Most of the bad things in life can be made easier to handle if you skip the first four stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. I learned this early on in my childhood when the school’s bully would wait for me at the corner on the way home from school. See, the punk had already told me several times that day that he was going to kick my ass after school. I knew it was inevitable, and therefore, accepted it and went about my business.
Later in life I used this skill (??) when my cat fell off the window ledge (four stories. do the math and grab a plastic bag), when Bartman played outfield one autumn night, when in one failed exit from the bus I became an urban amish for a week (forgot my bag with my cell and laptop), and when me and the maintenance guy found Old Henry dead in his tub three days into the heat wave of ’95.
These and others trying times prepared me for what happened last month at work when I was paired with Anthony Bartholomew in a team building exercise. Anthony’s a flaming queen with breath that always smells like dick. I’m not kidding. It took me a year of talking to him at the coffee machine, in the elevator and in the plane next to me, to figure out that his breath smells exactly like any ex-girlfriends right after she’s done her thing and wants to try and kiss me. Ugh. After I saw that I was going to have to sit facing him for an hour, I went out and bought both of us a fresh cup of coffee, then offered him an Altoid so that “neither of us have to smell the others coffee breathe”.