My Internal Others

Part 1 

Once in a while, I have written or write about my good friend Tumbleweed Truthteller.  I think Tumbleweed comes from many different places and if I were to write about him in order, this would not be the first place to start.  However, Tumbleweed likes things mixed up.  There is a part of Tumbleweed that comes from inside of me.  The very weird, bizarre and painful humour… part.  Let me explain through a story or three.

Story 1
In my earlier years, I was dating a girl and went to meet her parents.  I came up the door and pressed the door bell.  I could hear footsteps coming towards the door, it sounded like a man–must be her father, I thought.  It was her father.  He opened the door.  I greeted him and reached out to shake his hand and, from out of nowhere I thought, I sure hope I don’t bite him. 

Story 2
Often, many people get themselves into situations where they wish, when confronted, they would have said something else.  You know, you get into a big fight and the next day you think of something really witty to say.  I do that, but I also plan what I might say for things that didn’t happen.  Yesterday I was walking up Centre St bridge and a cyclist passed me, which is no big deal, except he didn’t ring a bell.  I didn’t know he was coming until he passed me.  I imagined that I, for no reason, stepped over and accidentally knocked him off his bike.  Now, this is no ordinary cyclist, as you can imagine, but a very aggressive and unstable one.  He says What did you do that for!?! and shoves me.  Now, I, being clever, pretend to be blind.  Then he gets really embarassed and feels guilty for attacking me because I am disabled and rides away while another walker, a woman, chastises him for being such an ass.

Story 3
A couple of weeks ago, at the top of Centre St bridge, I was crossing the street.  It was late at night, probably around 9.  It was dark.  The place you cross the bridge is for pedestrians only but there is only a set of streetlights (not pedestrian stoplights) and as I was crossing this idiot behind the wheel of an Astro minivan doesn’t stop.  So, not having enough time to get out of the way, I put my hand out–to try and stop him–and make him see me.  He stops a few feet from me.  Recently in Calgary, there has been a string of hit-and-runs and I didn’t want to become part of that statistic.  Anyways, we exchange a few gestures and I continue on my way.  However, what would have happened if he had hit me?  Well, I was ready to jump, roll up the windshield and then grab hold of the roofrack and ride on top of the Astro.  It doesn’t end there.  Because, obviously, this guy is an idiot and is a hit-and-run type of guy.  Thinking he has killed or seriously maimed me, he speeds off, while I am on the roof.  As he goes up the hill I bang on the roof to let him know I am up there, he hits the breaks, I go flying and die.  What a tragic end after such a stealth ninja move.