by TEJ | Jun 13, 2025 | Lifestyles humor, Pop culture humor
Recently I created a bit of a panic with a buddy of mine who became deeply distraught over my wife’s shocking passing – because I texted him that she had been killed. Let me back up a bit. Like most people, I use my phone for texting all the time. But I don’t like typing, because it takes too long. So, unless it’s a short message like, “okay” or “I’ll be home in 10 minutes” or in the case of one of my daughters, “No, I won’t loan you $800 for a new iPhone,” then I usually dictate my text using the voice recognition feature. Saves me so much time.
Which brings me to the subject of my wife’s death, which – and I can’t stress this enough – never happened. She’s fine. Honest. If you’re a regular reader, or even if you’re someone who’s irregular, you probably know by now that throughout our marriage, we’ve always had cats. We’ve also fostered kittens – dozens of them by now. I love cats. Heck, I even sing to them – mainly to annoy my wife.
We had this one adorable calico kitty named Mischief. But over time, I gave her the nickname of Misha. She was a sweet furry companion, a real lap cat. She would routinely follow me to bed at nighttime and sleep on my pillow. She’d often knead my hair – adorable, I agree – and occasionally painful. I loved Misha deeply, which is why I was profoundly saddened to learn one day that she had escaped out the front door, ran off, was hit by a car and killed.
The next day, I got a text from a buddy of mine named Frank, reminding me about our lunch plans. I texted him back and told him that I would have to pass on lunch. I was not up for it because, as I texted, “I’m feeling a little down today. Misha was killed last night.”
Only that was not how my dictation came through. The message Frank received was: “I’m feeling a little down today. Michele was killed last night.”
“OMG I’m so sorry, man. Howd it happen?” Frank texted back in shock.
“She was hit by a car,” I nonchalantly replied, unaware of the typo that changed Misha to Michele.
“A car? A car??? Did they catch the guy? Was he a drunk driver? Were you there when it happened?” a stunned Frank replied.
“No idea what happened or who the driver was. I was watching an episode of The Simpsons at the time. You know the one where Homer almost blows up the nuclear plant he works at when he falls asleep on the job. Pretty funny episode, I have to say,” I wrote back.
“Tim, U okay? Do U want me to come over, buddy?” Frank inquired.
“That’s okay. I have a busy day today. I need to go to Costco. And after that I have to go to the post office,” I casually explained.
“Tim, buddy, are U sure U should be doing a Costco run after what just happened?”
“Well, I’m almost out of Twizzlers and granola bars, And I could use some more detergent,” I clarified.
“Wow, I have to say, not sure I could handle this tragedy as calmly as U. Tim, I think maybe U R in shock,” Frank probed.
“Nah, not really. To be honest, she was getting pretty old anyway. I figured she wasn’t going to be around much longer,” I wrote back.
“Seriously, dude? That seems a bit callous, pardon me for saying. She had a lot of good years left in her,” Frank wrote back, now starting to freak out.
“Well maybe you’re right. I don’t know. I sure miss her,” I sighed in response.
“I know this might be a bit premature to ask, but are U thinking about any sort of memorial service?” Frank asked, feeling uneasy about what to say next.
“Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t want to go to all that fuss. I’ve been through this a few times before.”
“Tim, What are U saying???!!! R U thinking clearly, my friend? How can I help?” Frank implored.
“Well, I was planning to bury her in the backyard. You don’t happen to have a shovel, do you, Frank?” I asked.
“A shovel? A SHOVEL??? Of course, I have a shovel. Dude, U R really not thinking clearly right now,” Frank texted back, increasingly concerned about my mental state.
“I don’t want to impose. I was going to get a shovel at Costco anyway,” I calmly texted back.
“Enough about the shovel! Jesus, Tim. I think I better come over. On my way,” Frank wrote back frantically.
Then I texted back, “You know the saddest part about all of this, Frank?”
“I can’t imagine. Tell me, buddy.”
“Turns out she was pregnant. And I had repeatedly told my wife that we needed to get her neutered so that she would not get pregnant. But my wife never got around to doing it,” I wrote with a bit of melancholy.
“Pregnant? Seriously? Oh My God! This keeps getting worse and worse. Tim, I had no idea your wife was pregnant. I hope she and her baby didn’t suffer,” Frank wrote back in utter disbelief.
“What are you talking about, Frank? Michele’s not pregnant.”
“But you just wrote – wait, hold on. Michele’s not pregnant? But you said she was killed in a car crash. You have me totally flipping out, buddy!” Frank wrote back in exasperation.
Eventually we both figured out how this dialogue went off the rails. I explained that it was our cat Misha, not my wife Michele, who had died.
In case you were curious, this kitty’s name was Mischief, AKA “Misha.”
I guess the lesson is to carefully re-read my texts before I press SEND. In fact, now I always check my texts BEFORE I press SEND. Well, most of the time, anyway.
That’s all for now. I need to go. It’s my turn to make dinner tonight. I just dictated the following text to my wife: “Sweetie, dinner will be ready at 6pm. It’s your favorite: Barbecued Chicken.”
My wife immediately fired back a snippy response: “What’s wrong with you? Why in the world would you think my favorite meal is Barbecued Children??”
Uh, oh. I did it again….
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
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by TEJ | May 24, 2025 | Lifestyles humor, Parenting and Family humor
Notice how the wife meticulously measures just the right amount of detergent. Meanwhile, the husband pours half a bottle of bleach directly onto the laundry, thereby bypassing the bleach drawer. That’s just smart efficiency, if you ask any husband.
If you’ve been married for more than six weeks, sooner or later you’ll face one of the most contentious challenges a couple must confront: deciding on the proper way to do laundry. While both men and women technically possess the physical capability to perform this task, their approaches are as different as fine chardonnay and gas station nachos. As a result, these differences can turn into heated battles.
To help you navigate these tumultuous waters, I have compiled a step-by-step comparison of how women and men approach the sacred art of laundering clothes. Check your gender to be sure you know which approach you should follow.
Step 1: Sorting the Laundry
Women’s Approach:
- Once a week, gather all the dirty clothes from the various hampers in the house, including the one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom, and the mystery pile your husband swears he “was totally going to get to.â€
- Separate whites from colors, ensuring that no rogue red socks infiltrate the pristine whites and turn them an angry pink.
- Further separate delicates, towels, jeans, and workout clothes into their own separate piles because apparently, different fabrics have different temperature and washing requirements.
- Check all pockets for money, gum, rogue tissues, and – if you have young kids – LEGOs.
- Stare in horror at what your husband has wadded up into a jumbled mass the size of a small moose and thrown into the hamper. Debate whether it can be salvaged or should just be set on fire, to prevent a potentially dangerous toxic waste dump from engulfing your house.Â
Men’s Approach:
- Once every four months, grab everything from the hamper and the floor (same thing, really) and stuff it all into the washing machine until it is so full you can barely close the door. Remember, if it’s not overflowing, there’s room for more.
- Consider checking pockets but then get distracted by a hilarious Bud Lite commercial on TV and forget.
Step 2: Selecting the Wash SettingsÂ
Women’s Approach:
- Carefully consult the care labels on each garment.
- Select the appropriate water temperature and cycle: cold for delicates, warm for colors, hot for whites, and, for unknown fabrics, Google it just to be safe.
- Add just the right amount of detergent, fabric softener, and maybe even a color-safe bleach booster.
- Adjust the settings accordingly so nothing shrinks, bleeds, or turns into something a miniature poodle could comfortably squeeze into.Â
Men’s Approach:
- Turn the dial to whatever setting the machine is already on. It was fine last time, right?
- Dump in a generous amount of detergent – more soap means cleaner clothes, obviously. If the water starts foaming like your two-year-old’s bubble bath, you probably have the right amount.
- Hit the start button.
- Check back two days later when you suddenly remember you never took the clothes out of the washing machine.
Step 3: Transferring Clothes to the DryerÂ
Women’s Approach:
- Carefully pull out each item, one by one, and inspect for stains. If a stain remains, rewash immediately by hand to prevent the stain from becoming permanent.
- Separate delicate items that should never see the inside of a dryer and lay them out flat or hang them to dry.
- Set the dryer to the appropriate heat level: low for delicates, medium for everyday wear, and high for towels and sheets.
- Add a dryer sheet because fresh-smelling clothes are one of the little joys of living in a civil society.Â
Men’s Approach:
- Shovel the entire load into the dryer like you’re shoveling coal into the firebox of an 1830s steam engine train bound for the Dakota Territories.
- Forget about delicates. Men don’t wear delicates, so you can ignore this issue.
- Turn the heat to “High†because heat equals dry, and dry equals done.
- Close the door and return to watching the game.
- If you discover that your wife’s sweat pants have drastically shrunk to something a toddler could wear, secretly throw it in the trash and tell her you never saw it. “Are you sure you didn’t misplace it, honey?â€
 Step 4: Folding and Putting Away
When the laundry is done, notice how the wife neatly folds every item and puts similar items together, like these towels. The husband, on the other hand, uses the time-tested “entropy†system, in which all the clothes are shoved into a giant pile – to be sorted out later. Much later.
Women’s Approach:
- Remove clothes immediately to prevent wrinkles.
- Fold each item neatly, ensuring shirts are stacked, socks are paired, and towels are folded to fit the closet in their proper spot.
- Hang up dress shirts, blouses, and anything that even hints at needing a hanger.
- Put everything away in its designated spot, where it belongs. Your work is done.Â
Men’s Approach:
- Remember the clothes you put in the dryer last week and put the game on pause.
- Grab the entire pile and dump it onto the nearest available flat surface, the kitchen floor.
- Start to fold a couple shirts, then remember how boring this is. Decide to shove the entire mass into the floor of the closet. There! Job finished!
Final Step: Review Your WorkÂ
Women’s Approach:
- Take note of what went wrong and adjust for next time.
- Reflect on how grateful your husband will be when he sees all his clothes so neatly folded and stored in their proper repositories. Yes, he’s lucky to have you as his wife.
- Try not to get triggered by the fact that in reality your husband is oblivious to all your hard work and asks if you could get him another beer.Â
Men’s Approach:
- Act slightly indignant when your wife screams that her favorite cashmere sweater has shrunk four sizes.
- Calmly de-escalate the situation by saying, “Is it possible you’ve put on a little weight recently?â€
- Say nothing as your wife gives you a daggers glare that could frighten a terrorist.
- Hide your smile as your wife angrily announces you’re permanently banned from doing laundry ever again. Congratulations. Mission accomplished.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.
Subscribe to my View from the Bleachers YouTube Channel and request notifications to see my latest videos. And check out my latest book, THE SECRET TO SUCCESS AND HAPPINESS (is Something I Have Never Figured Out. I’ Open to Suggestions)
by TEJ | Apr 19, 2025 | Lifestyles humor, Other Attempts at Humor
Now and then, I sometimes worry that things will go horribly awry. The other day, while out doing errands, I wondered, did I remember to turn off the stove? Close the front door? Unplug the toaster? It got me anxious… which is why, when I finally got home, everything was just fine. See? Worrying works!
You know, they say that worrying is like a rocking chair: it gives you something to do but gets you nowhere. My wife says that I worry too much, that I fret over every little thing that could go wrong, when the reality is, none of those things ever do. But she just doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand that the act of worrying is actually a highly effective, scientifically backed method of preventing disaster. Sure, she says I’m “obsessive” or “paranoid” or “a nervous nelly,” but I’ve done the math, and I’m convinced I’m right: worrying works!
I’ve started keeping track of some of the things I worry about – big things, small things, catastrophic things – and after careful analysis, I can confirm that more than 95% of these unpleasant scenarios never actually happen. And here’s the key: the reason they never occur is because I worried about them. That’s right, I’m the human equivalent of an emotional insurance policy. My worrying creates a protective bubble preventing the events I fear from materializing.
When my girls were in middle school if I hadn’t spent hours stressing over the possibility that one of them might get teased or tormented at school, they would have certainly at some point been accosted by a gang of sixth grade mean girls intent on humiliating them for a fashion faux pas by pelting them with bottles of hand lotion, lip gloss, or whatever else middle school girls keep in their purse. But since I worried about it, they always came home unscathed – conclusive proof positive that worrying is the best kind of prevention.
Let me explain how my Worrying Works theory is scientifically sound, by sharing a few examples.
A Cat Getting Loose
I know it’s irrational, but every time I open the front door to leave the house, I’m concerned one of our three cats will see their fleeting window of opportunity and make a run for it. I worry about them getting hit by a car, getting devoured by a coyote, or just deciding to leave us for a family of more responsible pet owners. They never actually do make a run for it, preferring instead to park themselves inside whatever newest cardboard box just arrived from Amazon. I can only assume that my intense worrying about this scenario somehow convinces them not to attempt a jail break. Cats are perceptive like that.
Falling Down the Stairs
I’m no longer in my prime, so the issue of falling actually is serious problem for people my age. I’m not exaggerating when I say that every time I descend a staircase, I’m mentally preparing myself for the possibility that I will trip, tumble and fall headfirst into a coma – probably while carrying a helpless kitten or a priceless Ming vase (although I don’t currently own a Ming vase).
The prospect of this horrible accident haunts me so much that I tightly cling to the handrail like it’s my lifeline. Clearly, obsessively worrying that I might fall has worked because I have never once fallen down the stairs. (I have accidentally tripped over our cat Zippy lounging on the landing a couple times, however.)
Running Out of Money
Ever since I found out five days before the start of my second year that my father could no longer afford to pay for my college education (true), I’ve been a bit obsessed with financial security. I have this nagging feeling that eventually our nest egg will run out, and we’ll be forced to sell our house and move into a trailer park where our unit is right next door to a recently released ex-con who did time for arson, plays Metallica at full volume at 2am, and hates cats.
The reality is that our financial planner says we have enough of a cushion comfortably to get us through the next ten years. Yeah, but what about after that? Hopefully, by anxiously checking our bank balance every nine hours, my financial day of reckoning can be postponed.
At every annual physical, I worry this will be the time my doctor tells me I have a brain tumor the size of a grapefruit. So far, that’s never been the case. However, recently he told me I could lose a few lbs. Now I’m worried about my weight.
My House Getting Destroyed
I know it’s a bit extreme, but sometimes when I leave the house, I wonder if I’ve left the stove on, or worse – if the house is going to spontaneously combust. Either that or vanish into a mysterious sinkhole that was lurking for all these years directly under our house. But despite my constant worry, I’ve never come home to a smoking pile of ashes or any other disaster – unless you consider my cable TV going out due to a windstorm a disaster. I’ll never know with 100% certainty, but I’m pretty sure my anxious brain is working overtime to keep our house safe.
Annoyingly, my wife doesn’t appreciate the thousands of dollars my habit of worrying about absolutely everything has saved us. Okay, I’ll admit that I can’t prove that my compulsive worrying has kept the countless worst-case scenarios at bay. But I’m not ready to let down my guard. I know that the moment I do, my car will break down on the way to the airport, and Zippy will escape out the garage door that I forgot to close. And I’ll probably get a cavity.
You may think I’m crazy. But my system has been working for many years. And my advice to you is this: You really should be worrying way more about stuff than you do. It just might ensure that on your upcoming trip to Florida, the plane doesn’t crash in the Bermuda Triangle. Just trying to look out for you, buddy.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.Â
Subscribe to my View from the Bleachers YouTube Channel and request notifications to see my latest videos. And check out my latest book, THE SECRET TO SUCCESS AND HAPPINESS (is Something I Have Never Figured Out. I’m Open to Suggestions).
by TEJ | Feb 1, 2025 | Lifestyles humor
This is my wife taking a photo of an approaching elephant. I have to say, I was more than a bit disappointed when our guide said that I wasn’t permitted to exit the vehicle and ride the elephant. Naturally, I filed a complaint with the tour company demanding a full refund.
I have traveled all over the world, to Europe, China, and even to Canada. So, I think I know a thing or two about how to get around in foreign cultures – with the exception of Canada. Those Canucks are a total mystery to me.
Here’s a useful tip: When traveling to a foreign country, it is not necessary to be able to speak the local language. Say you’re in Paris. And the only phrase you know is â€Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?†– a phrase that is not very helpful unless you are trying to seduce your waitress at the cafe. No worries. Just speak in English using a really lame French accent. They will quickly become annoyed with you and start replying in English, “What are you trying to ask, Mister?†Trust me, everybody speaks English these days – except teenagers, who apparently only use emojis to communicate.
I recently returned from a three-week safari tour of southern Africa. You know, one of those “glamping†adventures, where you stay in “tents†that are nicer than my house. Based on my experience, let me share with you a few insights to help you evaluate whether glamping in Africa is your cup of tea.
First of all, to my surprise, I learned that Africa is not a country. It is a continent. And a very large one at that. We visited four countries: Zimbabwe, Zambia, Botswana, and South Africa. The plan was to hop into Toyota Land Cruisers and drive through the wilderness in search of all sorts of exotic critters and birds. Oh sure, we saw plenty of lions (but not a single tiger or bear, oh my). We also came upon elephants up close, as well as hippos, giraffes, Cape buffalos, crocodiles, and other amazing critters in the wild. But I had my heart set on spotting a giant panda. Alas, during the entire three weeks, the only panda I saw was on a sign at a Panda Express fast food joint at the airport.
The areas I saw were mostly grasslands and woodlands, not the deep jungle. So, we did not see a single gorilla. Again, deeply disappointing. But we did see several baboons and monkeys – at a picnic area where our land cruisers made a stop at for lunch one day. One vervet monkey leapt out of a tree, jumped on the picnic table, knocked over a bottle of wine, and made off with one person’s sandwich. (True.)  Monkeys can be so rude – almost as rude as American tourists.
I’ll admit it was kind of cool to see lions out in the wild. One time, a pride of seven of them came up to our land cruisers and lay down right next to the vehicles for shade. I was literally two feet from an adult male (see photo below). But I was more than a little disappointed when the tour guide informed me that it was not safe for me to pat the lion behind the ears – or on the belly for that matter – even though I saw Joe Exotic on the Netflix docuseries Tiger King do that all the time.
One thing that I found rather lame is that, unlike at zoos back home, none of the savanna areas we went had those informational plaques with fun facts about the various critters we saw. All you saw was the animal. I couldn’t even Google “fun facts about leopards†because we had no internet in the middle of nowhere. They really need to look into that.
And yeah, it was pretty amazing when we came upon a leopard that had killed an adult impala and carried it 25 feet up a tree – with only its jaws – so it could enjoy its kill without vultures or lions trying to muscle in on its dinner. Something I had never seen in my life. But I was hoping it would have killed a rhino or a hippo. That would have been way cooler. So, yeah, kind of a letdown.
No, this is not a doctored photo. The lions really got this close to us. I was about to offer up a slice of raw steak to coax one of the lions to jump in the jeep so I could pat him. I mean look how calm and relaxed they all appear. But our guide said no to that too. Some people are such Debbie Downers.
The lodges where we stayed all had tents. And not the kind of tent you might think of for a camping trip back home. These tents came with flush toilets, showers with warm water, ceiling fans, and electricity. But no flat screen TV’s in your room. Come on, guys! This is the 21st century. And they would not let you walk from your tent to the lodge after dark. They had to escort you with an armed guide, in case a lion or hippo might attack. In fact a lion had killed an antelope right outside of our tent the night before we arrived. (True.) That would never have happened had we stayed at the Marriott.
One of the high points of our trip was supposed to be our helicopter tour over Victoria Falls – probably the most popular tourist attraction in the entire African continent after the Pyramids. And seeing it from the air is something few people ever get to experience. Oh, sure the views were breathtaking. But unlike Niagara Falls, there was not a single Hard Rock Café or miniature golf course anywhere around. A missed marketing opportunity, if you ask me.
Fun fact: Despite what I had learned from playing the Hungry Hippos game as a child, hippos don’t actually eat marbles. They mainly subsist on grasses, aquatic plants, and the occasional annoying tourist.
I was also unimpressed by the food. For some reason, every lodge we stayed at kept offering us African food with unpronounceable names like Nshima and Ifinkubala and Vitumbuwa. Not one lodge served pizza, let alone donuts. And don’t even get me started about the fact that apparently Mountain Dew seems to be outlawed in Africa.
So, if your idea of a fun vacation is to explore totally different cultures, try exotic foods, see amazing wild animals in their natural habitat, and immerse yourself in a totally alien world, all the while camping in luxury, then, I guess Africa is okay.
Personally, I’d rather go to Disney World and spend the afternoon on their Jungle Cruise ride. There you can navigate you through some of the world’s most treacherous waters, steam past lush foliage and waterfalls, and glimpse lions, hippos and zebras up close. And then finish up your adventure with a pepperoni pizza and an ice cold Mountain Dew at the Pizzafari restaurant. Pretty much the same experience, and far less chance of being eaten by a hippo.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.Â
Subscribe to my View from the Bleachers YouTube Channel and request notifications to see my latest videos. And check out my latest book, THE SECRET TO SUCCESS AND HAPPINESS (is Something I Have Never Figured Out. I’m Open to Suggestions).
by TEJ | Jan 17, 2025 | Lifestyles humor
Left: How we all fantasize about car ownership: out in the desert, warm breeze blowing on our face. Right: The reality of car ownership. Not so much a warm breeze as a hot steam spraying up from under the hood, in the desert, in the middle of nowhere. Did I mention that you’re out of cell phone range?
I love cars. But owning a car is a lot like being in a long-term relationship with a temperamental, unpredictable partner. In the beginning, it’s all love and smooth rides; you’re cruising down the highway with the windows down, music blasting like Jerry Maguire singing along to Tom Petty’s song Free Fallin.’
But then, you hit a few bumps—figuratively and literally. If you’ve owned a car long enough, you’ll eventually learn that a few universal truths exist, no matter how much you try to Dodge them. Here are seven immutable laws of car ownership. If you’re a first-time car buyer, you better buckle up. You’re in for a bumpy ride.
The First Law of Breakdowns
No matter how carefully you maintain your car, the first time it breaks down will occur at the most inconvenient possible moment. You’ll be late for work, or worse, five minutes from the airport with a suitcase packed full of non-refundable destination vacation plans.
The breakdown will happen in the middle of a busy intersection or on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere – with any luck in utter darkness. The car will die at exactly the point when your AAA membership expires, and your phone, which in your haste you forgot to charge, will lose power just as you are attempting to text your neighbor, “Hey Carl my car broke down. Can you get me? I’m at – â€
The Law of Mysterious Fluid Leaks
Every car has a secret, and that secret is a small, irritating fluid leak. It’s always the kind of leak that doesn’t show up on a regular service maintenance check, but when you’re least expecting it, turning your driveway into the setting for a small environmental disaster. You’ll detect an oil leak, or a coolant drip, or other mysterious “blue liquid†that’s not covered in the owner’s manual. Of course, this leak will only appear when your mechanic is out of town, and the entire auto parts store will be sold out of whatever overpriced magic potion is supposed to fix it.
Any idea what this purple fluid is that is dripping down from your engine block? No idea? Don’t worry. Your local mechanic will know, and trust me, it’s going to cost you an arm and a leg.
The Law of Unsolicited Advice
Everyone you know will have an opinion on how to fix your car, whether they have any qualifications or not. That guy at work who’s convinced that you can repair any car issue by watching YouTube will tell you to fix it yourself, even if you can’t tell the difference between a spark plug and an alternator.
Your devoutly religious elderly mother will offer to “pray for the car,” as if divine intervention will fix your busted radiator. And don’t get me started on your buddy Norm who says, “Just use duct tape, dude. It worked on my engine once!†No. No, it didn’t! You should never listen to anything Norm tells you. Why exactly are you even friends with him, anyway?
The Law of The ‘Check Engine’ Light
The primary reason this particular dashboard light was created is to generate intense anxiety, in order to send you rushing to the nearest repair shop and opening up your wallet. In reality, no one – especially you – has any idea what it actually means.
When it first comes on, you panic and frantically check the manual to decipher its cryptic message. From what you can surmise it means either that the battery is about to explode or possibly that the transmission is about to completely freeze up.
So, you take the car in for a diagnostic, and they’ll tell you it’s a minor sensor issue and that it’s probably safe to keep driving it… for now. Of course, you’ll still spend the next three months Googling “check engine light causes†and wondering if you’ll be stranded in the middle of the freeway at any moment with yet another warning light that flashes in bright red, “Your car is fucked.â€
The Law of Unknown Sporadic Car Noises
There’s a sound your car will make. A random squeak. A clunk. An ominous rattling. The noise will occur at the worst possible time, and you’ll immediately think the car is on the brink of a mechanical breakdown. You’ll take it in, and the mechanic will give you that classic shrug: “Hmm. I couldn’t hear anything. It could be the camshaft. It might be the clutch assembly. Or maybe you need a complete engine rebuild. Unfortunately, your vehicle is out of warranty by 100 miles. If it keeps making that sound, bring it back in.â€Â
You’ll drive around for weeks listening to that same unrelentingly unnerving sound, but the minute you bring the car back in, it will stop. It’s like your car is playing some sort of twisted head game with you. And it’s winning.
The Law of Repairs ALWAYS Costing More Than Expected
So, you notice one of your headlight lightbulbs is out. You take it to the local Firestone dealer to replace it. Good news: A replacement bulb only costs $25.00. Should be in and out in about twenty minutes. Forty minutes later a service tech informs you that your vehicle’s model year uses a special non-standard bulb that has to be custom ordered from a warehouse in Stuttgart, Germany. This special bulb costs $150. And they are only sold in pairs, so that’s $300.
It’s impossible to install these bulbs unless you’re a professional mechanic. If you want the dealer to install them, that will be another $200. It takes three weeks for the part to arrive from Germany. Then the earliest date they can squeeze you in for an appointment to install the new headlight bulbs will be two weeks after that. But only if you can leave the car with them all day. And no, they don’t have a shuttle service.
The good news? All your car needed to fix that rattling sound is a tiny widget the size of a spool of thread, which only costs you $5.00. The bad news? Installing it will be another $375.
The Law of Premature Car Replacement
At some point – usually about three years before you were planning to begin looking for a new car – you’ll find yourself facing the decision of whether to fix your car again or buy a new one. You’ll weigh the pros and cons, calculate how much it would cost to keep your 2011 Toyota Camry running, and ask yourself unsettling questions like, “How often do I even use the AC anyway?†and “How important is it that I can’t pull my car into reverse anymore?â€
No matter how much you try to delay it, you’ll eventually face the unavoidable day of reckoning, reluctantly accepting that it’s probably finally time to call that annoying radio jingle phone number, 1-877-KARS-4-KIDS, and donate your lemon of a car to charity.
It turns out that the cost of a new car is surprisingly affordable lately, by which I mean roughly the same amount as the cost to send your youngest child to college next fall. And you can’t afford to do both. Tough decision, I hear you. Sure, she got accepted into Princeton. But you really need a new car. Good luck explaining to her how Riverside Community College is a lot like Princeton.
In the end, owning a car is a mix of love, frustration, and myriad unforeseeable expenses. But remember, the next time your car breaks down when you least expect it, don’t freak out when you receive that insanely high repair bill. From what I’ve been reading, community colleges are a much better investment than four-year universities anyway.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
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by TEJ | Nov 30, 2024 | Lifestyles humor, Other Attempts at Humor
I used to stress out over some of the silliest things, like, was I a good enough manager at work? Was I doing enough to be a supportive husband? Would my teenage daughters turn out okay? Would I ever cure my banana slice drives off the tee? (Answer to that last question: No.)
But then I met somebody who helped me put so many aspects of my life into proper perspective. His name is Buddy. I’ve known Buddy for the past eight years. He’s starting to get up there in age. I’m not sure how many more years he has left, to be honest.
I’ve never seen him shave. He seems to wear the same outfit every day. He prioritizes comfort over fashion. Buddy has never been one to be concerned with impressing other people. He doesn’t care if others judge him for his lackadaisical lifestyle. He is comfortable in his own skin. Buddy leads a simple, modest life.
Nowadays, since I’m retired, and I’m pretty sure Buddy doesn’t work anymore either, we see each other often. He’s never been into accumulating tech toys, expensive clothes, or watches. He never pursued getting a driver’s license, so he can’t even legally drive. As far as I know, he doesn’t travel much. At least he’s never mentioned any trips to exotic locations. He’s never been to Disneyland, nor has he expressed any deep desire to visit the Grand Canyon. He’s pretty much a homebody, from what I can tell.
Buddy’s needs are simple. He doesn’t brag about his latest achievement. He never talks rudely or arrogantly around women. He doesn’t drink or smoke. He’s no gourmet, but he wouldn’t turn down a good New York steak if you offered it to him.
In our visits, Buddy has helped me realize what’s important in life – and what isn’t. He comes by now and then and, with a gentle glance, reminds me to take a deep breath and relax. If he had a mantra, it would be four words: “Don’t Worry. Be Happy.†The way my friend sees it, nothing on my list of worries is all that pressing, anyway. Whatever it is I’m currently obsessing over, it can’t be that important. Or if it is, it will pass soon enough. Keep reminding me about that, okay, Buddy?
I often wonder how Buddy lets the worries of life just glide over him, like water off a duck’s back. He never complains about any of his ills, even when his arthritic legs are acting up, and it’s hard for him to take long walks. He’s unflappable and takes everything in stride. I admire this about him. I want to be more like Buddy. I need to acquire his indefatigably calm perspective on life’s ups and downs.
Over the past several years, we’ve become extremely close. When I share some of the things I have been working on, Buddy never interrupts me. He’s a better listener than a talker. He never discusses his own troubles. He is the least self-absorbed, most well-adjusted fellow I’ve ever known. When you’re in his presence, his entire focus is on you. And in minutes, all my cares and worries seem to melt away.
Buddy doesn’t move as quickly as he used to. His walk has slowed to somewhere between a saunter and an amble. These days, he enjoys relaxing in his big comfy chair and soaking in the sun. There have been times when I was so busy that I didn’t slow down long enough to reach out to him to say hi. But he never seems to hold a grudge about those sorts of things. When we finally reconnect, he’ll just look at me with the kindest eyes, and I know he’s just glad to see me again.
I don’t know how much longer Buddy will be around. I’ve noticed he’s been moving a lot slower lately. And I can tell he’s in pain sometimes, especially when he gingerly attempts to negotiate stairs. But he never complains. He just accepts his lot in life, never choosing to play the victim. Buddy has taught me to be a more patient, calm, and grateful human being. He has taught me to be more forgiving of others and not to worry about things I can’t control.
I think about the fact that someday before too long, Buddy will probably pass away. When that day comes, I will miss him terribly. But until then, I’m grateful to have him in my life. And at the end of every day, I look forward to lying in bed, knowing that in a few minutes, Buddy will quietly meander into my bedroom, and lie down next to me. And my wife doesn’t mind it a bit. After all, Buddy’s her cat, too.
PS: Oh, about the photo at the top of this article. That’s a dear friend of mine named Charlie. He’s a great guy. Hope that wasn’t confusing.
That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.
PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.Â
Subscribe to my View from the Bleachers YouTube Channel and request notifications to see my latest videos. And check out my latest book, THE SECRET TO SUCCESS AND HAPPINESS (is Something I Have Never Figured Out. I’m Open to Suggestions).
