Throwing Poo

Like most of you, I simply cannot stomach people who harp on and on about their chronic illnesses and/or injuries.  The last thing I want to hear when I'm at a fancy party is some old woman whining about her diabetes-related double amputation.   It's like, "Jesus, creepy dying person that smells like a medicine cabinet, I'm TRYING to enjoy these free potato chips!  Please stop reminding the young, (well, youngish) healthy, bipedal people about the eminent doom that awaits us in our adult-diaper years.   I know - let's play a game.  How about you and your monstrous contraption try to disappear without bumping the coffee table and spilling everyone's cocktails this time?   Even though the drinks are free, someone still has to get up from their comfortable seat and retrieve fresh ones from the overpaid servers with entitled attitudes!"

I'm sure you all feel the same, so please forgive me for preaching to the choir.  More importantly, please forgive me for being naked under my vestments and stink-palming the chalice.

Anyway, a few months ago Nerdy Squirrel, Esq. - who, by the way, is a total hottie - and I went to a raucous outdoor concert.  It was only a few days after my knee surgery, so, even though I could walk, my stride was slow with a heavy limp (I've got your "heavy limp" right here, baby!  No, wait...I didn't mean it that way.  Shit.).  I decided to buy a cheap cane to help me get around a little quicker and serve as an emergency nightstick, just in case. 

When we arrived, the crowd was pretty rowdy and getting increasingly intoxicated (and had apparently been ingesting a steady diet of fried foods on a stick for some time).  I've got a pretty good eye for spotting trouble so I kept a tight grip on my cane whenever we passed in close proximity to a group of drunks.  The surprising thing was that, no matter how wasted some punk was, he would excuse himself and make way when spotting my cane.  This happened time and time again throughout the evening.  I felt like the mayor of Politeville and I must admit, I REALLY enjoyed it.  So much so, I will probably have to fight the urge to begin practicing a limp before the next show. 

If people knew that I was merely recovering from minor surgery, I think the reaction would have been slightly different.  The cane opened up the possibility that I was a veteran or, at the very least, a young (OK, OK, youngISH.  Geez!) guy who had experienced some life-altering accident.  It seemed to provoke genuine consideration and, in some instances, even sympathy.

Maybe this is the type of situation that people are attempting to re-create when they complain about their unfortunate circumstances.  I always thought it was a manifestation of overbearing self-importance, but maybe it's just an attempt to trigger civility.  The problem is that most of us are very good at seeing through someone else's attempt to manufacture an emotional connection.  Not only that, it usually sparks a bitter, if not hostile, reaction.

Especially if you spill my fucking brewsky in the process.