Sometimes You Just Want To Help… NSFW


I’m sitting at Tim Horton’s enjoying an XL double-double thanks to Roll up the Rim to win, and the, ahem, gentleman beside me has literally blown a gasket.

He’s said;

“Fuck.”swear

“FUCK”

“For Fuck sakes”

“Jesus Fucking Christ”

SIGH

Bigger Sigh

“Jesus Christ”

“Fuck”

“Fuck”

Toss in a couple more “Fucks”, no “shits” but lots of “fucks”…

and SO much more colourful language, quietly, mostly under his breath, but considering that I’m sitting next to him, it’s all I can hear.

All the while he’s on his cell phone, pounding away on the keys (they click).

I just want to ask him what’s wrong…

It’s not that I think I can help him, that is unless his question is about parenting or taxes, but I just feel like he needs a friend right now to vent to.

If I were a bartender, he’s be talking up a storm, but he’s just pounding away on his device, either frustrated or upset at something he has either read, saw, or because he doesn’t know how to stop his phone from clicking.

What would you do?

 

Note: I actually thought he was cussing up a storm because he was trying to set his ringtone.  I kept hearing all these beeps, whirls and whistles.  One would think that R2D2 was beside me, but then the sounds stopped and the cursing didn’t.

Note2: He grumbled his way to the bathroom, then left.  He’s known here.  From this day forth I shall refer to him (silently) as the inept-smartphone-twit, or FIST, for short.

Fucking Inept Smartphone Twit, to more accurate.

Dinks, Doinks, Clowns and Jerks… How our conversation on the ride home from school progressed…


If only I could record everything that my children say which is either clever, hilarious or unexpected… They’re awesome and I love having conversations with them, or just listening to them, as they grow up.

The ride home from school was no exception.  It began with my play-by-play recap of my ball-hockey game last night, actually both my ball hockey games – back-to-back, but thinking about it now, I’m not sure they asked so much as I wanted to tell them.  LOL.  During the first game, I was one of three defensemen then moved to become one of 5 forwards.  There was a lot of running and there is nothing I like more than getting my money’s worth and running my ass of at these games!

What I wanted to tell my kids was about one play where an opposition player ran a pick play on me, and then my reaction.  My hope is always that by taking the higher road, I can teach my children how to react in situations like these and keep them from doing or saying something which can cause them pain or suffering.

So on this play, and I’m a big guy, the opposing player caught me with a knee in my thigh as I was chasing his teammate around the net trying to scoop the ball off of his stick.  That hit sent me flying and I was upset there was no penalty called because our team needed to score and the power play would have helped, not because he took a cheap shot which hurt like heck.

I thought I could still draw the penalty, so I called the guy exactly what I thought he was… a clown.

He flipped out.  He said to me, “What? You called me a clown?”

“Yes” I replied. “You’re a Clown! Who else knees someone in the thigh while they are chasing someone… a clown.  It suits your playing style and ability since they’re both a joke.”

He thought about it, and laughed.

I took two or three steps away from him – walking towards the bench – when I turned, looked back at him and said “I HATE clowns.”

He flipped out.

The referee stepped in to keep him from getting to me, and he was yelling all kinds of stuff but all I heard was, “blah, blah, blah.”  He eventually got a penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct.  I was sore, but all smiles on the bench.

The rest of the game he kept his distance from me.

So I told this story to my kids – explaining how I didn’t fight, or try to hurt him, because that is not nice, and I didn’t yell or swear at him, because we don’t do that.  I expected a meaningful dialogue about respect, sportsmanship, and playing hard but not going over the edge, or about keeping emotions in check… But instead I got this question right away;

“Daddy, if you don’t like clowns did you like former WWF (now WWE) wrestler Doink the Clown?”

“No”, I said. “Only when he turned bad and became evil Doink.”

Then this came out of my mouth…

“I mean clowns might as well be called what they really are… Jerks. I mean who else hides their face under white make-up, a wig and a fake nose so that they can spray water in your face or make you shake their hands where they have the hand buzzer… A jerk does that.”

My other son then asked; “What about Dink? Doink’s son?”

I replied, “I think naming a wrestler “dink” is always a bad idea since when I was growing up a “dink” was either the name kids called their penis or a name for a small metal car (dinky cars).”

“So Dink was a penis?” my brilliant child asks?

“No”, I said. “It’d be like saying Penis’ Penis… Oh, forget it.”

Then I changed the topic.

🙂