Diary of a Low Budget Superhero

I didn't so much clear yesterday's Hurdle of Blah. It's more like I kinda shuffled up to it, stared at it awhile, drank a second cup of coffee, nudged it aside with my butt as I plodded past. Hey, I got to work and did my stuff, didn't I? Leaping over hurdles is for next week.

This is the kind of mood when I just do not get people. Every day there are new feats of Stupid that trumped yesterday's, and there will be still more Stupid tomorrow, and yet the world manages to spin around the sun and we do it all again the day after that.

Some are Big Stupids, like Michael Vick, that Arizona pastor who is publicly encouraging his flock to assassinate our country's leader, everything Sarah Palin says, and whatever unholy thing that makes Paris Hilton famous.

Most are Little Stupids.

On most days, I just gawk at the Little Stupids, even when they add up and make me question mankind's survival. I just say "If traffic is so bad at five o'clock, why do you still leave at five? It's the same thing every day!" I say "Dude, of COURSE you're tired, you went to bed three hours before you're due at work!" I say "Hey lady, I'm no expert, but wouldn't it be better if you wait for the walk signal before darting out into traffic, then that cab wouldn't have almost hit you?" I leave friendly notes in the restroom that say "Don't pee on the seat, thanks." I handle the Stupid and maintain a level of Happy.

But on days like this, the Blah days, I can't even bear to look at the Big Stupids face-on, and the Little Stupids make me want to go home and hide under my covers. It's like the more Stupid there is, the more it eats away at my normally sunny disposition and leaves me wondering just why the hell am I so happy all time?

I might have a new way to gauge the Stupid level.

Every single shopping cart at Stop N Shop bears a clear notice stating that the wheels will automatically stop turning once the cart gets a certain distance from the store's electronic sensors. Do you get it? The cart won't GO. You can't take the cart with you when you leave the store. Yet every single day there's a sad little cluster of dead carts, in the exact same place on Everett Street, shining under the afternoon sun like a chrome monument to that day's fresh batch of Stupid. Some days as I walk past on my way to get some lunch, there are six, seven, eight carts.

I muse "What was the first guy thinking." OK, he's easy. Let's assume he didn't or couldn't read the sign. We live in a very mixed neighborhood, you will hear any number of languages walking around. It's one of the things we like about living here, it makes for awesome bodega's and funky little eateries and an overall cool "neighborhoody" vibe, where you can still get a cup of coffee that doesn't come from Starbucks, a bunch of flowers that doesn't come from a Kabloom, and an ice cream that doesn't come from a Baskin Robbins. Plantains and golumki and knishes and karaoke and falafel, we got it all. Not all signs are in English.

But then what was the second guy thinking? He doesn't need to understand the sign saying "cart will stop." He can clearly see the stopped cart. But then, maybe that guy didn't get the connection between that cart, quite immobile, stranded on the corner near the bridge where that homeless guy sleeps and huffs his Reddi-Whip cans, and his own cart, which is about to lock its wheels and grind to a halt.

But how about that third guy. And the fourth and fifth. Because by then, it's like a friggin' cart pile-up. Look, if I'm walking along a wintry sidewalk and I see five people flailing on the ground ahead of me, I'm gonna say "Hm, must be icy up there." I won't need a sign warning me "Icy Sidewalk!" No language is needed, no college degree, not even a high-school equivalency. Just your eyes. You could land on that corner from another planet and "get it." Cart stops here.

Yet every day. Every single day, new batch of dead carts.

Just like the pollen count I check each morning on the weather scan channel to see how the air quality is that day, I'm gonna start doing a cart count to see how the Stupid quality is that day. One or two carts, I can expect to get a lot done and no one will piss me off. Three to six carts, it'll be a busy day and I will require some good music or a good hard workout to clear out the Stupid. Over six, and everybody just better watch out. You want to talk to me, bring chocolate.

If only I could go home and hide under the covers on those goddamn 9-cart days.