Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 174
Featured commentary
When the tongue needs a torque wrench
A
nyone who has ever worked
on a car engine has cranked
at least one bolt, one turn
too many. You get it nice and tight,
just right, actually, but some defect
in your psyche insists, “Give it one
more turn, just to be sure.”
And, though your rational mind
is screaming “Don’t do it, boy!” and
you feel that old familiar buzzing
moving up the back of your neck,
warning of impending doom, your
hands move on their own and make
that last, lethal crank with the
wrench.
And, of course, that last turn
snaps the head off the bolt, and you
then have to spend hours drilling
the shaft out in a ridiculously tight
space and at an awkward angle —
you know, or leave that vital part
secured by two out of three bolts,
which will, eventually, blow your
engine up.
That’s why they make torque
wrenches, my friends. A torque
Jim
WALKER
DON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY
wrench won’t allow mechanical
stupidity. If you try to tighten the
bolt past the set rating, the wrench
slips and that ching-ching-chingching sound says, “Enough, my
child. Be at peace.”
If only there were torque
wrenches for all types of stupidity.
I was reminded of my own
struggle with this the other morning
when I stepped on my bathroom
scale. The reading came up good,
just right, actually, and I was
momentarily headed for a happy
day.
But that voice in my head insisted,
“Well, you know, that number could
be incorrect. Try it again, just to be
sure.” (Why that voice sounded like
Ronald Reagan is another story.)
And, as the buzzing moved up my
neck, I stepped back on the scale.
Right. Of course, it read one
pound higher. And, in several more
tries, it never went back down to the
original reading — which ruined
my day and had me out running up
hills and dodging traffic at twilight,
trying to lose that pound.
Now, some people only
occasionally get the urge to twist
things too far. Whether through
good sense, or because they don’t
really care enough to make the extra
effort, they stop at “good enough.”
Well, good on ’em.
However, the rest of us
continually wrestle with the “Do-it”
devils on our shoulders. The urge to
take things too far is always there.
For a writer, it’s that one last
tweak of the story, that line you
copy, cut and paste farther down, so
that it reads just a tiny bit better.
And it’s only when it comes out
in the paper that you realize you lost
an important word in the pasting
process, and the sentence now
makes no _ _ _ _ _.
For a long-distance runner, it
might be doing that last mile past
dehydration, the one that cramps
your hamstring, has you limping
five miles home and puts you
behind training for two weeks.
A torque wrench for the tongue
might be the most important tool of
all, because more words rarely make
things better.
(And, I will herein admit, I am the
poster boy for this. Sometimes I just
can’t shut the TMI off.)
For an employee, an example of
this might be offering your boss
one too many of your “good” ideas
about how he can do things better.
In fact, in this situation, the first one
might be one too many.
For a pickup line in a bar, it
might be that last addition to the
compliment you give that babe who
looks so good through your beer
goggles. You suitably say, “You
really have great eyes — beautiful,
big eyes.” But then drunkenly add,
“Like a cow or sshomething.”
Yep, one twist too many.
Take a hint from Jerry Maguire.
He had her at “Hello.” All that he
said after that was just unnecessary
self-debasement.
A torque wrench for the tongue
would be of great benefit when:
being queried by a CHP officer,
IRS officer or auto insurance agent;
lying about why you can’t make
that dull event (More detail offers
more chance to get caught.);
describing your ex-girlfriend’s
faults to friends (You know you will
have to eat your words when you get
back together.);
parenting (Don’t argue, just
take the cellphone away.)
Ching-ching-ching-ching. The
torque wrench could save the day.
Comment at jwalker@the-signal.
com or Twitter @DontSeriously.
