The Power Of Yes

Yes. Just say YES. And all the world will come rushing in. Like a broken sewer main.


EXHIBIT A:

An elderly lady came to the desk, someone I've helped before.

"I can't find my hold."

I looked up her account. In the holds field I saw "SEXUAL..." with the rest of the title cut off. But it was an inter-library hold, so we kept it behind the desk. Just as I was turning to get it, she said,

"Oh! Is that where you keep the pornography?"

"Yes! Porno, Porno, Porno is the library's new motto, Ma'am. But since we're classy, we keep the porno discreetly behind the circulation desk. This section is for the Lactating Wombats and the Anal Swizzling. The library: we make you think AND make you jizz."

The book was actually SEXUAL PERSONAE by Camille Paglia. Uh, if she was expecting some porno in that, she was going to be sorely, jizzlessly disappointed.


EXHIBIT B:

At dinner with Dad the other night. I brought him some info about our illustrious dirt farmer ancestors, along with head shots of B. F. Thuma and his lovely wife Nevada Miller.

"Nevada lived to be 97. She seemed like a tough old bird... sort of like this KC steak I'm eating ha ha."

Dad nodded sagely. "Yes, longevity is mostly a matter of genes. Look at Warren Buffett--that guy drinks Cherry Cokes every day and... Wait, do you know who Warren Buffett is?"

Dad leveled a very serious look at me.

"Well, do ya, punk?"

I took a deep breath. "Yes," I said. "I think I've vaguely heard of this... War-ren Buffett."

"Okay. Anyway, he drinks the worst stuff and he's in his eighties, that guy! And then there's Jesus of Nazareth... Wait, do you know who Jesus of Nazareth is?"

Sigh.


EXHIBIT C:

At lunch with Mom the other day. I had more info about her adoptive family, but nothing much yet on her actual birth mother. She was going to need to take the DNA test, which she was indifferent about. What she really wanted to talk about was chicken.

"I bought five pounds of chicken wings. I can't eat all that chicken! So I asked Les if he would take my chicken. You know, he can heat them up for football games. They keep for a year. But you know what he did? He was nasty to me. He screamed and yelled at me."

"I'm sure he didn't scream and yell, Mom."

"He did! Why does he have to behave like that? I just wanted him to have some chicken."

In my jackass mind's eye I could see the scenes:

LES'S VERSION:

"No, thanks, Mom. We don't need chicken wings at this point in time. Thank you, however, and can I offer you a cold beverage?"

MOM'S VERSION:

"Ch-chicken wings....?"

"NOOOOOO! NOOOOOO!" Les roared, flames shooting from his eyeballs. "NOOOO, WHY WOULD I WANT CHICKEN WINGS YOU CRAAZY WOMAN?!?!?! CHICKEN WINGS NOOOO!!! YAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH AN ABOMINATION THY CHICKEN WINGS TO ME!!!!!! NOOOOOOARRRRRRGGGHHHH!! Etc."

"See, Mom, it's really a problem of point of view. From Les's POV, it makes no sense to have a gross tonnage of chicken wings. And if you took time to understand where he was coming from, you never would have asked to begin with."

Mom waved. "Ach, I don't have time for that."

"Okay, and we wonder why the country is divi--"

"Do you want the wings? I'll give them to you. Maybe you can warm them up for football games...?"

Mom looked at me, eyes shining with hope.

"Well?"

"Nnnnn... Yes."