Simple Observations: A Humorous Look at the Absurdity of the World Around Us

By Patrick Dykie

Author Patrick Dykie has always been a keen observer of the world around him. He looks at almost every situation and sees humor in it. Years ago, he realized the world is a tough and unforgiving place. Sometimes, people need to see the absurdity of it and find humor in even the most mundane of things. In Simple Observations, Patrick offers a collection of humorous narratives about everyday life.

This compilation of short stories features everything from babies to ghosts to diets to excursions to the beach to wedding receptions to zombies. Patrick tells about trips to the bank, shopping at Walmart, Chinese takeout, a visit to the doctor, camping trips, those pesky mosquitoes and how, in his own, self-deprecating and clumsy way, he survives adventure after hilarious adventure.

From a visit to a psychiatrist, to fending off ravenous animals in the garden, Simple Observations takes a fun journey of people, places, things, animals, and popular culture through the eyes of an ordinary man.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532036491

Patrick Dykie

Patrick Dykie graduated with a bachelor of arts degree from Lebanon Valley College. After a long career in the construction industry, he is now, a full-time writer. He lives quietly in Reading, Pennsylvania with his Wife, Barb. He has two sons. Daniel, is out on his own in a successful career, and Adam is a senior in college. Simple Observations a humorous look at the absurdity of the world around us, is his first published book. Look for his next book, Short and Simple Observations - the absurdity continues, in the next year.

Book preview

PART ONE

Babies to Crows

BABIES

I t seems appropriate that my book starts with babies, and ends with zombies. Babies enter the world, and begin a new and wondrous journey. Then, a few months later, after multiple sleepless nights, incessant crying, and the changing of thousands of diapers, the parents usually look like zombies that have just completed a long night of rampaging. I like to tell new parents to relax, and enjoy these precious moments. It won’t be long, and your little bundle of joy will be a teenager. You’ll still be having sleepless nights, and listening to crying, but on the bright side, you won’t have to change any diapers.

I’ve been observing babies my entire life, and I’m just like most of you. I really love them. They’re so tiny, cute, innocent, precious, and adorable. Even a big, tough man like me can still have his heart melt at the sight of a baby. I have noticed though, as I’ve gotten older, and possibly a little grumpier, I don’t have as much patience with them as I once did. Maybe, things will change when I have grandchildren.

I will admit one thing. I certainly don’t have very much patience with new parents. It could be, I’ve forgotten what it was like to be a new parent. You have to admit the parents of newborns can sometimes be pretty aggravating. When you’re in Church on Sunday, what are the three things that drive you nuts? I’ll bet they’re cell phones ringing, the people who come in twenty minutes late, and those babies who continue to cry all the way through the sermon.

I can still remember my own experiences as a first-time father. When I think about it, if someone were to ask me to describe a baby in four words or less, I would probably say they are like an insane alarm clock. Imagine, having an alarm clock that will randomly wake you any time it feels like it, no matter what time you’ve set it to go off. It will sometimes be loud, and sometimes soft. It may even have different ring tones. Stare at it for an hour, and what happens? You’re right, nothing. Turn your head for five seconds, or roll over and close your eyes, and what occurs? Right again – total insanity.

When my son was a baby I can recall being tired and barely awake when he awoke at some ungodly hour. As I gently rocked him to keep him from crying, I remember doing more than my fair share of praying. Do you know when you have a crying baby at three in the morning, you often become very religious or spiritual? To somehow stop the crying, I would often pray not only to God, but to Buddha, and to every other deity I could think of. Do you know if there were any Greek gods of patience? If there were, I’m sure I prayed to them at one time or another.

Do you think babies are getting smarter, or are parents just pushing them too hard and fast? I once saw a baby in a stroller wearing a set of headphones. I’ll bet if he wasn’t listening to Mozart, he was probably learning French through the incredible Rosetta Stone language learning system. I’m not quite so smart. You could probably take the actual Rosetta Stone, and hit me on the head with it, and the only thing I’d learn, is to watch out for big stones. Soon babies will be smarter than me. I already have a teenager who thinks he knows it all. What now, know-it-all babies?

I hear parents are using learning programs to teach babies, while they sleep in their cribs. The producers of these lessons claim to be able to turn your kid into a super baby that will be reading by the age of three. Can’t we just let them be babies? Let them enjoy themselves by eating, napping and pooping their pants. Hey, that almost sounds like what I’ll be doing when I’m ninety. Wow, I can’t wait! I never pushed my own son when he was a baby. I was just happy to have him say goo goo, and gaa gaa, not, Excuse me father, but are you familiar with Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle?

To be fair, I was once one of those parents who thought their newborn was the smartest and most beautiful baby in the world. Have you ever had a parent say to you? Look at my precious little baby? Isn’t he the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen?

This has happened to me many times. What do you say, if the baby looks like a cross between Keith Richards and let’s see – Keith Richards ten years ago? I usually end up putting on my glasses to make sure I’m not hallucinating from some bad mushrooms, I may have eaten. If the baby still looks like Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones, I usually smile, and then lie. It’s not the poor baby’s fault his parents are ugly, and he looks exactly like them. Who knows, maybe he’ll grow up to be a rich and famous rock star.

I almost forgot about baby photo albums. Have you ever had someone show up at your house with what looks like the entire twenty-six book collection of the original Encyclopedia Britannica? I know the baby is cute, but come on! You have two million photos, and your baby’s only six months old. When do you have the time for all these photos?

Did you ever see guys walking around, and it looks like they have a one-foot tumor attached to their butt cheek? Well, it isn’t a tumor. It just happens to be the wallet of a new father with six-thousand baby pictures crammed into it!

Is it just me, or does every park bench and mall seat in the entire world contain a woman nursing her baby? I guess, it really shouldn’t upset me. It’s a natural thing, and I hear it’s better for the baby’s growth and development then formula. The thing is, I’m tired, and I need a break from babies. I think I’m having baby overload. Besides, the blanket keeps falling off. I’m tired of saying, I’m sorry Ma’am, but your nursing blanket slipped down, and I’m seeing a little more than I want to right now. Honestly, I’m trying not to look.

Is it just me, or are babies everywhere? There’s no escape from them. Here’s something to try. Go out in the woods somewhere, far from civilization, close your eyes, relax and listen. Chances are you’ll hear, either a baby crying, or a father vocalizing ridiculous and nonsensical baby talk. Come on guys. Stop with the baby talk. You’re messing up your kids. Imagine being a baby, and having your father’s face two inches away as he says, Who’s my little itty-bitty boo boy. Who’s dada’s teeny pooh bear. Kitchy, kitchy coo. No wonder babies wake up all night and cry. They’re having nightmares!

I’ve also lost my last refuge from babies – swimming pools. I used to love going to the YMCA, and having a cool, quiet dip in the pool, free from the sound of crying babies. Recently, I witnessed a class to teach babies to swim.? It sounds crazy, but it’s true. Babies enjoy the water, and will actually hold their breath when held under its surface. What’s next, baby synchronized swimming as an Olympic sport?

I have a serious question. What in the world is in baby food these days? All you have to do is walk slowly past the baby changing station at a local Walmart, and take a big, deep breath of air. The smell has sometimes been so bad, I’ve actually seen skunks with their paws clutched to their noses scurry past me, and out the front door. The bad thing is, parents will change their baby anywhere. I’ve seen it at mall food courts, in shopping carts at supermarkets, and on tables at McDonald’s. How many of you have ever been at a family get together, and had someone change a baby five-foot away, right as you were biting into Aunt Rose’s delightful Italian style meatballs? Kind of takes away one’s appetite, doesn’t it?

Here’s something I don’t understand. You now have toddlers who can speak coherently, read War and Peace, run like deer, and swim like dolphins, yet they still poop their pants. I was just at the store and I saw training pants for toddlers up to forty pounds. I think I was seven years old before I reached that weight. What exactly are training pants? Why not put the kid on a toilet? It seems to me that you’re just training them to poop in their training pants.

I still love babies, but right now I’m over here at Walmart, and I think they’re having the fourteenth annual screaming baby convention. I just lost one of my earplugs, and I have a terrible, splitting headache. There are baby strollers everywhere, being pushed by men and women who look like they haven’t slept in days. I wonder what those women are doing over on those benches. Excuse me ma’am. You just dropped your blanket. By the way – I’m not looking.

BAGGY PANTS

A few of months ago, I was out shopping for some new jeans. I always buy the ones that are a relaxed fit. I’m a big guy, and I like to be comfortable, cool, and have freedom of movement. I’ll usually buy my pants one size above my own waist size. As I was perusing the latest in denim fashions, a teenager who probably weighed a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, grabbed a pair of similar jeans off the same rack. He picked a pair with a waist measurement at least six sizes above my own. I thought he was probably buying them for his father who was either, a four-hundred-pound professional wrestler, or the starting offensive tackle for the Green Bay Packers. Imagine my surprise, when the kid took the jeans into the dressing room to try them on.

A few days later, I was stopped behind a school bus, which was taking a very long time to discharge its students. After about a minute of patiently waiting, I could see what the delay was, as a tall, rail thin kid of maybe sixteen, slowly shuffled off the bus. At first glance, I figured he was moving slow as teenagers often do to look cool. I had learned from my own son how it wasn’t cool to move too fast, but to simultaneously shuffle and swagger as if to appear confident and tough. As the young man moved into my line of sight it was only then, I realized that his snail-like speed was caused, not by any attempts at coolness, but rather by the fact that instead of pants, he was attired in a circus tent.

Looking more closely, I could see what I had initially thought to be the big top from a Barnum and Bailey circus, was a pair of pants, though so huge as to make walking nearly impossible. My first thoughts were, maybe he had recently lost three hundred pounds through a new and miraculous diet, or had been the latest winner on the Biggest Loser television show.

Maybe, his parents were too poor to buy him new clothes, and he was wearing hand-me-downs from his Uncle Earl, who recently had successful gastric bypass surgery. I also noticed, the pants were hanging down so low that if not for his brightly colored boxer shorts his butt would be exposed for the entire world to see. As the bus pulled away and passed him, I wondered to myself what would happen, if the bus, due to a freak mechanical problem, suddenly went out of control and swerved towards the young man. Would he be able to overcome the hindrance of his enormous pants, and somehow, at the last moment run to safety, or would he hopelessly stand in the street and stoically accept his fate?

I usually don’t get too upset with the current fashion trends of today’s youth. Styles of clothing come and go. Kids are always trying to fit in and look cool. I also understand the power of peer pressure among teenagers in today’s modern world. Looking back on some of my old high school pictures, I noticed some of the clothes I wore were pretty silly looking.

Did you ever watch the television show called Cops? You may have noticed how the policemen, who are often slightly overweight middle-aged men, always seem to run down the suspects who are usually fit and thin teenagers in the prime of their lives? In most episodes, the cameraman even manages to keep up with the chase. Once the suspect is caught and placed face down on the grass, and being handcuffed, take a look at his pants. They’re usually ten sizes too big and hanging down around his ankles. I guarantee all the cops are thinking to themselves, Thank God for baggy pants. If I had to run ten more feet, I probably would have had a heart attack.

Another thing about these pants is, they’re worn by the skinniest kids. You won’t see a three-hundred-pound lineman on the football team wearing them. You have to give these kids credit though. They’re legs have to be pretty strong to carry sixty pounds of pants around all day.

The second thing that bothers me is the way these big, baggy pants are worn. In today’s wordage, it’s called sagging. Sagging is the wearing of pants below the waist, therefore revealing the wearers underwear. I’ve been told this style evolved from the look of inmates in prisons. Prison officials would take away inmates’ belts so as to prevent suicides as well as to limit the availability of home-made weapons. How many of you have seen a kid walking around in public with his pants hanging down, and his underwear hanging out? Don’t you just want to scream, Pull your pants up for Heaven’s sake!

Whatever happened to those classic, and ultra-comfortable Fruit of the Loom, white underwear with the flexible waist, or those plain colored boxers? Today’s boxer’s come in an incredible assortment of colors, fabrics, and patterns. When I was a kid, my Mom would always remind me to wear clean underwear. This was in case I was in an accident, and had to be rushed to a hospital. I never had the heart to tell her, that with multiple broken bones, a cerebral hemorrhage, and my spleen in my hand, clean underwear would be the least of my worries.

It’s amazing how styles of clothing have changed since I was a kid. I’m not saying, I was cool by any stretch of the imagination, or my clothes were the latest fashion statements. As a matter of fact, most of my clothes were my older brother’s hand-me-downs, were too small, and often ill-fitting.

I can remember my clothes being more functional than today’s fashions. I worked in them, played in them, and went to school in them. The one thing I can say about my clothes which included jeans, usually two inches too short, and a tight white tee-shirt is, they were made for speed. You would have never seen an episode of Cops with me being caught by the police. Even the police dogs would have given up and taken a water break.

As a kid, I was always running somewhere, or from something at incredible and sometimes mind-boggling speeds. In contrast, the kids today with baggy pants most likely couldn’t out-run a pint-sized Chihuahua. I can close my eyes and envision them tripping, falling, and being overwhelmed by a furious assault of tiny paws. I, on the other hand spent much of my youth being pursued by a varied assortment of swift and vicious canines.

I still entertain my family, with the incredible story of how I once, in a dazzling burst of speed, somehow managed to not only out-run, but leave in a blinding cloud of dust, a hungry pack of rabid greyhounds. Well, to be honest, it was actually one beagle, but it was big, and pretty mean. I may have also been on my bike at the time, but back then we didn’t have any fancy ten-speed bikes like we have today. We got by with one-speed bikes. They only had one speed – fast. We would pedal as fast as we could, and pray the brakes wouldn’t give out.

I’ve come to learn a few important things in the past few days. Fashion statements come and go, including that of the kid with the gigantic pants. I guess, I’ll just have to accept that kids will always try to fit-in and look cool. I just hope, there aren’t any high winds in the forecast, or that kid getting off the bus is going to be learning how to para-sail.

BANKS

I usually do most of my banking online, but having a problem with my direct deposit, forced me to visit one of the local branches to cash my weekly paycheck, and resolve the situation. Whatever happened to those massive, impressive stone buildings, I remember as a kid that looked either like the United States Federal Reserve or Fort Knox? The pyramids of Egypt weren’t built any better. You figured it was next to impossible for a bank robber to come in and rob the place. Now banks are so small, you can almost back up your truck, hook on a trailer hitch and drive away with the whole bank.

The banks we had when I was growing up, always had a tough and alert guard at the front door that looked like he had just gotten back from a difficult and dangerous tour of duty in the jungles of Vietnam. Now, the only thing slowing down a bank robber, is tripping on the homeless guy sleeping in the vestibule.

Is our money really safe at these tiny banks? I’m always reading in the newspaper, how banks are being robbed all the time. The bank robbers rarely use guns anymore. They’ll dash in wearing ski masks, hand the teller a note, the teller will give them all the money, and then they’ll run out. It just seems too easy. Whatever happened to the days when ten guys would come in and order everyone onto the floor, and then force the bank manager to open the vault? I don’t think they even have vaults anymore. I’ll bet if you go in the back, there’s a gigantic porcelain piggy bank, ten-foot in circumference.

Is it just me, or are banks everywhere? I once pulled out of a banks parking lot, and right in front of me across the street was another bank. Have any of you, mistakenly drove through a banks drive-through, thinking you were at a McDonalds? Did you wonder were the big menu signs were? Don’t laugh. The way things are going, we may soon have McBanks, with Ronald McDonald taking care of all our financial needs, as we partake of delicious Big Macs.

I’m even starting to see banks located inside Wal-Marts and grocery stores. Has food gotten so expensive, we now have to get a bank loan before we hit the checkouts? It seems crazy, but you can now get all your banking needs taken care of while buying milk and bread. Have any of you ever taken out a mortgage on a house, or put your entire financial future in the hands of a twenty by twenty-foot bank at your local Kroger’s, or Supervalu store? If you did, I have a question. How are the rates?

Most of these tiny financial institutions, have a lone person sitting behind a counter. What happens if they have to go to the bathroom? If you ask to see the manager, do they duck below the counter, and pop up a minute later wearing a suit and tie, and say, What can I help you with? What if the person calls in sick? Do they close down for the day? If they get robbed, do stock boys and grocery baggers give chase? How come they never have lollipops?"

You may have noticed, as you pull into a banks parking lot, there’s usually three hundred cars lined up at the drive-through windows, and there’s cob-webs on the front door of the bank. Come on people! I know the banks a nightmare, but we’ll be here all day. Let’s all get out of our cars and head inside. I’ve always hated the drive-through. You open your window and there’s a speaker which never works right. You’ll hear a disembodied voice asking you how they can help you. I always want to say, If you want to make my banking experience a little more pleasant, why don’t you tell me how in the heck to open this plastic alien space pod, and if I do get it open, what do I do with it. What is that tube thing anyway, and where does it go? Is it a giant vacuum cleaner? If I went inside would a teller be holding a super suction Dyson upright vacuum cleaner with the new and improved cyclonic power settings?

Have any of you ever used a drive-through ATM? Who designed those things? Was it the incredible rubber man? You either have to be driving a tiny clown car, or an eighteen-wheeler to use them. I swear that a professional contortionist would have trouble making a transaction. Usually, I’ll take off my seat belt and have my wife hold my legs as I squirm through the drivers-side window to reach the keys.

The walk-up ATM’s may be even worse. How come they’re located, so that during the day, the sun is blaring down on them and you can’t see anything, and at night, they’re way in the back in an unlighted area next to a public park. If you ever used one after the sun had set, I’ll bet you were thinking, Hey, bank people. Could we please get some light back here? The muggers are the only ones with flashlights, and there’s an entrepreneur in the park, making a killing selling ski masks.

I guess outdoor ATM’s are better than those ones enclosed in plexiglass sitting in the middle of nowhere. At least with the open ones, a good pair of Nike sneakers and a head start gives you a fighting chance against hordes of vicious and desperate criminals. In those booths, you’re always trapped like a rat. All the muggers are laughing as they say, Look Joe, we got another one. It’s hilarious. He’s running around in circles. He looks just like a mouse in a box.

You also need to bring a rocket scientist along with you to an ATM to figure out what buttons to push. I can’t even get past the English or Spanish button. I’m half Ukrainian and half Norwegian. I never see those choices come up on the screen. Sometimes these machines will do the unthinkable, and ingest your bank card. It happened to me once. I went inside and said, Excuse me, but your machine took my card.

They politely informed me that it would take three days to get it back. What do they mean it will take three days? Does the machine hoard cards? Does it need a new TV at Target, and is going to use my card? I told them to give me five minutes alone with the darn ATM, and I would get my card back.

Do you remember when these complicated machines were called MAC’s? It stood for Money Access Centers. You put in a card and it gave you money. Now they call them ATM’s, and if it’s not your personal bank, you pay as much as three dollars in usage fees per transaction. I honestly think ATM stands for Automated Taker of Money.

Have you noticed, as soon as you walk into a bank there’s a table with stacks of all kinds of forms? It’s really confusing. There’s deposit and withdraw slips, along with ones for statement savings, money market accounts, and checking. I’m surprised they don’t have a slip for people without any money. They could call them, The I wish I had some money withdrawal slip. You write an amount down you wish you had, take it to the teller, and then everyone gets a good laugh. It would probably be good for bank morale.

I now know why everyone uses the drive-through. Inside the bank, you’ll see at least two tellers taking care of the cars lined up outside, two others counting money, and a lone gentleman in his mid to late nineties, working the inside counter.

Did you ever wonder how come banks have so much money? There are always people counting massive stacks of twenties, fifties and hundreds. I don’t have any money, do you? Where is all this money coming from? It seems, the only people these days with money are banks, bank robbers, Wall Street, and politicians.

I’ve often wondered why banks have expensive looking, red velvet ropes they put up to guide you down a cattle chute towards the tellers, thick plush carpeting, and lovely paintings on every wall? They must figure you’ll be so impressed by the display of fancy décor, you’ll forget you’ve been in line for twenty minutes behind a man who just returned from an exciting trip to the annual Beanfest, and Outhouse Races, in beautiful Mountain View, Arkansas.

Meanwhile, the one elderly teller, taking care of the complete financial needs of twenty-two impatient customers, is using an abacus to figure out compound interest. Don’t forget about the business person in front of you, who inevitably comes in on a Friday afternoon at four, to deposit six hundred checks, two thousand one-dollar bills, and forty-seven pounds of change.

How about the sweet little old lady in front of him, who after almost seventy years, is cashing in her World War Two era savings bonds. You, on the other hand have a pitiful, weekly paycheck that you’ll be buying a few groceries with. It’s enough to put you over