Words For My Enjoyment

I decided it was time to do it.

To throw caution to the wind, rocks in glass houses, and feces in the faces of wannabe pirates everywhere.

Because when Pauly D decides it’s time to do something, he doesn’t let old antiquated sayings and poop pirates keep him from following through.

Because in the immortal words of The Secret you can, um, you know, do whatever it is you want as long as you do whatever it is you want.

That’s why I decided to finally wear my first eye patch.

9:00am – 10:12am: Woke up, shaved, showered, brushed teeth. Put styling crap in my hair and put on some clothing. Checked self out in the mirror, and opened the drawer to the vanity. There before me stood, the eyepatch. I put it on, centered it perfectly, and walked out the door. Today was going to be a good day.

10:34am: While getting into my car, one of the neighborhood gangs of 10 year olds walking to school shouts, “Freak!” as they walk on by. They’re only kids, I say to myself — and get in and drive away.

10:35am: I smash into the curb, cracking a huge hole into my industrial-sized, city-provided green trash bin. I could have sworn I wasn’t that close to the curb, but everyone makes mistakes. I drive down the street, off to a breakfast meeting.

10:42am: It takes me twelve tries to tune to my favorite radio station seeing as though my right eye is covered by a somewhat debilitating circle of black cloth obscuring my right eye. Nevertheless, I muddle through, settling on a Spanish station that’s already been pre-programmed into my stereo from the last time I valet parked.

11:05am: My breakfast meeting. My colleague wonders why I’m wearing an eye patch. I tell him it’s because I can. He wonders why I’m wearing an eye patch. I elaborate more, explaining that wearing an eye patch is my way of figuratively throwing poop in the eyes of wannabe pirates everywhere. That makes him lose his appetite and the breakfast is cut short. On the way out, while paying my check, I swear to G-d the woman at the counter asks me, “Arrrrrrrrrrrrgh you going to need validation?” I ignore her.

11:07am: I end up paying the full amount parking fee ($12) after not having my ticket validated.

11:15am: I am back on the road, heading to the supermarket for some quick pickups.

11:28am: In the local Ralph’s Supermarket. At the deli counter. Ordering some wonderful Boars’ Head roast beef. The people in the deli are laughing at me. Under their breath. Someone squawks like a parrot…somewhere. I wish people would be able to make jokes that were a little more fresh, like the roast beef.

12:23pm: On the way home, I slide through a stop sign and get pulled over by a cop. He asks me if I am missing an eye. I tell him no. He asks me why I am wearing an eye patch. I refrain from using the “slinging poop in the eyes of pirates” line for a more mature and less-vulgar line. I tell him my right eye needed a break from the onslaught of society’s MTV-style crash-cut images. He tries to understand then simply lapses back into cop-speak, telling me that it’s illegal to wear an eye patch while driving if it’s not being worn for medical reasons. I tell him I understand. He asks me to take it off. I ask him if I can take it off when I get home. He says that’s going against the point he just made which is that I shouldn’t be wearing it while I’m driving. Fine, I take it off. Reluctantly. My right eye, having not seen the light of day in three hours, can’t quite focus on the world. Still, I drive away.

12:25pm: I scratch my rims on the curb, unable to see with my now over-exposed right eye.

12:32pm: I put the eye patch back on. My body cannot survive without the black cover of protection.

1:45pm: I arrive for a 2pm meeting at a production company via my agents. I am up for a writing assignment based on an already published fantasy novel that is very Harry Potter-esque. There are no pirates in this project whatsoever. When I am done pitching “my take” the development executive says that she thinks I am perfect for the job. That I am obviously extremely committed to the idea, thus the eye patch. I am confused. What does the eye patch have to do with the job. I ask her what she means by that. She mentions something about fairies and pirates. I wonder aloud, “in the book?” She wonders aloud, “yeah, no?” I wonder aloud, “yeah, no.” She takes a sip of her Diet Coke and I am on my way.

2:49pm: I do not get the gig, because it apparently does not involve pirates.

3:23pm: I arrive at the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf for an afternoon blended drink. I sit outside, being the only person sitting outside. Soon thereafter, a young attractive woman sits at the other end of the open-air sitting area. She looks at me. I look at her. Eventually, she winks. I figure what the H — I wink back. But it doesn’t look like a wink. It looks like I’m just falling asleep. She assumes I’m not interested and goes on her merry way.

4:10pm: Being a hot summer’s day, I decide to pick up a Slurpee before heading home. While in the 7 Eleven and filling the cup up with cheery cherry redness, the machine squirts out too much too fast. It squirts right at my face, hitting only the eye patch. The eye patch has saved my retina. The eye patch is G-d here.

4:11pm: I wonder how one could pronounce the word G-d. Is it “gud” or is it “gahd” or is it “ghat” because with a missing ‘o’ in the middle there it definitely isn’t GOD.

4:18pm: While driving home, thine eye having been saved from a week of swollen Slurpee destruction, I hear the song “Private Eyes” by Hall & Oates on the radio station. The one line that really gets me goes something like, “Private Eyes are watchin’ you, they see your every move…” I dub my eyepatched eye, my “private eye” and laugh for at least thirty five seconds at the irony of it all.

5:00pm: The day is done. I remove the patch. Everything seems right in the world.