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My Super Power


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I’ve done it.

I’ve done it.

I’ve finally figured out what my Super Power is.


Now guys like Superman, they get the combo platter. Not me. I knew I wouldn’t get anything like that. Hell, I’m amazed I got anything at all, and Murphy’s Law firmly dictates that I wouldn’t get anything USEFUL.


At least not without a little thought.


For years now, I have not much cared for the chore of grocery shopping. Grocery shopping is a pain in the tuckus. For some reason, in grocery stores, people don’t seem to notice my existence. People blaze in front of me like they’re in a desperate hurry to get to the bakery section before they run out of rolls... and then stop cold once they’re blocking my path. If I am attempting to buy, say, a can of beans, I will arrive at the beans only to find one or two people strategically blocking all the beans while they indulge in the Trance of Meditative Consumption, serenely contemplating the nature of beans and their place in the universe.


And then they’ll give me a dirty look when I invade their personal space to reach over their fraggin’ shoulders to get a honkin’ can of beans.


But today, though, it hit me. What if my particular super power is to interfere with the brain function of those around me?


It doesn’t work on everyone, sure. My coworkers and my students don’t seem to get any dumber; it’d be kind of a bad thing for a teacher to have. Berni doesn’t seem to notice it, and she’s rather sharp, and gets no dumber in my presence. But it definitely affects some people, some more than others. It seems to hit the elderly and the very young particularly hard. And for some reason, it works like CRAZY when I’m at the supermarket.


So today, I actually experimented, mapped it out. I discovered that it’s a FIELD, it surrounds me, and it extends about ten feet around me. What’s worse, the outer EDGE of it extends another five feet or so, and it SPEEDS UP brain function. Walk into that perimeter, you may or may not notice me, but suddenly, slow and sedentary Grandpa is going to RUSH LIKE HELL without even realizing it... and if his path takes him into the Dead Zone, he’ll suddenly stop right in front of me with an expression on his face that says, “Where did I leave my keys...?”


egg.jpg.c1558fbf6452bab8d644245b9ba65d3b.jpg And from MY perspective... or anyone else’s... Grandpa was making his leisurely way through the meat section, suddenly put on a burst of speed for no apparent reason, and stopped cold RIGHT in front of me, blocking my path, most likely with a confused look on his face...


It’s not always that pronounced. Sometimes, they won’t stop, but they’ll slow down. Or suddenly decide to take five minutes to pick a brand of cereal. And other times they’ll stop cold with little OUT TO LUNCH signs in both eyes, right in my path, where just before, they were productively rolling along, picking products off the shelves. I think it also might account for the habit the bag boys have of loading all the canned goods on top of the bread and/or the eggs.


This has been happening to me for years. I don’t even GO to Wal-Mart any more; the effect there is so pronounced, it can take me hours to find and pay for three items and work my way out the door. Weekends at King Soopers, it varies... but I’ve found that going to buy groceries on the weekdays, when there’s no one but retired people and young moms there? Be ready to stop the basket QUICK, because someone’s four year old WILL bolt in front of the basket and stop cold like he just forgot his name, and allow for some extra time at the dairy case, because Granny will suddenly go into a trance while she looks at the milk like she’s wondering which color would go with the kitchen drapes the best.


And now I know. Now, all that’s left is to figure out how to best harness this power for good.


Or failing that, how to use it to make a bunch of money...

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My Super Power (which is really only a super power in very select circumstances) is that I don't have a sense of smell.  At work, we refer to it as the Zookeeper Super Power, because I can scrap ANY raptor enclosure, clean up ANY mummified and rotten mice, and hose poop all day.  So in zookeeping, it's crazy useful.


Around the house, where gas leaks and fires are sometimes an issue, not so much...   :huh:

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Eeeeeyeah, another thing they lied to us about when we were kids. I don't know anyone who can fly, but I know a guy who can clear a room in seconds if he's had anything dairy in the last half hour...


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1 hour ago, Painting Dog said:

My Super Power (which is really only a super power in very select circumstances) is that I don't have a sense of smell.  At work, we refer to it as the Zookeeper Super Power, because I can scrap ANY raptor enclosure, clean up ANY mummified and rotten mice, and hose poop all day.  So in zookeeping, it's crazy useful.


Around the house, where gas leaks and fires are sometimes an issue, not so much...   :huh:

And that's why they made various types of detectors to help out with such! ^_^

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5 hours ago, Dr.Bedlam said:

I’ve done it.

I’ve done it.

I’ve finally figured out what my Super Power is.



I seem to have the same super power. This describes way too much of the early part of my day today. Or maybe it was just 'cause Monday.

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I'm guessing my super power is along the lines of Uncanny Spot.  I can tell people where to find an item, but they often stare blankly at it until I pick it up and hand it to them.  Similarly, I've spotted that a tree is in danger of falling twice now--both times a good week in advance and only one was actually in view from my house.  Lately I've been spotting objects stuck in my tires before there's even a warning from the so-called automatic tire pressure monitorying system.  


To be fair, I think a lot of moms have this same super power; honed after many years of experience.  

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My super power is.... parking spaces.  Saturday night at the theater, park up front.   Black Friday at the mall, spot right at the entrance.  Convention, concert, festival, you name it, I get a "good spot".


My husband's power is gravity control.  He can make previously stable items within a 5-10' radius throw themselves to the floor without actually being touched.  Unfortunately he hasn't really mastered the "control" part yet. 

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4 hours ago, Painting Dog said:

My Super Power (which is really only a super power in very select circumstances) is that I don't have a sense of smell.


I have this ^ one. I figure it is the result of years of hayfever and other allergies...stopped up nose 300 out of 365 days a year. Always figured it was more of flaw/weakness. Just not as bad as krypyonite. 


My secondary power is: I can write upside down. I can sit across a table from you, put a piece of paper between us, and I can write the words so that you can read them (but they are upside down to me). I can also read posters in windows. From the inside. I’m talking about posters put up by fast food or retail stores meant to be read from the outside. 

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21 minutes ago, redambrosia said:

@Dr.Bedlam you should try shopping at 2am. Sure, you have to navigate around boxes and stock people, but there's decidedly less people overall, and those that are there are usually 20-30 somethings looking for booze and snacks.

I believe Red has access to a higher grade of Walmart than this griffon enjoys. 


There are ...less people* at such hours, but Oy! the things that pass for people. 

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54 minutes ago, TGP said:

I believe Red has access to a higher grade of Walmart than this griffon enjoys. 


There are ...less people* at such hours, but Oy! the things that pass for people. 

Well, it also depends on the day of the week you go in. If you go in on Friday or Saturday, wear your biggest pair of leave-me-alone-I-can't-hear-you headphones. I prefer Thursday nights, especially more towards the morning. Between 3 and 4 is quieter. Also WinCo is open all night, which is where I get my fresh foods and bulk foods. There's usually fewer flip-flopped guys in wife-beaters there. 


But, uh, yeah. There's less people, and that's the important point. Also, a lot less tiny humans to run under the cart.

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My super power is luck. But only in places where it has as little of an effect on the universe as possible. Just enough milk for cereal. Just enough cereal for the bowl. Finish cutting the grass and put the lawn mower back in the shed, to then walk out of the shed in a glorious downpour (Sunday!). I always seem to just happen to get that lucky break when I need it.


This manifests itself in other ways, that my wife interprets differently. She refers to it as my magical gaijin power, and it shows up in Japan a lot. It happens so often, she has come to rely on it. Rush hour on the trains? Let Darin pick the car to enter. It's empty and we all get a seat. Next stop gets packed with people tighter than canned sardines. Took a tour there and a stop was the tallest waterfall in Japan. Got there, and it was fogged in. Tour director shrugged his shoulders, and walked away to talk about other things. My wife looked at me, and I said to wait two minutes. Minute and a half, and all the fog drifts away, and suddenly people came rushing back to see. We had the prime spot, took our pictures, and I walked away. Two minutes later, fogged in again. I repeated this two more times for laughs since we had an hour at this one stop.


This is especially prevalent in traffic. Bumper to bumper traffic, and I need to be two lanes over for an exit? Two cars to my right get distracted, don't pull forward, and I slide right in. I can always get "my place" on the streets regardless of traffic. Passing trucks on two lane highways is a breeze. It always seems to go my way.


Except there's always a weakness. Superman has Kryptonite, Batman has parental flashbacks, Robin passes by a shop window with a really nice pair of leggings. It's always something. And I have mine.


Traffic lights.


I cannot get through them without having to stop at each one. Coworker didn't believe me, but drove him once to a different facility that I'd never been to, and he told me to drive X amount over the speed limit and we'd breeze straight thru the lights. Every. Single. One. We. Stopped. At. He was amazed, and had been checking my speed and found nothing amiss.


So, incredible luck for mundane things, but thwarted by the red light!

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One of my favorite Gahan Wilson cartoons shows a checkout counter at the grocery store. The clerk is ringing up purchases with a blase look on his face while the bag boy bags purchases with an expression that says, "I'm about to bolt from sheer terror." Lined up waiting to pay are a vampire, a werewolf, Hockey Mask Guy With Meat Cleaver, and other monsters.

In the caption, the clerk is saying, "It's the kind of crowd you get when you work the night shift, kid."

Regrettably, King Soopers closes at eleven, and I really don't what to know what stalks the aisles at Wal-Mart after midnight these days.


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    • By Dr.Bedlam
      The story of the Santa Mouse began some thirty years back.
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      And lacking funds, I fell back on ingenuity, and had her write a letter to the Santa Mouse.
      My darling little girl cocked a cynical eye at me and said, "Santa Mouse?"
      "Yeah, write a letter to the Santa Mouse."
      "And this Santa Mouse is distinct from Santa Claus? In what way? Elucidate," she said.
      I might mention that while my little girl was a sweet little toddle-darlin' with stars in her beautiful big brown eyes, she might have been a bit precocious.
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      "Right..." said my little moppet.
      "And that's where the Santa Mouse comes in," I said. "Bein' a mouse, he is ill equipped to bring bicycles or Barbie's Malibu Dream House to your stoop; that's not his job. What Santa Mouse does, now, is he handles the small stuff, spaced out daily from Christmas, and then on Christmas Eve, he rides with Santa to deliver the last small item, and assist with cookie eatin' duties and suchlike."
      "Small stuff, spaced out daily," said my little girl, having immediately locked onto the salient facts in the narrative. "So, basically, chocolates, small toys, and suchlike?"
      "Yups," I said.
      "So Santa Mouse serves the same function as an Advent Calendar?"
      "Pretty much," I said. "But he's not the mass operation that Santa is. You have to contact him directly, and contract for the services."
      "And what criteria are in the contract?"
      "You have to write him a letter, care of Santa Claus, and ask. You have to give mommy and daddy a kiss before bed, and you have to be good, as per Section C of your Santa contract. And you have to leave the Santa Mouse his own cookie (or a piece of cheese) on Christmas Eve before you go to bed, to conclude the contract."
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      "I leave it to you, my little darling."
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      "I assumed you were agreeing to the terms when I signed off on it as your proxy," I said. "Don't you remember our conversation about contract negotiations? If you didn't want to authorize me as your proxy, you shooda said so." And she sorrowfully agreed that one should always read the fine print before signing anything, sure. It's never too early to start on certain life lessons, you know?
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    • By Dr.Bedlam

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      QUOTE: "I have something in which you may be interested..."

      SYMBOLISM: Humor, fun, sheltered idiocy
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    • By Dr.Bedlam
      The last time I felt like God was back around 1984, ‘85, or so.
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    • By Dr.Bedlam
      “Well, there’s no such thing as cowboys,” the child said. “They’re imaginary, they’re in movies and TV and stuff. They’re not real. Like Santa Claus and dinosaurs.”
      The conversation between the sixth graders had been about Halloween costumes, and whether or not Li’l Shannon could reasonably go as a cowboy. Not a cowgirl; a cowboy. Jeans, boots, and so on. She seemed to feel that cowboys were cool, whereas cowgirls were lame, and where does one find pink jeans and pink Stetson, anyway? And Josh blew it all out of the water with “I don’t believe in cowboys. They aren’t real.”
      And it was at this point where I had to ask, “Josh, what makes you think cowboys aren’t real? I grew up in deep south Texas. I knew lots of cowboys. Who do you think raises the cattle that go to make your hamburgers?”
      “Well,” said Josh, a little taken aback, “There USED to be cowboys, sure. But now all that is automated, and stuff.”
      I had a bizarre vision, out of nowhere, of robot cowboys riding motorcyles, herding cattle, and squealing ‘yee haw’ in electronic voices.
      “So... you’re honestly telling me to my face that you believe that cowboys are extinct?”
      He looked troubled. Contradicting one’s teachers isn’t normally standard procedure for sixth graders, but he felt like he needed to stand up for his belief system. “Well, I said there USED to be cowboys,” he said. “I mean, someone had to fight the Indians*, and fight at the Alamo**, like Sam Houston and Davy Crockett, and all that. But now, there’s just people who dress UP like cowboys. They don’t carry six shooters, they don’t ride horses, and they don’t have anything to do with cows. Nowadays, it’s all about being in movies about old timey days, back in cowboy times. There aren’t any cowboys NOW. It’s like dinosaurs, you know? We know there USED to be tyrannosaurs, but now they’re only in MOVIES. Y’know? Like private detectives.”
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      “Um... Josh,” I began, as gently as I could. “Cowboys exist. So do private investigators. Look up PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR in the Yellow Pages, and--”
      “Yellow what?” he said, confused. Errrgh. Okay, I stepped into that one. Sigh.
      “Josh, you live in Colorado. Colorado has mountains at one end, and plains on the other. Those plains are full of farms and ranches. The ranches are infested with cattle. You’ve seen them, every road trip you ever took. Who do you think looks after those cattle? And you can hire a private investigator any time.”
      “Well, that’s just silly,” said Josh, indignant. “Why would you HIRE a detective when you can just call the cops for FREE? Private detectives aren’t REAL, they’re just in TV shows and movies. Like cowboys. Or dragons. It’s all PRETEND. You dress UP as one, you can’t really BE one. And cattle are domesticated, these days. You just CALL them, right?”
      I had yet another unbidden vision of a rancher blowing a whistle, and the cattle queuing up neatly to jump into a meat grinder. He was so durn sure of himself. Howthehell do you explain the truth to a child who’s quite sure you’re wrong? I know that insurance companies employ hordes of private investigators to check insurance fraud, even if they don’t look like Tom Selleck or Humphrey Bogart, I know you can hire a PI to see if your spouse is cheating on you and get photos for the divorce lawyer, and I went to HIGH SCHOOL with cowboys, fa potato’s sake, but how do you explain all this to a SIXTH GRADER--
      He smiled at me. “Look,” he said. “I appreciate you want to help preserve my sense of childish wonder. My parents felt the same way about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. But it’s okay. I’m grown up***, now. And you have to let go of your childish dreams sometime.”
      And that was how I witnessed the Twilight Of The Cowboys, right there in the sixth grade...
      *Actually, cowboys did not often fight Indians. Usually only on long trail drives, and even then, they’d rather negotiate than try to fight anyone while trying to keep a herd of skittish cattle from stampeding.
      **I do not know how many cowboys fought at the Battle of the Alamo. I do know that neither Sam Houston nor Davy Crockett were cowboys. Sam Houston, in fact, grew up among the Cherokee Indians, and was not at the actual battle... and Crockett was a woodsman and bear hunter who later held a seat in Congress. And while cowboys and Congressmen do have some things in common, they are far from the same thing.
      ***Don’t talk to ME about grown up, ya little broccoli, with half your education still in front of you, and just WAIT till puberty gets involved...

      ****Did I mention that this child plays Dungeons and Dragons? But still doesn't believe in cowboys?
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