My Douchey Weekend

Douchebags are everywhere. They cut us off in traffic. They throw beer bottles in our recycle bins. They take forty minutes to order a Starbucks coffee. On a daily basis, we experience some form of doucheyness. The great American Benjamin Franklin once said, "In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes and douchebags." There is simply no avoiding the douchebaggery of the world. Even if you secluded yourself in a bunker in the Himalayas, you will still experience the ripple effect of a douchebag somewhere. 

This last weekend I experienced more than my fair share of douchebaggy douchebags. I experienced about two and a half month's worth in 48 hours. But today's story focuses on the doucheiest douchebag I had the unfortunate opportunity to cross douchey paths with. 

I know what you're thinking. The Packers have no chance at the playoffs this year.

I know what else you're thinking. You think that because I work in retail I probably encountered this King Douche there, where I was forced to be nice and enabling to his doucheyness and where I had to accommodate his every stupid douchey need. This is a legitimate assumption as I have had to bow to many a douchebag during my tenure at my job, but this particular douchebag was found elsewhere: the gym.

The gym. The Mecca of the douchebag community. Where all walks of douchebaggy life congregate to show off, hog machines and spread douchey sweat all over the seats and handlebars of your favorite equipment. And this is only to name a few annoyances. 

Like many, when I go to the gym I stick to a routine. Part of my routine involves what's called "The Circuit". The Circuit is probably the most rudimentary demonstration of rules and courtesy. It's a series of machines that are circled up, numbered and sectioned off from the rest of the machinery with rope not unlike a crime scene. You begin at the first machine (#1) and when you're done, you move onto the second machine (#2). When you are done with the second machine, you move onto...fucking easy right? And if that wasn't ridiculously self-explanatory, there are pictures, charts and signs ALL OVER this area so nobody can possibly ignore the rules. Gym owners even posted these signs in two languages: English and Douchebag. 

I mean really, the only ways you could possibly ignore these rules would be if you were legally blind or, you guessed it...

A DOUCHEBAG!

So here I am on machine #7 of The Circuit following the route like everybody else when in comes Uber Douche. I could tell this guy was a douchebag from the minute I saw him. First off, he walked right past the first four machines and parked his douchebag ass on some random one and starts his douchey reps. But this only annoyed me at best. I figured as long as he wasn't getting in the way of my routine and holding me up, he is allowed to be a douchebag. Although since he was right across from my machine, I was drawn to his obnoxious douchebag tye-dye Raiders shirt. I couldn't focus on anything else. All I saw was 

So I divert my eyes to keep from getting motion sickness by pretending to be enthralled with my iPod. After a few moments, I look up to notice the douchebag was gone...only to find that he moved to the machine right next to mine! At the point the annoyance sparks into fury. He cut right in front of me! I calm myself thinking "I have one more set to do and maybe he will leave when he sees I'm finished and need to use that machine next." 

But little did I realize, I was dealing with a SUPREME DOUCHEBAG!

Any normal person with an ounce of courtesy in their nostril hair would have seen me get up and stand next to the machine, quickly get off and apologize for their inconsideration, beg for forgiveness and leave my sight bowing the entire way out. Or at least get a fucking clue. But no! This guy? Completely ignores me as I stand about two feet in front of him. Waiting. Glaring. Amongst the twelve gazillion signs in both English and Douchebag saying not to do exactly what he was doing!

Actual security camera footage of the moment:

So Uber Douche continued his fifty reps of crunches, keeping his head down to avoid my douchebag laser eyes. Every time he would rest between his douchebag sets, he turned around in his sweaty douchebag seat and hollered over to the most unluckiest being on the planet: his offspring. "How you doin' son? You making me proud?" he yelled over his shoulder to a scrawnier, shorter version of his douchebag self. 

"I'm doing great, Dad!" replied the sad sack child as douchebaggery ran through his veins like the AIDS virus. 

When he ran out of things to bellow to his kid, Uber Douche would look over his other shoulder and watch the middle aged women on the stair steppers - anything, really, to keep from acknowledging that I caught him in an act of utmost douchebagdom. 

Eventually, he finished his douchebag workout and walked off his machine, leaving a glossy stain of douchebg sweat on the cushions. I caught my reflection in it. I looked at my face in the mirror of douchebag back sweat and thought, "Well, at least I'm not like him."

So I'm here to share with you the moral of my tragic tale: there are douchebags all over the place. They're everywhere. Even though we can't change them, we can keep ourselves from becoming just like them. We can stop the evil chain of douchebaggery with ourselves. Nobody is born a douchebag, not even Uber Douche's spawn. They allow other douchebags to establish behavioral norms and set these ridiculous standards. But we can stop ourselves from becoming douchebags ourselves by recognizing when we're being rude, when we're being selfish and when we realize that we're making more people angry than happy. It can't be easy being a douchebag, being hated by everybody and having scathing criticisms written about them in blogs. But we can rise above the douche. If we are all polite, act kindly and treat everyone with respect but only one douchebag is forever changed by seeing all the goodness around him, I would still be satisfied.

Brought to you by The Foundation for a Douchebag Free World

In Which I Attempt to Recall the Plot of Oedipus Rex

A few nights ago, my husband and I were lying in bed chit chatting when the conversation steered in the direction of Oedipus. (You know you have a steamy marriage when your pillow talk consists of Greek tragedies. Oedipus, of course, is that guy who grew up to kill his father and marry his mother and later gouged his eyes out once he realized what he had done. Like I said. Steamy.) At some point in the conversation, my recollection of the tale gets fuzzy as I try to retell it. Here's what my shoddy memory produced:

Oedipus is walking down the road with his army (because he and his army just go on leisurely strolls) when up ahead they see a cyclops. The cyclops is blocking the road announcing: "Bleeaarrgh, you cannot pass unless you can solve my riddle! Or you can kill me. So, riddle me this. I am dark, but I am light. I am one but I am--" So of course Oedipus easily slays the riddling cyclops because of its lack of peripheral vision and proceeds on his way down the road.

Now at this point my husband is baying that I'm telling it completely wrong and I concede that maybe I do have a few details wrong. However I am thoroughly convinced that Oedipus had to slay a cyclops at some point in the story. Then I think, "Wait, maybe that's the part of the story where he kills his father instead!" So I revise my story.

Oedipus and his army are strolling down a road when an equally large opposing army approaches from the other direction. The road isn't wide enough for the two armies to simply pass each other (at least without the hassle of getting everybody into single file. I mean, how tedious and unnecessary for an army.) so the leader of the opposing army, who happens to be Oedipus' father, challenges Oedipus to a riddle-off. The fact that he is Oedipus' father is unbeknownst to either guy, so this is where the tale gets sad. Oedipus accepts the challenge to his father's riddle-off, but before he can solve the first one, Oedipus kills him because he knew he wasn't especially good at riddles and he really wanted to pass this army.

As the opposing army witnesses their leader getting cheaply slain by Oedipus, they bow to their new leader. So Oedipus inherits his father's kingdom including his lovely wife (aka, Oedipus' mom. Eww!) Aaaand the rest, they say, has already been mentioned in the first paragraph.

When I finished my recounting, my husband was dumbfounded. "I thought you were an English major."

I am. ~*~Validation!~*~

He then told me how the story of Oedipus really goes (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oedipus_the_King) [not sure why that's not coming out as a link. I hope you don't mind the ol' copy and paste method]. Turns out I was actually pretty close with the riddling cyclops. Except it was a Sphinx and it didn't tell riddles.

Fortunately I'm not as uncultured as all that. At least I didn't say anything as asinine as "Oh Oedipus Rex, that sounds like a dinosaur who did nasty things with his mom."

Our nerdy conversation progressed into the Oedipus trilogy, including Antigone, Oedipus' daughter who ventured on a similar odyssey as her father including outwitting a riddling cyclops whom she duped into buying her dinner. But that's a whole nother tale for a whole nother steamy evening. Thanks for reading. Or should I say...my apologies?