What the Fuck?
I made an appointment at a new dentist. It was a very nice place; it was very expensive. The people were awesome; the dentist was calm, reassuring, and talented. Because it was my first appointment with them, the review and inspection of my mouth was very comprehensive. After the exam was over, I got a nice little piece of paper detailing all the work that I needed to have done, and all of the money that it was gonna cost. Dental insurance barely put a dent in the overall cost. I left there with a lot of upcoming dental appointments, a lot of thoughts on how I was going to pay for all of this, and I nice little parting gift.
It was Christmas, 2023. At this stage of my life, Santa doesn’t really show up with all that much for me. That’s fine. I’m not complaining. But the gifts that he does bring are not necessarily “Black Friday door busters” either. Did I get what I wanted? No. Did I get what I needed? Not really. Am I going to keep what I got? Yep.
When summertime comes around, my employer likes to have an “employee appreciation” event. We get food and drinks; we get an hour or so to hang around outside and chit chat. And every time we have these things at work - which is every year since I’ve been there - we get a nice little “something” to take home. Usually, it’s the same something as the year before.
My dog needed some socialization. I looked all over, but adequate doggy daycare facilities were few and far between. I finally found one and it was great; lots of dogs, good staff, and prices for daily daycare were reasonable. My dog had to have an assessment however; the daycare facility had to ensure that she wouldn’t be a problem for other dogs or staff. Luckily, my dog passed her assessment with flying colors. My dog got a treat, and I got - what the doggy daycare staff referred to as - “new member of the pack swag.”
A few months ago a small box arrived via the mailman. I had recently signed up for an additional life insurance provider and they welcomed me with a nice little gift. I opened the box and indeed it was a nice little gift. And I also recycled the box that it came in! I taped the box top back together, cut a hole in the side of the box, then put a tiny little cat treat inside - watching my cat try and get the treat out was a hoot! She stuck her little paw in and out, hopped around and over the box, and after sometime finally got her little snack. I’m so very glad that my cat had some fun that day.
Recently, two very high-tech car washes were constructed in my hometown. Both held grand opening events. But I only went to one of the grand opening events - the car wash that was closest to my home - and it was a very popular event at this particular car wash. A big sign out in front of it read “free gift for the first 50 customers!” Now, I wasn’t trying to get a gift; I just wanted my car washed. And I wanted to support the opening of a new business in town. I didn’t get there early with the intention of being one of those first 50 customers, but turns out I was. And I was number 50. After driving out of the car wash, I was stopped by an attendant and she handed me my gift. It was nice, but I just put it on the passanger seat next to me and continued with my day. As I drove off, I peeked in my rear view mirror and noticed the person behind me stopped at the same attendant that just gave me the gift. Clearly this customer was very unhappy about being the 51st customer, thus not eligible for the gift. Oh well.
Funny thing, my wife’s company has annual celebrations for their employees too. And another funny thing is that they get very similar nice little “something’s,” at their celebrations just like I do at my company celebrations!
My kid loves soccer. And while she's only just finishing up her first season, I can tell she’s going to play right up through high school. The other day at practice - the last practice before her last game of the season - the coach did something very special for the team; he wanted the team to remember their first season of soccer. So he got each of them a little keepsake that they can carry with them throughout their soccer careers. Or if they don’t ever play soccer again, then they can use that keepsake throughout their lives. And wouldn’t you know it, the coach had one too many keepsakes and my kid’s little sister just happened to be a bit jealous. Both kids came home with keepsakes from my one kid’s very first season of soccer.
I support charity from time-to-time. I prefer small, local charities. But sometimes bigger charities come around my sleepy little town - like when the county fair roles around. And just this past week I was strolling around my local fair and saw a national charity that had a nice little booth set up. The charity workers got my attention and I walked on over. After a few minutes, they convinced me to donate a bit of money. I was happy and proud to do so. After I forked over some cash, one of the workers handed me a little bag with something in it and said “just something that we like to provide to all of our generous supporters.”
Ever the bargain shopper, my mom was out doing some errands and she “just had to stop” at the “Springtime Super Sale” being held at our local discount store. On her way home, she stopped at our house - without any notice. A knock on the front door and there’s my mom with a box of some unsolicited “bargain basement” sale items. “They were three for three dollars, so I couldn’t pass them up. I bought 30 of them and just wanted to give you a few. I know you could use them with all the ‘running around’ you and the family do!” “Thanks mom, I’ll just put them on the kitchen table for now - I gotta take a mean shit.” Mom left, I took a shit, and the box of the other shit is still on the kitchen table.
I have a pick-up truck. I do not have a cover on the bed of my pick-up truck. As I was driving down some backroads the other day, something was knocking around in the bed of my pick-up truck. I stopped and took a look and wouldn’t you know it, there was something back there. And the thing that was back there had stenciled on it “Welcome aboard! You’ll love working here!” Well, seems like someone didn’t “love working there” all that much since they tossed their garbage in the back of my pick-up truck.
You know why they call them fucking “tumblers?”
Because by the time you’re fucking forty years old, you’ve acquired so many of these stupid fucking things, that they come tumbling out of wherever you fucking find space to store these fucking things.
Usually, they land on your fucking toes - the stainless steel ones making such concussive noise as it bounces off of your big toe and onto the floor that your scream of pain is stifled; the family only hearing your intermittently-audible curse words as your brain tries to compute why you have more fucking liquid holders than the number of hands that are aboard the average flight to “anywhere but fucking here.”
But when it’s all said and done, you’re just one of the millions of fucktards in western society that slowly picks up fifty-three random tumblers from the kitchen floor, and jams them back in the cabinet from which they came.
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