So, the other day I saw the most awesome suit on sale in the Sears catalog. I mean, it didn’t have exotic polka dots or rhinestones or anything, but still it was an amazing suit nonetheless. The kind that Denzel or Prince would wear to the Grammys or to McDonalds or something. I had planned to spend the day being lazy and lounging around, but this suit was definitely worth showering and shaving for. When I got to the suit rack at the Sears store, I almost had to fight two women who’d beaten me to the punch and were hogging all the merchandise. Instead of throwing a temper tantrum like I initially started to do, I patiently waited my turn. No need to get thrown out of Sears and end up on the 10 o’clock news again. Besides, it’s 2010 and there is such a thing as women’s equality which entitled them to wear a men’s suit just as much as I am. And who am I to judge?

After what seemed like an eternity, I just couldn’t wait any longer. I politely excused myself, reached past them, and grabbed a suit jacket and pair of slacks off the rack. It was a good thing I was quick because one of the ladies looked like she wanted to gnaw off my arm for interrupting her shopping experience. Unfortunately, there weren’t any size 34 pants left. Those ladies had probably taken the last of them, so I ended up with a size 32. No problem, I thought. I’d skipped a couple meals that day. I had to be able to fit into a 32, right? No sweat. I’d probably been buying 34s not knowing that I’d really been a size 32 all along, or maybe even a 30. After all, anything is possible. Grinning, I headed over to the fitting room just knowing that everything was going to work out fine. Of course I could fit into a 32. And when you think about it, my telling folks that I was a 34 when I was really a 32 had been false advertisement. What on earth was I thinking?

First, I tried on the suit jacket. Perfect. I looked very dapper, if I may say so myself. Barack would have been so proud. That suit was the key to my future. I just knew it was. I could see myself getting job offers, clearing up the budget deficit, and winning cases on Federal Hill solely based on my wearing the suit. Feeling good about myself, I then moved on to trying on the pants. I thought I was in the clear when I pulled them up past my knees without the tiniest bit of resistance. However, I ran into some slightly major technical difficulties when I tried to button them. It was as if the button was a republican and the buttonhole was a democrat. There was just no way I was going to get them to meet in the middle.

I tugged as hard as I could. I tried holding my stomach in and not breathing. I even tried jogging in place for ten whole seconds in order to quickly sweat off a few pounds. Nothing worked. So, I did what any normal person would do. I called for help. Luckily, the guy in the next stall was free to give me a hand. A few moments later, still nothing. To save face, I told him the pants were mislabeled or defective or something, but he just shook his head in disbelief and went back to his stall. Deflated—but not deflated enough to fit into the pants—I hugged the suit, said goodbye to my future and Barack’s approval, and placed the suit back on the rack. Despite this, I am moving forward with the discrimination lawsuit against the manufacturer because there is absolutely no reason that they shouldn’t make size 32s that fit people who wear a 34. It is not fair and I simply will not tolerate it.

Moving on, as many of you know, I moved a few weeks ago from Baltimore to the DC area. I must say that I did an awesome job with the packing process. I had 53 boxes and not a single thing was broken or damaged. Maybe I should have my own TV show like Martha Stewart. I’d call it Packing for Dummies, or Get Moving with Michael. I’ll think more about the title. Anyway, I even came up with this packing process where you stuff plates and glasses between sweaters and comforters to save on buying those super-expensive dish boxes. Now, I may spend $5 on a latte, but there is no way I’m spending $5 on a dish box to protect my autographed American Idol plates. Seriously, who can afford that? We’re in a recession. At any rate, the move went very smoothly.

To jazz up the new place and give it more of an adult feel, I bought a brand new 42-inch flat-screen TV for the living room. The only problem I had was getting the TV from the store to my apartment. Since I didn’t want to pay for delivery costs and I was by myself, I had to choose a TV that I’d be able to carry to my car and up four flights of stairs on my own. The salesperson encouraged me to try to pick a few of units up right then and there to see if I’d be able to manage it. However, because we were in the middle of the store, I said I’d keep looking around and then come back after I’d worked up the nerve to try to lift one of them. It had been a while since I’d lifted anything heavier than a stapler, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself by appearing weak or dropping a new TV in front of all the other customers. Imagine that. Without hesitation, my salesperson bent down and picked one up with absolutely no problems at all. I’d been worried over nothing. I thanked the salesperson for the demonstration and asked her if she could be a dear and carry it to my car for me. I mean, she had already lifted it and everything. Don’t judge me!!! It wasn’t as if I’d asked her to drive out to my house and carry it up the stairs too. Now that would have been a bit extreme.

And in case you were wondering, things are going great at the new job. I’ve managed to learn my tasks and fit right in within a relatively short period of time—well, fit in as much as an unarmed civilian can fit in with a bunch of gun carrying uniformed military personnel. But when I think about it, there was this one time where I had this slight incident, but it really wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t. And it could have happened to anybody. I was just minding my own business and doing my duty in the restroom. When it came time to flush, I did so without reservation. Initially, it didn’t alarm me when the water didn’t stop running after a few seconds. However, when the water was still flowing into the toilet after I’d finished washing my hands, it was then that I knew I was in trouble.

As the water filled up to the brim of the toilet bowl, I began frantically fiddling with the handle. Despite this, the water kept running. I looked for something to use to scoop some of the water out of the toilet with, but there were no buckets or cups or anything lying around. I thought about throwing a roll of tissue or paper towels into the toilet to sop some of the water up, but my job doesn’t use Charmin or Brawny so I knew the paper wouldn’t be very absorbent. It was then that I noticed the water starting to spew onto the floor. Relying heavily on my nonexistent military training, I decided to abandon the mission and flee the scene as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, there was a line of people standing outside the restroom door waiting to get in. Without saying a word, I ran as fast as I could. Hey, it was either fight or flight and I know when to pick and choose my battles.

In all, the damage from the toilet overflowing wasn’t completely catastrophic. I mean, I’m sure the people that worked downstairs were ecstatic to have the rest of the week off from work due to the ceiling caving in and the computers getting all wet and stuff. It could have been worse though, right? So, what I’ve learned from this experience is that people should really flush at their own discretion as opposed to doing it just because society says it’s the polite and neighborly thing to do. When push comes to shove, will society be there scooping water and crap out of an overflowing toilet with you because you were allegedly doing the right thing? I think not. Furthermore, will society be there to comfort you when you learn that you can no longer squeeze into a size 32 even AFTER you’ve applied margarine, Crisco, and motor oil to your legs? Take it from me. You’ll be slathering and trying to fit in all by yourself.

Michael Rochelle
Access my full blog: http://www.justmichael.net/blog
Access my website: http://www.justmichael.net

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