I am Iron Man

First off, this has nothing to do with comic books, Black Sabbath or Ozzie Osbourne, so if you're a comic geek or metal-head, I apologize. Not that I have anything against you, you are probably all really nice guys.

This is self-examination, if you will. A peeling back of the pungent layers of my psyche to expose what makes me tick. I'm saying this in the most literal sense. Truth be told, I'm not Iron Man. I dare say if I was a super hero I would probably be Cool Shoe Man or Shopping Mall Guy. As I've said previously, I'm totally in touch with my feminine side, which poses no problem unless called upon to listen empathetically to a friend, at which time I'll generally fidget, look at my watch and start thinking about what time the mall closes.

As some of you may know, I recently re-entered the work force. My days of doing it my way (i.e. sipping Pina Coladas by the swimming pool while listening to Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits) came to a screeching halt. Okay, I was actually drinking coffee while lying on the couch in my boxers, but why get technical.

After working for a few months, I've come to appreciate just how difficult work is, but I can’t complain. No. Really. I can’t. I'm surrounded by coworkers half my age and the last thing I want to do is look or sound like a wussy. Sometimes it’s hard work being so vain.

Occasionally, I must resort to some sleight of hand like the James Brown deadlift. When picking up something heavy I shout out, “Ow, somebody hep me… please." This not only covers a multitude of grunts, but also any escaping gas.

On the upside, I've become quite familiar with chemicals required to dispatch ants, roaches, bed bugs, rats, mice, gophers, etc. Not only does this make me popular with the customers, but it fills my brain with a plethora of valuable information should I ever want to do someone in (wifey, beware) without leaving any pesky Internet searches for the Forensic Files guys to find. Work can be cool and have future benefits.

On the downside, I'm on my feet all day. This presents a shoe dilemma. Should one go for comfort or style? I'd generally go for style every time because the wrong shoes can spoil even the sharpest outfit. After the first few days I caved. Don't get the wrong idea, I’m not wearing nurse-white Dr. Scholl’s, but I have ditched my B&W Converse for a sweet pair of Brooks running shoes in a metallic hue (metallic is a neutral, just ask Clinton or Stacy from WNTW) and am very pleased with the result. I guess maybe you can have it all. 

K.G.

Skinny Jeans, Macramé and Gummy Worms

I’m kind of excited and anxious this morning. This isn't

too surprising. After all, it’s my first day on the new job, and I haven’t worked in quite a while. Okay, it’s been 5 or 6 years, but who’s counting? A power trio of mental health professionals (therapist, psychiatrist and wife) felt it was necessary for me to get out of the house on a regular basis.

Reasons included:

Pasty complexion due to lack of exposure to the sun made it possible for me to successfully hide from guests by lying on the bathroom floor, thus blending in with snow white tile.  

I had run out of things to say to the chair, the lamp, and the empty macramé plant hanger on the back porch, which was only spoken to on the rare occasion when the lamp and chair were being pissy. I mean, come on, I’m not crazy.

Thirdly, they suggested that meeting strange new people would give me ample material for my writing, which definitely struck a chord. I believe it was a B♭, but don’t take that to the bank. I’m a C♯ kinda guy for sure.

After spending a couple of hours deciding on what to wear, I went with a new pair of skinny jeans, a mandatory “collared” black Polo shirt (does anyone that’s not a golfer look good in these? I think not) and black Converse sneakers. What I call business snazz-ual.

For lunch I chose a simple roasted chicken sandwich on sourdough (I know it’s not healthy, but wheat bread tastes like the cardboard tube from a roll of toilet paper), an orange, and raw almonds (wife snuck in), an individual-sized package of Pringles (I snuck in), a granola bar, and a bottle of water. I wanted to bring a bag of sour gummy worms to share with the other ki… eh… my coworkers, but wife vetoed that; along with dropping me off at the front door. Her reason being all the other employees drove themselves and they might tease me if they saw her, but I think she’s just too lazy to get up.

I must admit it feels pretty good to have somewhere to go in the morning besides the bathroom. And all the new things I have to remember like my locker combination and what time lunch is and stuff will keep my brain sharp. Best of all, my boss said she might let me drive a forklift.

Well, not right away, but I do get to walk in front with the two colored flags like the airport guys.  But I will someday drive the forklift. A guy has to have goals.

K.G.