Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head or Get Out Of The Rain You Fool

               I like to work out during my lunch hour.  It’s a great way to break up the day and serves to allow me to release the aggression I might otherwise utilize to commit a multitude of felonies and misdemeanors against my co-workers.  Now I know everybody has their cross to bear with regard to nimrod co-workers, but I work for the state of California.  Let me put in this way:  During Watergate, Deep Throat said to Bob Woodward “The truth is these aren’t very bright guys and things got out of hand.”  I yearn for the day where my co-workers are only incompetent enough to commit Watergate levels of ineptitude.
                I’m vigilant about my workout.  Much like the US Mail, neither rain nor sleet nor snow shall keep me from smashing plates and performing cardio to a point where I breathe in a manner usually reserved for phone sex operators or bad Darth Vader impersonations.  But living in Southern California tends to negate the snow and sleet options, thus my only potential foe in making the 7 minute walk from my job to the local 24 Hour Fitness is rain…well rain and the always looming potential of cleaning up messes made by co-workers who quite possibly couldn’t spell cat if you spotted them the C and the T…and today, the clouds they be a forming.
                We all tell ourselves things we know not to be true in the name of moving ahead with what it is we really want to do.  We call these white lies rationalizations.  Jeff Goldblum theorizes in The Big Chill that rationalizations are more important than sex.   When one of his friends’ scoffs at anything being more important than sex, Goldblum states matter of factly: “Ever gone a week without a rationalization?”  As I grip my gym bag and look out at the clouds that could only be described as nimbus, I rationalize to myself “I can make it through the workout and get back before the rain starts.”  I change in the locker room at my job and head out.  The clouds are dark.  The vibe is ominous.  But my determination (or stupidity siphoned from my co-workers) is carrying me through.
                I reach the gym bone dry.  Halfway home.  I get through my workout, huffing and puffing like I transformed into a wolf about to blow some houses down and walk outside.  Somebody cue Supertramp because It’s Raining Again.  HARD.  I take a moment to remove the middle finger shoved up my ass by the Gods of Rationalization and consider how to proceed.  I can’t stay because I do have to go back to work.  I can’t run because my body is crying out that it gave at the office.  At this point, a thought occurs to me:  “My clothes are already half wet from sweat anyway.  I’ll just walk.  It’s only water.”  (Yes, after just playing the role of a proctology patient, I’m rationalizing again.  Why do you ask?).
                I begin to walk.  The rain immediately drenches me, but because I have my trusty Muhammad Ali hat on, it’s not so terrible.  It’s almost peaceful.  That’s when the Gods of Rationalization peek in and incredulously say “Really?”  They announce this in the form of a long, booming roar of thunder that is followed by raising the intensity of the rain to a level that would make Noah look out and proclaim “No arking today.”  I am right in the middle of my walk back and I think to myself what movie would best capture my plight?  Andy raising his hands to the heavens in Shawshank?  Lt. Dan raising his fists in ire in Forrest Gump?  Carl the greenskeeper observing that he doesn’t think the heavy stuff’s coming down for a while yet in Caddyshack? This is where rationalization is kicked to the curb by rational as my mind firmly states “Who cares?  Get the eff out of the rain!”
                I double time it back to work and walk past a few co-workers who are stunned by my drenched attire before I return to the safety of the men’s locker room and a piping hot shower.   They can’t imagine someone would endure a liquid pelting in the name of mental and physical health, but it doesn’t matter to me.  Know why?
Because I’m the smart one at my job.

Hit me up on twitter:  @mrc_truedat

1 comment:

  1. Well, when a person is fueled by passion, the results give the individual a sort of purpose to face the daily grind. The Co-workers, the idiots on the road, ex-wives? Having a passion to do something, and stick to the routine builds character. We've all seen 250 pound Oprah, we've seen 135 pound Oprah, and then once again 250 pound Oprah. Proving the point that a 9 figure bank account does not mean a person has passion. Passion and commitment, go hand in hand. Men who are committed, tend to make good family men. Guys that are the first ones in the office, and the last ones to clock out. The kind of men who drink red wine with their dinner. Back to the "passion & committment go hand in hand". It's kind of like Ying and Yang. Its also sort of like pizza and beer. A little short on the passion with that food analysis, but then again this is being written by a man with 2 ex-wives, and some girlfriends in the past that gather in Salem twice a year to exchange notes and spells. I guess it can be surmised that the more passionate any man is about anything, the more he is able to be a better family man, a healthier man, and a much more educated man. Well, for me, its 3am, and its about time to reheat the Papa Johns leftovers, and pop the top on another Sam Adams before going to bed. Oh....See, I said Sam Adams, import, very classy and respectable. There must still be hope for me yet.