I Am Hater, Hear Me Hate

This may surprise you, but I'm not big "people person." What may surprise you even more is I'm pretty good with people (a trait I picked up in part at Subway, where sometimes the only way to keep yourself from killing the customer is putting yourself at their level). I really consider myself part of any given group of "people." I hardly even consider myself a "person." Humanity frustrates me. But it also intrigues me. As such, I've observed them. I observe and analyze people (perhaps the one thing I'm better at than feigning intelligence). That's why I call myself "The Random Examiner." I study habits and patterns within communities and individuals. Think of me as an amateur anthropologist. I think humanity is doomed to repeat itself, resulting in gradual devolution. However, I also believe that people are technically good, regardless of their own unique selfish ways.

So, to reiterate; I'm an observant misanthrope. I may not understand everything, but I hold strong opinions about life as I see it. And I usually get along pretty well with most people, in spite of being me. However, there are three groups of people that truly annoy me. Maybe I'm the bad guy here, maybe I just don't understand, but hey - haters gonna hate.

Hipsters

style: lensless glasses, ironic T-shirts (some of which I admit to owning), sweaters, stuff they bought at a thrift store

musical preference: crappy indie music, i.e. "____ before they got famous" (although they can also "ironically" like other, more "mainstream" music)

activities: sulking around, drinking coffee (Starbucks used to be a big hipster hangout, but I recently saw a hipster mug that says "Friends don't let friends drink corporate coffee." I guess Starbucks got too "mainstream"), talking about bands that used to be good until they got popular

Bros

style: fauxhawks, wings/flippies, backwards-sideways-or-off-kilter hats, pre-torn jeans

musical preference: Nickelback, Jack Johnson, radio-friendly hip hop, and the stuff hipsters used to listen to (before it went mainstream)

activities: watching Family Guy, listening to Dane Cook, sports (regardless of whether or not they have any emotional connections to the teams playing, bros will cheer wildly when a team scores another point), pretending they are black (so that they can use the "N" word without all that white guilt)

Juggalos

style: "hatchet man" logos, clown face paint

musical preference: Insane Clown Posse, Vanilla Ice (non-ironically), Tech N9ne, other Psychopathic Records artists

activities: I admit I know very little about juggalos. All I know is they're incredibly passionate about the music they listen to. I guess that's what annoys me; the fact that I don't anything about them beyond the music they listen to (and they drink Faygo soda, although I'm not sure if this is supposed to be ironic). All I know is I'm not crazy about Insane Clown Posse.

Poseurs

style: varies

musical preference: whatever they're not listening to

activities: pretending to be someone else. The point is (cue piano), don't be who other people want you to be. Be who you want to be. Otherwise, you're just a desperate douche bag. And now you know. And knowing is half the battle!

My Life as a Walking Series of Awkward Situations

I love writing. I like blogging. I like to think I do it well. But the truth is, I sound much smarter on paper than I do in real life. That's because I can pick and choose what I write. In life, I have no such filter. I have a disturbing tendency to say what I think. Plus, I'm rather large (a big, burly 6'4", and a hefty one at that). On top of that, my motor skills are limited. This makes me quite awkward.

(no, this isn't me. I make this guy look cool)

Realistically, I could list awkward moments starting from my birth to five minutes ago, but my memory doesn't serve me quite that well. So I will just tell you about a few of the most recent standouts.

Situation #1 - Waist-High in Whatsit

I served a Mormon mission in Brazil, where I spent most my time in the northernmost states of Pará and Amapá, an area where the sewage system runs above ground (I can't speak for the rest of the country, I honestly don't know). In northern Brazil, it also rains almost every day. There are two seasons in northern Brazil; summer (which is very hot and rainy) and winter (which is very rainy and hot). One day, after a particularly rainy lunch, my companion and I were walking some sisters home from lunch. We were used to jumping puddles, but today there were full ponds of poo to cross. When we came to a certain, large puddle, one of the sisters sarcastically suggested I "step on that white rock." The said "rock" was actually a piece of styrofoam, and I knew that. But I thought there was something to support it beneath it. So I stepped on it and immediately fell into filthy rainwater and human excrement. Feces.

I walked to our apartment cussing under my breath, whereupon I threw away my pants and shirt, left my shoes out to dry, and took a long shower. I was in no mood to preach. What's important to note, however, is that my companion and I were teaching a nice family, and we had an appointment set up with them for that evening. As nice as this family was, they had their grandmother living with them, and she hated us. This isn't all that rare an occurence, but she downright loathed us. We're talking Westboro Baptist-style hate. She'd already doused us in a couple of liquids (milk and this liquid vitamin that tasted like combination of urine and butterscotch) and even pulled a knife on us. So as much as she hated us, I hated her.

After much persuasion, my companion and I nervously went to go teach. And true to form, after about 2 minutes, she doused us in ear medication, getting some in my eye. I got up and walked out, screaming obscenities. I may have overreacted, but to be fair, I had just fallen into human waste. After a minute of coaxing, my companion (ever loyal and the voice of reason) got me to settle down enough to finish the lesson, under the condition that he would do the talking and hurry it along. After the lesson, I told him we were done for the day. He obliged.

Situation #2 - Suppose it's a Suppository

Another mission story. Fast forward toward the end of my mission. I was within a month of going home. I had been plagued with illness from the beginning, but I had made it this far, and I was doing pretty good, all things considered. Until I noticed blood in the toilet. Note: I am not a woman. It is important to note this, as it ties into the story later. So, considering I wasn't on my period, and considering my diet was high fiber (rice and beans every day for the past two years), I called the doctor to see why there was blood in my stool. He said it may be an ulcer, and gave me the name of a medication to buy at the pharmacy. He gave me the specific name, and I wrote it down carefully. He warned me, however, that it was a suppository. So going into the pharmacy, I was already not very enthused.

After I made my purchase, I returned home, opened the package, and... it was in a tube. What kind of suppository was this supposed to be? I exchanged confused looks with my companion who said, "I'm not going to help you apply it, dude." I imagined sticking a tube up my rectum, and said "I don't want your help!" and called the doctor back. I regaled him with what had just happened. After a thoughtful pause, he said, "It sounds as though they sold you vaginal cream."

Now I was truly angry. I called my mission president and the first thing I said was, "President, I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to be honest. Do I look like I have a vagina?" After a brief explanation, president was laughing at my misfortune. In a final interview before I left Brazil, he told me "Elder Orgill, I know you've been through a lot, but I just want to let you know... I've really enjoyed it." And he laughed his contagious laugh.

Situation #3 - Dark Times

As I've mentioned, I work at Subway. And I like to think I'm a pretty decent Sandwich Artist. But I'm just as awkward at work as I am anywhere else.

I was closing with a certain coworker one night. We share a similar sense of humor, which makes it so much more enjoyable. We talk about things as complex as relationships or as simple as The Dark Crystal. She's fun to work with.

On this particular night, we were discussing out mutual love of Dave Chappelle, especially his too-short-lived Chappelle's Show. We were quoting the famous "Charlie Murphy Hollywood Stories: Rick James" sketch back and forth. She had suddenly stopped talking when I yelled "Darkness!" (Rick James' nickname for Charlie). I turned around and saw a small group of black women entering the store. Dammit. I don't know whether or not they heard us, as they were very nice and fun to talk to, but it felt incredibly uncomfortable all the same. I mean, what are the chances? Black people in Utah?

Situation #4 - Sometimes I Can Be Retarded

Did that last Subway story make you cringe in discomfort? Wait till you hear this one.

One day, we had just finished serving some young men with Downs Syndrome, accompanied by a caregiver. I was working on making a sandwich for another young man, and had just finished making my third or fourth mistake when I yelled "I'm so retarded!" I instantly realized what I had done, and was met by a sour look from the caregiver sitting in the corner.

I went back to the fridge, presumably to catch my cool (actually, to sob as I ate my stockpile of meatball subs). I felt bad, but when I use a word like "retarded," I don't use it to refer to the disabled or handicapped. It's the same way I use the word "gay" to describe something unfortunate or unseemly or somehow otherwise regrettable. I mean no offense to my homosexual friends by it, and they know it. But for some crazy reason, "retarded" is taboo. And that's just retarded.

Situation #5 - Thpeech Pathology

The following is a Facebook exchange, posted on a friend's wall, for the world to see;

Friend's wife: Love you.
Friend's sister-in-law: No "I"?
Friend's wife: No, no "I"
Me: What she meant to say was "Brent love you." And that's just bad grammar.
Friend's wife: My mom's a speech pathologist, I'm allowed to have bad grammar as long as my mom's not around.
Me: Yeah, and thpeak with a lithp, haha. My thithter'th a thpeech pathologitht, too.
Friend's sister-in-law: Her sister has a lisp.
Friend's wife: My sister has a lisp.
Friend's wife: Speak of the devil.
Me: ... Well, don't I just feel like a giant douche. I'm going to go into hiding for awhile.

Really? This one seems very ironic. I mean, a speech pathologist that has a daughter with a lisp is kind of like a firefighter having a kid that's a pyromaniac.

I assure you, this post could go on for days. But I'm done embarrassing myself today. I'm going to go to the basement and weep into my pillow for a while.

Intelligence for Dummies

In 1991, Dan Gookin wrote an instructional book called DOS for Dummies, and ever since, many other titles added to the For Dummies catalog, ranging from crosswords to chess to Norwegian cuisine (that last one may not exist, but it probably will someday. There's gotta be some idiot who wants to learn how to make lutefisk). I myself have one about screenwriting that I have yet to read. Of course, by "dummies," they mean the general American public. But somehow, Obscure French Films for the General American Public just doesn't have the same ring to it. Each book features a triangular-headed little dummy that looks like this:

But that doesn't seem like a very accurate picture of the typical American, now does it? I believe these guys better represent Americans:

(they do wobble, but they don't fall down)

As many of these that have been supposedly written for stupid people, I find it hard to believe no one's wrote one on intelligence, or at least feigning intelligence. If there's one thing I know, it's how feign intelligence. The following is a guide for you, my fellow Americans.

First things first. If you want to seem smart, there are a couple of things you must not do to appear less stupid. You must;

a) avoid wearing anything with the Hatchet Man or anything associated with Psychopathic Records on it. With all due respect to juggalos (and I say this from the outside looking in, so maybe I just don't get it), if you really want to look smarter, please avoid this. It just comes across as tacky. It's like wearing a pot leaf symbol to a job interview. If you have any hats or clothing with the Hatchet Man on it, gather them up and burn them immediately. If you have a tattoo, the same rule applies.

b) stop watching Dane Cook. He takes potentially funny material and makes it less funny. Consequently, if you have any potential for intelligence, watching his act will greatly decrease any likelihood of you ever developing any intellect or a winning personality. Then again, if you listen to Dane Cook to begin with, the only thing you probably read anyway is the back of cereal boxes.

Now that we've determined what to avoid doing, here are a few things you can do to fake it when your brainpower just doesn't cut it.

Wordpower
There is no denying the power of words. Anybody can speak, but if you know how to really use words, you will appear much smarter. People often confuse articulation with intelligence. First, engage in a conversation about current events (note; do not talk about the latest Twilight movie). Then, at opportune times, stroke your chin and say "indeed" as though you actually care what the other person is saying. Also, try to use big/complicated words. If you don't know any, here are some of my favorites you can borrow (also note; be sure you are using these words correctly, otherwise you'll just look dumber):
indubitably - undoubtedly; kind of like indeed, but harder to pronounce.
loquacious - talkative. I'm not gonna lie to you, the opportunity to use this one doesn't come up very often.
onomatopoeia - the naming of a thing or action by the vocal imitation of the sound associated with it (think See 'n Say, i.e. "the cow goes 'moo'"). This one comes up even less, and if you can use it without sounding like your trying to come up with an excuse to use it, you deserve a medal.

Multilingualism
As in English, so it is in other languages. If you can speak two or more languages, people seem to think you are incredible. The more languages you speak, the smarter you are (seem). I speak English and Portuguese and a limited amount of Spanish, so I seem smart and a half. But I realize not everyone can speak multiple languages, to I'll give you a few simple words and phrases you can use in your day-to-day lives:
guero (Spanish; pronounced "wear-oh," with the slightest roll off the r; guera feminine) - white or fair-skinned person
l'chaim (Hebrew; pronounced "luh-[loogie-hocking sound]aye-im") - to life!
hajima (Korean; pronounced "haw-jee-maw") - don't do that/knock it off
Kashyyyk (Star Wars Universe; pronounced "ka-sheek;" also known as Wookiee Planet C) - the planet where Wookiees live, but not Chewbacca.

Appearance
For those of you who have been indoctrinated to believe otherwise by shows like Barney & Friends (no wonder we're so stupid), appearance does, in fact, matter. That's the first thing people notice about you, and as such, you will be judged accordingly. If you want to seem smart, you must look it. There are many variants of dressing the part. Facial hair can seem smart when properly groomed (males only). But for those of you like me who cannot grow any credible facial hair, the most important part is... the glasses. People see me and assume I know a thing or two about math and/or science. I don't, but that's not the important thing. The important thing is that people think you know it. That's what this is all about, after all.

If, after all this, you still struggle to make yourself seem smarter, know this; you are not alone. There are alternatives. Find a support group. Hang out with dumber people. Or, you can just learn to accept it and go back to listening to Dane Cook.