Schmucks: I joined 'em!

It's 2pm on a Wednesday. You're out on the road again, and you're not alone. There are others like you, plying the afternoon trade, taking care of the business of the day. You know who you are. You, sir or madame, are a Schmuck. And these days, so am I.

After all these years of making disparaging remarks about Schmucks, I discovered the Schmuck within, and have learned to embrace it. Slowly but surely, I'm learning the tricks of the schmuck trade. By no means is it an easy road, Schmucking; it takes effort, and quite a bit of tactical cunning. Here are some of the key tenets of living a fulfilling life as a Schmuck.

Bumper Riding

How do you recognize a Schmuck? It's not about appearance, or clothing, or any particular sense of style or taste. To lure a Schmuck out of his hiding spot, you need only drive the speed limit or a few miles over it. Within seconds the Schmuck will reveal himself, and he will be right on your bumper, so close that you can see him leaning over his steering wheel, angling for some daylight to pass.

More so than language, driving posture is the preferred mode of communication for Schmucks. And it's actually a very easy language to pick up because there are only a few phrases to learn. Riding your bumper like tightie whities jammed into a butt-crack after a long journey, for example, means "I'm better than you", "I'm more important than you," "I have places to be," and "My car is nicer than yours." It's also the Schmuck's way of simply saying hello, so remember to return the favor when you notice someone observing the legal speed limit.

Midday Arguing

Schmucks like to have arguments in broad daylight. Here's one example.

Last week I encountered a Schmuck while dining at Whole Foods - a haven for Schmucks like me. I was placing a healthy plate of green beans, squash, and curried turkey into the microwave when suddenly a middle-aged woman with a graying pony-tail emerged from the shadows. Actually, I should clarify something about Schmucks: Schmucks hate shadows or any dark places -- they prefer to be seen -- so let's say she didn't emerge from anywhere, she was just there.

"It's a shame what you're doing to all that fresh food," she said, "Just zapping the nutrients right out of it."

This Schmuck meant business, and being a Schmuck-in-training, I knew I couldn't possibly battle a Schmuck of this caliber. I backed off. "Oh I'm just gonna heat it up for a few seconds," I said.

But she wasn't appeased. "Doesn't matter," she persisted, "Even a few seconds kills all the nutrients."

Though I should have capitulated and lived to Schmuck another day, this lady really brought the Schmuck out in me. "Well," I said, noticing that she had just added some cream to her coffee, "You probably shouldn't be putting Half and Half in your coffee." Then I went for the Schmuckular by adding, "It'll give you cancer."

Probably that last comment was beyond what any Schmuck would say. It was mean, but it was all I had. It was like calling the bully on the playground fat because it was the only thing you knew might put a chink in his armor. In this case, it worked. The gray poly-tailed Schmuck was disarmed by my comment and attempted to inject a little humor into our exchange. "I'm old," she said, "and I only have two vices left -- coffee and sex!"

At that point I worried less about my food and my feelings and started to wonder whether she was propositioning me. Schmucks are interesting like that; one second they're telling you how to live your life, the next second they're trying to get you in the sack.

Drive everywhere, and buy a drink wherever you go

Schmucks like me love going around by car, and our main task is to perform as many errands as possible during the late morning and afternoon hours (if you haven't figured it out yet, Schmucks do not currently have jobs). Errands are easier to perform with a drink in hand, most often a coffee or coffee-based drink but sodas (in particular diet sodas) will also suffice. Schmucks love Jamba Juice.

Drinks perpetuate the life cycle of the Schmuck.Wherever I go, I must have a drink, and the inverse is also true: whenever I have a drink in hand, I must go somewhere.  Sometimes, as a card-carrying Schmuck, I go somewhere just to get a drink, spend some time in the store drinking my drink, and then go back home.  I could easily make the drink at home but it's the getting of the drink that gives a Schmuck his purpose in life.

Drinks, and empty drink receptacles, are staple crops in Schmuckville.  Drink up, Schmucks!

Gary & The Rutabaga Garden: The Clearing in the Corn

Three fresh, purple rutabagas in hand, Gary and his mom raced through the back of the garden toward the corn fields and under the flight path of all of the planes taking off from the airport.

"Gary!" yelled Gary's mom as they ran through bushel after bushel of corn, pushing the thick green stalks out of the way to clear a path, "Run just a little more, up to that clearing!"

Gary cleared the next stringy stalk from his view and noticed an open patch of green grass in the middle of the corn.  It seemed an odd place for such a wide open space. Why didn't corn grow here?  Once Gary and his mom reached the clearing they stopped for a moment to catch their breaths.  Gary's mom knelt down to the ground and breathed heavily for a few moments, then looked up toward the sky.

"Gary, do you see it, right over there!" she said.

At first all Gary could see was endless blue sky, but then he heard the familiar puttering and sputtering of his favorite little plane, the Twin Otter.  The Twin Otter wasn't like other planes. It didn't have long wings or a giant silver belly.  Gary always knew when it was near because of its sound:  putt-putta-putt-putt, putt-putta-putt-putt.  It was a tough little plane, that Twin Otter, and it wasn't afraid to fly anywhere.  It could fly up high in the sky or down below, skimming across the tops of trees or even much lower near the corn fields.

Crouching low to the ground next to his mom, Gary heard the putt-putta-putt-putt sound of the Twin Otter and looked over the rows of corn for it.  Suddenly the sounds got louder -- PUTT-putta-PUTT-PUTT -- and Gary sensed it was near.  Moments later there it was, a white-bodied Twin Otter with a long red stripe across the wings.  It seemed to be circling around, looking for something or someone.

"Are they looking for us, Mom?"  Gary asked, starting to worry if they were safe in the wide, open space in the corn fields.

"I don't think so, Gary, but, for now, stay down just in case," said Gary's mom.  Now she was clutching his hand tightly.  The red-striped Twin Otter continued to circle around the sky, little poofs of grey smoke appearing in its tracks, and one time it flew low enough that Gary thought he could see something through the plastic hatch on top of the body of the plane.  It was the same red cape that he had seen from the rutabaga garden earlier in the day, only now it wasn't on the back of a hairy creature.  No, instead it was flying out the back of the little cockpit of the plane, right where the captain would sit.

"Mom, what's that red thing up there? Did you see it?" Gary asked.

"Oh you better believe I saw it," she replied, "And I have no idea what in tarnation it could possibly be, nor do we even want to guess."

Before she could even guess, the putt-putta-putt-putt of the Twin Otter grew louder and louder, this time it sounded more like a lawn-mower engine roaring away in the summer grass:  PUTT-PUTTA-VROOM-VROOM!  PUTT-PUTTA-VROOM-VROOM!  The plane flew lower and lower, towards the ground and the patch of open grass where Gary and his mom were squatting. This time the Twin Otter was not circling - it was going to land!

"Gary look out!" yelled his mom, grabbing his arm and pulling him back towards the thick and bushy stalks of corn.  Gary leaped from the ground and jumped toward the corn just as a strong whip of wind came through the clearing and lifted up everything in its path -- grass, corn, twigs, sticks, and dust scattered through the air as the Twin Otter came thundering to the ground - BAM! The plane hit the ground and bounced twice before it came to rest in the corn.

A few minutes later, the dust began to clear, and Gary and his mom slowly opened their eyes.