IT’S GENE’S FAULT [W, 3-3-21]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

IT’S GENE’S FAULT            [W, 3-3-21]

I have always enjoyed starting conversations with strangers as though we have a history. I’m not sure why I do it. I enjoy their responses. Especially the quick and clever ones. But it’s possible to get into trouble that way, which probably means that I have the Dirty 4 gene. That’s what they call the DRD4 gene, the one that causes its owner to take risks, with not much consideration for the consequences.

Once when grandson Joe was in Children’s Hospital at The U of IA, I was riding the elevator down to the cafeteria. An elderly, dignified black man got on. He was wearing jeans and flannel shirt, so clean and pressed that the creases showed. He didn’t look like the type, so we just nodded and said hello.

But then a young white woman got on. I could tell she was the type. There’s just something, that je ne sais quoi. So I said, “It’s about time you got here.”

She turned to face both me and the other man and with a baleful stare, then snarled, “It’s your own fault. I’ve been riding up and down in this thing all day, saying ‘Where in the hell are those guys?’”

My companion slunk into the corner of the elevator. The woman flounced out at the next floor. I said, “Don’t worry. She’ll come back. They always do.” He jumped to get the door before it closed.

I never saw either of them again.

When our grand-daughter was quite small, she was enthralled with “Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool.” I decided to buy her a black sheep to play with. I asked at a gift store, “Do you have any black sheep?” The woman reflected for a moment, then said, “Well, my sister is coming on Monday.”

Speaking of days of the week, I told the cashier at True Value that I qualified for the good looks discount. She didn’t even look up. “That’s only on Tuesday,” she said.

Often when I tell a waiter or cashier that I qualify for that discount, they say, “I already figured that in.”

A waitress asked if I wanted more coffee. “5/8,” I said. She looked perplexed. “Pay him no mind,” Helen said, “He’s only trying to confuse you.” She turned to me and said, “Good job!”

At a state park inn, the young woman at the front desk, when I presented her with our breakfast bill, said, “Do you want that charged to your room?” “No,” I said. “Charge it to the room of the richest looking guy here.” Her face fell. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “You’re the richest looking person here, so I’ve been letting people charge their meals to your room.”

I think she was kidding, but our tally for the stay was higher than usual.

Bob Hammel recently referred in an email to “…your only-John-McFarland humor.” I was taken aback. He is a huge talent in the writing field. More writing awards than all the others in his genre put together. An awesome wordsmith. When I’m with him, or writing to him, I try to play it straight, no split infinitives, no words like “angry” when “bellicose” will do. But apparently if you have an “only you” type of humor, it shows up even if you don’t intend for it to do so. 

Actually, I’m glad I have that Dirty 4 gene. I have gotten to enjoy a lot of really clever people because I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut. I can’t help it. It’s the gene’s fault.

John Robert McFarland