Mapco & Mental Anguish

An attorney friend of mine recently sent me a link to a rather interesting court-case. It involved a public servant, a $20 bill, and an attractive stranger. The scene takes place on November 22, 2009 at a Mapco service station located in Memphis, TN where Shelby County school teacher Kim Brown was attempting to pre-purchase $5 worth of petroleum. Upon receiving his $15 in change, Mr. Brown requested his currency be exchanged for a different denomination.

Fearing that a scam was afoot, the cashier refused to exchange the money and accused Brown of “tryna do a money-switch.”  The exchange ended when the cashier issued a full refund and Brown left vowing to contact Mapco management about the incident.  A few days later, Brown filed suit against Mapco claiming that the verbal exchange had been “life-altering” and had been the source of “severe emotional distress for which he has received professional medical help” in order to relieve the “mental anguish.” Brown sought a total of $1.5 Billion in compensatory and punitive damages. 

According to Brown’s deposition, his “mental anguish” stemmed from two places:

1.      Since the exchange occurred in front of other customers, his standing as a member of the local community had been unduly tarnished by being publicly accused of fraud.
2.      More importantly, there was a “beautiful young lady” in line behind Mr. Brown whose exposure to the baseless accusations ruined his opportunity to “be friends with her” because he “thought he might know her.”

Sadly, Mr. Brown lost both the original suit and the appeal when it was ruled that Tennessee law covered neither his reputation nor his loss of potential “friendship” with the aforementioned co-ed.

Despite the obvious pitfalls of representing yourself in an outrageous civil suit seeking a disproportionately large amount of monetary compensation, I feel bad for Mr. Brown. It is not easy to hit on a woman after she realizes you can only afford $5 of gas at a time, especially when your signature move is the “Don’t I know you?” routine. I believe that I can speak for men everywhere when I say that deep down inside we are all holding onto the notion that we are the first person to use that line and that the woman’s response (in a surprisingly breathy voice) will be “No, but dinner on Friday night could fix that.”   

In hindsight, this anxiety could have only have been intensified by his fragile mental state. If undesired bill denominations were enough to cause this type of mental anguish, one can only imagine how the couple’s thwarted first date might have gone. What if the server at the restaurant gave him back incorrect change? If being treated rudely by someone behind a counter is that detrimental to your physiological well-being, I would recommend avoiding the DMV. 

Some might see $1.5 Billion as a tad excessive, but if I am going to spend three years of my life publicly pursuing litigation against an oil conglomerate for damaging my chance at hitting on a stranger “go big or go home” seems fitting. He has undoubtedly already earned a reputation, might as well have the money too. Perhaps he has unrealized political aspirations and cannot risk being confronted by the media with allegations of running a “money switch” con on minimum wage employees.

I wonder what has become of the object of his affection. Does she ever find herself in line at a Mapco daydreaming about the passionate educator whose distaste for $5 bills almost changed her life forever? Does she ever look into the face of her toddler and wonder what might have been? We can only speculate, but as a hopeless romantic I cannot help but imagine that maybe these two will re-unite someday over a 

misunderstanding at an Exxon.

If I was in Mr. Brown’s shoes, I certainly would have looked forward to addressing a jury:

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I am but a humble public servant attempting to rectify an injustice. If I made one mistake throughout this process, it was that I cared about my community too much to allow these baseless accusations to go unpunished. While the defendant would trivialize the exchange as “unprofessional” and nothing more, I contend that this simple exchange forever altered my destiny.

Sure, today it is just a harmless “he tryna do a money switch” in front of an ex-con with a 6-pack and a smoking brunette, but pretty soon you will be in line at Baskin-Robbins and find yourself accused of pedophilia for asking to sample more than one flavor. I do this not for myself, but for every man, woman, and child who dared to dream of a society built on personal liberty and mutual respect. Therefore, I beseech you to make that dream a reality by awarding me a sum roughly equivalent to the annual military budget for the Philippines.

Movies That Suck: Straw Dogs

I had long heard the 1971 Dustin Hoffman thriller “Straw Dogs” referred to as a classic (that is actually how it is categorized by Netflix) and it was considered by many to be a profound statement on the undercurrent of violence that permeates modern society. It has generally been adored by critics and the public as a “masterpiece” that was far ahead of its time. Since I respectfully disagree with this analysis, there is always the possibility that I posses neither the intelligence nor the artistic vision to appreciate this landmark cinematic achievement.

***Spoilers Below****

The movie is set in the fictional English town of Wakely, where American mathematician David (Hoffman) has recently moved with his young English wife Amy (Susan George). From best I can tell, the town is populated by violent alcoholics, their unsupervised children, and one registered sex-offender named Henry. Several of the aforementioned violent alcoholics have been hired by David to install a roof on his garage while providing intermittent pest control in the house.

As the movie progresses, we are informed that Amy used to live in Wakely and had a previous sexual relationship with one of the handymen named Charlie. As David and Amy’s marriage deteriorates, David finds himself ostracized from the community at large and berated by his wife for his handling of several unprofessional incidents perpetrated by said workmen:

1.       Several blatantly hit on her in front of her husband.

2.      One steals a pair of her underwear.

3.      They attempt to run David off the road while leaving the worksite.

4.      They break into the couple’s bedroom and strangle their cat.

Then, the workmen invite David to go pheasant hunting where he is abandoned while they double back and gang-rape his wife. She, presumably due to David’s ineffectual handling of the feline strangulation incident, decides not to mention this development to her husband and continues to suffer in silence as their marriage deteriorates.

The film’s climax occurs when the town’s populace attends a church social where “Creeper Henry” wanders off with the teenage sibling of one of the workers and accidentally strangles her. David hits Henry with his car and carries him back home where the couple is confronted by the angry alcoholic-rapist-craftsmen who wish to apply vigilante justice. This sets up the last half hour of the film where previously mild-mannered David gravely announces that he will not “allow violence against his house” then proceeds to beat the bejesus out any Englishmen who attempt to enter his dwelling uninvited.

The movie ends after David partially decapitates one of the aggressors with an antique bear trap and calmly loads “Creeper Henry” into his car to drive him home. Since Amy never reveals the rape to David, we are left with the impression that David’s animosity toward the men he has killed stems from either their unforgivably-rude entry into his home or their sub-par craftsmanship on his garage. We are given no resolution concerning David’s marriage, the murdered girl, or the half-dozen dead bodies reducing the resale value of David’s property.  

I believe what bothered me most about this film was the complete absence of rational thought. Let’s start with David. He leaves America to move back to the tiny English village where his wife lived briefly before they met but where she has no further ties except for ex-lovers. He hires and continues to employ local construction workers who he is essentially paying to hit on his wife each and every time she returns from running an errand. As an added bonus, their progress is further slowed by their penchant for panty-snatching and house-pet execution all of which only serves to diminish David’s manhood in the eyes of his spouse. This, by itself, is incapable of ruffling David’s feathers but God help the fool who thinks he is about to waltz in and manhandle the prime suspect in an Amber Alert.

Now I realize that they did not have Angie’s List in the early 70’s, but would it really have been that hard to find another roofer? It seems to me that David would have had a pretty solid case to switch contractors (what with the sexual harassment and cat garroting) which would have prevented this entire scenario.

Amy, who continually admonishes her husband for trivializing her concerns about the worker’s intentions, walks topless around open windows and gets out of her car like she’s straddling a canoe. Despite being both unemployed and native to the area, she cannot seem to find the spare time to peruse the Better Business Bureau listing to locate a day laborer she hasn’t slept with. In fact, it appears that her only function in the narrative was to spend the money generated by the man she has lost all respect for while resolutely avoiding bras.    

The film was banned for decades in the UK for both its violent content and the rape sequence that many felt glorified the violent act and even made it appear consensual. I felt the most offensive aspect of the film was its portrayal of women. The town had only three of them (at least that appear on camera) and 2/3 of them ultimately become the victim of violent felonies. The only woman who escapes this fate is married to the preacher and remains silent when on-screen.

If this movie is a classic, someone owes The Godfather, On The Waterfront, and Vertigo an apology.  

  

This film was rated R for misguided selection of a sub-contractor, indefensible application of the “Castle Doctrine” and one cringe-inducing slow-motion scene of Dustin Hoffman bludgeoning someone to death in his veranda.

Yoga

My wife has long been a proponent of Yoga classes and has repeatedly requested that I go with her to “give it a shot.”  In a moment of sheer imbecility, I blurted out that I would go with her before our child was born hoping that the vague assurance of a floating ultimatum would keep her occupied until I could fake a lumbar injury. Unfortunately, she simply used our developing fetus as leverage and a few weeks ago bookended her request with, “Are you going to break the very first promise you ever made to our child!?” 

Needless to say, I soon found myself standing at the front desk of the gym while the tight-shirted attendant proclaimed that he “had no record of me using the gym.” I confirmed that while my wife and I are both technically members (it is cheaper to use the group plan through my employer than purchase a single plan for her) I have never actually been past the front desk. He glanced up at me and apparently my lack of muscle tone validated my assertions because he mumbled something about “letting me slide this once” but that I would need to make straightening this out a “priority.” I assured him that it would receive my undivided attention.

As we walked into the Yoga room, my wife suggested we claim an inconspicuous spot near the back of the class. My wife, like all serious practitioners, brings her own mat and after selecting a loaner from the “bin of shame” I understand why. The complimentary mats smell like feet & self-loathing. Each time we were instructed to “inhale deeply” I felt like I was driving a Cambodian taxi that had a used athletic supporter hanging from the rear-view mirror.

Thankfully the instructor had excellent taste in music so I was not subjected to a “Chakras & Maracas” playlist while my atrophied muscles were unnaturally contorted. The class itself generally consisted of the leader announcing the name of animal followed by instructions to “breathe loud enough for your neighbor to hear you.” I found this rather difficult as it was taking all my concentration to maintain “squatting zebra” while avoiding an involuntary release of flatulence (which I am told is a common issue).  

There was even a requests section when attendees can shout out their favorite positions so that they could be worked into that day’s routine. I briefly toyed with the idea of fabricating an advanced-sounding position like “herniated giraffe” so that I wouldn’t look like such a newbie but with my luck she would asked me to demonstrate it for the class. I also found it curious that several positions have sequels to them like “Warrior 2” which begged the question, “What exactly went wrong during the original warrior that necessitated a replacement”? 

Once an order was given, I would glance back and forth between the instructor and my wife in order to mimic the correct positioning. I learned very quickly that watching the instructor is as depressing as it is disturbing. During “reluctant squid” she appeared to have unhinged her upper torso and was in very real danger of being smothered by her own calf muscles. I knew that Yoga provides almost limitless flexibility, but the contortion was extreme enough that if Jesus had been in the class he would have offered to heal her of her affliction.

There is also the issue of wardrobe. While the female form attired in spandex can appear graceful and even sensual, the same options are not open to her male counterparts. It is just not possible to retain the same level of visual appeal while wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a Skid Row T-shirt because they are constantly slipping down to reveal the most utilitarian aspects of the masculine form. I doubt my spouse has ever wanted me more than when she witnessed my pasty-white chicken legs gyrating wildly as I attempted to regain my balance while my drooping shirt covered my face.

Overall, I felt that I performed admirably. I even managed to exhale deeply during a particularly challenging pose. Of course, this was more the result of kicking myself in the testicles while attempting to swing my right leg underneath me while seated on my extended left leg than a conscious meditative effort. 

I can certainly understand the appeal of both Yoga and mat ownership, and perhaps one day I will be requesting positions with the rest of them. For now, I am just thankful my wife doesn’t have a passion for Jazzercise.

Turn Signals

Solidarity Signaling

For those that do not know, this is when a driver turns on their signal but does not actually wish to turn. They simply want to inform others that the car in front of them is attempting a turn and once it has done so they will disengage their signal and continue forward. I have never understood the reason for this. I suppose the idea is to reassure all those behind you that you have not chosen to arbitrarily stop in the middle of the road for no reason. I prefer to think of this as a form of “signal perjury” since you are indicating a right turn but have no intention to execute it. 

I do like the idea of simply mirroring the actions of other motorists without taking any personal responsibility. The next time someone gives me the finger I will simply exhibit my own bird to inform my fellow commuters that someone ahead of them has become agitated. Perhaps if I am pulled over for speeding I will simply inform the officer that I myself was in no hurry, but I wanted to remind everyone that the person in front of me was.

The Blink

This is when someone engages their signal so briefly that the electrical circuit does not have time to register more than one cycle. The result is so fleeting that other motorists may assume this is an electrical malfunction with your car and not a display of intent, which explains their surprise when they discover your GMC Leviathan EX is now listing their direction.

The Alternator

This occurs when a motorist seems to have lost control of their extremities and begins to signal back and forth between a left and right-hand turn. More often than not, this will continue for several seconds before their windshield wipers turn on and they decide to continue going straight.This can be due to an unfamiliarity with the vehicle (it is a rental, they stole it, etc.) or they are having a heated exchange with a passenger about leveling up in Skyrim.

The Eventual Left

This term was coined by Jerry Seinfeld when describing someone who does not realize their turn signal is on. Inciting chaos and fear everywhere they go, these people have been known to travel hundreds of miles of interstate before discovering that the incessant rhythmic clicking they have heard since Albuquerque was not their jaw. If they are in the right lane, the rest of us will cross ourselves, tighten our sphincter muscles, and attempt to pass hoping that they do not decide to actually go left. 

I propose that all new cars should be equipped with a feature issues an electric shock if your turn signal remains on for more than five consecutive miles. If this does not work, at ten consecutive miles your sound-system will be overridden and you will be subjected to a recording of Rosanne Barr signing the national anthem until you return to your senses.

The No-Signal

This is the worst offense of all, often perpetrated because the individual is unable to work the stick as their free hand is attempting to press the Siri button after she repeatedly insists on searching the web for something you are trying to text to your wife.This can also be caused by a GPS  unit that suggests you “stay left” on a 15-lane highway just before informing you that you have 87 feet before you need to take an exit on the right. This maneuver often occurs in conjunction with the aforementioned sphincter-tightening.