Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

I’m no politician, but I’ve been known to tell a whopper or two in my life. Especially as a kid. But many times it wasn’t exactly lying that I did, per say, but more like hiding the truth about something that had happened. I can recall one particular Saturday morning when I woke up rather late to an empty house (my family was all gone, which, with a family of eight was very rare) and found a note from my mother stating that I was to shovel my assigned portion of the driveway before I could go out to play with my friends (I lived in Alaska, and in Alaska those are the sort of chores you get). Of course I was outraged at my parents’ demands, as any 13 year old boy would be. How could they expect me to shovel the driveway…on a Saturday of all days? I know what most of you are probably thinking. “Oh the horror. That’s child abuse.” Exactly my sentiments.

I reluctantly and angrily began to shovel the driveway, muttering more than a few choice words under my breath. After almost a whole hour of shoveling (or so it seemed…it was probably more like 20 minutes but who is keeping track of such minor details) I had but a small area of snow left just under our old yellow Subaru, which was parked in front of our garage, so I ran up to my dad’s dresser to retrieve the keys so I could move the car. The yellow Subaru had a manual transmission (for those of you who are too young to have heard of such a thing, it means it had a stick shift and a clutch, which were very tricky to operate, especially for a 13 year-old kid). Still quite peeved at my parents for ruining my perfectly wonderful Saturday morning, I placed the key into the ignition and turned the key while flooring the gas, without first engaging the clutch. You see, cars back then worked differently than they do now. They didn’t have all the latest fancy safety measures and automatic crap that keep folks today from getting whiplash every time they turn the key. It took real skill to drive a car…skill that I certainly didn’t have. So as I stepped on the gas you can probably guess what happened. The car totally lunged forward into the closed garage door – a door that had been freshly painted just the summer before!

You know how people talk about near death experiences, the ones where everything moves in slow motion while their lives flash before their eyes? That’s exactly what happened to me. I actually saw my life flashing before me on the panels of the falling garage door. You see, the laws of physics tell us that a moving object (such as a car), when coming into contact with a stationary object (such as a garage door) will move that stationary object (garage door) if the mass of the moving object (car) is bigger and has enough force behind it (floored accelerator pedal) than the stationary object (garage door). Please don’t ask me exactly what law of physics this is, because at that point I neither knew nor cared to know. I just knew it existed because I was witnessing, first hand, the law in action.
As I sat in the stalled car, which was now conveniently parked halfway into my parents’ garage, (notice how I identified ownership of the garage? This will become important for obvious reasons later) a simple thought crossed my mind. That thought was of course, “I’m dead,” since it was my parents’ garage (see now why I needed to point out the ownership?). Not knowing where the rest of my family had gone or when any of them would be back, I scrambled faster than any 13 year-old boy ever has to fix the garage door. It didn’t matter that the railing and lag bolts had been ripped from the walls or that the individually crafted panels of the garage door laid crumpled like an accordion on the garage floor. I had one task and one task only, and it was to save my own life by repairing the damage before any witnesses (brothers or sisters) could see what had happened and report back to my parents.

I really don’t know how I did it, but to this day I can faintly remember hearing a choir of angels singing and a surge of strength that could only have been sent from above. I can attest that it wasn’t my time to die that day. Somehow with powers beyond my own I was able to lift the garage door back up and reset the lag bolts into the wall. And after patching the half inch gap that now stood between the garage door and wall with one inch weather stripping - not to mention ignoring a rather large dent in the center of the door where the bumper of the car first initiated the contact - the garage door was as good as new. In fact nobody even realized anything had ever happened to it. It wasn’t until 20 years later that I actually had the courage to tell my parents what had happened that fateful Saturday morning. I never technically lied about the garage door, but I certainly didn’t ever tell anyone the truth. In fact, when I finally did muster up the courage to tell my parents about what happened to the garage, it was only because I figured my statute of limitations had expired. How’s that for honesty?

Express Lane: 20 Items or Less

Let me paint a scenario for you. You are late for a party or function but need to get a few last minute items from the store. You race in and grab the needed items in a timely manner only to get into the express line - you know the one that's for 20 items or less - and of course, like always, there are a couple of people in front of you who are clearly over the express line limit. What do you do? What can you do? Are you supposed to just to grin and bear it even though these people are blatantly breaking the express line rules? I don't get it. I mean, the rule is posted right on the light-up sign, "20 items or less." Can these people not read? Can't they count? And why does it always seem to happen when I'm in a rush? I'm tired of having to stand in line and angrily count each of the items of the people in front of me. I really shouldn't have to.

The biggest problem I have with this is people in our society are not being held accountable. So a store makes an express line in order to make it quicker for people to get in and out who are just buying a few items. The store clearly marks the lane with signs, stating it is an express lane and the number of items allowed. And people completely ignore the sign with absolutely no reprimand whatsoever for doing so. Where is the accountability? What are we teaching our children - that rules are made to be broken? I've seen fist fights started over less.

The thing that really irritates me is that most of the people doing it know full well what they are doing and I know it's not their first time doing it. In the criminal world we would call them repeat offenders. The other day there was an old woman in front of me with about 35 items. 35. That is 15 more than the posted limit. If she were going 15 over the speed limit she'd be pulled over and given a breathalyzer and a ticket for reckless driving. I don't care if you're old. I'll help you cross the street, but I'm not going to put up with you going over the express line limit. I've had enough of this blatant disrespect for the rules. This isn't a black, white, old, or young issue...rules are rules and we're all expected to obey them.

But I think I've come up with a way we can solve this problem easily enough. It wouldn't take much and after a few times of doing it I can almost guarantee we wouldn't have any more offenders. So what is this bright idea? Simple. We arrest them for breaking the rules. That's right, haul them off to the city jail. Let them spend 24 hours in the slammer and think about what they've done for a bit. I'll bet that would solve the problem.

It could be an easy sting operation. The cops could be undercover and just look like normal shoppers milling about the express lane. Then when someone over the limit on items attempts to go through the express lane. Whamo! You handcuff them and read them their rights.

Yes. Yes, I can see this plan working effectively. I can see it now: an old woman in the line in front of me. I'm getting very angry, almost to the point of saying something, when out of nowhere the undercovers spring into action and handcuff the woman, who puts on her best "whatever did I do?" surprised look. And I scoot forward in the line one shopper closer than before. And as the cop hauls her off to jail I can hear him saying, "Ma'm, you can just leave those items there. Store personnel will take care of that. You won't need this stuff where you're headed anyway."