Hey! Ho! Let’s Go!

Before I bore you with the mundanities of my life and, believe me they are many, I wanted to thank a certain Troll King for reassuring me about nuclear weapons. I still don’t like the idea, but at least I know that the government says “We’ll use nuclear weapons” the same way an 18 year old says, “I have a massive schlong.”

I went to apply for Gertrude's Social Security card today. A year ago, this wouldn’t have been all of that odd of an experience, except when the federal agent asks you when you’d like your child fitted for the tracking chip. But these days, when everyone is a potential enemy of the state, it was surreal.

The office is in a non-descript suburban building. Three floors high, so as to not impede the view of the wealthy suburbanites who want to see the sky. Those suburbanites who want to ignore the fact that there is life outside of their tiny parcel of land they pay illegal immigrants to maintain.

When I was walking to the building, I felt the same way I feel when I go to the bank. A simple act. Nothing more than turning in a form, smiling and leaving.

Walking through the door I was greeted by a security officer. One who, by the looks of it, would be more secure seated at the counter of a Krispy Kreme. His shirt alone took more fabric to manufacture than my entire outfit.

I was searched, including emptying my pockets. It dawned on me, as he was looking at my six dimes and the scrap of paper containing twelve letters which were important at the time I wrote them, but now seemed to be a cryptic code.

I expected Mr. Security agent to ask, “LG PEP ON GR PEP? And what the hell does that mean Mr. O’Brien. If that is your real name. Huh? What are you trying to pull? I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to strip.”

He jovially looked over my belongings and told me that Denise would be with me shortly.

And she was. Happily. Hardly the type you’d expect to work at a federal building.

But that’s the thing. It’s a federal building, of sorts. I was standing in the middle of a representative space of my government, my country. It had never dawned on me that anyone would want to harm anyone within 100 miles of me.

Of course, that’s what people think every morning in Israel before people start exploding. There’s a moment of peace, with coffee and the morning paper, before average people think, “I wonder who will explode today?”

But, apparently, people do want to harm these kind federal workers. There was a sign on the wall that read, “It is a federal offense to kill, kidnap, forcibly assault, or intimidate an federal employee while they are representing the government.” Or something like that. It had never occurred to me that anyone would want to harm Denise for any reason.

But two things occurred to me about that sign. 1. Isn’t it always some sort of offense to kill someone? Regardless of whether it’s a state, city or federal crime, it’s a crime. And a bad one, at that.

2. Is it possible to passively assault someone?

It’ seems that everyone is concerned about safety these days. Even Dominoes Pizza. I received a flyer in the mail recently that stated that Dominoes is “Fast, Safe and Friendly.”

Safe? Of course. These are the pizza people, not the mafia. They bring me hot, cheesy goodness. Why would they want to hurt me? They are the harbingers of cholesterol. If anything, I should ask them why they didn’t stop me from ordering.

“Fast, Safe and Friendly” made me feel as though I was going to order an escort. They don’t hang out all night, carry diseases and hey, they don’t insult your perverted ways. “Yeah, I’d like the Big Helpin’s Special. Make that a blonde and a brunette with . . . oh, leather.”

Or maybe all their drivers wear condoms at all times. Who knows?

When I got home, I had to make a merge file. A large one. Quite boring, but a necessary evil. As I was typing, I noticed one name.

Don Torok. I figure he’s either an Orc or a Klingon. Either way, I’m never going to piss of Mr. Torok. Torok! Choy Chu!

I don’t know. It was a pretty normal day. Nothing happened. Nothing. Except that I’ve started a music project entitled “The Art of the Hey.” It will contain only songs that feature the word “hey.” Fun.

I am officially boring. Which would explain why I’m obsessed with Snozzleberries.

A good snozzleberry in the morning, and one at night, really eases the mind.

Hey! Ho! Let’s Go!