It’s All My Fault
For Your Viewing Pleasure: Turn Off Your Television
By Duane Scott Cerny
Since the president has settled into his regular routine of setting fires across the globe with his flame throwing verbiage, it’s time to settle back and enjoy something completely different. Turn off the television. Turn off your cell phone. It’s time to experience life to the fullest. For your consideration, I offer these alternative viewing pleasures:
VISIT A DMV. But you don’t need your driving or fishing license renewed? Even better. On a good day the DMV sees more drama than a head splitting debate between the Desperate House Husbands, Steve Bannon vs. Elon Trump. (As they both still have their hair, there’s plenty of pulling, perhaps some of them plugs.) Don’t take a number, instead, just take a seat and watch the world explode before your eyes in twenty-plus different languages. My favorite incidents occur between short-tempered women and DMV clerks who’ve just returned from detox and/or just had their fingernails re-glittered.
RIDE PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION. I particularly like to watch the public on crowded buses, as there are inevitably crazy people to see and argument enriching fights to witness. Last week, I saw two older women, both of a similar sizable girth, fight over whose behind was sliding over into the other’s seat. At the height of the disagreement (neither one would move), the first woman shouted, “You’re too fat to sit here!” The second woman, aghast at the comment, turned to her and said, “Well, you’re no Marilyn Monroe yourself!” It was better than a White House briefing.
WATCH YOUR CLOSED-CIRCUIT SECURITY CHANNEL. I know I said to turn off the television, but any building’s closed circuit security channel isn’t television, it’s a real-life telenovela. I also know what you’re thinking: I’m not spying on my neighbors’ DoorDash dietary passions. Following the comings and goings in your building can provide hours of suspense, intrigue, and inexplicable scenes that will keep you glued to your intercom. Yes, you will see your neighbors, but you’ll also get a chance to see their friends, lovers, tricks, tradesmen, and various individuals arriving for assorted sordid assignations. It’s Manhattan SVU: Special Voyeur’s Unit.
VISIT A DOG PARK. Nothing is more relaxing than a visit to a dog park, unless you’re a cat or one of those tiny canines you can also wear as an accessorized brooch. Watching countless pooches chasing each other about, barking at nothing, sniffing each other’s butts, then marking most anything nearby is exceptionally satisfying. You can also see most of this same behavior down at the New York Stock Exchange but with more testosterone and stronger urine streams. I blame most of this aberrant human behavior on the nearby 200-plus Starbucks locations. Speaking of which…
LURK AT A FAVORITIE COFFEE HOUSE. Inevitably you will witness disputes between overworked baristas and entitled 20/30-somethings who insist their almond milk must come from a cruelty-free almond farm. If you visit often enough you’ll start to recognize the caffeinated regulars–try to catch screen grab glimpses of their glowing laptops. If you’re curious why Hollywood doesn’t make better films, some of the blame starts right here at Café Oy Vey with a screenplay draft of Billy’s Most Excellent Colonoscopy.
AND VISIT A DISPENSARY. Have you noticed the newest dispensaries now have all the charm of a satellite Chase bank? Bluntly, before you can say “pass me the blunt,” these two entities will morph into one. Stand politely in a cue, moving slowly toward the sole budtender/bank clerk they’ve wrangled into working today, reviewing in your mind what you want to order. “Yes, I’d like to cash this check. Can you give me the Indica Popcorn and the rest in twenties. I might need to do a line of coke later.”
WALK THROUGH UNFAMILAR NEIGHBORHOODS. “But Duane, what about my safety?” Trust me, it’s less destructive to your mind than watching cable news. You can run from a mugger but not from the misinformation spewing from your own television set. No, get out there and walk around some sketchy blocks of Gotham. Breathe in the street trash, both human and otherwise; fill your lungs with the inevitable smell of marijuana that wafts through most of lower Manhattan. If you get a contact high, even better. If not, I know a guy. Just keeping walking.
VISIT A POST OFFICE. You have no package to mail? Even better. They don’t need any more packages that can’t be tracked like D.B. Cooper’s frequent flyer points log. Yes, I’ve written about the post office before (See: April: A Showering of Fools) as it’s one of my favorite places to witness the inexplicable package transit requirements demanded by an overly optimistic public. Now, don’t get in line. Stand at the counter with the outdated forms and inkless pens. Grab one of each and pretend that you care. Then, prick up your ears and listen to the interactions between disgruntled postal clerks and those unwilling to ship FedEx. My most recent voyeur-heard incident:
Clerk: “What’s in the box?”
Customer: “A chicken.”
Clerk: “Is it dead?”
Customer, violently shaking the box: “It is now!”
Clerk: “You can’t ship uncooked poultry!”
Customer: “That’s okay. I’ll use my air fryer. What time do you close?”
As we all well know, there is no “real” reality television, only real life. And nothing is as unscripted, unbalanced, unreal, unwell, and yet so oddly satisfying as real life. Now get out there and lurk!
Duane Scott Cerny takes the blame for most everything in his monthly satirical column, It’s All My Fault. Best-selling author of Selling Dead People’s Things and Vintage Confidential, he is the co-owner of Chicago’s Broadway Antique Market and is a guest favorite among better podcasters. Contact him at E-ThanklessGreetings@yahoo.com.
