The Things People Say

     “Wow, I’ve never met a real author before,” a very friendly lady said.

     “My guess is that you have,” I replied. “There are a lot of us, and most of us are just normal people.”

     I shook her hand, and she walked away without buying a book. I guess I convinced her I wasn’t so special after all. A little over two years ago, I was asked to be a career speaker at my former middle school—as an author. I had been a school teacher for over twenty years and a coach throughout my entire teaching career. When I got my nametag, it said: “Jeff LaFerney, Author.” I laughed. I wasn’t an author; I was just a school teacher/coach who had written a book.

     Three books later, and after more public speaking and career speaking opportunities, I now think of myself as an author, but I still don’t see myself as anything special. Maybe I don’t feel special because my own school district turned me away when I volunteered to be a career speaker at the building where I teach. Maybe I don’t feel very special because my own school district reprimanded me for abusing our school’s acceptable use computer policy when I sent out an email to my teacher friends telling them my second book was published. But I digress.

     What helps me accept that I actually am an author? Maybe I feel like an author because of all the great book reviews for each of my novels or because I’ve made money on each of the first three, and I’m well on my way with my fourth. Maybe it’s because of the bookmarks and posters and events I attend where people purchase my books. Maybe it’s because of royalty checks or news articles or blog posts or a growing author page. Or maybe…just maybe…it’s because I’ve managed to complete and publish four entertaining books. Maybe, however, it’s because nobody but an author trying to peddle his books would have conversations such as the following:

     “I’m writing a book too,” a middle-aged man with a full beard and mustache proudly said. “Well, I’ve been writing it for seventeen years, but someday, when I have more time, I’ll complete it.”

     (He’ll be on his deathbed telling people his one regret is he never finished his book.)

     “Congratulations,” a motherly-looking lady said. “I don’t read, so I can’t imagine someone writing a whole book.”

     (Well, thank you….Is that a compliment or a backhanded way of saying I’m crazy?)

     “I’m part of a book club,” another shopper volunteered. “It would be cool to have a published author talk to our group. Maybe you can give us a wholesale price and we can read yours next.”

     (I actually said yes to this, but I can’t help but wonder if I’m ever going to start making more than nine cents an hour on this hobby of mine.)

     “I have a great idea for a book,” a lady said. “Would you consider writing it for me?”

     (Sure. And I have a great idea for a little reader’s/writer’s getaway. Would you consider building it for me?)

     “You’re a writer? You must be rich,” a young boy stated.

     (Oh, yes, for sure. See above.)

     “You wrote all these books?” a stunned, plump lady asked me. “You must have a lot of spare time. Do you have a job?”

     (First of all, I do have a job—a full-time one—yet I also manage to write books in all of my “spare time.” Secondly, do you always say whatever pops into your head? Maybe I should have asked her if she was pregnant.)

     “I always support local authors,” a kind gentleman promptly said as he arrived at my table. “I’ll take all four.”

     “Do you know something about them already?” I asked in wonderment.

     “No, but after I read them I will. I’ll let you know if I don’t like them.”

     (Should I change my e-mail address?)

     A man walked up and looked at my titles. “Do you like mysteries and suspense?” I asked.

     “No, I only read books about Vietnam.”

     “Fiction or non-fiction?” I replied, trying to be conversational.

     “No. War books about Vietnam.” (The look on his face made me wonder if I had food lodged between my front teeth.)

     “I mean real or imaginary?”

     “The war was real, dude.” (And then he looked at me like I was offering him a messy diaper. Needless to say, he walked away in disbelief at how stupid I was.)

     A lady strolled up to my table and scanned each of my books. “These are mystery and suspense titles,” I said. “And this one is a time-travel action/adventure.”

     She said, “I don’t read books. I can’t see.”

     “Oh,” I said. “You seem to be getting around okay.”

     “Well, I can see fine for that,” she snapped.

     (Maybe I should get audio books. Maybe she should get glasses so I wouldn’t be so confused.)

     “You sell them on Kindle? I’ll buy it from there.”

     (Oh, but of course. What are the odds that she’d hurry home and snap up my books on Kindle? 1:1,173,212.)

     “Are there swear words? You people who curse all the time in books ought to be ashamed,” a tiny senior lady said.

     “There are no swear words in any of my books,” I replied.

     “Who would buy them then?” she said as she smacked her lips together.

     (I couldn’t tell if she had teeth.)

     “Wow, I’ll take this one,” a college-aged guy said as he handed me one dollar.

     “They’re ten dollars,” I patiently responded.

     “Ten? Well, I only have two, and I need to go get a slushy.”

     (What if I would have sold him a book for a dollar? Could he have gotten a slushy for the other dollar?)

     “I’ll buy your book,” a young Armenian man said.

     “Would you like me to sign it for you?” I asked before he handed over the money.

     “Sure,” he said.

     “What’s your name?”

     “Pandukht.”(Or something like that).

     (While I signed the book, he walked away…never to return. That book ended up on my school bookshelf, a tax-deductible donation with a kind comment to practical-joking Pandukht—or something like that.)

     “Oh, Skeleton Key. I loved that movie.”

     “My book isn’t the same story, but I’m really close friends with Kate Hudson.” (I sometimes exaggerate.)

     “Ha, ha,” the woman said as she walked away.

     (I was shocked. Who doesn’t like my humor?)

     “Jumper! I loved that movie.”

     “Thank you. My son was the main character.” (I lied because my Skeleton Key humor went over like a ton of bricks.)

     “Your son is Hayden Christensen? Why’s your name LaFerney?”

     “Oh, we must be talking about two different things.”

     (Sometimes sarcasm works and sometimes it doesn’t. Well, mostly it doesn’t.)

     “My daughter’s a writer. Her stories are awesome. Would you read them and give her pointers?”

     (I was thinking if her stories are so awesome, she should read my books and give me some pointers.)

     “Are your books on audio? I listen to all my books since I can’t see.”

     “You’re not even wearing glasses,” I interjected.

     “It don’t matter.” (I hate the bad grammar of that sentence). “I can see far. It’s just the close things I can’t see. Like books.”

     “Can you drive?”

     “As long as I don’t have to read anything.”

     (Like your dashboard or road signs?)

     “Is your book in a bookstore?”

     “A few, but you don’t need to go to a bookstore because I have copies right here.”

     (She walked away, but I thought it was worth a try.)

     Oh, yes, I’m an author. The rampant rejection alone is undeniable truth, but writing my crazy ideas down and discovering people enjoy them makes me title-worthy. Yep…the things people say…both to me and by me is ample evidence.

Strings Are Alive and Other Obvious Truths

There was a time when I considered writing a short-story book. I was going to call it Strings Are Alive and Other Obvious Truths. Well, time has slipped by, and I never gave it much thought until just recently when I came upon an Internet article about “Mr. Obvious,” and it got me thinking again. I began to think about things that are obvious truths, starting with the fact that strings are alive. I’m certain of it. Take as an example when I coached basketball, I hung a whistle and a stopwatch around my neck. I also had a carry bag to store all my coaching materials such as my scorebook, my practice schedules, pencils, and my breath mints (you know—the essentials). There was a zippered pocket I’d individually drop the stopwatch and whistle into every day after practice, and the next day when I took them out, they would be jumbled into a knot. They hated me (or loved each other), and they would wind themselves up into a twisted bunch each and every night. If I threw them on the floor in my closet, they’d come up in a knot. If I threw them in a drawer or put them in my pocket, to my chagrin a knot would transpire. They were entwined just as if they thought they were Christmas lights. Why do we bother winding Christmas lights in nice, neat rolls each year? They will return the next Christmas season knotted up worse than…well…an extension cord. I bought a 100-foot extension cord just recently. It was wound perfectly—no tangles anywhere until I tried to unwind it. Then there were knots everywhere. It was in so many knots it might as well have been the jewelry in my wife’s drawer. It doesn’t matter what necklace my wife pulls out, several others come with it, tangled as if their measly lives depended on it. And lives they do have because no inanimate object could do what all stringlike objects do—twist, tie, and snarl themselves into messes that a mere mortal like myself can see no way to undo. Yes, they are alive—and they are also evil.

So what other obvious truths exist in the universe? A few of them follow:

1.   Strings are alive. It’s worth saying again because there is no denying this obvious fact.

2.   Joggers are not having fun. Just look at their faces. Are they smiling and laughing, or are they grimacing? I’m still waiting for a jogger who’s merrily skipping along, laughing, and eating Pringles chips or a Butterfinger bar. If it was fun, that’s what they’d be doing.

3.   Employees hate meetings. Employers must know this. Aren’t the vast majority of employers former employees? Have they forgotten what it was like? I’ll give money that when they were employees daydreaming their way through meetings, nodding off and wondering why there were no donuts to eat, they were saying to themselves, “When I become the boss, I’ll abolish meetings. I’ll send memos with typographical errors instead.” But then the time comes and they are determined to torture all the poor underlings. Isn’t it apparent that their employees are miserable? I say yes—obviously.

4.   Hot beverages are hot—sometimes scaldingly hot. Yet, people never learn. Blisters, burns, pain, numbness, lack of ability to taste, difficulty in swearing—these are a few of the unpleasant symptoms that should remind people that hot beverages are hot. And numbing the pain with ice or anesthetics or cough drops works fine until said person with no taste buds eats something acidic or salty (about 75% of their food choices) or he or she chomps on the numb muscle. Yet people don’t seem to comprehend the obvious and continue to scald themselves on a regular basis.

5.  

Clowns are creepy. Research has proven this to be true and especially true to children. Yet adults persist on “entertaining” children with unnerving clowns and plastering the helpless kids' wallpaper with the scary creatures. Listen closely. Clowns are for rodeos. Clowns save cowboys’ lives and get the crap kicked out to themselves for wearing those disturbing costumes. Even bulls know clowns are creepy.

6.  

Going bald is upsetting. Even for men. Yes, I’m laughing at my mild attempt at humor. Baldness makes men feel old. It makes men feel less attractive. It causes men to lose self-esteem. But it is no excuse for toupees and comb-overs. Seriously.

7. 

Women are tougher than men. Way tougher. Oh, they may cry while a man fights off the tears to uphold his masculinity, but they have babies. If men had to have babies, humans would be extinct. I once took a direct hit to the testicles by a softball whizzing at approximately 70 miles per hour. The swelling was incredible. The pain goes without saying. My wife kept laughing at me (well, to be honest EVERYONE was laughing at me including the nurse at the emergency room who suggested I put ice on it). I didn’t want ice. I wanted to die. I also had a kidney stone. I’ve been told this is God’s way of showing a man what childbirth is like. I honestly am grateful my wife gave birth to my children because if I had to do it, I would never have been blessed with the awesome daughter I have. My son would have been an only child. I’ve heard that a broken femur is the worst pain imaginable (how it could be worse than passing a kidney stone I’ll never know) and childbirth is next on the list. What would it be like to give birth with a broken femur? Only a woman could know because men would die.

8.   High heels make your feet hurt. Take all of your weight ladies and smash it down on the balls of your feet, squashing your toes together, and curling your feet inward in a fetal position. Obviously, it’s going to hurt. If men wore high heels just one time, they would be debilitated, but at least they’d have the sense to not wear them again.

9.   Weathermen (should I call them meteorologists?) in Michigan are wrong 90% of the time. Is there any other job in the world where a person gets a free pass and can mess up nine times more than they are successful? Even a baseball player is expected to get a hit 30% of the time. In Michigan, they don’t even need to be close, yet their jobs are safe. On the other hand, what’s the challenge of those same workers in Arizona? “Let’s see, I finished level 321 in Candy Crush just in time to tell you tomorrow is going to be hot with low humidity.”

10.  Cords, ropes, laces, chains, ribbons (you name it) are alive. I’m telling you, it’s true. It’s not just strings; it’s anything shaped like a string. They’re alive. You can test my theory, and you’ll notice that I’m right. It’s obvious.

Egg on Their Faces

As some of my followers know, I am a school teacher. About a week ago, we had a pep assembly to honor spring sports participants. The teams would be announced, followed by some friendly competition between the teachers and some of the team’s players. One such competition was an egg toss. Each time the egg was caught without demolition, the participants would take a step back. Two of our teachers, Mr. A. and Mr. B. (for the sake of not incriminating the participants) won the contest, but were requested to continue to see how long they could last. Mr. A. launched a pop-up in Mr. B.’s direction. Mr. B., who spent many a day coaching the baseball team, found himself circling under the pop-up before holding both hands above his head like a good baseball player would but like a good egg-toss participant wouldn’t. As the inevitable conclusion played out in slow motion, I couldn’t help but wonder how those two teachers had managed to be the lone survivors. Gravity pulled that egg earthward and lack of wisdom kept those hands steadily under the falling shell. And guess what happened? We all know…how could Mr. B. not know? The egg exploded…all over his face. “Egg on your face” is an idiom which means “to be extremely embarrassed. Usually the embarrassment is the result of one's own actions.” Uh…yeah. But though the expression is supposed to be figurative language, my good friend, Mr. B. managed to take it literally.

Yes, I had a good, hearty laugh at my friend’s expense, and so did the entire school population. The incident motivated me to write about other expressions and errors I’ve been keeping track of over the last several months that are worthy of a good laugh. They are as follows—and followed by the all-important sarcastic comment. 

1.       “My grandma is having surgery on her very close veins.” (These, I assume, are veins that are very close to popping out of the grandmother’s legs. It should be varicose veins.)

2.       “Youth in Asia will kill the elderly.” (I suggest that the obvious preventive measure for senior citizens would be to stay on their own continent. Traveling sounds dangerous. It should be euthanasia.)

3.       “I can’t eat that. I’m lack toast and tolerant.” (At least it doesn’t bother the person to be without toast, but would they be so tolerant if they ate cottage cheese, for instance? It should be lactose intolerant.)

4.       “How do folks play with a wee-g-board?” (The same way they play with Polly Pockets, Squinkies, and miniature toy soldiers…with tiny, little hands on that wee, little board. It should be Ouija Board.)

5.       “I love that after my boyfriend leaves, I can still smell his colon on me.” (Is anyone crinkling up his or her nose like I am right now? This is gross. It should be cologne.)

6.       “I’m eating chicken Parma John tonight.” (John, from Parma, Italy, had this scrumptious meal named after himself. It’s a well-known fact. It should be chicken parmesan.)

7.       “I hate Hippocrates!” (This pre-first-century physician coined the Hippocratic Oath. I fail to see the reason for all the modern-day loathing. It should be hypocrites.)

8.       “I had a Filly Steak sandwich with mozzarella cheese.” (I’d pass on horse meat personally. It should be Philly Steak).

9.       “I’ve been living bi-curiously through my friends.” (I’ll just say that I saw this as a Facebook post, and it’s a really good example of how important it is to spell well. Enough said. It should be vicariously.”)

10.   “I’m a genious!” (I assume spelling doesn’t count. It should be genius…genious.)

11.   “Another words, I can’t wait for collage.” (In other words, you’re not ready for college.)

12.   “Come on out wit us. We out poopin bottles in the club 2night.” (Love the jargon and texting skills, but I would think the friend might pass on the opportunity to pass bottles. Would these be bottles of colon, by chance? It should be popping—I think.)

13.   “No school on Martian Luther King Day.” (MLK was an alien? It’s Martin Luther King.)

14.   “He’s a victim of extreme violets.” (These are flowers that are extra, abundantly purple. I get that. But I don’t understand the victimization. It should be extreme violence.)

15.   “Having a wonderful time. Wish you were her.” (This was another Facebook post I ran across. It’s a good example that bad spelling could be hazardous to one’s health and happiness. It should be wish you were here.)

Do you think the writers of these spelling gaffes would feel like they had egg on their faces if the problems were pointed out to them? Unfortunately, I’m not so sure. But I am sure that Mr. B. had egg on his face. Sometimes it’s not so bad getting a good laugh at another anonymous person’s expense, especially if it encourages people to read my blog and pass it on. Thanks for stopping by.