when she read the note!  Hahaha!!!”

#SpoilerAlert.  Words I will soon come to regret.

After walking the equivalent of a few blocks, we finally reach the automatic door exit.  As the doors slide open with a soft ‘shunk’, the cold air readily blows in and brings a chill to my bare arms.  It is at this time that my brain finally decides to rouse from its extended auto-pilot mode and the rusted over gears slowly start to turn.

Its cold, I think.  Didnt I bring a jacket?  I look down at my arms.  They are naked and covered in goosebumps now.  Yes, I think, I did bring a coat.  Now that my brain has decided to participate in life again, another thought occurs.  Didnt I also have three large shopping bags?  I look down at my empty hands.  Yes, I did use to have three shopping bags.

It is at this point when a slow terror starts to creep up from within my gut.  It’s the point of the horror movie where you see the protagonists face contort in anguish as a slow realization dawns.

I left my coat…

drawing of woman with horrified expression

…and the shopping bags…

drawing of woman with horrified expression

…on my chair at the restaurant…

drawing of eyes with horrified expression


HOW COULD I BE SO MIND-NUMBINGLY STUPID,  I screamed internally at myself as visions of the scowling waitress giving me a death glare filled my imagination.  WHY DO I DO THESE THINGS TO MYSELF?!  Well, I know why.  Some people take the time to imagine the possible consequences of their actions before they act.  I, unfortunately, am not one of these people.  I generally only learn by doing the stupid thing first.  Heck, sometimes not even then, as I often immediately forget the hard-earned lessons given to me by life, dooming myself to repeat the errors, but at least ensuring a well-spring of possible blog posts that will never run dry.

With a distressed wail, I explain the situation to Jasmine and how we need to go back to the restaurant.  Without even skipping a beat, my witty friend retorts,

“Well, you did say you wished you could see her face!”


This is probably the point in the story where you’re figuring I had to face the consequences for my poorly thought out actions.  Well, you’d be wrong.  For you see, I am a person of many talents and skills.  One of those skills is my brilliant ability to GROVEL LIKE THE PATHETIC WORM THAT I AM.  As we strolled slowly back, I pleaded with Jasmine.

“Please, please, please go get my items for me!  You were there!  You could have stopped me from leaving the stupid note!  You’re partly responsible!  Wait, I’ll owe you a favour!  Not just any favour, a HUGE favour!  Anything you want!  Please, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!”

I was fully expecting her to reject my pathetic begging but to my shock she actually said,

“Sure, no problem, I’ll go in to get your things.  I don’t mind.”

Now I still don’t understand why Jas agreed to take the potential heat like this for me.  I mean, I already owe her SO MANY favours at this point that an additional one is effectively meaningless.  As more posts on this website materialize, you will begin to get the picture of just how unequal the current favour/IOU scale is between us.  What is Jasmine up to that she agreed to do this?  Surely no one could possibly be that good of a friend.

Don’t get me wrong; I was SO grateful.  But I’m a little suspicious.  Maybe one day she’s planning to collect on all those IOU’s at once with a task so horrid, so awful, it will defy comprehension.  And she’ll know I can’t say no.  How could I?  Not when I’ve dragged her into multiple stupid situations.  Or maybe she just knows she’ll need a kidney some day.  But don’t worry, when I find out what it is that she’s after, I’ll update to let you know.  In the meanwhile, I will continue to cringe at this memory forever.



When Jasmine went back into the restaurant to obtain my things for me the waitress was nowhere to be seen.  All my cowardice was over nothing.


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