My Pet Peeve

About six weeks ago, I attended a Sunday night Bible study organized by a local church. Before delving into our topic of discussion, it was customary for each person to introduce himself and then reply to some fun question that the leader has asked—your favorite movie, your dream job, things of that nature. Well, that night, after introducing ourselves, we were asked share our biggest pet peeve, the one thing that people sometimes do that drives us crazy.

Most responses were typical—so mundane that I don’t remember any of them. Mine, however, was very specific. It’s kind of long, too, so you have to follow.

I hate it when I come home after doing something really active, like playing Frisbee or softball, get ready to eat some takeout that I picked up from somewhere, take off my shoes and socks, and then realize that there’s a whole bunch of junk between my toes. I know that I won’t be able to enjoy my food with stuff between my toes, but that I’ll have to wash my hands before eating if I stick my fingers between them to clean all that stuff out.

I’m serious.

Please don’t treat me any differently.

Lost in Translation?

A couple of years ago, while I was still a university student, I was presented with the opportunity to travel to Mexico with a local church. We would be building a small home for a poor family in Juarez, a northern border-city just south of El Paso. Although I was excited about the prospect of helping those in need, I had another incentive. I was studying Spanish in school, so, naturally, I found myself eager to test out my new language skills. Sadly, I didn't know what I was getting into.

When our delegation arrived in Mexico, I learned that between our group (of ten or so) and the Mexicans with whom we'd interact, I was the only one who had any working knowledge of both languages--and that I'd have to translate whenever we found the need. That's a tall order for someone with only three semesters of college Spanish. With my limited vocabulary, lots of pointing and the more-than-occasional awkward moment, our two groups managed to communicate and build the house.

As I got back to the States and continued learning the language, I began to realize just how many gaffes I had made. One evening, after we had completed construction on our family's new home, we asked them back to the church where we were staying for dinner. Not content to feed them and send them off, we sat around afterward and tried to converse. My most embarrassing moment came when I tried to make small talk with the family's two adolescent daughters. Wondering which sibling was older, I did my best to translate the question.

"Quien de ustedes es más viejo," I asked . Noticeably bewildered by my inquiry, the two young girls could not answer. I later learned exactly what I had said to them.

"Which of you is most old man?"

I haven't returned to Mexico

"Mis" fortune Cookie

What’s your dream job? If at this moment, you could pack up your desk, bid your colleagues adieu, and choose any occupation in the world, what would you do? I’m sure most of you are mulling some of society’s more glamorous jobs—movie star, professional athlete, talk show host, etc. My choice, however, is a little more unique. I’d like to be the guy who writes the sayings that go inside fortune cookies.

How many times have you gone to your local Chinese restaurant and downed a plate of Kung Pao Shrimp, only to be disappointed by the banal moralism concealed in your after-dinner fortune cookie. “Great things come in small packages,” one might urge. “Hard work and perseverance will get you ahead,” another may say. Sayings like this contain some truth, I’ll admit, but I feel that the wisdom of your typical fortune cookie is so general that it’s virtually useless in everyday life. Things would change if I got the job. For example, a woman might stop by for dinner after a hard day at work and open her fortune cookie after a satisfying meal. “Your husband is cheating on you,” my fortune might say. Some teenagers might come in for dinner after an afternoon movie. One anxiously cracks open his after-dinner treat. My fortune: “they dropped the lo mein on the floor.”

Sure, my fortunes could be wrong all the time. But I’d be willing to bet they’re right more often than you think. So don’t eat the lo mein, and, keep an eye on your husband.

Maybe you should just order a pizza.

Phony Excuses

I’m going to be completely honest with all of you. I know this may be hard for some of you to believe—and I know that it’s rare for an individual to have feelings like this, but there are some days when I wake up and I don’t want to…well…go to work. My job, even though I love it, can be a little monotonous, and sometimes I just need a good excuse for why I can’t come in. I like to be prepared for every situation, so I’ve decided to make of list of excuses that can be used in the future. That way, whenever I wake up in the morning and find myself in the doldrums, I’ll have handy a plethora of reasons why I’ll have to stay home that day. Feel free to try any of these with your own employer, as I’m sure you’ll see they’ll work for anyone.

Yesterday I came home and saw that I’m out of laundry detergent. Now I’m out of clean clothes and I can’t leave the house.

Last night I noticed a rash on my leg. I went to the emergency room and the doctor told me that I’d had an allergic reaction to my cubicle. I have to stay away from it for at least a week.

The Star Wars Fifth Edition Complete DVD Collector’s Set comes out next month. If I don’t get in line by tomorrow, I won’t get the free Darth Maul action figure.

My best friend is on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire later today. I need to be home in case he call and needs my help.

Yesterday after I was playing fetch with my dog. I couldn’t find a stick, so we used my car keys. Instead of bringing them back, he buried them. Now I can’t leave the house.

A couple of these aren’t great, I know. Please let me know if you've got any better ones, as I’m sure I’ll put them to use.

MAJOR WOES

Like many students, I spent the the better part of my collegiate career trying to avoid choosing a major. I didn't know what I wanted to do, and I felt that whatever field of study I chose would lock me into a career forever. I meandered through my first three years, and after lots of thought and perusing every parcel of the course catalogue, I learned that I'm interested my absolutely nothing that academia has to offer.

To help you understand the extent of my major search, I've categorized some of the more popular fields of study below.

Majors I've seriously considered:

Biology
Physical Therapy
Occupational Theraphy
Psychology
International Studies
Global Studies
Accounting
Finance
Theology
Religous Studies
Clinical Laboratory Studies

Majors I would have considered if I felt I was smart enough to complete them:

Mathematics
Engineering
Pre-Med
Pre-Law

Majors I never considered:

Women's Studies
Ornathology (study of birds)
Dance
Musical Theatre
Gerontology (study of old people)

But I had to have a major, so I reluctantly chose English. With all slumber-inducing subjects I could study, I figured that English wouldn't be so bad. I'd get to read all kinds of cool authors--Edgar Allen Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Mark Train. Sure there would be some Jane Austin and Virginia wolf thrown in, but I could certainly handle a little of that. So there I found myself, nestled in my advisor's second-floor office over bustling Lindell avenue, charting my courseload for the next year. When finished, my schedule included both Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales and a course in Postcolonial Literature. To me these classes sounded harmless enough. I had read some Chaucer in high school, and it wasn't too bad. Postcolonial Literature? Maybe I'd get to read some of those cool American authors I was thinking about.

On the first day of class, I showed up to the "Postcolonial Literature" class in which my advisor had enrolled me. What I learned was that I would indeed be studying literature from the postcolonial period, but not the same that I thought. The full title of the course was "Postcolonial Literature in the the Islamic World." Apparently, the entire course title was so long that it didn't fit fully into my advisor's enrollment software. That means that instead of reading about the Fall of the House of Usher, I would be reading about the fall of European Imperialism in North Africa. But that's not all. Much of the time, the literature in the course would transcend the political and instead explore the deepest sources of human disaffection. Unfortunately, when you're reading pieces by the most marginalized women that Islamic society has to offer, that often turns into the author complaining about how her husband pays so much more attention to his younger wives. For obvious reasons, I dropped the class.

When I showed up for my first dose of The Canterbury Tales, I learned of another surprise. Apparently, when I read some of Chaucer's work in high school, we used a more modern translation. At the university level, the professor expects his students to read directly from middle English, even though it's completely unintelligible to anyone younger than four hundred. Rarely read the text. Didn't understand it when I did. Got a "B" in the class. Changed my major to Spanish.

A foreign language is one of the more fun fields of study in college. Studying abroad, living in a language house (where only your language is spoken), and making friends who speak it natively are all things than can enhance the language-learning experience. Unfortunately, I was not able to do any of them. After a year of Spanish classes, I began to realize that having a degree in a language that I wasn't fluent in wouldn't make me the most marketable job candidate once I graduated. I said adios to español and choose another major.

At this point, I had to be pragmatic. Since going to an expensive private school for seven years to obtain a bachelor's degree was not an option, I had to settle down, commit to a major, and fulfill its requirements in my remaining year. Since business, physical sciences, and nearly every non-liberal-art were ruled out, I realized that philosophy was the only subject that I didn't hate and that I could complete within four years. So I did what I needed to--settled down, committed, and fulfilled the requirements for a philosophy degree.

What is unfortunate is that I chose the most unpractical degree that the modern university has to offer. And upon graduation, I found that the only jobs I was qualified were ones I could have gotten right out of high school.

After four years of higher education and countless hours mulling over what to do with my life, I've learned one invaluable lesson.

College is for suckers.