The Wedgie: An introspective

There comes a time when everyone has to reflect. Everyone has to take a look back on their life and think, "What are some things that have shaped me? What are some things that have made me… me?" Recently, while thinking back, I remembered an incident in my life that was an eye opener for me. Well, I shouldn't say I 'remembered'. It's not really something that can be forgotten. The incident made me understand that we are fragile creatures, susceptible to all kinds of nature's wraths. The day I am referring to is the day that I was given... a wedgie.

Yep. A wedgie. It happened. Full on happened, when I was in grade five. I should give some background on me at that time. When I was a kid, I was picked on a lot. I get why. I was really keen about school, my hair was always parted, my clothes were terrible, and I was really shy. I always had to be early for school. Always. I would get up early, get all of my stuff together, then just sit by the door and worry that I was going to be late. I would cry to my mom until she took me.

"Mom! I have to go to school! I'm gonna be late!"

"What? It's six thirty in the morning! School doesn't start until eight and I'm driving you there!"

"I need to be there! I'm gonna be late!"

"Jesus Christ. Fine. I'll take you now. The school is ten minutes away. You're gonna be an hour and a half early. That's what you want? You got it!"

Most time, I was at school before the teachers were. Teachers would show up and I would be standing outside.

"Nathan? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"No. I just didn't want to be late."

"Late? You don't have to be here for an hour!"

"I thought I would be late. I'm an anxious kid!"

"...Wow. If I were your age, I wouldn't even be here. I don't want to be here now, but they pay me. Actually, I don't get paid to come in early. Yeah, what the hell am I doing here! Thanks for the talk, Nathan. I'm going home."

That part hasn't changed. To this day, I hate to be late. I really dislike it. Just know that if we are ever supposed to meet, and you say seven, I'm there at six thirty. That is a fact about me. I'll show up, look at where I'm supposed to meet you, and then walk around for a bit and still get there before you.

"Huh, they're not here, probably because they said they'd be here a half hour later than now. Guess I'll walk around and try to make it seem as if we showed up at the same time."

Not only were my clothes terrible, I was always really worried about not doing well in school, and I was horrified to be late, I used to cry all the time as well. Yeah. I wasn't really giving kids a reason not to pick on me. Cry about anything and everything.

"Nice hat!"

"Ahh, come on, man! Sniff Sniff. It's all that I have!"

I remember one time in grade two I cried because a guy made fun of me for not being able to open a Handi-Snack. I kept trying to open it and the wrapper kept falling down. A kid who was probably in grade five walked by and made fun of me.

"Oh, can't open it, huh? Ohhhhh!"

And he kept doing the action that I was doing – opening and re-opening the wrapper! I dropped the Handi-Snack and ran home. Ran home and cried! If I had this me as a kid, it would be hard to care after awhile.

"You're crying, again? About what? A Handi-Snack this time? Jesus. You want to get these culprits back? Tell them that hanging out with you is like always watching the saddest parts of Titanic on a loop. That'll make them cry."

So now you have a little back-story on how I was as a kid. Grade five. The day of the wedgie. On this faithful day, I was walking to school. There was a path behind my house that was called the 'power lines', basically because it had power lines on it. We were pretty clever.

"Hey, you guys want to go the store?"

"You mean the 'product-selling building'?

I was walking and I ran into five of the cool guys from school. You could always tell who the cool kids were in the 90s. The cool people all wore Starter jackets. Remember in the early 90s when Starter jackets were the greatest things on the planet? This was before hipster kids who weren't cool enough to wear them in the 90s started to wear them.

"I found it for forty dollars. Isn't it cool? No, the suspenders didn't come with it. I bought these separately."

In the 90s, if you had a Starter jacket, the world – at school – opened up to you. People opened doors, held your book bag, did your tests for you.

"No, thank you Mr. Starter jacket, man! Just to be close to you gives me the feeling that, one day, I too can be cool."

"Shut up, loser."

"You got it, Mr. Starter jac... Ow! Great jab."

So the cool Starter jacket kids saw me. They looked at their jackets, looked at mine, and saw that I was not wearing what it took to hang out with them.

"Hey, his jacket doesn't have an S with a star on it. Ours do!"

"Hey... you're right. That's a different jacket! Oh, man. I pray for these days!"

Once they figured this out, they started calling me names.

"Nathan... Nathan! Where are you going, Naaaaathan?!"

Okay, they weren't really 'names', but I was an anxious nervous kid! Also, you had to hear their tone. Their tone? Their tone implied that they wanted me to feel bad. You don't say someone's name with about eight extra a's if you want them to feel good about themselves. For some reason, that makes people feel dumb.

"Hey, Staaaaarbucks, guy. Can I have a tall mild?"

"What? What's wrong with what I'm wearing? I'm just working here to further my photography career! Why do you have to mock me? Why!"

One of the Starter jackets was an old friend of mine. We went to daycare together. Actually, one time, I went to his house when we were in grade four. He literally kicked his grandmother in the stomach and power-bombed her onto a bed when she asked him if he wanted butter on this toast.

"You want butter?"

"Butter? It's on!"

I thought that was a moment, but was he going to help me? Nope. He saw his opportunity to hang out with the cool people. He had already bought the jacket, so he couldn't stick up for someone like me.

"Guys, let's leave him alone. He saw me put wrestling moves on my grandmother."

"...What? Are you sticking up for a guy who doesn't have one of these balling-ass jackets? Wow. Tear the S off of that, man. You don't deserve it."

"But... guys... you know me. I listen to Tupac. I wear the jacket. I'm cool!"

"I said rip it off! Starter would be disgusted by you."

The Starter jacket guys started running after me. I didn't think they wanted to do anything good when they caught up to me, so I took off into the woods to hide from them. I ran for a bit and lost them! I was sitting there, thinking that they were stupid and couldn't find me, and then I remembered that I had to go to school. I was going to be late!

"No, I can't be late! I'll be a complete failure at life!"

So I left my hiding spot, and starting running to school, crying the whole way.

"I'm gonna be late! I'm gonna be late and as soon as I get to school these guys are going to beat me up! Why would anyone put a ten year old through this!?"

I got to school, and realized that I was there before the bell. Perfect, I was on time, and these guys are nowhere in sight! I did it. Just then, over the hill, there they came. Running and laughing because they knew what they were going to do.

"Told you'd he be at school! That's where nerds go. School! The place that we have to go but don't want to go!"

These Starter jackets guys came running down the hill toward me. I didn't know what they had in mind, but I knew it wasn't good. I knew it was not something I was going to like. I knew that it wasn't going to be playing pog.

"Why'd you run, man? We just wanted to see if you wanted to play for slammers. And to start you off, we were going to give you ten for free!"

I was prepared for something, but not what happened. They grabbed my underwear and lifted me over their heads. Over! I was in the air, yelling something that I don't remember, looking down at my old friend wearing his Starter jacket.

"But, why? I saw you jackknife your grandmother. I didn't tell your mom! I didn't try to stop you! We went to daycare together. Why?!?"

"You ever try on one of these jackets?"

"No, actually. Are they comfortable?"

"More comfortable than being lifted in the air by your Fruit of the Looms."

"Haha. Oh, you're right about that. Ah, man. Good one."

I was hoping that the underwear would break so that I would fall. Didn't even kind of happen. These must have been the strongest underwear in the world.

"Mom, thanks a lot. These underwear you bought me don't break."

"Oh, that's good to know. I'll get some more."

"It's not good to know when you're being held in the air by them! I need underwear that can break, dammit! I need underwear that tears apart like Hulk Hogan's shirts!"

"Nathan, you know I can't afford to buy you Hulk Hogan underwear. I'll keep getting the 'wouldn't-break-if-two-trucks-pulled-on-them' kind."

"That's it! I'm not wearing underwear anymore!"

Finally, they just put me down. I don't remember why. Probably because it stopped being fun once they realized that they weren't going to be able to rip me in half.

"Didn't you guys think this would split him in half like Baraka from Mortal Kombat?"

"Yeah, man! I've been playing a ton of that game. That's what I had in mind."

"This isn't a fatality at all. More like a bore-ality. This sucks."

The people around who were watching got bored and I was just put down. It took me a few minutes to straighten out my underwear, and that got the audience to watch again.

"Hey, look at this. The guy who was in the air by his underwear now has to straighten that underwear out. Oh, man. That's great... Well, I'm done. Anybody have any Gushers?"

Twitter @nathanmacintosh

The first Obama/Romney debate.

The presidential debates have started. The time when the president has to take time out of running a country to debate a man who wants to take his place. I do not watch reality. I watch these. These are the best reality shows there are. Why? It's because the votes here are for all the marbles, unlike other shows where you vote to see who will win a singing contest or who will eat a June bug.

"Man, I HATE Jason. I'm gonna vote twice for him to have to drink battery acid. That'll teach you, you 'I-love-my-wife-and-kids' piece of trash! Take that family-loving-shit to the OWN network!"

I watched the first debate the other night and here are some of my thoughts on it.

My first thought was – did Mitt have a bet with someone that he could say 'middle class' more times than George Bush said 'freedom'?

"Hey, how many times did Bush say 'freedom' during his presidency?"

"Jesus, I don't know. It'd be easier to tell you how many M&M's are in a gallon jug. Millions?"

"Huh. I bet you I can beat that."

"Sorry, what?"

"I can say 'middle class' more times than he said 'freedom'. Wanna bet pink slips?"

"...Mitt, Jesus... why? This isn't The Fast and the Furious. Plus, middle class people get offended when you say middle class. You have maids, Mitt! Maids! Your name is Mitt! You don't have any idea about the middle class! Your first name is Willard!"

"Hell, middle class. I love middle class more than I love middle class. Middle class? Middle class, middle class. Middle!"

"Mitt, please, tell me you're getting those out now before this debate begins."

"I'd middle love class to, but I'm middle just getting class started."

Everyone has been talking about Barack not really showing up. Barack did act as if he wasn't focused, or at least as though he was tired. Nobody brought up the fact that it was his twentieth anniversary of his marriage to Michelle, though. Michelle and Barack seem to be crazy in love. He was probably tired because he was up all night.

"Michelle, I'd... love to have sex... with you... one more time. But... as you know... I... have a presidential debate... ah,... tomorrow. So... in the best interest of that... annnnd to take my opponent seriously... I believe... I should... drink some water... annnnd get some sleep. I hope that... on our twentieth anniversary... that making love nineteen... ah, times... will suffice."

"Barack, Mitt isn't a problem. Come back to bed."

"Well, it seems as though... new facts... have ahhh, come to light. And with these... new developments, I will, ahhh, get back into bed... annnnd deliver... on this twentieth time."

It had to have something to do with their anniversary. Either having sex or arguing all night about the date it fell on.

"Michelle, now I know... we've been married... for twenty years. Annnd as much as I... would love to take you to dinner... oooor a show... I have... a very important debate... to attend."

"I can't believe this, Barack! We only have one twentieth year anniversary. One! How can you spend it arguing with a soulless white man on national TV!?"

"Michelle... now you know... I love you... annnd the twenty years... we've spent together. But... I have to debate... this soulless man. I have to... be wide awake... annnnd alert. Can we possibly... talk about this... ah... tomorrow?"

"Oh, no, Barack. We canNOT talk about this tomorrow. We will talk about it right now! I don't care if you look like you had a twelve-hour lay over in Dubai! We're gonna talk this out NOW!"

Also, during the debate, why do the debaters not directly address each other? Why? Out of respect? Isn't it much more respectful to address the person you are talking about if they are in the room, much less standing next to you, AND you are debating them?

"Under the president's policies, we are floundering."

"What do you mean 'under the president's policies'? I'm right here! Look me in the face and say, 'Because of YOUR policies. I ain't in the next room. Say it to my face, Mitt!"

Why not address each other? It would be ridiculous if they did this in any other part of their lives.

"Dinner's ready!"

"Well, because of my wife's cooking, the pot roast is burnt. I just don't think her recipe for such a dish is up to par with others on the market."

"I'm in the kitchen with you, Mitt! Can you not just address me? I can't stand this anymore! I know you are getting ready for your debate, but talk to me when you're talking to me! And last night's, 'I just don't think my wife's sexual intercourse is as much on her mind as the families laundry' is not cute. You know we wear clothes once and then throw them in the trash, pouring gasoline on them so that disgusting poor people can't reuse them, Mitt. You know that!"

Once the debate was over, people freaked out about both men lying.

"He lied this many times!"

"Yeah, well, YOUR guy lied this many times!"

As if that's supposed to be something. They're both not going to tell the full truth! That is how this whole thing is done. They can't just be up there telling you everything. That wouldn't be a presidential debate. It would be an episode of Jersey Shore.

"Governor Romney, what are your views on the poor?"

"Poor? 'BEEP' the poor! Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, that is if you have any, you broke pieces of trash. Jesus, is it THAT 'BEEP'ing hard to make two hundred million dollars? The only time I let poor people around me is when I'm paying my 'BEEP'ing gardener, and even then I tell him to go to the end of the driveway, and I shoot his cheque at him from a t-shirt gun. Poor. Please. Get the 'BEEP' out of here."

Personally, I love some of the lies. Especially the stories that each man told about poor, sad women running up to them. They were just these ridiculously sad stories of downtrodden people who came up to them to get the crowd on their side.

"Just yesterday, a woman grabbed my arm and said, 'I have cancer in all of my arms, both of my hands are mechanical, and I am currently on fire. Can you help me?' And the answer is yes, I can help, if I become president. Stay alive long enough to vote and I'll throw some water."

If these actually do happen, why only tell the sad stories? People must not always have sad things to say when they come up to presidential candidates.

"Just yesterday, a woman grabbed my arm and said, 'Hey, there's something in your teeth'. It's that kind of everyone-looking-out-for-everyone America that I want to live in. Vote for me and we'll ALL know when there are things in our teeth."

One thing about the debates that is crazy to me is the fact that they will cut off a third of the president and his opponent onscreen to show you jokes that people have tweeted. Are you serious? Tweets! Over the lower half of a man who is in charge of America and trying to tell you how he is going to run the country for the next four years.

"Let's talk about taxes here for a second. First, I think we need to... wait... what the hell is this? Are you cutting me off to show the tweet of someone from Idaho who's saying that he thinks this debate is less entertaining than a re-run of Captain Planet? What the hell are we doing here! I'm the damn president! I have to deal with this garbage. Am I a 

Kardashian? Is this 'Dancing with the Presidential Debaters'? No! Treat us with some kind of respect!"

In a country that would do this, who cares who is in control? Give it to Romney. Give it to a dishwasher or a Wendy's drive-thru employee. Give it to a tweeter! Funniest tweet about the debater's ties gets you the position of leader of the free world!

"Oh, look at this! Someone made a joke about how this debate is scarier than the movie Paranormal Activity! Why do we show this? It's because this whole damn thing is a joke anyway! Congrats to @wheresmycheerios, you're now in the most powerful position on the planet! Retweet with the hashtag #wanttolendusmoney to help lower the deficit."

Showing tweets during a presidential debate. I bet they wouldn't do that if it were the head of Apple and the head of Samsung debating.

"Are you kidding me? I don't care what @heartcats has to say about the Galaxy 3! Men are talking! This is very important! Whoever wins this debate will determine who – in my circle of friends and thusly me – are complete losers. Go, head of the company whose phone I bought!"

I know that it's fair, but it's funny to me that they decide who speaks first in a presidential debate the same way they determine who goes first in a rap battle. A coin toss. A coin toss to see who speaks first in a debate to see who will be leader of the free world. Who does that coin toss?

"All right, we're gonna do a coin toss to see who will call the other man gay in rhyme form a million times first."

"...What? That's not gonna happen here. This is a presidential debate!"

"Oh, right! Wrong event. I'm doing a coin toss across town at a rap battle after this. Okay, so which one of you fruits wants to call it?"

This is a big deal, so this coin is probably thoroughly inspected. Where does it come from? Is it brand new? It can't just be one from somebody's pocket?

"Coin toss? All right. Let me see what I have here. I've got a nickel from 1984. Will that do?"

"No, no. We need a quarter. I have one right here."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. A Romney quarter? That's not fair. We need a quarter that neither candidate has touched. What about the moderator?"

"NOPE."

"Fine, I'll call the mint and get them to print a fresh one. But this is ridiculous. I have a nickel right here."

"Drop the nickel, okay?! Just drop it!"

Twitter @nathanmacintosh

Laguardia. The little airport that could.

I have lived in New York for about a year and I fly in and out of it a decent amount. Anytime I can, I fly out of LaGuardia airport. It is so close that if it expanded, my house could potentially become a terminal.

"Whoa! What are you guys doing in my shower?"

"Well, technically you are in our shower. We have expanded to include the surrounding neighborhoods. Would you like to check in to your flight?"

"I'm not flying today."

"Well, check in for the next one! You probably don't need to. Now that I've seen you naked, I know it's you."

I think that's pretty great. Others, though, really cannot stand this airport.

People trash LaGuardia all the time. In May, it was actually ranked the worst airport in America. The worst! People tore it apart.

"It's dirty!"

"The ceilings are low!"

"It's too small!"

I absolutely love this airport. For many reasons, really. One reason – it is a ten-dollar cab ride from my house. Ten dollars! From an airport! 'Does he live in a terminal,' you ask? 'Is he a baggage handler who sleeps underneath one of the carts at night,' you wonder aloud?

"Well, I'm done for the day, boss. I'm going to curl up here on the jetway and get some shuteye."

"Go ahead. You've earned it. Wait, how have you found a way to sleep with all of these planes landing directly beside you?"

"I just try to picture myself dead. Works most of the time."

No. LaGuardia airport just happens to be in Queens, not far at all from where I live in Astoria. I like it because there is no way I will live this close to an airport again. Never. Unless one day, I move to Mexico to sell drugs and have my own airstrip on my property.

"Ah, my own airport. You know, this reminds me of the time I spent in New York. I lived really close to an airport."

"As close to this one, boss?"

"Who told you to speak to me! I am a drug kingpin and you are merely a man who moves suitcases from one spot to another. I will cut your head off! I will blow up your family! I will rain BULLETS UPON YOUR DREAMS! ...I'm sorry. I just have to practice being a druglord. You know how it is. Only my third week. But to answer your question, yes. Yes, it was this close."

In May, there was a poll on "The Ten Worst Airports in America". What was number one? LaGuardia. But the top five included EVERY airport in New York. All three airports made the top five. Basically, if you want to fly to New York, just don't. Drive, get a bus, hike, walk, ride a horse, crawl. Apparently ANYTHING is better than landing here.

"Where are you flying?"

"New York."

"Yikes! Hope it's not into any of the airports."

"Well... yeah, of course it is. Where else would it land?"

"Whoa! That's awful! Landing at an airport in New York? Bud, if you can, right before the plane lands, jump out. The pain you feel when you hit the tarmac will be less than the pain you feeling having to wait an extraordinary amount of time for your bag. Trust me. I waited there a month ago. The whole time, all I could think was, "I'd rather have cracked my head on the runway than wait for my own stuff."

I'm honestly not sure why it matters that much how good an airport is. Do planes land there? Will the plane that I'm on let me get off of it at this particular location? What else is there?

"It's not clean."

How long are you going to be spending in this airport? If it were great, would you just hang out there?

"I'm kinda hungry."

"Me too. You want to head to the gorgeous food court at the airport?"

"The airport? Why would we go out there?"

"Man, have you been there!? It's amazing! So many food options. It's really the only place I eat since they fixed it up. Oh, and the shopping? Unbelievable. They truly have the best selection of Lacoste polos in the city."

"...You don't wear Lacoste polos."

"Not the ones found out in these dirty streets! But the ones from the airport? They're something else."

LaGuardia is a small airport, but I don't know why that's a problem for people. You can still fly out of it. It's not as if you show up and hope that your plane will be leaving.

"I have a flight out of LaGuardia. It's so tiny that they draw numbers to see which planes will be flying out. I hope to JESUS they draw mine this time. Come on, six!"

You are still able to get out of the airport. You can still fly! Why does it matter that it's small?

"Man, what an inconvenience. This airport is so small; I can get directly to my gate in four minutes. That's ridiculous! I want to have to drag my bag through the airport, past the little mall that most other airports have. This airport doesn't even have an L.L. Bean store that I can walk by and think, 'Who the hell would shop at the airport?' Why take that joy away from me, LaGuardia? Why!?"

LaGuardia airport feels homey. It's almost as if you are landing in your grandmother's house. It's small enough that it feels as if it's hugging you when you land there. The ceilings are just as low and it's starting to fall apart just like your grandmother's.

"Watch out for the crown molding, honey. Last night a tile fell off and hit me right in the face! Blew my dentures right out. I laid on the floor for an hour before I was able to get up. Either way, would you like a cookie?"

The bigger an airport gets, the more completely useless things appear in it. A lot of airports are too big and just end up having a ton of things in them that you don't need.

"You know, we have four hundred gates here, but I'm thinking that we are missing something."

"I was thinking the same thing. …I know! What about a barber shop?"

"Yeah, that's great! For people who have layovers that are three days long, they can keep their hair looking great!"

"Exactly! And what about a tire rotation and oil change booth?"

"I love it! For the people who drive to the airport to park and fly. Before they leave, they can get a check-up on their car while they wait for their bags!"

"Right! Oh, oh. And what about a delivery room for women who just land and are tired of carrying around that bothersome baby?"

"Dear, God! This is going to be the biggest, best airport in the world!"

People talk badly about airports as if everything is completely fine with the planes. Too small, no leg room, people in front of you couldn't care less if you have knees after the flight and will lean their chair right into your face.

"Excuse me, do you mind not looking me in the eyes? I know I'm in your lap, but I paid for this seat and all of the leaning back it can do."

Why, though, are we so worried about the place the plane lands when the device that flew us to this location is not great? If you rented a car that was terrible to drive to Buffalo, you can't JUST be mad at Buffalo when you get there.

"This car had no room for me to put my stuff, I had to pay extra just to be able to roll down the windows and be comfortable, and it was RUDE to me the entire way. Man, I'm going to take all of this anger out on the place the car took me. Buffalo! Here I come, you garbage city. I hate everyone who lives here, and your ridiculous questions like, "Man, it must be cold in Canada, huh? Like the ice ages." You can see Canada! You see any Mastodons walking around over there! God, I hate this place."

Also, flights to LaGuardia actually end up where they say they are going. In New York. LaGuardia is actually IN New York. That's a big one for me. An airport that is where it says that it is. If you are flying from Canada with Porter, they will tell you they fly to New York.

"New York? Of COURSE we go there! Why would we not fly to the greatest city on earth? You can't be an airline and not fly to such a tourist destination."

But they do not fly to New York. Nope. Where do they land? Newark, New Jersey. Admittedly, New Jersey is not insanely far from New York, but it is New Jersey. New York? No. No, it is not. It is the state beside New York. They fly into a different state! Not only do they not fly into New York City, they don't even land in New York state! The entire state – they don't touch it. New Jersey is a completely different place, with different laws. One law that's different in New Jersey is that you need a state permit to purchase a long gun. New York? Not at all. You can walk right in and get one.

"Where's my permit? Hey, eat it, buddy. I was almost pissed on three times on the way over here by people who thought I was a unicorn. Gimme the damn long gun, pal."

Why do people allow this? Yeah it's close, but it's not where it says it's going.

"All right, everyone. We are now going to start our non-stop flight to Orlando, Florida. Now that the doors are closed and there's nothing you can do, I'll tell you that we'll be flying to Jacksonville! Yes, you're right, it's NOT Orlando, but it is closer to Orlando than where you are right now. Right? Am I right? We will be coming around soon with complimentary peanuts for everyone. 'Peanuts' is a loose term. It also encompasses poisons and snake venom, so who knows what you'll get. We just never say what we mean around here!"

Twitter @nathanmacintosh