Continued from yesterday.

Circa 1984: There was one guy in my high school class with whom I had a little unannounced competition going. (I had a personal competition with him, but I don’t think he knew I did or cared if I did.) Maybe a reason for the competition was that he was also an aspiring writer. He was smart and articulate, and for some reason I wanted him to think of me as smart and articulate.

One time he and I were in the library on a computer — an Apple IIe, with a green text monitor, pre-Internet — playing a trivia game. The game would show a question and we had to press our assigned key on the keyboard (on the same keyboard, as we sat next to each other in front of the monitor). Our score was tied when the program showed the final question: “What was the largest dinosaur?”

I knew the answer to this question: Brontosaurus. (Yes, I know it’s more correctly Apatasaurus, but at the time it was best known as Brontosaurus.) Unfortunately my competitor hit his button first.

“Tyrannosaurus,” he said.

He’s wrong! I thought. The game rules allowed both players to answer the question, but the first to press in got first answer, and if he was right, it didn’t matter what the other player answered. He was about to press the spacebar to reveal the answer, but I stopped him. “That’s wrong,” I said, and I gave my answer. In my excitement I then immediately hit the spacebar.

Answer: BRONTOSAURUS

“I win,” I said.

“You said Tyrannosaurus, too,” he said.

Oh my God! I thought. I had, indeed, said “Tyrannosaurus.” In my excitement — elation at being able to beat him at this game of knowledge — I had just repeated exactly what he had said. Oh. My. God.

He chuckled, but I believe he thought I was just joking by repeating what he said and then claiming victory. He said, “That was fun,” and got up and left the computer.

I sat there, staring at the green text, still showing on the monitor. I had completely blown my chance to win over this guy. My gut wanted to curse and swear, but my brain couldn’t form a thought.

That was the one and only chance I had ever had, and would ever have as it turned out, to definitively impress this guy that I was smart. That one screw up has stuck with me my entire life. It taught me to never throw out an answer to anything substantive unless I give it a second thought. Even now, 25 years later, that event and that lesson haunts me.

To be continued.

Bullgrit

I’ve always been very competitive. When I play something, I play to win. I’m not all in-your-face, and I don’t talk much smack, and I’m a good winner and loser, but I definitely am not casual when it comes to any kind of competition. And I’m not competitive just with things I’m good at either; I’m competitive in any sport (though I don’t often play any sport), any game (I’ll play any game at the drop of a hat), and any even mildly challenging subject.

Because I’m willing to compete on anything, it’s not unusual for me to lose at something. Several years ago, (two companies and four jobs ago), our department had a foosball table. One of the guys in the department was a real wiz at the game. For a few months, I played him one to three times a day but I never won a single game. The best I ever got was to give him an actual challenge.

I didn’t mind losing because I didn’t lose because I especially sucked, it was that he was so good. Another guy in the department could occasionally beat the wiz — they were definitely the #1 and #2 players in the department. I was able to sometimes beat that #2 guy, but never the #1. I liked to think of myself as the #2.5 guy.

When I think back to times in my life when I’ve lost at something, there are two times that stick out in my mind. Both are sore memories, and they annoy me. I really hated losing those two particular times. Both are from my high school years, with guys that I really wanted to best.

To be continued.

Bullgrit

Today’s post is by Cowgrit.
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I used to work in a pediatric office as a nurse. This was before I had kids. It was quite a learning experience for me. I learned about growth, development, and disease. But most of all, I learned kids say whatever is on their minds. No filters! And they say the funniest things. And so do their parents.

Here are some examples:

I asked a little girl about 3 years old to take off her shoes while we weigh her. She asked her mom, “Mommy, what are they going to do with my shoes?”

I asked a 7-year-old and his mom what his symptoms were (why where they coming to the doctor). The boy said, “I’m allergic to school.”

A pregnant mom came in with her 4 year old for his checkup. She was showing him an ultrasound of him as a baby. She said “Look, here is a picture of you as a little baby, Preston!” He said, ”That’s Preston in a spaceship!”

I took a mom and her 3 young children back to an examination room. The mom asked me “Are we going to see a boy or girl doctor?” She laughed at herself, then exclaimed, “I need to get out more; I am around these young kids too much. Are we going to see a women or man doctor?”

I took a teenage boy and his mom to an examination room. The teenager was here for a checkup. I told the young man to get undressed and put the drape over himself. The teenager told his mom to leave the room. As she was leaving she paused as she had a second thought. She poked her head back into the room and said, “You did wear clean underwear?”

A 3-year-old boy said, “I came here as a baby, and they fixed me.” His mom said, “Yes, you were a baby, now what are you?” He said, “I am Trevor!”

Cowgrit

I’m regularly up in the evenings till 10:00, sometimes till midnight. Monday night I was at work till after 1:00 a.m. That’s 17 straight hours of work. Then four hours of sleep, and right back to the office.

Granted, my work is not physical, but still, work is work — it ain’t play. Staying up till midnight writing on my Web site, watching a movie, or playing a game is nothing like actually working passed midnight.

At work Monday night, by 8 p.m. I was already feeling that, “Good lord, but it’s late” tiredness that I don’t get at 8 p.m. at home. By 11 p.m. at the office, my mind and body had that trembly feeling. You know, that sensation of quivering even though you aren’t actually, really shaking.

By 1 a.m., I was just ridiculously out of it. My mind was in slow gear, and my vision had that haze that makes everything seem surreal. I got home at almost 2:00, and was in bed asleep by 2:15.

Calfgrit4 came out of the boys’ room 6:00 a.m., 4 hours later, and I got on up and went to the shower. I was back at work by 8:00.

Now, as I’m writing this post, it’s coming up on 9:00 Tuesday — 4 hours of sleep in 39 hours. That little core tremble is back, everything outside my head seems to be moving in fast forward mode, and the air has that screen of haze that makes everything seem unreal, dream-like.

It’s an interesting feeling, actually, this extreme lack of sleep. I don’t get in this situation often (especially not usually because of work), so it’s kind of neat to just sit and experience it for a while. It’s hard to believe I used to could live and work and learn in this condition. A body and mind loses a lot of lifestyle elasticity by 41 years old. At 21, I could game all night and then go to class and got to work without the strung out feeling I now get from just one night’s missed sleep.

But now that I sit here and think about it, I realize there’s a big difference between life then and now: family. Then I could easily make up the lost sleep by just zonking out any ol’ time — right after work, between classes, 11:00 in the morning, 3:00 in the afternoon, etc. I really don’t have that option and luxury now.

I really need to stop writing right now and just go to bed. I have to catch up on this missed sleep somehow — it might take me a week to make up the lost hours.

Bullgrit