In response to the Donut Incident (Item #16) on my 25 Random Things post, Michele says she once ate an entire package of 25 Peeps so she wouldn't have to share them when she got home. She then guessed that, contrary to her, I "probably didn't eat the donuts out of selfishness."
Well...
I was 15 years old at the time. Mom and I were at the grocery store without the rest of the family, which almost never happened.
We had just rounded the corner from the produce aisle, and there they were: mini-donuts!
Not the little packages of five pathetic minis--these were the Super-Ultra-Mega-Bags, the huge bags that you could only find in a "bulk" store (like Sam's Club or Costco) these days: forty or fifty miniature ovals of plastic-chocolate-goodness calling out to me!
I asked Mom if we could buy them. The request was pretty innocuous, probably something like "Mom, can I please have these?"
What she HEARD, however, was more along the lines of, "Mom, can I please have these, so I can take them home and share them with my seven siblings? I know how much everyone likes them, and nothing fills me with more delight than bringing a smile to someone's face. Even if I don't get a crumb myself, I won't mind. It would be enough to know that everyone else did. Please, Mom? Wouldn't you like to help me bring a bright ray of hope into our home today?"
She looked at me, eyes glistening with maternal pride, and said, "Of course, honey."
Unfortunately, what she heard was nothing like what I actually MEANT. There really is no way to put my intentions into words, except to say that my thoughts began with "Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha...." and, had the Villainous Dance of Villainy been invented at that time, I certainly would have been doing it right there at the end of Aisle 2.
Because, the truth is, my intentions had nothing whatsoever to do with sharing. The moment that "Of course" fell like grace from her lips, I was scheming. I was thinking only of ME. I probably could not have told you, at that moment, whether I had any siblings at all. I think I ate 3 or 4 donuts between the time we paid for them and when they were loaded into the back of the van. I then jumped into my seat and began plotting when/how I would consume the rest of them. That is when the awareness of siblings flooded back into my mind: the piranha that were waiting to get their grubby teeth on MY donuts! I spent the entire drive home devising a fool-proof way to get the donuts up to my room without anyone seeing them.
The brilliant plan: stuff the bag into my shirt and RUN.
It worked beautifully. Moments after our arrival, I had the entire bag (minus a few more tasty morsels) stashed under my bed. Every 20 minutes or so, I would return and furtively cram a few more donuts into my mouth, quickly chew them up in my closet, and sneak out of the room before anyone's suspicion was aroused.
It was heavenly!
One of the best evenings of my entire life!
But not one of the best NIGHTS. No, no, no. By bedtime, I had finished off three-quarters of the bag--probably three or four dozen of the little Discs of Despair.
I spent the next few hours learning what the human body does when its convinced it's been poisoned. I've only been THAT sick one other time: after brain surgery. Significantly, though, THAT shockingly-similar bout of nonstop vomiting was induced by a combination of (1) having been pumped full of general anesthesia and (2) having just had one of my balance nerves severed, so that even slight movement felt like riding ocean swells.
The fact that I duplicated that experience without medication or self-mutilation is rather sobering to me. Don't they test these things on animals before they sell them to humans???
So no, Michele, I'm afraid my motives were no more noble than yours were. And I'm glad to hear that you've consequently warned your children about the dangers of gluttony!
I just wish you had warned ME in time!
MOJ
In the Face of Death
Brian asked about one of the items on my 25 Random Things list. It was item #5: "In a surreal moment of terror, I was once absolutely positive that I was about to be murdered..."
I was 16 or 17 at the time, and I was "cruising 6th Street" one night with Paul--one of the few weekend pastimes in a sleepy little town. When we got bored, we decided to follow 6th Street all the way out of town. In just a few blocks, we had left the crowds behind and, in another few blocks, were at the western edges of civilization. There, you pass a final cross street where the last street light stands, and the road curves out through pitch black fields of towering crops. (At least, that's how it is in my memory.)
That night, in the bend of the road, at the farthest reaches of the street light's glow, we saw a car sitting half in the irrigation ditch that flanked the road. It was facing toward us on OUR side of the road, with its left-hand wheels in the ditch and its nose resting against a sturdy farm-fence post. Its lights were off, there was no sign of anyone anywhere, and there was no indication of any damage to the car--it looked as if someone had simply eased the car down into the ditch and up against the post.
We drove past the car and snaked around the gentle bends in the road until we were out of sight. But then we turned around to go back and check out the situation--curious as to why someone would ease their car down into the ditch like that.
That's when everything turned into a horror movie.
Just as we pulled to a stop and I began opening my car door, the passenger door of the other car popped open and a dark figure emerged. Suddenly, I knew EXACTLY why someone would ease their car down into a ditch like that--to create a facade of distress that would lure a Good Samaritan close enough for unspeakable acts of violence. The creepy horror-movie violins began playing in my head, and I hesitated in my seat, allowing my door to swing shut.
I rolled down my window instead and called, "Are you okay?" to the stranger.
There was no response, but the figure began zombie-shuffling toward me, waving unsteadily back and forth (as all good zombies do).
After a nearly eternal pause, I tried again, my voice rising in pitch. "Are you OKAY???"
Again, there was no response, but the figure was drawing closer and closer. Its face was turned away from the distant street lamp, and my headlights were pointed in the wrong direction, so I couldn't see its features. But I could see dark patches smudged across its face--had it smeared mud across itself? Or blood???
The figure continued to stumble toward me, until it was only a few feet away--and, still, it hadn't made a sound.
Paul muttered nervously to my right, and I really began to panic. I rolled the window nearly up and started the car's engine, so we could escape when the thing attacked us and tried to add our corpses to the oozing carnage clearly dripping from its face.
I managed one final offer of help, this time in a tiny crack of a voice, through the tiny crack left open at the top of my window.
Again, no response.
My pulse was now racing. The figure was in reach of our car, towering above me in the darkness. It then slowly reached into a bag that was half-hidden in the shadows of its clothing. My blood felt suddenly cold, and I couldn't move--we could almost hear the cannibal's skeletal hands close around the but of a gun.
"LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" Paul shouted!
The sound yanked me from my terrified stupor and threw me headlong into an equally-terrified frenzy. Before the words were fully out of his mouth, I had punched my foot down on the gas pedal, and the car squeeled away, careening madly away from Death's clutching grip.
It was quite awhile before my pulse settled down. Even after it did, our minds were racing with the residual terror of the experience and the last-minute escape from certain dismemberment. Still shaking, we went to find a phone so we could call the police. They could go arrest the killer, and our sleepy little town could be free from the nightmare.
I still can't remember where we went to call the police--the attack had happened on the west side of town, 20-25 minutes from home (which was east of town), so I think we went to a nearby friend's house to borrow the phone. My mind wasn't yet functioning, so the details are hazy. I just remember that my friend Tracy was there (or showed up there later) and, as the night unfolded, it turned out that the "zombie" was...
...Tracy's mom.
Mrs. Mills (whom I had never before met) had legitimately been in an accident, and we must have arrived on the scene moments later. With her car tilted down in the ditch, she probably couldn't open her driver's side door, so she had to climb uphill to get the passenger's side door open and to clamber out of the car. She was probably too shell-shocked from the accident to say anything as she stumbled across the street toward us. We must have really seemed like punks--stopping and offering help to a person who was clearly in distress, and then yanking that help, almost literally, out of her grasp and abandoning her in the darkness.
I hope she's forgiven us.
I learned some important lessons from it all:
MOJ
I was 16 or 17 at the time, and I was "cruising 6th Street" one night with Paul--one of the few weekend pastimes in a sleepy little town. When we got bored, we decided to follow 6th Street all the way out of town. In just a few blocks, we had left the crowds behind and, in another few blocks, were at the western edges of civilization. There, you pass a final cross street where the last street light stands, and the road curves out through pitch black fields of towering crops. (At least, that's how it is in my memory.)
That night, in the bend of the road, at the farthest reaches of the street light's glow, we saw a car sitting half in the irrigation ditch that flanked the road. It was facing toward us on OUR side of the road, with its left-hand wheels in the ditch and its nose resting against a sturdy farm-fence post. Its lights were off, there was no sign of anyone anywhere, and there was no indication of any damage to the car--it looked as if someone had simply eased the car down into the ditch and up against the post.
We drove past the car and snaked around the gentle bends in the road until we were out of sight. But then we turned around to go back and check out the situation--curious as to why someone would ease their car down into the ditch like that.
That's when everything turned into a horror movie.
Just as we pulled to a stop and I began opening my car door, the passenger door of the other car popped open and a dark figure emerged. Suddenly, I knew EXACTLY why someone would ease their car down into a ditch like that--to create a facade of distress that would lure a Good Samaritan close enough for unspeakable acts of violence. The creepy horror-movie violins began playing in my head, and I hesitated in my seat, allowing my door to swing shut.
I rolled down my window instead and called, "Are you okay?" to the stranger.
There was no response, but the figure began zombie-shuffling toward me, waving unsteadily back and forth (as all good zombies do).
After a nearly eternal pause, I tried again, my voice rising in pitch. "Are you OKAY???"
Again, there was no response, but the figure was drawing closer and closer. Its face was turned away from the distant street lamp, and my headlights were pointed in the wrong direction, so I couldn't see its features. But I could see dark patches smudged across its face--had it smeared mud across itself? Or blood???
The figure continued to stumble toward me, until it was only a few feet away--and, still, it hadn't made a sound.
Paul muttered nervously to my right, and I really began to panic. I rolled the window nearly up and started the car's engine, so we could escape when the thing attacked us and tried to add our corpses to the oozing carnage clearly dripping from its face.
I managed one final offer of help, this time in a tiny crack of a voice, through the tiny crack left open at the top of my window.
Again, no response.
My pulse was now racing. The figure was in reach of our car, towering above me in the darkness. It then slowly reached into a bag that was half-hidden in the shadows of its clothing. My blood felt suddenly cold, and I couldn't move--we could almost hear the cannibal's skeletal hands close around the but of a gun.
"LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" Paul shouted!
The sound yanked me from my terrified stupor and threw me headlong into an equally-terrified frenzy. Before the words were fully out of his mouth, I had punched my foot down on the gas pedal, and the car squeeled away, careening madly away from Death's clutching grip.
It was quite awhile before my pulse settled down. Even after it did, our minds were racing with the residual terror of the experience and the last-minute escape from certain dismemberment. Still shaking, we went to find a phone so we could call the police. They could go arrest the killer, and our sleepy little town could be free from the nightmare.
I still can't remember where we went to call the police--the attack had happened on the west side of town, 20-25 minutes from home (which was east of town), so I think we went to a nearby friend's house to borrow the phone. My mind wasn't yet functioning, so the details are hazy. I just remember that my friend Tracy was there (or showed up there later) and, as the night unfolded, it turned out that the "zombie" was...
...Tracy's mom.
Mrs. Mills (whom I had never before met) had legitimately been in an accident, and we must have arrived on the scene moments later. With her car tilted down in the ditch, she probably couldn't open her driver's side door, so she had to climb uphill to get the passenger's side door open and to clamber out of the car. She was probably too shell-shocked from the accident to say anything as she stumbled across the street toward us. We must have really seemed like punks--stopping and offering help to a person who was clearly in distress, and then yanking that help, almost literally, out of her grasp and abandoning her in the darkness.
I hope she's forgiven us.
I learned some important lessons from it all:
- First, most people are not psychotic, cannibalistic murderers.
- Second, if you're going to crash your car, make sure you do it in a well lit area, so you don't terrify the passersby.
- Third, when Good Samaritans stop to help, let them know you're harmless. You can do this by (a) answering them when they ask if you're okay and/or (b) wearing your "I'M NOT A ZOMBIE" t-shirt. (You might want to keep it in your glove box, just so it's handy when you need it.)
MOJ
25 Random Things About Me
Inspired by Michele's "25 Random Things About Me," here are mine:
- I have very loud shoelaces.
- I've had entire conversations with people who think I'm my younger brother, Paul.
- I find alliteration charming.
- I am NOT a pet person.
- In a surreal moment of terror, I was once absolutely positive that I was about to be murdered (by a person who turned out to be my friend's mom).
- I sleep with a shaking alarm clock in my pillowcase (to wake me) and an audible alarm clock in the next room, set to go off 3 minutes after the Shake Awake (to make me actually get out of bed before it wakes up the whole house).
- Your phone number is stored in my wristwatch's incredible memory.
- My older brother (Brian) and I were born in the same calendar year.
- I once foiled a mugging using only my phenomenally commanding voice.
- When a stranger begins saying, "Has anyone ever told you...?" I can finish the sentence for him or her.
- Every single shirt in my closet faces to the left, but I promise I'm not obsessive.
- If there is such as thing as an addiction to chocolate, I'm fairly certain that I qualify.
- Twenty years ago, a friend told me to memorize the number 965752591651711989, and I've never forgotten it. Next time you see me, ask me, and I can rattle it off in an instant. (I have since forgotten the name of the friend that made me do this.)
- I once dumped a large can of Chocolate Quik powder on my mom. (It was an accident. Really.)
- I consider it a public service that I do NOT dance outside of my home.
- When I was fifteen, I ate several dozen chocolate-covered mini-donuts and got more violently-ill than I had ever been. It was a very long night. I haven't eaten a chocolate-covered donut since. I don't think I ever will.
- Though I hold linguistic conventions in high regard, the J in my signature is always printed, rather than signed.
- When eating out, I prefer going to the same restaurants and ordering the exact same thing every time.
- I am now appalled by almost every one of the movies that I loved as a teenager.
- I am ten years older than most of my law school classmates, though few of them know that.
- I am particularly fond of the em-dash--it's my favorite punctuation mark.
- I used to love winter. Now, I can hardly bear it.
- I was in my mid-twenties when I first ate a fresh peach.
- I sometimes break the subjective/objective pronoun rules, ironically, because I don't want to sound like I use poor grammar.
- I regularly have apocalyptic dreams. I sincerely hope they don't ever actually happen.
Busy Summer
This summer will--hopefully--be very busy for me. Back in January, I submitted an application for some openings at the Utah Attorney General's office, but when I didn't hear back from them, I began making other plans for summer. Last week, I applied for a Judicial Clinic, where I could clerk for a judge in the U.S. District Court in Salt Lake.
Then, the next day, I got got a call from the AG's office, inviting me to interview with their Children's Justice Division. And yesterday I got a call from another division within their office: Child Protection--I'll be interviewing with them next week as well.
It's very exciting. Either position at the AG's office sounds like exactly the kind of work I came to law school to do. In addition, any of the (6 or so) USDC positions would give me fantastic experience seeing the behind-the-scenes aspects of the court.
It would be great to be offered one of the AG jobs and one of the USDC positions. It will be a full plate, but it would give me a LOT of great experience and allow me to explore career paths that appeal to me. If neither plan works out, I'll be taking classes and will arrange a different Clinic experience--another place where I can get some practical experience. I can't wait to see how it all turns out.
MOJ
Then, the next day, I got got a call from the AG's office, inviting me to interview with their Children's Justice Division. And yesterday I got a call from another division within their office: Child Protection--I'll be interviewing with them next week as well.
It's very exciting. Either position at the AG's office sounds like exactly the kind of work I came to law school to do. In addition, any of the (6 or so) USDC positions would give me fantastic experience seeing the behind-the-scenes aspects of the court.
It would be great to be offered one of the AG jobs and one of the USDC positions. It will be a full plate, but it would give me a LOT of great experience and allow me to explore career paths that appeal to me. If neither plan works out, I'll be taking classes and will arrange a different Clinic experience--another place where I can get some practical experience. I can't wait to see how it all turns out.
MOJ
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