Every once in a while I do something that some may consider smart. I cannot point out too many examples..but it happens. I may have mentioned before (in an entirely humble way) that I have been called a fairly smart guy. Of course, that is the only way that people who know me through this blog would know that I wasn't drooling on the keyboard as I wrote. My grandfather used to say that I was a "pretty smart feller." Come to think of it, he just as often called me a "pretty fart smeller" so that may not be the best indicator.
Actually, deep in the dark recesses of a couple of damp and moldy archive somewhere lay a few test results that say my intelligence quotient is in the genius range. There are also a couple of gray haired men, scores of people I know, and practically all of my high school teachers all standing around scratching their heads wondering how they should re-calibrate the machine.
After I heard the first results (fans of The Big Bang Theory on TV can picture Sheldon saying, "I'm not crazy. My mom had me tested.") I looked into joining the Mensa club. Apparently it's a club that you can get into if you, like me, were able to pull the wool over some tester's eyes. I looked into it. It sounded boring. And gave up. A bunch of people standing around solving word problems. No thanks. Although I do like an occasional logic puzzle...but I digress.
My favorite story that I came across while looking into this particular club was told by a worker on a marina. It seems a group had rented a large party sailboat to go out on the bay for the day. When they came in to port they settled the bill, emptied their belongings, and left. The worker then started cleaning out the boat to get it ready for the next group in the morning. When he got to the rigging for one of the signal flags atop a mast he saw that it was jammed. He couldn't secure everything that he needed to because it looked like a flag was stuck in the mechanism far above the boat. The only way to handle it was to climb up the mast and hold on with one hand while untangling with the other. He did that, and after about ten minutes of pulling and untangling, hanging on for dear life, he realized that the group had put their flag on upside down and that had been the cause of all the trouble. After he freed it and dropped back down to the deck (I apologize to all sailors out there who are cringing at my non-nautical expertise) he unfolded the flag to see that it said, "MENSA!"
As usual...I told you all of that so I could tell you this story. I was reminded of my brush with intelligence last week when I was given the task of picking up a pizza for when Sylvia and the kids got home from a church function. I wanted to time it just right so I would have hot, delicious pizza ready for them right when they came in. I went to the restaurant with what I thought was plenty of time. I should have known there was something different when I couldn't find a parking space. There are three businesses in their parking lots and two of them were closed...all of the cars, trucks, and motorcycles(!) were there for pizza. OK, so technically the people who maneuvered the vehicles to the parking lots were there for pizza...but you get the idea. I walked into Round Table and was met by a wall of leather, patches, beards, and chains connected to wallets. Apparently every other Thursday is the night that Harley Davidson riders from near and far converge to have a meeting. And there I was in the middle of this sea of manliness trying to act as tough as I could...while wearing my faded pink polo shirt. (I said I was smart, not wise) The line to get pizza was all the way out the door and I joined the slow parade toward the cashier along with dozens of people who were "Charter Members", "Oakland Chapters", and "Bay Area Prouds."
And that is gets me to what I really wanted to tell you today. One time, about thirty years ago, my friends and I were in a similar situation at a different Round Table pizza parlor. It was absolutely mobbed and we considered it a bit rude since it was our hangout and we hadn't given permission for anyone else to come. The line to order the pizza was about fifteen minutes long and on top of that, the people at the counter were answering the phone orders and making the people who were in line and having to smell the delicious pizza while waiting for food. As I stood to get into line (I was a few months older than the rest of the youth group so I was the designated orderer) I walked past all the people in line. Something in me just said, "Let's give it a try." I walked past about a dozen people, picked up the pay phone by the door, deposited my dime, and ordered my pizza ahead of all the other people. Not the nicest thing to do to all the people in line...but I was young and self-absorbed. I just remember that at the time I was fairly proud of myself for being so clever. If you are kind, nobody will mention the fact that I had to reach back a few decades to find a good example.
Looking back, I see that I wasn't so smart as I was mean to the people standing in line. But I felt good about it at the time. So much for joining Mensa. I'm sure they have an ethics clause or something...but maybe the guy in charge of that is still waiting in line for pizza.
Actually, deep in the dark recesses of a couple of damp and moldy archive somewhere lay a few test results that say my intelligence quotient is in the genius range. There are also a couple of gray haired men, scores of people I know, and practically all of my high school teachers all standing around scratching their heads wondering how they should re-calibrate the machine.
After I heard the first results (fans of The Big Bang Theory on TV can picture Sheldon saying, "I'm not crazy. My mom had me tested.") I looked into joining the Mensa club. Apparently it's a club that you can get into if you, like me, were able to pull the wool over some tester's eyes. I looked into it. It sounded boring. And gave up. A bunch of people standing around solving word problems. No thanks. Although I do like an occasional logic puzzle...but I digress.
My favorite story that I came across while looking into this particular club was told by a worker on a marina. It seems a group had rented a large party sailboat to go out on the bay for the day. When they came in to port they settled the bill, emptied their belongings, and left. The worker then started cleaning out the boat to get it ready for the next group in the morning. When he got to the rigging for one of the signal flags atop a mast he saw that it was jammed. He couldn't secure everything that he needed to because it looked like a flag was stuck in the mechanism far above the boat. The only way to handle it was to climb up the mast and hold on with one hand while untangling with the other. He did that, and after about ten minutes of pulling and untangling, hanging on for dear life, he realized that the group had put their flag on upside down and that had been the cause of all the trouble. After he freed it and dropped back down to the deck (I apologize to all sailors out there who are cringing at my non-nautical expertise) he unfolded the flag to see that it said, "MENSA!"
As usual...I told you all of that so I could tell you this story. I was reminded of my brush with intelligence last week when I was given the task of picking up a pizza for when Sylvia and the kids got home from a church function. I wanted to time it just right so I would have hot, delicious pizza ready for them right when they came in. I went to the restaurant with what I thought was plenty of time. I should have known there was something different when I couldn't find a parking space. There are three businesses in their parking lots and two of them were closed...all of the cars, trucks, and motorcycles(!) were there for pizza. OK, so technically the people who maneuvered the vehicles to the parking lots were there for pizza...but you get the idea. I walked into Round Table and was met by a wall of leather, patches, beards, and chains connected to wallets. Apparently every other Thursday is the night that Harley Davidson riders from near and far converge to have a meeting. And there I was in the middle of this sea of manliness trying to act as tough as I could...while wearing my faded pink polo shirt. (I said I was smart, not wise) The line to get pizza was all the way out the door and I joined the slow parade toward the cashier along with dozens of people who were "Charter Members", "Oakland Chapters", and "Bay Area Prouds."
And that is gets me to what I really wanted to tell you today. One time, about thirty years ago, my friends and I were in a similar situation at a different Round Table pizza parlor. It was absolutely mobbed and we considered it a bit rude since it was our hangout and we hadn't given permission for anyone else to come. The line to order the pizza was about fifteen minutes long and on top of that, the people at the counter were answering the phone orders and making the people who were in line and having to smell the delicious pizza while waiting for food. As I stood to get into line (I was a few months older than the rest of the youth group so I was the designated orderer) I walked past all the people in line. Something in me just said, "Let's give it a try." I walked past about a dozen people, picked up the pay phone by the door, deposited my dime, and ordered my pizza ahead of all the other people. Not the nicest thing to do to all the people in line...but I was young and self-absorbed. I just remember that at the time I was fairly proud of myself for being so clever. If you are kind, nobody will mention the fact that I had to reach back a few decades to find a good example.
Looking back, I see that I wasn't so smart as I was mean to the people standing in line. But I felt good about it at the time. So much for joining Mensa. I'm sure they have an ethics clause or something...but maybe the guy in charge of that is still waiting in line for pizza.
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