Counterfeit Humans

If you should find yourself hankering for a road trip just to see some new sights, eat junk food and sing road trip tunes, or if you’re merely yearning to play short-term tourist, but don’t quite know where or what to tour, you can stave off homesickness by staying close by, and still be entertained. Or at least mildly amused… by the ludicrous antics of the everywhere present and forever empty-headed stupers (short, yet again, for mind bogglingly stupid persons).

Stupers are an entirely unpredictable lot which are best viewed and unappreciated from afar. Which is exactly how I observed two of the most profoundly counterfeit humans on American asphalt.

I stopped on a highway, at a red light, a few miles from my home. Two cars waited in front of me, and other vehicles paused all around the intersection. No one moved. I turned my head and saw why. From the street on my left, coming at full, unstoppable gallop, two horses rapidly approached with cowboy and cowgirl riders, followed by a stumpy, panting brown jumble of a dog, who desperately tried to keep his short legs up with the riders. The stoplight for them had turned a glaring yellow, but they kept right on coming (it was a long intersection; any longer, and it could have declared statehood). I sat, biting my nails, on the edge of my seat.

The signal turned red before the brainless riders made it across, but of course the color change was irrelevant. I wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if they’d tried to lasso a Prius on the way.

Fortunately, all nearby drivers utilized their working heads. No autos moved until the riders and the dog landed safely across. Once there, they continued to ride rapidly, across the YMCA driveway where an unsuspecting motorist happened to be attempting to exit. The car braked in amazement, with a screech to highlight its indignation.

A few yards afterwards, the afflicted riders suddenly decided to walk the horses. I’m certain that if a neighborhood neurologist happened to be passing by and randomly decided to conduct a brain scan on said riders, he/she would have discovered an acute case of atrophy.

I live in the northern tip of southern California. Though it is the countryside, we don’t have any true, born and bred, cowboys around here. But we do have plenty of city folk ranchers who do like to haphazardly impersonate cow folk. Hence, the horseback riders stampeding in the major intersection.

Stupers provide a side show in this game of life. When subjected to such stuper sightings, don’t give in to your initial reaction of annoyance or irritation or severe hostility leading you to finally use that hand grenade you picked up at that military base garage sale. The best way to maintain one’s sanity when being subjected to stuper sightings is to laugh. And be grateful that you are capable of using your mind.

Think first.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

On a gray, chilly, wintry night, does leaving the house without a coat or other proper, warm attire guarantee a bout with the flu or worse? Not if you take care not to spend too much time out in the cold.

On an average day in the city, does leaving the house to run a few small, quick errands guarantee witnessing stupidity? Not if you wear a blindfold and/or earplugs. Otherwise, it is practically guaranteed.

Yesterday, I drove into a convenience store parking lot which overflowed with parked cars as well as vehicles coming and going. I suddenly had to stop…but not because of another car or person. Not exactly anyway. I witnessed a stuper (short for an indisputably stupid person) strolling around with the steadiness of one who had dynamite strapped to his torso, except he didn’t carry explosives. He carried an open book in one hand, which he read hypnotically, and in the other, held an apple, which he munched, while in the middle of the parking lot, completely unaware of the cars around him. Unawareness = stupidity.

Once in the store, I picked out what I needed and went to the cashier. The person behind the register was a smallish person, quiet and solemn. As I handed her my money, I asked if she could please give me change for one dollar. Not receiving an answer, I repeated my request.

“I said, YES!” she roared suddenly, exhaling hotly through her nose. The unexpected gust blew back my hair.

Have you ever noticed how silly people look when they lose their tempers? Well, that’s exactly how ridiculous we look when we lose control of our thoughts and minds.

One of the hardest things for authentic humans to do is react peaceably to a person who attacks them in word or deed. Anger grows if met with anger. If I’ve learned anything from the 178 self-help books I’ve read, I’ve at least learned that much. If anger is met calmly, it often ends more quickly, even with a stuper at the receiving end.

Inner me briefly desired to rip all the heads off the nearest Pez display just to demonstrate what I thought of her unprovoked outburst. But then my anger would render me stupid too.

I apologized for not hearing her the first time, and debated whether I should point out that not only was her first reply inaudible, but likely took place only within the confines of her head as I happened to be watching her for an answer. Taking a closer look at her stopped me. Her face sagged with unhappiness. Anger and happiness do not travel in the same circles. Clearly, her anger stemmed from within herself.

I smiled and waited for her to catch my eye. The line behind me grew, but I’m certain no one would have minded if they realized my good cause. A smile and anger don’t go together.

Finally, she caught my eye and a wan grin appeared. I thanked her and left.

Anger cramps the mind’s growth.

Think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

My apologies, dear readers, but I’m in the midst of working on deadline so here’s one from the archives:

As I sat in my car at the golf course waiting for my younger son to finish his lesson, I wondered which case of stupidity to discuss next. Moments later, the answer drifted in through my open window. Two men, thirty years old or so, stood a row behind me, prepping their golf gear. This is the conversation I overheard:

Guy #1: (sounding annoyed) “I’m riding my bike up a hill and the cell phone rings. I don’t know why, but I answer it. I hear, ‘Hi babe! How’s it goin’?’”

(Guy #2 grunts in reply).

Guy #1: “So I tell her, I’m riding my bike up a hill. She says, ‘You do sound really out of breath. Anyway, I’m in this store…’ and she just continues babbling on! So I tell her I’ve gotta go, and I hear…dead silence.”

Guy #2: (chuckles like he’s half-listening).

Guy #1: “So I say, don’t be upset. She says, ‘I’m not upset. I’m just trying to communicate with you.’ (He says this last part with great drama, then raises his voice in case people at neighboring golf courses can’t hear him). Can you believe it? Didn’t she realize I was busy? There’s not a woman out there who’s not like that. She doesn’t exist!”

I’d like to say that I got out of my car, marched over to the doddering idiot, and gave the tip of his nose an unforgettable pinch, Three Stooges style, complete with sound effects. That would confirm a few things for him about women.

Instead, I stepped out of the car to get a better look at what could be a serial stereotyper. I stared in the face of a counterfeit human.

It’s not a man/woman thing. I actually have both male and female friends whom, when I say I’ve got to get off the phone, continue on for another 6 1/2 minutes just to say, “I’ll talk to you later.” Some people just don’t understand the meaning of “gotta go.” This caller seemed to fall in that moronic category. In fact, this whole failed conversation may have taken place between two stupers (short again, for impossibly stupid persons).

Let’s discuss stereotypes for a moment. Like cliches, stereotypes exist for a reason. Once in a great while, they may ring a bit true. But mostly, they’re self-serving; that is, they provide an opinion for a simple minded stuper who would be incapable of reaching an opinion without the aid of stereotyping. It also allows blithering idiots to believe they have an intimate knowledge of a truth, however inaccurate that truth may be.

“There’s not a woman out there who’s not like that!”

A bit extreme wouldn’t you agree? To lump all women or men in a single category is plain, old-fashioned stupidity. This guy demonstrated a lack of wisdom, shrewdness, sensitivity or deep thought. I didn’t once hear him say to the caller, “May I get back to you in a little while?” Wouldn’t that have been more direct and courteous?

Okay, so he was in the midst of an uphill battle on his bike. He chose to answer the call. He chose to be irritated. He chose to complain. Yet he absurdly put the reason for his frustration on the female population of the world.

Is stereotyping useful? Only if you’re a stuper.

Choose to think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

After my last post, I suffered a pang of guilt. All because of my confession that I was a wayward volunteer, slacking in my duties at the local public library. I decided to change my ways. To set a good example for my 3.5 readers.

I went in to the library yesterday and did a fine impression of the brightest, shiniest, best volunteer ever. I slipped on rubber gloves and climbed atop a mountain-high pile of filthy book bags and barely took a breath until I’d checked in each and every stained and finger-print smudged book. I did pause once to read a sentence or two from this, just in case…

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m a huge fan of the library. To prove it, afterwards, I proceeded to shelf all the books I’d checked in. Aren’t you duly impressed?

During my busy, hard-working fifty-five and one-half minutes (my limit is one hour before I blow), I did, unfortunately, witness stupidity. Keep in mind, as noted last time, that this library is small. About the size of 50 Cent’s walk-in closet (I know; I saw it on Cribs).

As I started shelving audio books, a blasphemous screeching shook the place, making quite a racket; shredding the curtain of quietude that typically fell over the library. I briefly considered taping the clamor, getting a patent and peddling it to hospitals for use during complex surgery. It would be a perfect replacement for anesthesia. Patients could be knocked out without medication or brute force.

The cause of such clamor? Not a stuper (short, as you know, for a recognizably stupid person) exactly, though a stuper was behind it all. A sixteen-month-old pushed an antiquated, long overdue-for-retirement, step-stool whose dysfunctional wheels cried bloody murder, like it carried all the world’s woes on its seat. The toddler pushed it slowly, but purposefully around, making sure everyone heard its pain, even in Detroit. The clatter made fingernails scratching across a blackboard sound like a soothing lullaby.

Meanwhile, the tot’s mom sat nearby, huddled behind a computer, throwing a furtive glance now and then to see if anyone appeared on the verge of hysteria. If not, she’d continue reading, and if yes, then she’d send out a feeble,

“Mikaela, stop….”

Annoyed people milled about, wondering to whom the little noise-maker belonged and pondering the course of action to take.

The Head Librarian, smiled uncomfortably, realizing it rested on her shoulders to take appropriate action and restore peace.

“Boy, do those wheels need oiling!” she said as she assisted irritable patrons.

Before I could holler, “Somebody grab that kid!” another volunteer, a ten-year-old young man, took charge. This kid embodied the very voice of common sense. He marched up to the little girl, folded his arms across his chest, frowned sternly and announced,

“You shouldn’t be doing that!”

He stood in front of the stool so the little girl couldn’t budge. Apparently, she hadn’t learned to go in reverse. Mikaela looked up at him, then turned her head to seek out her mother. Mom, realizing all angry eyes set upon her, nervously grabbed the kid and left.

No one said anything to this woman; consequently she saw no reason to take action. To her, the step stool seemed like a harmless and effective baby-sitter. Sometimes, stupers won’t take action unless forced to. This could take awhile. In situations like this one, shushing is okay and generally does the job. It helps if you happen to be carrying a baseball bat.

Think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

I have trouble being in the company of persons who speak of me as if I’m not even present. Such occurs while I’m wide awake, in a public setting and in complete view of such persons. Don’t worry, this is not a regular, almost planned event like London fog or a faithfully present full moon, which shows itself every 29-30 days. It happens about as often as a flat tire or acid rain (which, as you know, rarely occurs at all, if you’re careful).

I volunteer at the library. I’m not one of those perky, reliable, ambitious volunteers. I show up when I can, and they’re okay with that.

I was standing at the counter, checking in books, when I heard (and mind you this is a very small library; the size of a typical, metropolitan public restroom), quite loudly,

“Who’s she?” in a voice reminiscent of Big Bird.

And not surprisingly, when I looked up, the owner of said voice did resemble the jovial Bird in more ways than just sheer largess and yellow feathers.

The gracious librarian explained, “She’s one of our very good” (I half expected her to insert, ‘but highly unreliable’) volunteers. Just like you.”

I smiled at my Amazonian comrade-in-volunteer-arms, while Inner Me wondered whether she’d actually address me with her next utterance.

“Well, I’ve never seen her before,” she responded.

“No, you haven’t,” I elaborated helpfully, while tossing her a dirty look.

I’m not too patient when people state the obvious, especially while I’m rapidly developing a lower back ache from picking up heavy book bags that were once crispy white and are now a filthy hue of cow dung brown and brimming with volumes of the library’s weightiest reads. Is it any wonder I am the rare, ever aloof, volunteer?

I was thinking these thoughts while the wheels in the bird-woman’s head were turning. They moved so slowly that I could see them, creakily grinding away. I immediately felt guilt because, well, if you saw her, you’d feel guilty too for acting so peevishly. And there was something…innocent about her.

She waddled towards me thrusting out a wing, I mean, a hand, and said,

“I’m Rosemary. Nice to meet you,” she flashed a smile a pre-schooler would surely love.

I put my annoyance firmly and a bit sheepishly away.

The above is a minor example of stupers (short yet again, for those mindlessly stupid persons) who regard fully aware people occupying nearby space as invisible. My friend, Marla, a thirty-five-year-old psychologist, who’s been married ten years, recounted another, less amiable, instance:

Marla and her mother were shopping in a store when they ran into Anne, the mother’s friend.

Anne: (to Marla’s mother) Is this the one with the kids?

Mother: No, it’s my other daughter who has two children.

Anne: Doesn’t this one want to have any kids?

At that point, Marla wanted to smash her well-heeled sandal down soundly on top of Anne’s open-toe Birkenstocks. Instead, she excused herself, slipped into another department and called me.

It just could be that these stupers realize (too late) that the question they’re asking is frightfully awkward and obviously none of their business. This results in their spilling out the actual query onto the wrong party. Stupers have no control over the paltry contents of their mouths (the brain being empty) so the question entirely misses its target. Either way, Marla was miffed.

There are two paths that may be followed. Either the victim answers the question for herself, reminding the stuper of her presence and capability in formulating a response; thereby redirecting the meager mind in the proper direction. Or said recipient can live up to the stuper’s expectations. Since idiots treat you as if you don’t exist, why not indulge them? Try making faces and/or gestures of your choosing and see if they still think you’re invisible. Or do a little song and dance, recite that poem you memorized in the sixth grade and can’t seem to forget or share your thoughts on the current, unconscionably excessive gas prices. Let it all out!

Take advantage of every opportunity a stuper provides you of showing your best or at least your better self. Don’t let them bring out the worst in you.

Just think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com