Spontaneous Exercise

As a word of caution, impromptu workouts can happen at any time. This is the excuse I manifested when I found myself in a surprise session of exercise.

I was strolling through a pleasant and attractive museum with vaulted ceilings reminiscent of Villa Dei Papiri of Herculaneum (Italy) when the most attractive of sculptures caught my eye. My jaw hung slacked and I rushed forward to absorb the vision but in my hasty steps I failed to notice the rise of the threshold.

My foot caught the threshold and the foot following caught my heel and I fell in a long swoop towards the floor. I landed with a loud enough smack to gain the attention of those already admiring the statue that had beckoned me forth, worse yet, my companion had noticed my folly.

I did the very first thing I could think of and placed my hands beneath my chest and began to push myself up, then lower myself again, and repeat this in rapid succession.

My comrade cries in shock, "Are you alright?"

I answer as if the voice of alarm was entirely unnecessary, "I'm quite well, thank you."

"What are you doing?" I was demanded.

I reply just as casually the second time, "Push ups" "Why!?" I am interrupted before i can say anything more.

There has to be a reasonable cause for impromptu work-outs? I state, "Why... I saw the stunning vision of this statue and realized that I must begin to tone my body immediately if I wish to resemble such form of a marble deity!"

My comrade helped me to my feet and I cleverly followed up, "Alright, that is enough push ups for now, but I will require a recess later to complete my routine with squats." Obviously my clever ruse could not have raised any distrust in my word. My folly could be seen as nothing other than sincere enthusiasm for exercise.


In fact, on some level it pains me to retell this event to the reader as otherwise there would have likely been no assumption that I was anything less than entirely honest when I excused my misstep.

The Airport Security

My confident gait carried me through an empty air port and down long empty aisles. Aside from security, the only people at the air port were couples that clung to one another tightly in their final farewells before crossing the gates.

I stared at the affectionate couples and felt as though they magnified the loneliness of my own solitary travel. A security agent summoned me forth to move me through security and I motioned to the coupled locked in a tight embrace.

"I see your terminal provides complementary good bye hugs. Where can I receive mine?" I ask. The agent regards me with surprise and I query, "Here? With you?"

She quickly answers, "No." and she moves me along.

The agent beside the security check points declares as though accepting a challenge, "I will hug you." I look upon this agent with surprise. He states, "You weren't expecting someone to call your bluff, were you?"

I promptly dropped my luggage on the belt and spread my arms to accept his hug. Without a moment's hesitation he turned and walked away...

Though I was mildly insulted to be rejected by a security agent, I try not to take it too personally. It is possible that he was aware of my adventure with air port security and a penis in a jar. He could have known his best option was to turn and leave.

I never did receive my goodbye hug, but another security agents awarded me with a hand five when I passed through without setting off a single alarm (a considerable achievement, considering myself).

You Should Know Mister Stalker

There was a woman I once had a fondness for. To express my appreciation I dedicated myself to learning every detail it was possible to learn about her.  Our courting held more likeness to an interview than to a date.

I asked, innocently enough, "What is your favorite song?"

She answered, "You should know Mister Stalker."

I'd never heard of this song but it sounded interesting. It sounded like an ominous warning depending on the inflection and tone. "You Should Know Mister Stalker". I anticipated what the song could be about.

My imagination lead me to believe the song was informing the listener of a fellow known as Mister Stalker. It seemed they advised you should be familiar with his tricks and his intentions. Obviously, Mister Stalker was a very interesting person... but someone to be cautious of.

I searched for the song but there was no word of it existing in English or any other language we conversed in. Finally I returned to this woman and in exasperation I admitted "I never found the song."

She questioned "Which song?"

I answered, "You Should Know Mister Stalker."

At this point she laughs and clarifies for me that she had not given me the name of a song. She was calling me Mister Stalker, and considering my thoroughness in learning about her, she teased that I should already know what her favorite song was.

I learned a valuable lesson that day.

1. I am Mister Stalker.
2. You should know Mister Stalker.

Another Almost Ghost

I encountered an almost ghost recently while residing a small distance from Tombstone, an infamous Ghost Town of Tuscon Arizona.

I had not visited the Ghost Town, plenty enough cow boys died in this vapid desert around Tombstone to make the vast flat land a grave in and of itself. But considering I was in Tuscon for business unrelated to ghosts, ghosts were the very last thing on my mind... until night fell.  As I lay in a bed, staring up into darkness, I heard a faint metallic clicking.

click click click click click click

I held my breath and listened closely. The subtle ring of metal with each click made a very specific sound. Spurs, sharp metal spurs that quietly rang after clicking with each foot step.

click click click click click click

It was easier to hear now as the foot steps drew nearer. I gripped my bed sheets and my eyes searched the darkened windows, waiting for the shadow of a fallen man to eclipse my view of the sky. My lungs were burning as I held my breath. A chilled breeze penetrated the hot desert air.

click click click click click click

The clicking became faint, and it left. I breathed a sigh of relief and I forced myself to envision a local cowboy that was simply passing through on his way to a motel after a night of pensive drinking. We were safe, there was no reason to fear the locals.

But after some minutes of silence, I heard that sound again...

click click click click click click

I whispered to my friend, "Do you hear that?" He did not say a word and I shakily admitted, "I think there is the ghost of a cow boy walking around. I hear the spurs, but I cannot see anyone."

My friend assured sleepily, "If there is a ghost it won't want anything to do with us. We have not done anything to upset him." This was easy for him to say.  How did he know I had not done anything to upset the ghost?

It had been a long road that I traveled to Tuscon upon, and I had been required to stop and relieve myself on the side of the road at least once. Pray tell, what if I had unknowingly urinated on this un-known cowboy's final resting place?

click click click click click click 

I fall silent, the foot steps were drawing near again. I hold my breath and wait.

click click click click click click

The same as they had the previous time, the foot steps fade into silence as the apparition passes by. I'm quite certain I cannot endure an entire night of this pacing spirit. Even if I do not always subscribe to believing in Ghosts, the sound was audible and immediate, making it very hard to ignore.

click click click click click click

When I heard the clicking once more I could no longer be still. I slid out of bed and began crawling across the floor in search of a sufficient place to hide. I blindly pawed my way around the room, head-butting into a chair and dresser as I turned in circles, perhaps in a clever attempt to hide from the approaching spirit.

I turned around after head-butting the wall and continued crawling, becoming more frantic as the clicking spurs grew louder. Finally I stopped when I realized with dread that the spurs were clicking over my head.

It didn't take me long to consider the absurdity of this. A vengeful cow-boy ghost with spurs was one matter, but a floating cow-boy ghost with spurs was another matter entirely. I cautiously looked up and found that overhead there were two metal tassels gently swinging under the fan. Their rotations brought them together and further apart intermittently causing varying volumes of clicks that followed a consistent pattern like a metronome.

To be certain, I stood up and took the tassels in hand and I was relieved to hear the clicking stop. I pulled on them both several times, turning the ceiling light and fan on and off in rapid repetition as I mused over how silly I had been.

"Knight! Go to bed!" My friend abruptly interrupted by investigation of the ceiling light. I quickly turned the light off again and returned to my bed with the satisfaction that I had survived yet another almost ghost encounter.

Even better, my only injuries from this almost encounter was some minor bruising from head-butting furniture in the dark during my attempts to hide.