Jun 30, 2011

Flying Frogs and "What the #&*@"

They don't call it the dirty south for nothing. While serving my two year church service mission in the great state of Georgia, I had a plethora of comedic experiences. One I'll tell you about in words because unfortunately I don't have it on video. The other... well, I'll let the video do the talking.

The first took place on a cool spring night in the thriving metropolis of Cochran, population 5,000. My two companions and I had a serious jones for some Taco Bell. As we pulled into the drive thru we were positioned behind two cars. The front car was obviously ordering food. The second car was a puke green white trash pinto that housed what looked to be one occupant. As we sat there discussing our individual orders, the passenger door of the vehicle in front of us suddenly opened. A small black kid, 5 years old at the most, began walking towards our vehicle. He was "holding himself" as if he was about to take a leak in his pants.

Rather than walking past our car though, the kid wedged himself between the front bumber of our car and the rear bumper of the car he just got out of. He was like a deer in the headlights, only he was little black kid that had to pee. The 3 of us started busting up laughing as he just stood there waiving at us with one hand and "pinching it off" with the other.

My companion noticed a bathroom attached to the outside of the building, but it quickly became apparent that the kid either didn't know it was there or didn't think he could make it there on time. So he did what any 5 year old would do in that situation. He dropped his pants and began to pee on the front bumper of our car! The most awkwardly amazing part? He continued to wave at us the entire time! I was in tears I was laughing so hard! Then, as quickly as he'd wedged himself between our cars, he returned to the passenger seat just in time for the driver to pull up and place an order. EPIC!

Now, for video. I will say two things about this before posting it. The first is the frog lived and we watched him hop away. The second is that you excuse the accent... I'd lived in South Georgia for a year and a half at this point!



Jun 29, 2011

"I didn't see you either"

A little over 6 years ago I returned home from my mission to the great state of Georgia. It took a couple days before I was allowed to drive because my parents had to put me back on the insurance. Nevertheless, in due time, I was given the green light. My first item of "business" with my moms new car? A trip to an institute activity/dance. What a terrible idea huh? We'll just call it anhonest mistake.

The activity was at the institute building on Olive Ave. The dance was farther to the East on Olive at another building. Thus, somewhere around 9pm I began driving East on Olive. Just shy of 51st Ave I was detoured by police to a parking lot on the North side of the road, due to an accident at the intersection just ahead. I idled through the parking lot, with Pink Floyd blaring from the speakers, rubbernecking the entire way. I was the only car in the parking lot that was driving in any direction so i didn't worry about holding up traffic.

As I approached the edge of the parking lot I stopped about 20 feet short of the street. I had a perfect view of the intersection, and most of the accident. It looked horrible!! As I let my foot off the brake and began creeping towards the street I started looking to my left. That's the direction you look when you're about to make a right hand turn. You don't look right. I noticed 3 cars coming up the road to my left so I came to a complete stop and waited for them to pass. As soon as the last car went by me I took my foot off the brake and had barely tapped the gas when- SLAM! I whipped my head straight forward and found myself eye to eye with a cop.

I was speechless. Where did he come from? How did I not see him? Exactly how much trouble am I about to get in? I rolled down the window of my mom's car as the cop continued staring at me. Eventually he made his way to my window and much to my surprise he was almost laughing. He said, "Don't worry about your license or registration right now, this is crazy, I can't even believe this just happened."

I almost started laughing too, as I stepped out and said nervously, "wow, I seriously didn't even see you!" He laughed and said, "I guess this is what I get for driving on the wrong side of the road." I took a a quick look at his car that I had just T-boned and realized that he was indeed facing the wrong direction on the road. He looked at me and said he had his sirens flashing and was trying to take the quickest route into the parking lot. He explained that he'd been waiting for the same 3 cars I was waiting for and we both hit the gas at the same time.

We shot the breeze for a little bit as we waited for a supervisor to take the accident report. I made an incredibly uncomfortable phone call to my parents who were also able to arrive on scene and join in some casual conversation before someone finally took the accident report.

I felt like the biggest tool! Who hits a cop! But when I want to feel a little better about the whole thing I remind myself that he was driving on the wrong side of the road. So long story short, I was issued no ticket, but due to the fact that he's a cop and he had his sirens flashing it went down on my insurance as an at fault accident.

So the moral of this story??? DON'T GO TO INSTITUTE ACTIVITIES! Or do... it's cool!

Jun 28, 2011

Really Mom?!?! REALLY?!?!

Who can forget the social disaster that were school pictures? Remember that 8 X 10 nightmare staring back at you a few weeks later through that clear plastic film, perfectly centered in that giant white envelope? I sure do! I hated school pictures! I hated sitting on those rickety old studio stools with my hand on my chin dishing out fake smiles while some wanna-be photographer verbally assaults my lack of studio photogenics. Is that even a word? It should be. To make matters worse, I always seemed to be dawning some atrocious handy down collared shirt that my mother forced me to wear. As of this day I own 4 collared shirts, exluding those I wear to church. Back in the day I owned a whopping ZERO! I've been "anti-preppy" since the first grade.

One particular collared shirt stands out from the rest though. In 7th grade my mom hand picked this "pimp-esque" gem from somewhere down in our storage room and the results speak for themselves. Perhaps she was trying to take the attention away from my buck teeth. HA-HA!



Compare that to the picture below taken the same year.



Why couldn't that just be my school picture? That picture would have been so much easier to hand out to girls. I mean think about it that conversation... "Hey do you want this picture of me in an everyday outfit with a broken arm that I got from doing an everyday activity?" "Ya sure." Now compare that to the conversation that typically ensued when attempting to hand out my ACTUAL school picture from that year. "Hey do you want this picture of me in a horrendous shirt that my mom forced me to wear?" "Uhmmm... I don't know." "Oh come on... When people ask who I am you can just tell them I'm your pimp." HAHAHA!

The Anatomy of a Nickname

Let's face it... nobody's perfect. Imperfctions birth a variety of consequences. One of which is nicknames. Sometime in the late 80's after losing a majority of my baby teeth to case after case of falling down, my permanent teeth began to take their place. A short time later I began to notice something a bit "different." An imperfection if you will. Others seemed to notice it too. You see my two front teeth had apparently missed the "quit growing" memo!

This dental tragedy paved the way for my first nickname, "Bucky!" The name was taken directly from the star character of the nostalgic TV series, Bucky O'hare and the toad wars. See pics below...





Now I'd be lying to you if I told you that I immediately accepted my imperfection for what it was, and didn't let the comments that came with it bother me in anyway. I hated the nickname, and every negative thing that came with it. I hated that my older brother Clint would always tell me to "get a file Bucky, and file down those buck teeth." I hated the small army of friends and family that would bite their bottom lip with their two front teeth over and over in a "chomping" motion,kindly reminding me of my resemblance to a beaver.

I can recall one occasion rather vividly during a Sunday dinner in which my older brother Clint and I were exchanging words. My parents told us to stop fighting repeatedly but to little avail. I was boiling inside. I think Clint knew this, and went for the jugular. After my dad said, "I don't wanna hear another word out of either of you," Clint decided that the making the infamous chomping motion with his teeth was not considered talking. Perhaps it wasn't, but I'd had enough. I flipped my lid! I slammed both hands on the table, stood up and said, "SCREW YOU CLINT! QUIT MAKIN FUN OF MY TEETH! YOU WANNA FIGHT ME BRO?! FREEKIN BRING IT ON DUDE, I'M NOT SCARED OF YOU! I DARE YOU TO MAKE FUN OF MY TEETH AGAIN! I'LL FREAKIN JACK YOU UP DUDE!"

The fight never happened, and I quickly exited the kitchen making sure I was completely in my room with the door locked before letting the tears flow. I can't really tell you when I decided to stop caring about my beaver teeth and the never ending insults that accompanied them, but at some point I indeed stopped caring. Years later, my other permanent teeth began to grow larger, making the size of my two front teeth less noticeable. My nickname however, still stands. Mostly with family and close friends.

Whether or not I should have reacted the way I did to being ridiculed for something that was completely out of my control is obviously up for debate. Want to know what's not up for debate? Whether or not I really had buck teeth. The pics say it all.... YIKES!



Jun 27, 2011

We got that fire...

I'm starting to believe there's something about about a bon fire that just makes people wanna dance.... And there's something about listening to Pink Floyd on the way home from camping that just makes people wanna sing. Visual proof below... Its much better full screen!




Jun 25, 2011

P Dizzy in the Hizzy

i spent the day helping ranchers... it was fast.

Jun 24, 2011

Not Looking Forward To This...

Here is just a portion of what I'll be doing Monday for work. Everything brown is pigeon crap. This makes up about 1/10 of the entire mess I'm responsible for cleaning up. I suppose it's one more reason to hate Mondays...



Jun 22, 2011

Red Flags

Attempting to find love on an online dating service is like running full speed towards a tornado hoping that instead of throwing you a few hundered feet onto your head, it gently picks you up, spins you around a few times, and then drops you off at Disneyland with a 3 day park-hopper pass. You know it's a bad idea.... But the uber slim chance that you end up on your favorite ride seated next to some totally hot stranger is enough to make you wanna try. At leat it was for me. The only problem was even after I thought I'd avoided disaster and been dropped off at "Disneyland" I ended up broken down on Space Mountain with a mediocre "4 out of 1o" throwing up on me. I should've seen it coming!

Are you confused??? Allow me to clarify. Almost 2 years ago, after convincing myself that I'd "exhausted" all other options, I did the unthinkable and joined the world of online dating. To be honest with you I didn't know what to expect. I created a profile with 7 or 8 decent pictures and wrote a paragraph in the "About Me" section that included everything from my height and weight to my likes and dislikes. Much of it probably wasn't "essential" at all, but I figured the more I wrote about myself, the less likely I was to get a bunch of e-mails that said, "Hey you seem cool, tell me more about yourself." Although, don't get me wrong, I still ended up with plenty of those.

The first couple of days were a bit rough. I mostly browsed for single women between 21 and 28 that lived within 25 miles of my zip code. What I found was a bunch of verbally and visually deficient profiles that left me with more questions than answers. After further examining a few of their profiles I started to wonder if I was attempting to communicate with real girls, or some 45 year old perv with 9 fake profiles, living in his parent's basement. This should have been my first RED FLAG! I should've just cancelled my account after only a few days.

Needless to say though, I put forth a little effort and started exchanging e-mails with a few girls. 2 of them really stood out. The first was a 34 year old single mom, with 5 kids. Believe me when I tell you that SHE FOUND ME... NOT the other way around. We exchanged only three e-mails before she realized that my part-time salary and my love of the show C.O.P.S. wasn't exactly turning her on.

The second one that stood out was a 27 year old girl from Scottsdale. Our e-mail exchanges and online chats contained so many "haha's" and "lol's" its a miracle I waited so long to go on a date with her. However, I should've been more aware of the RED FLAGS! The first being the fact that she had only one picture on her profile. The second being the fact that her one lone picture was from only the neck up and looked as if it was taken 4 or 5 years previous. Despite the warning signs, I allowed her sense of humor to win me over. I eventually asked her for her number, and called her to set up a date.

Ladies and Gentleman... I've debated for quite some time about writing this story for 2 reasons. The first is I vowed that when I left her house that night I was going ot try my best to pretend like the previous 2 hours "never happened." The second is because it almost falls into the category of "you had to be there," but when has either of those ever stopped me from writing about something. So here you go...

I drove the 40 minutes or so to the North end of Scottsdale and arrived at a very nice looking home, in an equally nice looking neighborhood. I double checked the address, took a deep breath, and made my way towards the front door. I was really uncomfortable. I knew she was funny, but what did she look like? I didn't have much to go on. What was on the other side of that door??? Was it a super model, that was sand bagging her pictures in hopes of avoiding guys that only wanted her for her body??? Was it a slightly overweight softball player with an upper lip full of peach fuzz. You know the kind that doubles in luster when the sun hits it just right?! I mean seriously, who was going to answer the door. I'll tell you who... and just understand that I'm simply describing to you what I saw.

As the door opened I was greeted by a girl that stood about 5 foot 6 rocking a pair of cut-off sweat pants and an oversized T-shirt. You know, the kind you used to wear to bed as a kid? Ya, just like that. How much she weighed is not important, just know that if I was a quarterback, I'd feel safe with her playing left tackle. I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just sayin...

This girl was also talking on the phone when she answered the door. Before I could say Hi, she beat me to the punch and said, "Hi Scott, just come on it, I'll only be a minute" and walked away leaving the front door open. I stepped inside, closed the door, and she disappeared into the kitchen. I followed slowly behind her, admiring the immaculate decor that graced the walls of her home. I made my way into the family room and copped a squat on the couch. I stared at my reflection in the TV for a solid 30 seconds before deciding I needed to "go to the bathroom." I stood up and did my best to whisper across the opening into the kitchen, "Pssst... where's your bathroom?" She getured down the hallway and said something like, "first door on your right."

I entered that bathroom stopping briefly along the way to take a peak into an open doorway. I placed both the toilet seat and the toilet cover in the down position, left my pants in the up position. and sat down on the toilet. After all, I wasn't in the bathroom to actually "use the bathrroom." I was in the bathroom so I could say out loud to myself, "What the crap are you doing here Scott??? Dude, you should just go home, delete her from your friends list, and pretend like tis never happened." As I sat on the toilet staring at myself in a rectangular mirror the hung awkwardly on the wall directly in fron of me, I carried on a conversation with my conscience...

"Give her a chance Scott, she might be really fun"
"Dude, she was wearing cut off sweat pants and a XX T-shirt!"
"Scott, you wear orange camo pants"
"Ya, but they ain't no cut-offs, and I don't compliment them with a sumo shirt!"
"Dude, she's really funny."
"Sense of humor is invalid when you can bench press me"

... and so on and so forth until I decided I would stick it out and see what happens. Before leaving the bathroom though I heard her say something to her mom on the phone like, "No, mom, I can take care of the house, I've been doing it for 6 months now, I'm fine!" I thought back to a few of the things she'd said in our chats. Things like, "I'm a steal Scott, I have my own house, my own car, and a great job!" It was looking more like she had Mommy and Daddy's house, Daddy's car, and who knows what she did for a living.

I made my way back into the family room and no sooner had she hung up the phone than she offered me a tour of the house. I'm not gonna lie, this house was BALLIN! It had all kinds of fancy decorations too. I was impressed. I was also scared as we walked into her room and I had the first of 2, "What the HELL?!" moments. I can't say it any other way. Now let's clear the air on the fact that maybe when I was 16 I would've gotten some sort of adolescent thrill out of seeing a girls bra thrown on the ground, but not at 26! And certainly not THIS girls bra. I quickly found an excuse to leave her room and began discussing dinner plans.

Seeing as how we were in Scottsdale, and she lived in a nice house, I pretty much knew I was about to get stuck with some huge restaurant tab. She suggested a few "higher-end" eateries... P.F. Changs, Ah-So, The Cheesecake Factory. I started getting nervous. Was this even worth it? I had another silent discussion with my conscience and this time my conscience lost. I told her that I was, "sorry, but I ate a late lunch at work and I'm not that hungry so I could go for something real simple." Much to my surprise she suggested In-and-Out burger. SCORE! I agreed before she had a chance to second guess herself. Then as we went to walk out the door she said, "Hey why don't I drive? I got a fast car!"

This should have been a red flag but instead I was intrigued. I agreed to let her drive and I took a seat in her bright blue Nissan 350. It was cozy inside... I was diggin it! Only 2 minutes later though I wasn't really "diggin it" anymore. She was blazing down Scottsdale Road doing 90 in a 50. This lead to the second, and final "what the hell" moment. After peaking at about 90, she finally let off the accelerator and said, "Ya, I better slow down, if I get one more ticket I get my license suspended." WHAAAAAAT???

Let me break down the rest of the night for you in 2 sentences. We ate at In-and-Out, went back to her place, I WATCHED her play X-Box (I was so uncomfortable I didn't even wanna play) and then I made up some excuse about having to get up early the next morning to go hunting. A few minutes later I walked out of her house, got in my truck, shook my head back and forth violently, started my truck, looked at myself in my rear view mirror, and said out loud, "Wow, I'm gonna pretend that never happened."

So the moral of this story... ALWAYS GET A FULL BODY SHOT before you get her phone number!

Jun 21, 2011

Homemade Failure

A number of years ago, in the prime of my adolescence, I fell for a fireball named Nicole Dawson. For years I drooled over this hot commodity. I watched her go in and out of relationships, always wondering If I'd ever get my chance. Whenever she had a boyfriend I would try to spend as much time at her house as possible, making sure she wouldn't forget that I was around. Ha ha.

Whenever she was single I spent a ridiculous amount of time and effort discovering new ways to impress her. One year in high school I heard she was giving up cheerleading to be the mascot. Then I heard there was gonna be 2 mascots. I decided I would try out also because hey, if we were both mascots what more do you need right? I mean realistically who can resist a guy in a sweaty mountain lion costume that spends his Friday nights entertaining fans and geting screamed at by cheerleaders for "being in the way."

So the day of try-outs came and I was nervous. When they told us we'd be performing one at a time in front of the 2 cheer coaches without any other contestants watching, I was a little LESS nervous. Nicole was one of the first to try out. I knew she would make it. How did I know? She rented a sumo suit and did a dance performance to "She's a Brick House." She locked down the first spot. Only moments later it was my turn. I had no costume but I had a prop. I thought it might help. It was a cardboard cut out in the form of a person. I told the coaches it was a "cheerleader." I hesitate to say I remember much of what happened during my 60 seconds of fame but you really only need to know 4 things.
1) I brought my sisters Mariah Carey CD with me.
2) I threw the cardboard cheerleader around like a rag doll.
3) I ended my routine with a backflip.
4) I GOT THE JOB!

Was beign the mascot everything I ever dreamed it would be? Sure it was. Did being the Mascot get me any closer to dating my dream girl? NOPE! Did it stop me from trying? Not at all.

One day I decided I would impress Nicole with what I thought was her favorite dessert. A cherry pie. Now at the time, I assumed she would also like a guy that cooked for her. So I ruled out the frozen store-bought option, and went for the impossible. I was going to bake her a pie from scratch. You better believe I rode my bike to Safeway and picked up all the necessary ingredients. I spent a couple hours in the kitchen and Wa-la! I had my masterpiece! It smelled AMAZING! I was so pumped! Who could resist this? By that I mean, who could resist me, after doing this? She couldn't possibly pass me up.

The Dawsons lived about a half mile away and I didn't want to walk that far, so I decided I would ride my bike at a slow speed. I would hold the pie in one hand and use the other hand to steer my bike. I think you know where this is going. I made it all the way to her driveway, but just as I went to steer my bike up the sloped curb, my front tire (that was kinda flat) turned sideways. This caused the back end of the bike to elevate, sending both me, and my homemade masterpiece flying onto the driveway. Well, let me take that back. The pie landed on their bright red mustang, then fell to the driveway.

I WAS DEVESTATED! I remember laying flat on my back on the driveway wondering how this could have happened. I mumbled over and over again, "Why me? Why now?" I spent the next few minutes scraping as much of the pie off their car, and off their driveway as I could, placing it back into the pan. Then I thought, "Ok, so do I go home and just pretend like I didn't even try, or do I milk the sympathy cow for all it's worth." I went the sympathyy route and rang the doorbell hoping Nicole would answer and I could melt her heart with my sob story. Well, it didn't work out quite like I planned. Her mom answered the door and I decided to give her my sob story instead. Thankfully, being one of the nicest people on the planet, she was incredibly sympathetic! She let me wash my hands and clean up the road rash on my arms. However, Nicole never got her fresh cherry pie, and I never got my adolescent dream girl.

The moral of this story??? ALWAYS PUMP UP YOUR BIKE TIRES!!!!

Jun 10, 2011

Wow... 47!!!!

So I just realized a few minutes ago that I promised a blog a day for 44 days. I've done 47 straight. I've decided I'll take tonight off. I'm not gonna lie, it's been an absolute blast! According to the stats tab the 2 most poplar entries from the last 6 and half weeks are the 2 below. The next 2 are my personal favorites. I'm curious what are your favorite entries from the last 47???

2 Most viewed:

From "Whatever You wanna do" to Flat Broke in 5 Hours

"Scott I Need To Talk To You About Something"

My 2 personal favorites:

"20 Smiles and One Hilarious Accident"

"A Giant Waste of Helium"

That'll do it....

Sometimes You Gotta Look Back and Laugh

**CAUTION** If you are offended or grossed out by farting you probably won't be a big fan of this story. So don't read it.

As I've mentioned in a couple previous entries, my little brother Russ and I shared a room for quite some time growing up. During that time we found various ways to entertain ourselves. Sometimes we connected a few pieces of flimsy race car track, placed one end under the mattress and tucked the other end into the top drawer of our dresser, allowing the middle of the track to sag down a couple feet. Then we'd each grab a small car, place them on opposite ends of the track, and let them go. They would collide in the middle and more often than not one of the cars would fly off the track. The winning car would move on to the next round. It might sound silly, but to a couple of boys that had to share a room it made for some fun times.

However, not everything we did to entertain ourselves was so harmless. One night, Russ and I were up late laughing about anything and everything. It was just one of those nights. I happened to have a bad case of the farts too. Which had us laughing even harder. I don't know how or why all of the events of that night unfolded but at some point I thought it would be funny to take the lid off of a Snapple bottle and try to “bottle my fart.” So I did it. I remember laughing so hard before and after, I was crying. Russ was too. I placed the Snapple bottle on our dresser and we wondered if it would still smell the next day.

Fast forward to the next morning. My mom came in the room and turned on the light to wake us up. I of course immediately thought of the bottle on the dresser. I said something to my mom like, “Mom you see that glass bottle on the dresser? I don't know what the inside of it smells like but it smells funny. I can't pin point it. It's weird, you should smell it!” I saw Russ duck under his covers, I assume so my mom wouldn't see him trying so hard not to laugh. It took a little more convincing, but eventually my mom took the bottle off the dresser, removed the lid, and took a big whiff. I cannot tell you exactly what she said but I can tell you that Russ and I have spent the last 15 years or so laughing about it!!!!

The moral of the story? If you're gonna fart in a jar, at least keep it to yourself. I still feel bad about conning my mom into smelling it, but DANG was it hilarious!!

Jun 8, 2011

Broken Glass

When my parents moved into the house they're still in now, I was only 4 years old. The basement of the house remained unfinished for several years. The bare concrete floor made for some good times and some "hard times". It was like a giant concrete jungle gym. I remember my older brothers fastening a steel pole to the exposed beams and using it as a pull-up/chin-up bar. I remember having competitions with my brothers on who could do the most, and losing every time. I always blamed it on having long arms. Still do actually.

We had an area of the basement that we called "the big room" that was essentially 1,000 sq. feet of empty play space. The only real vivid memory I have of how we took advantage of our concrete play place is using it as a roller skating rink. I remember having access to a pair of roller skates, and my little sister had a pair as well. If I remember right she would share her skates with my little brother, and from time to time they would take sharing to a more creative level and each wear one skate and one shoe. hahaha.

My roller skates could hardly be called roller skates. I also wouldn't call them mine and not because other people used them, but because they were so awful in every way possible that I really shouldn't claim them as my own. They looked like a pair of faded blue 1970's running shoes that someone had glued a acouple metal frames to and bolted on 8 wheels. They were incredibly uncomfortable and ridiculously unstable! However, that didn't stop me from usin them on a regular basis.

Well, on one particular day I was flying through some sort of goofy "obstacle course" we had created in the big room, and suddenly found myself traveling towards the window well at a rather high rate of speed. Now do you remember that the brake on roller skates was located on the front. Ya-ya... Remember that piece of rubber up near the toe of the skate that had everyone confused on how to really use it!? I mean what kid didn't face plant attempting to use the brakes by leaning forward with both feet at the same time. Come on people, I know I wasn't the only one.

Anyways, since I had face planted myself, and still had not learned the proper way to use the brake, I concluded my only option was to place both my hands against the window and hope it absorbed my momentum. The only problem is windows aren't exactly built to absorb momentum. I extended my arms out in front of me, my hands hit the window, and the window shattered as my hands and most of my upper body fell into the window well. Initially I had NO CLUE I had even been hurt. I was however young, and very scared, and I believe that entitled me to start crying for any reason I dang well pleased! So I immediately let the tears flow. A short time later I felt a slight pain in my left arm and upon examining my left tricep I discovered a large chunk of it was missing. Then I REALLY started crying! To make matters worse it was the type of wound that appears bright white at first, with little red dots on the inside of it. You know the kind that initially doesn'tlok that bad, and then it just starts pouring blood!

Well, long story short (whoops too late for that) I ended up with 9 stitches and a bruised ego!

Fast forward almost 2 decades. The basement has been finished for a number of years. Inside the basement, and more specifically, scattered acros the big room, are a number of my friends. They're playing halo. I am in the backyard with my buddy Tommy painting the house. I am walking along a railroad tie snugged up against one of the window wells on the side of the house. My foot slipped and I began the 5 or 6 foot plunge into the window well. Luckily I stuck my left arm up against the side of the house as I fell. This prevented me from falling completely through the window. However, I did still smack the window with my butt, shattering it, and pretty much scaring the crap out of my friends in the basement. I took this picture before cleaning up the mess. I have to admit, it could've been much, MUCH worse.



So the moral of the storie(s)??? Don't ever roller SKATE... EVER... and watch your step!

Jun 7, 2011

"Hang on, just one more jump!"

It was Friday, March 3rd, 1995. It was my 12th birthday. I had a few friends at my house and we were killing time in the front yard, waiting for the rest of the crowd to show up. My big birthday plans included an all you can eat dinner at Sizzler's (complete with unlimited mac and cheese and ice cream), and then back to my house for cake, even more ice cream, and presents. A fairly typical birthday for a kid my age.

After we played basketball for a little while I decided it was time to strap on my rollerblades and show off my mad skills. I dragged my older brother's ramp down the driveway and placed it on the sidewalk facing directly towards the street. At 12 years old I was deep into the rollerblading thing. I was also deep into building ramps. I used to sit in class and design "sweet jumps" for hours at a time. A few weeks prior to this incident I had helped my older brother Clint build a pretty good sized launch ramp. The same ramp that was now sitting at the end of the driveway.

I took a few warm up jumps, keeping things simple. By simple I mean nothing too extreme. By nothing too extreme, I mean no 360's, no 540's, no misty flips, and no rocket air grab's. By no rocket air grab's I mean -- hahaha... sorry, I was having a "dang I miss rollerblading" moment. Anyways, after only a couple of jumps my brother Clint noticed that the brakes on my rollerblades were leaving scuff marks on the surface of the ramp. In hindsight, the fact that I thought I was going pro rocking a pair of rollerblades that had brakes on them was laughable!

The solution to the scuff mark problem was simple. I grabbed a phillips head screw driver and removed the brakes. No sooner had I done this than my mom came outside and said, "Ok everyone get in the car, were leaving." I quickly replied, "Hang on, just one more jump." BAD IDEA! I stood up at the back end of the garage and prepared myself to fly down the driveway for my final jump. I got the "all clear" from my buddy at the bottom of the driveway and took a deep breath. I pushed off the back wall of the garage, cruised down the driveway, and launched off the ramp. I had WAY TOO MUCH SPEED! Immediately after leaving the edge of the ramp my feet flew straight out in front of me and I found myself staring up at the sky. My arms started flailing around wrecklessly as I began falling to the ground. At the last possible moment I flipped my body face down and stretched my arms out in a push-up position to catch myself.

SMACK!!!! My body hit the ground. CRACK!!!! My left wrist gave way! By gave way I mean it broke. It immediately started to burn. I rolled over on my back, screaming in pain. A couple of my buddies came and helped me up and at this point I of course had to play it off like it was no big deal. "You alright man, that was crazy!" "Oh ya dude, that was nothing. I'm fine man." I wasn't fine!

Fast forward about a half hour as a bunch of us are standing in the all you can eat buffet line at Sizzlers. I grabbed a plate and headed straight for the mac and cheese. I went to place the plate in my left hand so I could scoop with my right, and soon realized I couldn't even hold a plate with my left hand. It hurt my wrist too much. So I placed the plate in my right hand and attempted to use my bad hand to scoop the mac and cheese. I was already not very coordinated with my left hand and the fact that it was broken wasn't helping the cause. I started dropping mac and cheese everywhere BUT on my plate. An observant employee at sizzlers noticed I was struggling and asked if I needed help. I don't remember exactly what I said to her but it was something really rude. I felt like I could do it on my own and I let her know it! I said something like, "No! Does it look like I need help? Geez, just leave me alone!" hahaha. Poor girl!

So all of this happened on a Friday, but I didn't get my cast on until Monday. I remember the Doctor had to "set" the bone before he could do anything. That was an awful experience. I think it hurt more than the initial break!

So the moral of this story??? Just becasue you want to do something "one more time" doesn't mean you have to. Oh and here's me with my 2-tone cast...

Jun 6, 2011

"SCOTT WATCH YOUR BACK!!!!"

A little over a year ago my work buddy Robert and I had to do a painting job on 40th Street and McDowell. Anyone that knows much about Phoenix knows that 4oth Street and McDowell is not a place you want to hang out in the open for any extended period of time. ESPECIALLY when the suns not shining! For those of you not from Phoenix, hanging out in the area of 40th street and McDowell after dark is about as safe as juggling double sided knives... that have no handles.

Perhaps I can paint a better picture of the scene for you. Robert and I had to paint 2 sets of carports located behind a 5 story office building at 4040 E. McDowell. The job had to be done at night when everyones' cars were no longer under the carports. I rolled up just shy of 10:30pm and Robert was already there getting a few things ready to go. I got out of my truck and took a glance around the dimly lit parking lot. Aside from a group of town cars owned by a nearby limo business, we were basically the only cars back there. With the exception of 1 which I'll get to in a minute.

The building itself, as I mentioned previously, was 5 stories. It was littered with gang graffiti. The back parking lot, where Robert and I were located, smelled like a south Phoenix blend of fermented baby diapers and cigarettes. Something didn't look right, and something DEFINITELY didn't smell right. However, this wasn't my first time working at night in "the hood" and I must admit that the combination of that, and having someone else with me, actually had me feeling "just fine" about everything after only a few minutes. I wish I could say it stayed that way the entire night.

I was carrying a hand gun as I do EVERY TIME I work after dark. On that particular night I was carrying a 9mm Glock, secured in holster on my hip. More often than not, when working at night, I choose to wear my gun where it's easily visible to others in an effort to NOT look like an "easy target." This particular night was no exception.

As I helped Robert unload the paint sprayer and a few other things we started discussing what to do about the 1 car that was still parked under the carport. We were told there would be no cars there, and the fact that there was a car there sort of threw a wrench in the plan. The building's doors were locked, but there was a few lights on in some of the offices so we thought maybe it was someone's car who was working inside. Suddenly we heard a voice from about the 4th floor of the caged in, outdoor stair case on the east side of the building. It was a man talking on his phone. The gate to the stairwell was suppossed to be locked too, and nobody should have been on the stairs at that time of night.

We couldn't see who it was, but we decided that we should ask him if he was the owner of the car parked where it shouldn't be. Little did I know the chain of events that would be set off from asking that one man, that one simple question. The man screamed back at us in a drunk voice, "I'm comin down there to help you!" Me and Robert stared blankly at each other thinking, what's he gonna help us with? Moments later the man stumbled out the door to the stair well and headed towards us.

Allow me to describe him. He was a Mexican guy in his 40's that stood about 5'10" tall, and weighed in at about 160 lbs. He had on a cruddy pair of jeans and no shirt. He was holding a beer can in one hand, a joint in the other, and you could smell his B.O. from a block away.

We asked him again if he knew who's car was parked under the carport to which he responded in a highly intoxicated tone of voice, "uuuuuuh.... no...... but I'll go find out for you!" I was already sick of this guy and I had just met him. As he left us to embark on a mission to find the cars owner, I immediately knew he was going to be a problem. He was drunk, high, and unpredictable. We continued to get stuff ready to go, making fun of the guy we'd just met. Then out of left field the man reappeared, but he was no longer alone. He was now holding a dog leash that was wrapped around the neck of a huge pitbull. Classic tweaker! They always have a dog! As soon as I saw him tying the dog's leash to a small tree, I told Robert, "Dude we need to keep an eye on this guy because I can already tell he's gonna be a problem."

We decided we would skip painting the carport with the vehicle parked underneath it until we could have it towed. So the next thing we needed to do before we could start painting was tape up large plastic sheeting all the way around the carports. As we were getting the plastic ready the drunk guy walked directly from the tree straight towards me. He then pointed at the gun on my hip and said, "heeeeey... what is that a pellet gun homez? You don't need no pellet gun to kill nobody! Pellet guns are for panzees! I was in prison for 10 years in Mexico man! I seen people die man! All you need to kill a man is a razor blade! Just a razor homez, you don't need a f****** pellet gun!"

Before I could even respond Robert began screaming at the guy, "Hey bro, you need to leave! We gotta start working, and you're not even suppossed to be here!" The guy turned and looked at Robert, didn't say anything, turned right back towards me and said, "I'm serious homez, that pellet gun ain't gonna protect you man! I'd f'ing cut you up before you could even think about shooting me homez! Don't think you're cool cuz you got a gun! A razor blade is all you need man! I'll show you!" I was beyond frustrated at this point! I took a few steps towards the guy, stared him right in the eyes and shook my hand back and forth towards his face while I screamed, "First off you little pecker... this ain't no pellet gun on my hip! Second of all... you're drunk as hell, and you're ticking me off! The best thing you could do right now is leave! The guy started busting up laughing and fired back with, "Whatever homez! I seen people die man! I seen people cut up with knives real bad! You don't need no pellet gun to kill a man!"

Now it's typical of someone who's both drunk and high to repeat what they say over an over. It's also typical when those same people fail to comprehend anything you say back to them. Realizing this, I decided I'd just walk away and hope he did the same. Much to my surprise, and my liking, it worked. He walked over to the tree, untied his dog, and the two of them wandered off around the corner of the building as he mumbled things out loud to himself. Robert then informed me that there was suppossed to be armed guard security patrolling the parking lot at night and since he had a phone number for them we thought it'd be a good idea to call and figure out where the heck they were. The guy picked up and said that him and his team of security guards go back and forth between two different buildings all night long, and that they would be back at that building within the hour.

All was calm for about a half hour while Robert and I draped plastic sheeting around the entire carport. When we were finished I was standing on the inside of what now looked like a "greenhouse" without windows, and Robert was on the outside. I was also on one end of the carport, while Robert was a good 40 feet away on the opposite end. He fired up the paint sprayer and began priming it with paint. I walked around the inside of the sheeting making sure to tapet all the corners together.

Suddenly I heard Robert scream, "SCOTT WATCH YOUR BACK!!!!" I turned around as fast as I could, already startled by how loud Robert screamed. The first thing I saw was that same drunk Mexican, about 10 feet away from me, walking slowly towards me, waiving something back and forth in his hand! I immediately began backing up as Robert started running up behind the guy screaming "Dude get outta here man! Get outta here!"

He paid no attention to Robert. After only a few steps backwards I hit the plastic sheeting. I didn't wanna take my eyes off the guy so without turning around I tried grabbing the plastic and lifting it over my head so I could get on the outside of it, giving me more room and more light! Meanwhile the guy is still stumbling towards me and finally begans screaming, "You see man, this is all you need! This is all you need to kill a man homez! You don't need no pellet gun!"

He stopped a few feet away from me, and I quickly grew both nervous and angry at the same time. I screamed at him at least five times to "BACK UP! BACK UP!" He didn't move either direction and continued waiving the object back and forth. It was at this point that I realized it was a razor blade. I reached down and unclipped the holster to my gun and placed my hand tight on the grip but did not remove my gun. Robert noticed my hand clasping my gun and moved to the side. The drunk guy either didn't notice or didn't care as he continued mumbling over and over, "You see homez, this is all you need! I can kill a man with this!"

At this point I vividly remember making a very calm, but very conscious decision in my mind. If the man took another step towards me I was going to draw my gun, point it directly at him and continue telling him to back up or I would shoot! As it stood right at that moment, I still didn't feel my life was in danger. Not to mention the last thing I wanna do is shoot some drunk homeless guy. However, if worse came to worse, and the guy attacked me I would not have hesitated to shoot.

The "stand-off" if you'd like to call it that, lasted only a minute or two. Although it felt like an hour or two! The drunk guy just kept screaming, "This is all you need to kill a man," while I continued to scream back, "BACK UP BRO! BACK UP!" Finally I decided to up the intimidation level. In what might have been a stupid move I took a quick step towards the guy, still holding the handle to my gun, still shaking like crazy, and screamed as loud as I possibly could, "BACK UP BRO! BACK THE F*** UP!!!! RIGHT NOOOOOOOW!!!! BACK UP!!!!" The guy immediately started walking backwards, and stopped waiving the blade around. I kept walking towards him continuing to rattle off profanities, like it was my job. I'm not saying it was the right thing to do but it was the only thing that was working.

Robert started screaming too and eventually the guy turned his back to us and casually staggered out the other end of the carport. We followed slowly behind him making sure to watch him leave the entire property before returning to the carport area. We sort of laughed about what happened and I remember Robert saying to me "man you got a lot of patients, I would shot him as soon as I saw that razor blade."

The rest of the night went off without any troubles. The security guards showed up a little while later and after sharing the entire story with them they told us that they knew exactly who the guy was. They said he'd been causing problems in that area for a long time, and had been arrested on several occasions.

Hey security... thanks for the memo!

Jun 5, 2011

Curiousity VS Extension Cord

Before I tell you who won the fight between my A.D.D. and an extension cord a number of years ago, I guess I should follow up on what I wrote about on so little sleep last night. If you care not to read this part and just wanna hear about me almost dying skip to down 4 paragraphs. haha. For the prelude to what I'm gonna say a bit mor about you can read my previous entry. I slept ok last night, but the images are still fresh in my mind. Seeing someone with a gunshot wound, much less three teenagers, is something I thought I'd never see. Ya, they were gang bangers, and maybe they even provoked the gunman, but all I saw was three kids in ridiculous pain! Quite frankly I'm ok with NEVER seeing it again. I don't do well with blood, especially when people are screaming! On the bright side, all of the kids lived so I guess it could have been worse. I'm not sure how I'd ever handle seeing a dead body.

Something people might not understand about me is while I find guns fun, and I have shot many guns, many times, they STILL SCARE ME! Every time I go to a shooting range, even with ear muffs, I shake and cringe at the sound of gun fire. I get uncomfortable. When I'm shooting a gun myself I find it enjoyable. When other's are shooting around me, it scares the crap out of me. Even when it's family or friends casually shooting a very small gun at a pop can in the middle of the desert. I'm always alert to my surroundings. I'm always safe. But still, even after all these years, I'm always scared. But I believe it's a healthy fear.

I am a gun advocate. I love guns. I think they're fun. I think they're therapeutic. I think it's a shame that the careless and senseless choices of so many gun owners (including the gang bangers from last night) have ruined what can be such an enjoyable thing. It bugs me to all end when people want to take gun rights away from good people, because of the actions of bad people. The way I see it, aside from some type of insane military action, you'll never get all the guns away from the bad people. It's too late. There's too many out there. So if you turn around and don't allow good people to own a gun, we've got nothing to protect ourselves with.

Society is crazy. People are unpredictable. I'm glad I live in a state that allows me to carry a gun. Many times I work by myself at night. I ALWAYS carry a gun when I'm working and the sun is not up! ALWAYS! Without exception. Sometimes I conceal it and those I'm working with have no idea I'm carrying one. Other times I wear it in a holster on my belt, out in the open, as a deterrent. Either way, I wear it for protection. I hope I NEVER have to use it. It scares me to even think about pulling the trigger on another human being. I am a panzee. But at the same time, I feel much safer with it, and if ever faced with a situation where my life was threatened, I feel plenty qualified, and would not hesitate to use it. Thankfully, I've never faced a situation like that, although I came rather close about a year ago. I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

For now... OFF THE SOAP BOX... and on to the most "electrifying" fight I've ever been in. Every Christmas my family would pull out boxes and boxes of old school multi-colored exterior Christmas lights, stretch them across the front yard, replace all the burnt out bulbs, and then help my dad put them up. As a kid it was fun, I looked forward to it! Not sure if I'd say the same thing now.

Well one year, during what I call my "curious" phase (you know the phase boys go through where they inisist on either taking things apart or setting them on fire) I was helping my dad put up the Christmas lights and got a little bored. I wandered around the yard kicking rocks and swatting at bugs when my A.D.D. got a little crazy. I started staring at an extension cord that was draped along the side of a small pony wall in our front yard. I began to wonder what was on the inside. Why did I even want to know? I have no idea! Couldn't tell you! But I was determined to figure it out!

I snagged a pair small gardening shears from the garage. They looked like just what I needed. As I exited the garage I obviously knew that what I was about to do was wrong because I remember laying down and crawling as close as I could to the 3 foot high wall, so as not to be detected. Next, I took the extension cord in one hand, pinched it into a "U" shape, placed the shear's blades on either side of the cord, and began cutting very slowly. I'm sure you know where this is going. Before I knew it... POP! All I saw was a bright flash and a tingling sensation throughout my whole body.

I heard my dad and brother scream something but I don't remember what. I dropped the shears that now had a huge chunk taken out of the blade, and crawled as fast as I could away from the wall. I then bolted (no pun intended) through the garage into the house. I vividly remember my mom sitting at the table cutting out coupons as I ran past her as fast as I could directly into the adjoining family room and leaped behind the couch. My mom, who of course had no idea why I was acting so erratically, asked anxiously, "Scott slow down, what are you doing?" I didn't answer. I was now hiding from what I had convinced myself would be a whoopin from my paps. She asked again, a bit more specifically, "Scott why are you hiding behind the couch?" Again I stayed silent. Just then my dad came in the house bellowing, "WHERE'S SCOTT!"

I don't claim to know much of the conversation that insued after crawling out from behind the couch, but to my father's credit I remember him being a bit more concerned about finding out if I was ok, than he was furious about me ruining his extension cord. Sorry paps! I still owe you an extension cord!

SHOTS FIRED!

Technically it's 5:56 am on Sunday morning but because I haven't been to sleep yet, I'm still counting this as Saturday's post, keeping up with my one a day. I went on a police ride along with mybuddy last night and I told him that I hadn't written an entry today and something good better happen so I could blog about it. I'd hesitate immensely to call what happened good. I would however call it, interesting, scary, and disgusting if I was limited to 3 words.

We were responding to a noise complaint when a call came out about shots being fired only a few blocks away from where we'd just arrived. We'd only driven for a few seconds when it came over the radio, "One victim with gun shot wound to the head." I started to get sick to my stomach but did my best to not let it show on the outside. We spead down another block or two and pulled up to the scene. I'm so tired right now I cannot take the time to appropriately describe it but let me try.

I've watched The first 48, and COPS, for quite some time and seen real life crime scenes, but on television. It was VERY different in real life. So in a nutshell, it was a gang related shooting. There were 3 victims, all teenagers. Two boys, one girl. I saw the girl holding a towell to her mouth and her entire face was covered in blood. When she moved it there was a large hole in her cheek. She'd been shot through her cheek, exiting out the other side fo her mouth near her nose. One boy had his pants already off sharing time between putting pressure on his wrist, and on his thigh. He had holes in both. The 2nd boy also suffered a shot to his leg.

I cannot really describe the next 4 hours as they searched for the suspect, interviewed potential witnesses, and detectives arrived with CSI to collected evidence. It was fascinating though. It was fascinating to see the reaction of on lookers, most of which were intoxicated and didn't seem to be affected by it at all. Minus the father to one of the victims, that is, who began riding around the neighborhood on his bike looking for revenge. It was fascinating to see the reaction of the many cops responding to the call, and their eerily calm demeanors about the whole situation. I got the chance to speak to a few of the officers about their feelings on things like this. Without exception they all said they've become numb to seeing horrific crime scenes, and that it almost becomes something they expect to happen. One casually walked past me and said sarcastically, "just another day in paradise huh?"

I thought a lot about the sadness of "living in the ghetto" and how 3 teenagers came within inches of losing their lives. Their ONE LIFE that God has given them. More than likely over gang territory. I don't really know what to think of it. Right now I think I want to go to bed! I could go without some of the things I saw tonight for quite some time but I can't look past the humbling feeling of seeing the real life consequences, both good and bad, of lifestyle choices.

Good night!

Jun 3, 2011

I Should Really Pay Attention...

A number of years ago I would occasionally baby sit Andy and Kurt Haws. Far from a monumental tasks, as Andy spent most of his time watching tv and Kurt shared his time between playing with Andy, and playing with Barbies. Never did understand the latter half of that.

On one particular Friday night, Lindy Haws, the mother in the family, was running through the typical pre-babysitting routine while I sat at the kitchen table paying little to no attention to what she was saying. I figured it was the same thing she always said just before she and her husband took off for the night. Something like, "Ok, Scott, here's some phone numbers in case there's an emergency, here's where we're gonna be, we should be home around 11, yada yada yada, make yourself at home and eat anything you can find, yada yada yada. I don't remember hearing anyting out of the ordinary on that night.

So fast forward a couple hours, Kurt and Andy are both asleep, and I'm developing a SERIOUS case of the munchies. So I wandered into the kitchen, rummaged through the pantry, opened and closed the fridge like 15 times, and finally decided I'd indulge myself in the red velvet cake that was resting on the stove top. It was practically beckoning to me to have a taste. So I did just that. Only I had more than a taste. I ate like half the cake. It was DIVINE! Beyond it's magnificent taste however, I didn't think much about what I'd just done.

Fast forward about a month. I'm beginning to wonder why Lindy hasn't asked me to babysit again. It's Sunday and I see Andy in the hallway at church. I asked him if they got a new babysitter and he told me yes, but I don't remember if I knew who it was or not. In fact I don't remember much of our conversation other than being told one vital piece of information. His mom was really upset that I ate the cake. Apparently it was for something special and during her typical routine before leaving, I'd missed the "Don't eat the cake on the stove top" memo.

Whoops... My bad!

Jun 2, 2011

Thankful Thursdays.... Thanks Melanie

Admittedly I stole this Idea from my cousin's wife Melanie. I think I'll take a break from the funny stories for a day and share 5 things I'm thankful for. It may still make you laugh... but no promises.

1) The Miami Heat blowing a 15 point lead in the final 6 and a half minutes of tonight's game. I don't claim to be a Dallas fan and actually, I'd love to punch Jason Terry in the face, but WOW does it feel good to see Lebron lose. And yes, I'm a proud "hater."

2) My job. It may not be full time, but I'm SO THANKFUL for the work I do get. I'm thankful that I get to work outside (even if it's hotter than a popcorn fart), work with my hands, and not do the same thing every day!

3) Taco Bell! In my honest opinion it is FAR AND AWAY the most budget friendly way to tickle your taste buds!

4) My family. I got some quality time with most of them over Memorial Day weekend and loved every minute of it. Including ridiculous amounts of BBQ, water gun fights, and play time with the dog and tortoises...




5) Last but not least, I am thankful for classic comedies... Doesn't matter how many times I watch this movie, I laugh out loud.. A LOT!

"Look bro... I'm Sorry..."

The following story took place during my church mission to southern Georgia. More specifically it took place just before Christmas in 2004, inside of a Dairy Queen, on the outskirts of a small town called Gray.

Me and my companion, Elder Crookston, were riding our bikes home down highway 20 around 9 pm when we decided to make a pit stop at Dairy Queen. The pit stop wasn't for food though. You see Crookston had to drop the deuce and decided he couldn't wait 5 minutes til we got home. So we locked up our bikes up, took off our nerdy helmets and went inside. Seeing as how I didn't even need to go to the bathroom perhaps I should've avoided the area completely, but I decided I'd just go in and wash my hands.

Now you'll have to do your best to visualize this but the bathroom was set up (from left to right) sink, urinal, stall. Crookston was already in the stall reeking things up by the time I walked in to wash my hands. Well, no sooner had I turned on the sink than the door to the bathroom opens, and in walks, or should I say stumbles, a very large, very drunk, and very scary looking man. I didn't think much of it other than he was twice my size, I could smell the alcohol on him, and he looked like he was ready to kill somebody. So I guess just the obvious. haha.

So the drunk guy starts to take a leak at the urinal just to the right of the sink I'm standing at, and just to the left of the stall my companion is sitting in. Just keep that in mind. When I was done washing my hands I began looking at the paper towel dispensener attempting to figure out how to ACTUALLY get paper towells to come out of it. Then I noticed a sign that said "Wave hand in front of sensor to dispense paper towels." This was the first time I'd seen one of these things. So I did what the sign told me to do and began shaking both my hands in front of what I thought was the sensor. Suddenly, a paper towel roll began to emerge from the bottom of the dispenser about a foot at a time. I'm not gonna lie, I was fascinated.

I continued to shake my hands back and forth until I had about 4 feet of paper towels to work with. Then, just as I tore off the last strip, the drunk guy standing just a couple feet to my right screams out, "Hey, what the hell's your problem man?" This was the remainder of our conversation as I started drying my hands with a rather confused look on my face...

Me: "Uhmmm nothing, just drying my hands."
Drunk Man: "No you're not!"
Me: "I don't understand, yes I am."
Drunk man: "You're F*&#@* % throwing water on me!"
Me: (Pausing for a moment to try and figure out what he's talking about) "When did I throw water on you?)
Drunk Man: (Still taking a leak just a few feet away) "Don't play stupid, m***** f*****, you just threw water all over my face!"

I paused yet again and then suddenly realized that while shaking my hands back and forth in front of the paper towel dispenser I had accidentally flicked water on his face. The conversation continued as follows...

Me: (Sort of chuckling) "Oh wow! Man, I'm sorry, I was just trying to get the paper towels to come out, I didn't even know I was getting water on you. That's my bad."
Drunk man: "It ain't funny B****! Don't laugh!"
Me: (Now getting a little bit nervous and a little bit angry at the same time) "Look Bro, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it. Just relax!"
Drunk Man: "Why you still laughing?"
Me: (Now leaning more towards the angry side) "I'm not laughing!"
Drunk man: "You think it's funny?"
Me: "Not at all!"
Drunk Man: "How'd you like it if I just turned around right now and started pissing all over your shoes?! You wouldn't be laughing so hard then would you?!"
Me: "Bro, I'm not laughing anymore, and I already apologized. It was an accident! You need to calm down!"
Drunk Man: "Ya well F*** you!"

At this point I'm thinking, man I'd love to knock this drunk punk out, leave him laying in the bathroom, and tell a Dairy Queen employee he passed out. But considering I was sporting a missionary name tag I concluded that it probably wasn't the best "career move." So instead I walked out into the hallway, stood against the wall, and waited for Elder Crookston to finish taking a dump. Then, almost immediately, I thought to myself, "Wow, Elder Crookston heard that entire conversation but couldn't see a thing because he was inside the stall." hahaha. I started laughing out loud to myself thinking of how awkward all of that must have sounded to him. Well about a minute later Crookston walked out with a confused look on his face, and a few feet behind him was the drunk guy. The drunk guy nudged Elder Crookston out of the way and walked quickly past both of us, staring me down the whole way, before exiting out the front doors.

Crookston promptly asked me, "What in the world was that all about?" I responded, "I don't know man. I accidentally flicked water on the guy and next thing I know he's cussing up a storm and he wants to fight me!" Crookston started laughing and said, "Man, I was sitting there going taking a dump thinking to myself, geez if Sorensen gets in a fight he's on his own, I'm a little pre-occupied." We both started busting up laughing as we walked outside, unlocked our bikes, and started the short ride home.

The moral of this story??? When using a motion activated paper towel dispenser, do your best to make sure the people within "water flicking" distance are sober/and or not ready to fight you!

The End!