1002 ways to goof up (continued)

467. Park too far away from the gas pump to reach your gas tank with the nozzle.

Little did she think that her drink ...

Ethan reported that a friend's father waited until nearly the last minute on his taxes. He spent all of this past Sunday doing the work. Then on Monday morning, when the documents were sitting neatly on the kitchen table ...

... one of his kids spilled chocolate milk all over them.

So he had to copy them out all over again.

And I say (but not to the child): Ya Goof!

Liddle me this

Kids need chores.

So you give them chores.

Like: "Put away the dishes."

And this is what you get:

Big lids on small pots. Note the big glass lid on the medium pot. Precarious.

And see the white rack where lids are actually supposed to go? Note the empty spaces.

Sigh ...

Guys, Ya Goofs!

Tips for an Emergency Room Physician

(The following is taken from a document that I just wrote and sealed into an envelope to mail to one of the local hospitals, after an adventure that we had this afternoon)

Tips for an Emergency Room Physician: How to Come Across as Arrogant

An example scenario:

Patient is 15. Has severe lower abdominal pain. Is accompanied by his father.

You’ve done an initial exam. You suspect a stomach virus that’s going around. You’ve ordered a urine sample, blood tests, an X-ray. After reviewing the test results, you conclude that it is indeed a stomach virus. You communicate this to the patient and his father.

So far so good. The patient and his father are satisfied with your care. Here’s your chance to come across as arrogant.

The father asks, “Any chance of appendicitis?”

Let your mouth drop open as if this question is unfathomable. Smirk. Roll your eyes and/or put the sound of rolling your eyes into your voice. In your reply, include the words “When it’s stomach pain, everyone thinks it’s appendicitis.” This creates a picture of the father's belonging to a large population of the ignorant.

You’ll know you have succeeded in coming across as arrogant if the father comments, “Don’t jump on me.” (Because that will mean that he feels that you jumped on him.)

A suggested response to the father: “I’m not jumping on you. I’m just trying to explain.”

Suppose that the father continues, “Do you want feedback on how you’re coming across?” Assure him that you do, but let your face and tone of voice communicate that you don’t, that you’re just humoring him and falling back on those hazy memories of instruction in bedside manner.

Important notes! Actions that could interfere with your coming across as arrogant:

Take into account that emergency room visits are rare for most people, and even their routine and uninformed questions are sincere inquiries.

Take into account that a father might feel an obligation to ask a question not only for his child's sake, not only for his own peace of mind, but also for the sake of his wife, who insisted that he ask that question, particularly because as a child, she nearly died from a ruptured appendix.

Take into account that your natural inclination for answering a question may not communicate the attitude that you intend.

Take into account that there’s a sign on the wall of the examining room encouraging visitors to speak up if they have any questions or concerns. A misguided person might classify a perception of being treated rudely as a concern.

Good luck, Doctor!

Mighty, mighty acolyte

A darling girl in our church, Colleen, served as acolyte last Sunday.

The major duties of the acolyte are:

• At the beginning of worship, light the altar candle.

• At the end of worship, carry the flame from the altar candle down the center aisle.

The main tool for these duties is something that the internet has taught me is called a Candelighter (and here I was all prepared for the device to have a weird name) that also features a little cup that acts as a snuffer. A wick runs through the long handle of the Candlelighter; you push a little handle to feed wick to the end of the tool.

The wick burns down quickly, so you have to keep pushing the handle up, or it won't stay lit.

This past weekend, Colleen exhibited notable courage in the face of severe lighting and snuffing challenges.

First of all, she had to light the candle blind. Since her last tour of duty, the candle has melted enough to develop quite a divot around its wick ...

... so the acolyte has to lower the flame below the top rim of the candle to reach the wick. Colleen's not tall enough to see over that rim. She could only see the top of the flame from the candle after it was lit. Hence, she had to light blind.

Conversely, as the service was concluding, Colleen also had to light the Candlelighter blind. Meaning that she had to lower the wick of the Candlelighter where she figured the flame must be and then raise the Candlelighter to see whether its wick has caught. She had to dip in there a few times before she had her Candlelighter's wick going.

Then came the snuffing.

Colleen found that the candle's divot wouldn't let her lower the snuffing cup enough to do its job. Little streams of air snuck in under the edge of the cup and kept the flame alive. She made one, two, three attempts. Finally, she had to press the cup down on top of the candle with extra firmness ...

... until finally she pulled it up and saw wispy smoke that meant a successful snuffing.

Only by then, the wick of the Candlelighter was also extinguished. Remember, it burns down quickly.

Collen pushed up the handle in hopes that there was enough spark on the end of the wick to bloom into flame, but alas, it was not to be.

The pastor smiled and waved Colleen on down the aisle. She did so with a bit of a hitch in her smile, but with her head held high. Hey, that flame is just symbolic after all. It was a nice reminder that the true light of Christ burns within.

Someone (maybe it will be me) needs to take that divoted candle in hand and shave off the rim until the wick is once again standing in the clear. To each of us who didn't think to do that yet, I say: Ya Goof!

Looked who showed up for the show

A significant percentage of the readership of YaGoof.com (Okay, one person; still a big chunk of the audience) has correctly pointed out that it's high time for a post.

The thing is, out-of-town visitors got us out of our humdrum routines. But it was definitely worth it. If not for these visitors, there would be no YaGoof.

That's right, my parents came to town.

They were here to see Ethan and Emmett appear in Willy Wonka, Jr, a musical play version of Charlie and the Cholcolate Factory. Ethan played the father of Charlie; Emmett played—oh, what's his name? The character who sings "The Candy Man Can." Give me a few minutes, it'll come to me.

It was not a trip without goofs. Let the tally begin ...

WE WERE LATE TO UNION STATION
Amtrak's Vermonter line, bearing my parents, was due into Union Station in Washington, DC, at 10 pm last Thursday. That was the best mass transit option that we found. They would board in Vermont and disembark in DC after a cushy ride of only eleven hours. (Nothing to it!) One alternative was coming straight to the nearest train station, in Altoona. That sounds good, but it wouldn't have been a straight trip; with layovers in New York and Boston, it would have meant 21 hours. (A travel duration that we ended up giving a run for its money, but that's getting ahead of the story ...)

Janet and I left home at 6 pm, and had a nice drive to DC. We hit the Beltway at about 9:00. In a jiffy, we were in sight of downtown, where Union Station is.

But 45 minutes later, we were still hunting for Union Station. Curses on thee, thou steaming pile of wrong turns!

We used to drive to DC regularly several years ago, when Janet had an internship at the Library of Congress. We both remembered driving in and out as being a piece of cake.

Piece of cake. Riiiiight.

Were our navigation problems this time due to age? Changes to the streets? Fatigue? (Feel free to email other suggested excuses.) At any rate, we made it to Union Station only a couple minutes before the 10:00 train. Only to find that ...

THE TRAIN WAS LATE
As soon as we entered the lobby, the status board told us the 10:00 train would arrive at 11:00.

In reality, it came in at 11:02.

And then ...

WE COULDN'T ESCAPE THE CITY
We drove around and around and around trying to find our old favorite exit route, Connecticut Avenue. On the bright side, Janet and I renewed our tag-team mapreading skills. Meaning that whenever we'd find ourselves off track, I'd pull over and we'd scour the route and plot the next step. Then Janet would trace our progress with her finger. Get lost. Repeat.

We zigged and zagged for about an hour and a half extra and ended up depositing Mom and Daddy at their preferred motel in town at 3:00 am. A trip of only 18 hours for them. (Note: Still a savings of 3 hours over the bus route!)

FRIDAY WAS UNEVENTFUL
Except for the guys being part of a smash performance!

Well, there was one little thing ...

DADDY LOST TRACK OF HIS MOTEL ROOM
He couldn't remember the number after stepping out for a minute, so he had to stop in at the office and find out what it was. "You're not the first this has happened to," the attendant assured him.

SATURDAY WAS GOOFLESS
And there was another excellent play performance!

And it turned out that Janet's mother has a Garmin Navigator in her car that she would let us borrow for the return trip to DC. She showed us how to use it, we gave it a trial run—things were looking up! That eased our minds a little about our impending need to get up at 3:00 am to make it to Union Station on time for my parents' return train. Except that last Sunday, 3:00 am was 2:00 am because ....

WE LOST AN HOUR TO THE SWITCH DAYLIGHT SAVINGS
Sigh.

And naturally ...

THE GPS UNIT DIDN'T WORK
No matter what we tried, the screen kept telling us "GPS OFF." So we had to resort to the trace-the-route-by-the-finger-in-between-instances-of-pulling-over method.

But we did make it to the train on time.

After consulting the Garmin manual when we got home, we learned that when the unit loses its connection to the satellite, you need to take it out of the car to an open area, away from buildings and trees, to re-establish the link. That worked.

All in all, a pleasant and memorable time with ample opportunities to say ... YaGoof!

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

493. Get out of your car to pump gas without pulling the lever that opens the door to the gas tank.
492. Forget to put your gas cap back on.
491. Forget to close the door to your gas tank.
490. Forget to close the door to your gas tank.
480. Forget to put a memory card in your camera.
479. Forget to push the record button on your tape recorder.
478. Forget to secure your laptop in the case with the Velcro straps.
477. Forget to zip your laptop case.
476. Lose your grip on the soap.
475. Misstep while jumping rope.
474. Accidentally dip your nose into the whipped cream on your hot chocolate.
473. Chew with your mouth open.
472. Drive with your trunk open.
471. Pull too far forward in a parking space, so that you're car juts out too far.
470. Drift off while typingggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg and keep pressing one key.
469. Fling cake batter around your kitchen by pulling your electric mixer up too high.

Note to self: Don't guess about your guests

We have Bandies in the house.

Translation: We're hosting two students attending the PMEA Region III Band Festival being held at the Hollidaysburg Area Junior High School this week.

It's our family's first time hosting students for a special event like this. So naturally when we picked them up, there was all kinds of nervousness and hope that we wouldn't say anything stupid and make them hate us and hurt our chances of being named the Festival's Number 1 Host Family.

I was so smooth. For about six minutes. Then we were in the car and I said, "So you guys are in the ninth grade?"

"Um, we're both juniors," came the polite reply.

See, I, uh, well, because the event was in the Junior High School, I had it in my head that all of the kids were Junior High age ... and my eyes are bad ... and I hadn't really paid attention to the paperwork ... and uh, I didn't actually look at these guys closely and certainly didn't form the opinion that they looked as young and dorky as the two junior high students who are permanent fixtures in our house and ... uh ...

Sorry, dudes. Be kind when it's time to vote for Number 1 Host Family.

Maybe you could also overlook my asking you to pose for the picture below playing air trombone (Cody Way, left) and air euphonium (Mark Goncher, right).

The time of her life

It's about 9:30 pm. Janet just got back from doing some work in the office at the Library. When she left at about 7:00 pm, she said she'd be about half an hour.

So she was right five times!

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

494. Wonder why your computer mouse won't work, and then realize that you haven't connected it.

This side down

My family had to be taught the truth about the frozen pot pie, which is ...

After you heat it, you can take it out of the pan.

When my brother and sisters were growing up, we had frozen pot pies regularly. I think we favored Swanson. They only came in aluminum pans back then, and you had to bake them for dozens and dozens of minutes. I know, I know—the horror.

Anyway, it never occurred to any of us—two parents, two girls, two boys—to take a hot pot pie out of its pan, even though you always lost a little of the crust to those blasted aluminum ridges. Not knowing any better, we were eat-it-right-out-of-the-pan people.

The light bulb switched on for the entire family at once, during one memorable dinner. It was the doing of Curt Koonz—now my brother-in-law, then the boyfriend of my sister, Tina—who was eating with us. When the hot pot pies came to the table, he immediately turned his upside down onto his plate. Plud!

The rest of us stared at him—six pairs of eyes as big as pot pie pans. You could cut the enlightment with a knife. We had always used plates with pot pies only to protect the table—as big coasters, if you will.

Curt froze. "What?" he said.

Then came the sound of a half-dozen flippings. Plud! Plud! Plud! Plud! Plud! Plud!

I haven't eaten a pot pie from the pan since.

And I have five people in mind besides myself right now when I say: YaGoof!

P.S. I had a brain-freeze while writing this. Emmett had to help me with the word for the tight little folds that run up the sides of an aluminum pie pan. Hint: Six letters. Keith, YaGoof!

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

495. Fail to register your name as a web domain when you had the chance.

I'm still me

Twice this week, I've been mistaken for someone else. That about doubles such instances for my entire life.

The first time was over the phone on Tuesday, when it snowed all day. The phone rang at dinner time. It was a thin older voice.

"Keith?"

"Yes."

"Are you coming to do my driveway?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"This is ____ ____. Don't you still do snow removal?"

____ ____? I thought. "I can't place your name, ____."

"I'm at 56th Street in Altoona."

Hm.

"How did you get my number?"

"The phone book."

Hm again, because I'm the only Keith Eldred in the phone book.

"Right here (he must have been pointing to my name in his phone book)--Keith Elder."

Ah, there it was. Elder, not Eldred.

I let him down gently. He gave me a surprising amount of information before I extricated myself, including that his driveway is 75 feet long. I hope he found the right Keith.

The second incident was tonight in the grocery store. I was looking at "Best and Worst Bikini Bodies" on the cover of a publication at the checkout.

"Did Cosmo win?" I heard this out of the corner of my ear, but it had no meaning to me so I assumed it had to be addressed at someone else and finished looking at the Worst Bodies and was moving on to the Best Bodies.

"Did Cosmo win?" Still no meaning for me. Still had had to be addressed at someone else who didn't realize whom she was addressing.

"Did Cosmo win?"

I looked up. A woman older than my mother was looking at me.

"Did Cosmo win?"

"I beg your pardon?"

The woman looked at me quizzically. "Aren't you ____ ___?"

"Sorry, no."

"You look just like ____ ___."

Now, I've met ____ ___, and I was surprised to hear that I look like him. Not only surprised. Flattered. Still, I'm not ____ ____. And I still didn't know who Cosmo is.

"He entered Cosmo in the big dog show."

I'd heard on the radio earlier that the Westminster Dog Show happened this week.

"The Westminster?"

"Yes, that. It cost him $_____. And that was just in fees, not his travel and everything. And the dog has to travel, too."

"Well, I don't even have a dog," I said. Wanting to smooth over her mistake and show no harm had been done, I added, "I did hear a good joke about the Westminster today."

"Oh?"

"Well, you know how a beagle won for the first time?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, it was proclaimed a victory in the war against terriers."

You may think that I manufactured this post just so I could work in that joke. I agree that it's pretty good, but believe me, that would have been more work that it was worth.

I'll have to get some more jokes ready to repeat to confused people, in case I have to defuse more cases of mistaken identity.

(Next person who misidentifies me), Ya Goof!

1002 ways to goof up (continued)

496. Slide the deadbolt on a door and shut it behind you. Try to get back in through that door and realize that now it's locked with the knob's button lock.

Uh oh, she's startin' for my carton ...

FedEx delivered a box to me today.

Just a box. Nothing in it.

Okay, okay, it did have some packing material inside. And some instructions.

It was a box sent to me to ship out our older laptop for warranty service. You open the box, fill out the enclosed form; gather your laptop, power cord, adapter and original system disk; put everything in the box; cover the original shipping label with the label that's enclosed; and finally you seal the box with tape that's also enclosed. Voila, prepared for return via FedEx.

The box that you end up with looks almost exactly like it did when it arrived. So it would be completely understandable if Janet wandered into the house, saw the ready-to-ship-again box unattended, and, after having originally brought the box into the house on her brief lunch break from work down the street, opened it up again. Especially since she has a long-time habit of opening the lioness' share of deliveries that arrive in my name as if they'd arrived in her name. She takes this marriage-makes-two-people-one-flesh thing quite literally.

Thankfully, that didn't happen. She left the box alone. But it could have happened. Easily.

Never has there been more potential for me to say: Janet, Ya Goof!

For letting my guard down and leaving the box vulnerable, I must self-administer an actual admonishment: Keith, Ya Goof!

Mmm, know what I could go for? A double dip of ...

This local institution has the best frozen custard on the planet. The place looks great, too. Right out of the fifties.

Complete with a towering neon sign that unfortunately is on the fritz about 10% of the time. See below.

Doesn't the second flavor in particular sound tempting? Also a great candidate for the name of a punk band.

Whoever's behind this finicky beast--YaGoof!

Double trouble

I know a set of twins, Samuel and Andrew, who I can't tell apart, and I'm not the only one.

These young gentlemen took part in a youth service at our church recently. One of them did a reading, followed by a speaker who referred to the reading by saying, "As Samuel or Andrew just said ..."

(Name withheld), YaGoof!

C'mon, does Harry really know who's who?

Hangin' in there

I have no choice but to give my wife a double YaGoof on this one.

Janet had me hang a plaque at the Library a few weeks ago. On the back was a slot as shown above. I did a good job on that task, if I do say so myself. I screwed in the hanging screw to just the perfect amount of protrusion. I inserted the screw head into the slot and slid the plaque over for perfect leveling, but it was still plenty snug against the wall. Satisfying.

Yesterday, Janet called me at work to say that she needed some information from the back of the plaque (the contact from the group that had had the plaque made), but she couldn't get it off the wall.

"It has one of those slots, you know?" I said. "With a hole that's bigger than the slot to let the screw go in and ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

"So just slide the plaque over until it comes off."

"Okay." She said this in a way that tried not to let on that she knew that I knew that she probably wouldn't be able to do it. I know my darling pretty well, and this mechanically-oriented task wasn't up her alley.

I called the Library on the way home.

"Did you get that plaque down?"

"No."

"I'll be over."

"Thanks."

I slid it over and off.

Janet, Ya Goof!

The contact info was on a card that was taped to the back of the plaque. I removed it and took it to Janet's office--just as she could have done before giving me the plaque in the first place. But then, when I was hanging the plaque so skillfully, removing the card didn't occur to me, either. So I'll join in on the rebuke in that regard.

Janet, Ya Goof!
Keith, Ya Goof!

Hey, slow down for that fast food

Today, one of the vehicles in the YaGoof! fleet went to a McDonald's drive-through, and the driver started to talk to the ordering microphone only to realize that the order-taker hadn't been ready yet.

Reminder to wait for the cue: WTMMITYO?

McCustomer, YaGoof!

1002 ways to goof up

499. Blow out a well-melted candle so that hot wax splashes onto your face.
498. Go for "one more run" on the ski slope.
497. Gather up papers at work that belong at home and put them in your briefcase--then carry them back to work the next day because you forgot to take them out at home.