I’m very angry with myself. About a month ago I lost my MP3 player, which stinks because it’s bike-riding weather and now I can’t listen to my books-on-tape (will we ever call them books-on-mp3?). THEN on Saturday I lost my Flash drive. Stinky!

The jump drive did have my contact info on it so we’ll see if it gets returned. . . . probably not. The embarrassing part is that I had about 3000 words of a story idea on there and I don’t like people to read my stories until I’ve edited them about fifty million times.

Update #1: Found
Update #2: And Found

On the way home today I passed a novice cyclist on the road. I could tell the cyclist was new to the world of biking because he wasn’t calling out when he passed people from behind (on the walking/cycling trails in Columbia MO it is common courtesy to let a person know you are about to pass them).

So I thought I would show the novice cyclist how it was done. When I passed him I said “On your right.” Then when I passed the next walker, I called out “On your RIGHT.” I said the last word loud enough for both the walker and the novice cyclist to hear. Each time I passed someone, I called out at a successively louder volume: “On your RIGHT!“

After doing that half a dozen times, I figured I had successfully taught my mentee the appropriate cycling etiquette.

Then I realized, I had passed everyone on their left. . .

The funniest part is that I halfway tried to apologize: “Um . . I mean . . . sorry . . . on your right.” Which, of course, no one could hear.

Why do the funniest things happen to me at fast food places?

I was at Taco Bell for lunch the other day (I go there when I have to write because I love the unlimited soda) and when I got in line . . . something, or someone stank! The guy in front of me looked like a construction worker, and it has been crazy hot lately (high of 100 today), so it’s understandable that he might be a bit smelly.

I took a step back, and he noticed and politely took a step forward.

After he collected his food and left, I noticed the smell lingered a bit. Also understandable because an odor that powerful would need a bit more time to dissipate.

When I sat down . . . I noticed the funniest thing: The Smell: it was me.

I’ve been riding my bike to work lately, (in order to equalize the negative affect Taco Bell has on me), and didn’t think to throw a clean shirt into my backpack when I left the house. So I went around all smelly all day.

I visited some of my students at their high school today, and since the weather was nice, most of them were sitting outside. As I walked up to them, I had a real-time pseudo-flashback; somehow the clumsiness from my teenage years re-manifested itself at exactly the wrong time. A large important-looking stack of papers rested securely under a backpack which . . . I tripped over. I flew, the papers flew, but the students immediately went into hyper-cool mode; none of them moved, and they all played it off like they didn’t care at all about the hours of homework that just flew away. I did the dorkiest thing possible and tried to chase down as many papers as I could. When the whole event was over, they had a healthy laugh at me, which I will assume means they like me (that kind of denial is what got me through high school).

I was in a hurry last week trying to buy groceries, pay bills, etc. and I was really hungry, so I swung into McD’s for a burger . . . I shouldn’t have stopped there because my wife was making dinner, and this grocery trip was supposed to be the beginning of our more healthy diet, but I was really hungry and I had at least an hour’s worth of errands to finish.

After I ate my burger, I tried to start the car, but no luck. Busted. Now I have to call my wife at tell her about my burger detour.

I tried jumping the car; I tried cleaning off the battery terminal posts; and of course several employees were happy to help and give me tons of advice, such as: “Did you check the air in your tires?”

While I was slamming things around in my trunk looking for a wrench, I pushed the car and it rolled! That’s when I realized what was wrong. See, my car has this really bad feature where you can take the key out without putting it in park. . . . however the car won’t start unless it is in park.

So I called my team of wannabe-mechanics around me and proudly announced that I had fixed the problem. I closed the hood and the car started right up. Then, I quickly drove off before any of them could challenge me and discover what I the real problem had been . . . which was of course that I’m not always very bright.

Now that I’m a parent, I suppose I’m supposed to have a messy car with sticky door handles and rotting Cheerios under the seats.

Today I went shopping while hungry . . . I did good though, I only splurged on a tasty looking coffee milkshake thing.

When I got back to my car I dug it out and discovered it had one of those plastic seals around the lid so you would know if someone had tampered with the bottle. I appreciate the protection, but I was in no mood to mess around with a “tamper proof seal.” I twisted the cap as hard as I could assuming the seal would give way and I could enjoy my treat. No luck. The seal was made of thinly-woven Superman hair.

There were no perforations on the seal, so I don’t know how the manufacturer expected me to take it off. I gave it a couple more twists hoping that would do the trick, but I failed. Now I was hungry and irritated.

“Think, Doug, think!” And it came to me. My best friend gave me a mini Leatherman as the groomsmen gift and it was in my glove compartment! Pleased with my quick thinking, I snatched the knife and cut off the seal. That’s when I noticed the “Shake Well Before Drinking” sign on the cap. That made sense, so I jerked the bottle up and down, the cap (which was loosened from all my twisting) flew off, and coffee goop splashed across my dashboard, passengers’ seat and door, and in my lap. In the bottom of the bottle there was about a half of a sip left; just enough to confirm my suspicion that this would have been a delicious treat.

So my car smells like coffee, and there is goop everywhere, but I’m not worried, because I just remembered I can blame it on my kid.

They’re all gone! ALL of them!!! Someone in the office must be reading my blog . . .

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We just received a ton of Valentine’s candy . . . I’ll keep you posted. (see Sweet Success 1 & 2)

Is it dangerous to have someone “in charge” who doesn’t know what is going on?

Tonight I planned a little dinner for my fellow youth ministers. The plan was simple; we were to meet at Boone Tavern at 8pm for fellowship, dinner, and a touch of YM training.

Attempting to be the punctual leader, I show up 15 minutes early. Being proud of my “lead-by-example” early arrival, I strut up to the hostesses and announce, “My name is Doug Royal. I reserved a table for 8pm.”

“We don’t take reservations,” replied the hostess. Since I was already over confident (I had also just finished five glasses of soda at birthday party with some friends) I smugly assumed that I was dealing with an inexperienced hostess who obviously didn’t know everything about her restaurant. So I though if I change the wording and maybe speak a little louder, she would see that she is obviously wrong. “I reserved a room in the back for a party of 10.”

The other hostess chimed in with, “We don’t have a room in the back.” Clearly they were wrong, so I tried one more rewording.

“I called Boone Tavern on Monday, and reserved a room.”

“Um, this is Flat Branch.” . . . And the two of them had a well deserved laugh.

After I appologized, I asked for directions, and they tried to oblige me. They didn’t know exactly where Boone Tavern was, but assured me that it was on the south side of Broadway. All I needed to do was drive around and I was sure to find it.

It was now 10 minutes until 8:00, and I was feeling rather foolish. I drove around for about 5 minutes but couldn’t find Boone Tavern, so I decided to stop at another restaurant and ask for direction. Harpo’s had a parking spot out front, so I swerved in and slammed on the breaks. After playing frogger with the traffic I made it in and asked directions. Apparently I had asked the manager . . . and he didn’t seem very eager to give me directions to a competitor’s location. After a short hesitation he decided to give me the directions.

I arrived at Boone Tavern a mere 5 minutes late, and half of our Ministry Team was already there. I told them my story, they laughed and forgave me. We had a great meal, and I finished another 5 glasses of soda . . . so now it’s midnight and I can’t sleep.

The moral of this story is: If you’re going to be late, forgiveness will come easily if you give everybody a chance to laugh at the “leader.”