Ok, not really.
I've had one of those days. It started badly, it didn't get any better, and it ended up just as annoying. Other than my son, that is.
Let me tell you a tale of a man facing off against a city....
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
7:15 am: It starts with a knock at my front door. You see my neighbors are out of town right now. I have a spare key and have agreed to water their plants and take their trash to the curb, but that's it. Someone else is supposed to be feeding their cats.
This person forgot the key, but was told I would have a spare.
So, at 7:15, the knocking on my door became a bang as I searched for clothes to answer the door in.
"Ummm. Can I help you?" I ask still in a slight fog of sleep. You see I took the late shift. The very late shift so my wife could sleep. It was part of her "24 hours of you" I gave her.
She had 24 hours for it all to be about her health and well-being. I took the kid for everything except feedings (which I can't do...until he goes to bottle feeding...which I'll get to later). So, when he was fussy, I got up. When he couldn't sleep between 4 and 5, I took him. You get the idea.
"It's about time. I was knocking forever," the gal says.
"Yeah...I have this new kid. Month old today, in fact, and we were sleeping."
"Whatever. I need the key."
"Go to the other door and be quiet. I'll get you the key," I tell her.
After fetching the key, I go and shower. My son is feeding, so I have some time.
I get dressed and see the gal attempting to leave with my key. I go out while still putting on my shirt. The gal sees me...and STARTS TO BACK UP FASTER!
Seeing that she is trying to take my key, I run into the street, calling her, and then finally bang on her hood.
"What are you doing?!" She screams.
"You're trying to take my key," I reply. "I need it in order to let their cat in tomorrow."
"I don't have your key," she says.
I look in and it's in the cup holder. I tell her so.
"Oh...is that yours?" she says, then hands it to me.
"Try not to forget your key tomorrow," I tell her," Because I won't be opening up no matter what. Have a nice day now."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
10:30 am: I have just dropped my wife at her appointment at Litespa. As part of her day, I have gotten her a pedicure and haircut. Her feet are pretty raw, and she wants the haircut. I'm an obliging husband, so I set it up for her. This means I will have Poozer to myself for a few hours. No problem. We'll go pick up the professional pictures we had done then go for a walk around downtown.
No problem...right?
I was wrong.
The first issue came when I picked up the pictures at Ridgedale Mall.
Explain something to me, folks: What is it about a man pushing around a stroller all by himself that makes people either nervous or stupid?
I swear, people would stop and stare at me as I walked through that mall. I felt like I was wearing the Scarlet "P" (for parent). I was waiting for that scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers when the woman points at Donald Sutherland and makes that horrendous, alien noise. I tought one woman was going to do that when her daughter asked her, "Where is that baby's mommy?"
As for the stupid part? Well in both entering the mall and leaving it, I ran into people unwilling to hold the door open. In one case, the guy saw me coming and let go of the door just a split second before I got there. This meant I had to grab the door before it slammed into the side of my son's stroller without somehow jarring his head to one side when I had to move quickly.
And what is it about people touching babies? Seriously! I walked past a kiosk and this woman saw Little Leab all passed out in his stroller. She rushed up next to me and started to talk to me.
"He's adorable!"
"What? Oh, thanks."
"Look at his hair!"
At this point she tries to touch his head. What? Have I somehow given her permission to touch his head by acknowledging her compliment?
I didn't quite slap her hand, but I made a quick swerve and said, "Oh. When he's sleeping...you really can't touch him. He gets angry. Sorry."
Slightly annoyed, I set back to downtown Minneapolis.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
11:35 am: While walking around, I came to the realization about a few things.
1. I now walk much slower than I used to. Now that sounds odd, but you have to understand: I'm a New Yorker. If any of us entered into the speed walking competition in the Olympics, we'd win by miles. MILES, I tell you. Yet, as I walked about the Skyway today, I was much slower than almost everyone around me. It astonished me. I didn't want to go speeding along. No, slow and steady to keep Poozer comfortable and to people watch. I had a lot of time to kill. Yet business people were blowing by me so fast that I could almost feel the wind. One guy voiced his displeasure at me (while on a cell phone as well) and then shoved into a tiny space between the stroller and the wall to pass me. There was room on the left (made me think of those bikers who scream "On the Left!" while passing), but he chose the right. Then he was angry when he almost biffed it. I was all the way over. What else was I supposed to do? At one point, I pulled over to get some cash from an ATM. I was amazed at how fast people came by. You know how in some music videos the protagonist stands still and is clear, yet the world rushes around him? That's what it was like. It was an odd feeling.
2. People do not like strollers or men with strollers. I was obvious people were annoyed with me walking around with a stroller. I took up too much space on the elevator, I was too slow, and I was not always looking where I was going. I admit all these, but sometimes, people without strollers are just as guilty. I walked to the second floor of the IDS building, and pulled over to the extreme side (near Potbelly). I was nowhere near a door or anything. A woman walking, reading (could have been a day planner, could have been court documents), and talking on a cell phone wasn't paying attention. She walked extremely quickly into my stroller and nearly knocked it over. I caught it, but not before my son woke up.
I was annoyed (the running theme of the day). This woman then turned and started yelling at me about how "People and their fucking strollers. Go someplace else with that thing. Get out of the way!"
Now, I'm already annoyed, and my son is chirping, having been woken from his slumber by this caffeine-crazed idiot, so, in my best annoyed-teacher voice, I said, "Lady...get off the damn phone and watch what your doing. If my son had been hurt, I swear I'd have thrown you over this balcony. Get your shit together and move on before I claim you hurt a baby."
No more words, she left. She asked the person on the phone if he or she heard what I said, and her flustered tone told me that this person didn't. Even if he or she had, I was near a camera. I could back it up in court.
Still, she wasn't the only one. Several people didn't pay attention to or didn't care about the stroller. I also heard a few people looking at me and saying things like, "A guy...alone...with a stroller...that's weird, man."
3. You can never go home again. I went by St. Thomas, which was a mistake. None of the teachers I would want to talk to were there. Security followed me around the building (this goes back to the whole "guy with a stroller" thing) as if my stroller had an explosive in it instead of a baby.
I crossed over the business school (which was nice...I guess) into the law school. I had never been in the law building before. After today, I will never go back. Why you ask? Because I was kicked out. That's right, I was kicked out of the building.
Why?
Well, I was on the second floor. You have to go by the library in order to get to the elevators. I stopped to buy myself a drink, and while it was dispensing, Poozer let out a chirp. Then I got in to the elevator. I was met by a security officer.
"Sir, you're going to have to leave. Your son is being too loud."
"Ok, I'm on my way out anyway. Just waiting for the elevator."
"Good, because we have people here studying to become lawyers, and they don't need your child's noise to distract them."
"Ok then."
From below, I hear someone say (quite loudly, I might add), "Yeah, get that damn kid out of here. We're trying to study!"
The elevator arrives, and I go down to the first floor. It's now that I see the person who yelled up.
He and his friend are playing ping-pong. Apparently, as I was told on the way out, the baby's cry made him lose the point.
Sigh.
This led to an interesting moment outside.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1:50 pm: With Poozer having been fed and changed and such, it was then we headed through our adventure at St. Thomas. He did, in fact, eat from a bottle, but it was work. He really hated it. It's going to be interesting. Back to the point. He and I have left St. Thomas and are walking across toward Litespa, when we see...WCCO's Jason DeRusha walking up 12th (and obviously heading back to WCCO. I call out to him:
"He...DeRusha!"
But he keeps walking.
I try again.
"Yo, DERUSHA!"
My son stirs a little.
Now, I'm not going to run, but I do step a little quicker.
At this point, he turns and looks right at me, so I yell,
"DeRusha, you fucking rock!"
He keeps walking. It's at this point I notice the trail of headphones in his ears. He couldn't hear me. He was lost in whatever music he was listening to while walking.
I wasn't going to run after him, as I had my son and needed to get my wife, but it was nice to see him out and about. Shows that not all those news people are afraid to descend among the people.
Should we start calling him, "The People's Reporter," a la The Rock (as the People's Champion)?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
7:45 PM: This is the point where I almost lose faith in all humanity. Forget the people who don't see my son. I expect that of people without children, because I used to be one of them.
What hurts, however, is when the people that you trust or have helped in the past do not reciprocate.
I was tired this evening as I did the things I normally do on Thursday night: Mow the lawn, clean the house (vacuum, clean the bathroom, wipe down the kitchen), take out the recycling, and so on. I also had to take my neighbor's recycling and trash out as well. (They're gone, remember?)
So it's not a bad night out, and almost all of the people on my street are out on their lawns or talking to each other or whatever.
I'm taking my recycling to the curb, when I hit a patch in the driveway and my bin starts to tip.
I've got it, but just barely.
Slowly I can feel it tipping away from me, so I call out, "Hey! I need some help here please. PLEASE! I NEED SOME HELP HERE!"
No one moves. They just stare.
"ANY...TIME...NOW!"
Again, no one moves. Hell, two doors down, they get up...and watch. That's right. They watched. They never left their lawn.
I lost it. In slow motion before my eyes, the whole can tipped, and a large chunk of my recycling spilled out into my garden and the street.
"Dammit!" I shout.
I now hear laughter coming from a few different people.
"Would anyone mind helping me please?" I ask.
Again, I am surprised when no one comes to help me. No one!
They again watch as I pick up every piece that has fallen out. It takes me about five minutes.
I even hear the guy across the street commenting to his friend about the items in my stuff.
Are you kidding me? Where is the supposed Minnesota Nice? Oh, that's right...it's passive/aggressive behavior...not common courtesy.
These are all people that I have helped in the past.
The guy commenting to his wife? I helped him clean out his gutters.
The people on the lawn? I showed them how to fix their mower.
Yet when I ask for help? Forget it.
I grew up in places where houses weren't so close or where there were apartments. I had always seen these places in movies, or heard stories about neighbors being friends. It seemed so nice, but in reality, Bob and Jim don't really barbeque together.
My neighborhood still won't accept my wife and I after three years because we're too young. Hell, one of the people on the block recently put their house up for sale because of the, "young people...they're annoying."
Young people? There's my wife and I, and one other couple under 35. That's it.
The reason they wouldn't help me? Because I'm young. That's harsh.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 am: My son is asleep next to me as I write.
Shortly before he passed out, he smiled at me. Whether it was a real smile or gas, he still smiled. It made the world better, at least for a little while.
In my family, we talk about how my father has become anti-social in some ways, but on days like today, I'm not sure he's wrong. Do I want my son to be angry at the world? No, but I won't protect him completely from it. That's the problem I have with people who don't inform their children about reality: They truly believe ignorance is bliss, but it just leads to more trouble.
I hope my son learns from me without becoming me.
I also hope that my son one day looks back and understands that no matter what kind of person I become, I love him, and he is a huge part of my sanity now.
I don't know. I'm tired and rambling. He's a month old today (according to me. My wife says it's by the day he was born, so four tuesdays later, which means he's one month and two days old today).
In some ways it's funny. If my 19 year old self saw me now, he'd kick my ass. I got married (swore I wouldn't), had a child (been told I shouldn't), and I work a "normal" job (Had an offer to work for Momix, but turned it down...he would have REALLY been pissed by that one).
When the hell did I become a person?
Namaste.
