Smartest man in the world

I was talking to my older brother today and I told a couple of stories which don’t make me look so bright. I’ve already written about some of the most embarrassing things that happened to me in my youth, but today I think will cover some of the knucklehead things I have done.

Regrettably, there are too many to put down in one post, so I won’t try to be comprehensive. I won’t include the ones that I already wrote about in my post on embarrassing moments in my early life (10/24/08) or the post on my painful if humorous first trip to Europe (11/18/10). It's possible there are stories I repeat because I just forget I told them another time, but I don't think so. I’ll try and do these roughly chronologically:

I was a little kid. I was walking home from school (obviously, this was a long time ago, as who walks home from school anymore) when someone dared me to eat fertilizer. I knew it couldn’t be good for you, but then again, they did put it on the grass and it didn’t hurt that, and, it was a dare – so, yup. Did that ever burn going down. Somehow, I didn’t die. And, yes, I do now know what it was made from. Don’t remind me.

Stupid.

I’m in the fourth or fifth grade. We are working away with some of the chemicals. In this case, it was acid. I have a bad habit of putting pens and pencils in my mouth. So, two kids wait until I leave for a minute or so, and they dip my pencil eraser in acid. I come back, sit down, and plop my pencil into my mouth. Immediately, I know we got a problem. I race to the sink and put my head upside down and drink a lot of water. Now, how would I know there was acid on the eraser, right? That’s really not my mistake. But . . . I come back when I’m done drinking (and, remember, this was a long time ago – I wasn’t mad at them and they didn’t get in trouble) and I sit down. And, I plop that pencil right back in my mouth. “AAAAhhhhh.” Even I thought it was funny.

But, stupid.

I was a slightly older little kid. I got a chemistry set as a present. Back in the good old days, they would give little kids chemistry sets will very dangerous materials in them. Some of the items in it were little strips of magnesium. I don’t know if you are familiar with magnesium, but – (I don’t like to swear in my blog, but there is no other way to explain this accurately, so I will make a rare exception) – if you light it, it burns like a motherf*cker. So, naturally, that’s precisely what I did. I lit it. And, it started burning like a motherf*cker. We had a very long white kitchen table at the time. Until my father sold the house some decades later, that kitchen table had a deep brown burn in it from my chemistry set.

Stupid.

Maybe I was a kid, maybe a teenager when this happened. I was bouncing a ball against my house and catching the rebound. That is, until I threw it through my bedroom window. Same week, I’m playing in the street and throw a rock up into the air. I get a bad feeling and say, “Uh oh.” Crash, right through my mother’s car windshield. Same week, another window. I really don’t remember how I did that one, but 3 in a week I remember.

Stupid.

I was a teenager. I had a Sting-Ray bike. It’s hard to describe it to people who never saw one, but it was very popular in the 60s and 70s. It was small with very wide spread handle bars (“ape hanger”), almost like if you could take a gazelle’s horns and spread them out, and a long seat (“banana”), probably 3 times longer than most bikes. Some of them had a very tall backrest behind the seat (“sissy bar”), but mine didn’t. I was riding home from the stores about ¾ of a mile from my house and I was reading a comic book. Unfortunately, a parked car must have leaped into my path because I smashed into it and I ended up writhing in agony of the trunk. I jumped off and started hopping around in pain, sure I had broken my leg. After a while I realized, I couldn’t be using my leg if I had broken it.

Stupid.

I was a teenager playing football in the street in front of my house (when I was a kid you played in the street. It must have happened but I never heard of a kid doing so who got run over). Anyway, I ran out for a pass and was in a classic wide receiver pose looking over my shoulder as I simultaneously caught the ball and ran into the back of my car. Boii-iinnnngg. Do you notice a pattern here? In all seriousness, I was unable to run looking over my shoulder for a few decades (of course, once in my 20s, there were fewer and fewer needs to do so). It hurt a lot, but I really don’t remember where. I think my sternum or chest. I know it hurt though.

Stupid

I was a teenager in the 15th or 16th summer of my life. I was walking to my friend’s house – anyone who reads this blog knows him as Bear. He lived a half mile to mile away from me, I guess. Anyway, when I got to his house, his mother looked at me and said, “Where’s your shirt?” I looked down and said, “I don’t know.” They both found that very funny for some reason. I walked back to my house and found it on the ground. I really can’t explain it, but . . .

Stupid.

When I was in my late teens, my friends and I would go to the beach. Sometimes the surf at Jones Beach could be quite rough. We did the usual body surfing, and then one day we decided, instead of going with the waves, why not let the waves smack flat into our faces. So, we did that for many hours. When a wave broke on you, you did not just glide into the shore. You got smashed, ripped and tumbled about like a strand of spaghetti in a washing machine. Looking back, it is hard to believe we not only did it, but really enjoyed it.

Morons (at least I have company for that one).

When I was in my late teens my friends and I took a bike ride to Teddy Roosevelt’s house in Oyster Bay, Long Island. There are very big hills, so steep you can ride as fast as the cars. We were riding down one hill and I was flying at probably 35 miles an hour. I had a long bicycle lock, a long metal cord with hard metal ends wrapped around the post under my seat. Apparently, I didn’t have it wrapped tight enough. The lock part, pulled by gravity, got jammed in my rear brakes. My bike stopped on a dime and I, traveling faster than I could possibly react, went rear tire over the front. I was sent tumbling down this hill, on concrete, wearing shorts and t-shirt. When I got up, amazed to be alive, I estimated I traveled about 100 feet. More amazing, I did not have a scratch on me and my bike was fine too. Still . . .

stupid.

I was just 17 and drove up to my first girlfriend’s house in my car. My friend Cliff was in the passenger seat. She was in her driveway doing something with her father, who I had never met. I think I was nervous, but I really don’t remember. I hadn’t been driving long either. Anyway, I got out of the car and started to walk up to them. It probably would have helped if I had put the car in park though. It started to drive away. Probably lucky that my friend was in the car, and he stretched out his leg (fortunately long) and stepped on the brake. Can you imagine what her father must have thought?

Stupid

I was around 18 years old and was out for dinner at Red Lobster with my fiancée (same girl – that’s now a very old story) and two friends. I think I know who the friends were, but I haven’t seen them in over 30 years and am not sure. Anyway, we were having a salad before the entrée. There was a cherry tomato in my salad. I’m not really a tomato guy, but I like cherry tomatoes. I estimate that it was maybe a little less than an inch in diameter. An evil demon possessed me and I decided to see if I could swallow it whole. That’s still a good question. Now, keep in mind, that I learned in my 49th year from an otolaryngologist, that I had an absurdly small opening in my throat to breath and eat through until I had surgery that year. I can’t tell you how much that affected my life, looking back, but, for now, let’s just say it doesn’t help you swallow cherry tomatoes. So, while my fiancée and our friends chatted away, I very calmly sat there trying to breathe through my nose (also, virtually an impossibility for me before surgery) and to not die. I started drinking some water and all of a sudden I was at a crisis point, unable to breathe in any way. And then it slid down. I lived, but . . .

stupid.

I was with my fiancée in the town pool. There were a million people around. She told me that her brother had once done ten somersaults Naturally, I needed to do eleven. So, I did. And, when I was done, I found I was so dizzy that I couldn’t find the top. Not surprisingly, I was almost out of oxygen. I am actually usually pretty good in a crisis. I decided that if I just relaxed, I would float to the top. So, I did. And, sure enough, my head hit the top. I snarled at my fiancée, who was standing next to me, “What were you waiting for? I almost drowned.” She said she saw me thrashing around but assumed I was trying to do one more. Actually, that made sense. I was mad anyway. Still, I have to admit . . .

pretty stupid.

I was married now, 19 years old. My wife and I moved into a railroad flat. It had a stove. The stove was gas. See where this is going yet? Neither of us knew how to turn it on. So, being educated people, we recognized that if we twisted this knob on top, gas would come out the little hole in the front of the stove. But, now what? We knew you had to light it, but when? I said, “I think we have to let the gas build up a bit.” Doesn’t that sound like something Laurel would say to Hardy? So, I let it build up a while and then I lit the match – and blew myself backwards across the room maybe 6-8 feet until I was stopped by the wall. But, I know you think that’s the funny part, but it’s not. I got up, of course uninjured, if a little chastened, and said, “It probably hasn’t been lit in a while. Let’s try again. So, we did. Same result, although this time we decided we should call her mother, who very wisely said, “You two really shouldn’t be allowed to live alone.” True, and she could have added . . .

stupid.

My wife was working one day and I was home. She called up and said, “Can you put some Beef-a-Roni on for me?” I said, “You know I don’t know how to cook. You have to tell me exactly what to do.” So, she did. And, when she came home I was proudly standing in front of the stove looking at a can of Beef-a-Roni boiling in a pot of water. She said, “What are you doing?” I said, “You told me to put a can of Beef-a-Roni in a pot and boil it. So, that’s what I’m doing.” You see, apparently, what I was supposed to do, was open the can and pour the food into the pot. How was I supposed to know that? I know, I know.

Stupid.

The marriage is over and I am helping my soon to be ex-wife move into a house with a friend of ours (I thought that was pretty nice of me, but years later she told me she hated me then – no particular reason, but she did). We all help clean the house. I was upstairs cleaning a window. I did a really, really good job. Just as I finished, her new roommate’s sister came up the front walk. She was carrying McDonald’s for everyone. I get a little excited by McDonald’s food. Maybe a little too excited. I leaned out the window to make some comment. Unfortunately, I forgot to open the window first. It was so clean, I just didn’t see it. On the other hand, I had finished, so . . .

stupid?

I’m in my young 20s. It is around Christmas. I am at Bear’s house when he opens a present from our friend Cliff. It is a pair of underwear. He looks at his mother and says, “How come there’s no opening in the front?” I look at them both and say, “Opening? Why would there be an opening?” They laughed for a long time. You see, I always thought that thingee in the front of underwear was ornamental. Bear and Mother Bear found it very funny though. I called my older brother and told him the story. He said not to feel bad. He only learned in his late 20s too. Maybe something to do with our child raising. But, that might be an excuse. Perhaps it is better just to say . . .

stupid.

I was at my first job as a lawyer. I left for work at about 8:30, got breakfast and drove to work. I walked in smiling. My boss looked at me and said, “Do you have something you want to tell us?” I looked at him, and the staff, and said, “I guess I’m a little surprised you are all here already. Usually I’m the first one.” It was 11 0’clock. I was baffled. All I could think was alien abduction, but it was the middle of suburbia in broad daylight and I don’t even believe in flying saucers. I was never able to explain that. I went home and checked my clocks. They had the right time. The only possible explanation was . . .

you know, I really can't even say what any explanation is for that one.

Same job. I go to work one day, and, unlike the other day, am on time. I am in my office speaking to the secretary who is in the room just outside it. My boss comes in and joins the conversation. He’s looking at me kind of funny. Finally, he literally takes me by the hand and calling the secretary to follow, brings me into the main room where the secretaries work. He said, “Look at this,” and lifted my pants legs. No socks. I say, “Wait a minute, I thought my pants felt funny,” and reached into my pocket from which I pulled a rolled up pair of socks. Many years later when my boss was a judge I went to visit him. He told his secretary the story. He never forgot either. I really can’t explain how that happened either. I guess I just forgot to put them on, but why did I put them in my pocket? Oh, I know.

Stupid.

I am in my 30s. I am home and hungry. I want spaghetti. I have no sauce though. I see a jar of hot sauce I had bought in Arizona a year or so ago. I forget the brand, but if I said "Volcano sauce," you get the picture. I figured, if I take the hot sauce, and I mix it with ranch dressing, not only would the texture be right, but it would be the right color, and, of course, taste just like spaghetti sauce. Uhh huh. So, I mixed it together and sat down to eat. One bite told me it was just awful. So, disappointed, I threw it in the garbage. At that moment, my daughter called and asked me for a ride. I said, "sure," and went downstairs to the car. I put the key in the ignition and turned it on. At this point, you must picture a cartoon of me sitting in the car and white steam pouring out of my ears and my eyes bulging out with sirens going off as the ranch dressing coating war off the Volcano Sauce. I ran upstairs fast as I could and tried to drown myself in the kitchen sink.

Stupid.

I am in my mid to late 40s and am about to put on the market a house I had owned for about 9 years. I had some work done on it and was slowly trying to clean some of the neglected areas. Over the course of several days, I tried to scrape off and wash my extremely filthy stove. At some point, I forget why – it may have been part of the cleaning process – I put the stove on. Some of the – I’m going to call it sludge – on the bottom, caught fire. I probably should have just shut the door. Instead, I got some water and threw it on the fire. Doesn’t that make sense? Fire . . . water . . . no problem. It went according to plan for a tenth of a second, until the water and the sludge hit the back wall of the oven, bounced off, and the fire came roaring up out of the stove and hit my extremely flammable drop ceiling. I quickly said to my insignificant other, “Call 911.” I guess she was going to call from outside because less than a second later I heard a door slam as she ran out of the house. However, because I have an astonishing number of lives, the fire immediately went out, without setting the ceiling on fire. Yet, I think you might possibly call that . . .

stupid.

I could probably do this all night, but, I think that’s enough for now. Is it really stupid or just absent-minded, unobservant and with a slightly different outlook on life. Okay, you are thinking stupid. Maybe. Hope you enjoyed. If you want to add your own (I can’t be the only one), feel free.