Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 228
Are you tipping for torture?
Your pain is their gain
s the saying goes, “no pain, no gain.” And,
except for weight gain, which is actually
pretty painless for most of us, I, sadly, have to
agree with this maxim. I mean, you can’t build
big old bulging muscles without pumping iron
until it hurts, you can’t run a marathon without
painfully training up to the ability to do so, you
can’t become a doctor without the torture of
medical school, and you can’t date a beautiful
woman without enduring her horse laugh.
But when did it become necessary to tip for
your torture?
For example …
The chiropractor busts you up real speciallike, twisting you so hard that you get emotional
flashbacks and shed crocodile tears again over
Old Yeller – simultaneously enjoying a buzz
from the Boone’s Farm toxins that have been
hiding in your brown fat since 1972. And so,
what do you do? Of course, you give him an
extra $20 when he’s done.
You ask for a deep tissue massage, and the
masseuse pushes her elbows so deep into your
back that your previously B-size man boobs
become double-Ds. Do you complain or at least
ask for a push-back from the front? Certainly
not, you give her two ten-spots and ask her
where she buys her full-support bras.
You attend a spinning class led by Heinrich
von Uberthighs, who shouts encouragements
such as, “You ah all schvine! You vill pump
hardah now, and you vill like it!” And because
skinny little girls in the class seem to have no
trouble with the exercise, you are shamed into
pedaling so hard that you wake up being loaded
A
Jim Walker
Don’t Take Me Seriously
into an ambulance. But, before they close the
doors, you hand Heinrich $50. He clangs his
thighs together, snaps a nod and says, “You ah
velcome mein liebchen.”
How did we come to this, my friends?
I mean, does the waiter get an extra tip after
he spills red wine on your white linen suit?
No. So why do we feel we should gratefully
hand people money for providing us with
more pain than we can come up with on our
own?
Now, I understand that there is a small
and, apparently, growing segment of the
population that derives pleasure from pain. I
will leave them to their own devices – and by
“devices,” I mean, you know, scary devices.
But for the rest of us, pain is something to be
avoided, right? And yet, somehow, it became
culturally cool, nay, expected, I say, to slip extra
cash into the pockets of our punishers.
I can only assume this is a consequence of our
modern lives, in general, being too comfortable.
Back in the day, a hunter-gatherer probably got
quite enough torture, thank you, during his
survival activities. I seriously doubt he would
offer a shaman an extra tuber or two for cracking
him on the back of the head with a ceremonial
rock.
Or is it guilt, mes amis? Do we feel we
must do physical penance to make up for our
hedonistic lifestyles? And, therefore, we believe
that receiving an assist toward heightened
discomfort is being lifted up toward purity?
If that is the case, then you’d think they would
make these gyms and “treatment” centers, these
Video Link of the Week:
Jimmy Fallon’s Ragtime Gals reggae/barbershop quartet:
here is just something so wrong about this week’s
video that it is totally right. As they recently
appeared on the “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon” show,
here are Jimmy and his fellow songsters singing “Girl
I’m Gonna Make You Sweat.” And, yes, I want one of
those jackets.
T
http://bit.ly/T4zhMq
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WWW.CONNECTSCV.COM s AUG. 29 - SEPT. 4, 2012
dens of discomfort,
full service. They
would dispense
guilt along with
the pain. It would
help perpetuate
their cha-ching
cycle.
Oh, wait, they
already do that.
They guilt us
and intimidate us
with fears about
our health, insecurities about our looks and
humiliation in comparison to what amazing
athletic feats others can accomplish. And with
each layer of self-loathing they pour over us, we
pour money at their shoes – and beg for more
torture.
Like Kevin Bacon in the frat-initiation
swatting scene from “Animal House,” we bend
over, grimacing and grunting out, “Thank
you, sir. May I have another,” while the paddle
knocks our wallets free.
Like they did to Steve Carell in the “40-YearOld Virgin,” they rip our chest hair out in happy
face patterns. But we don’t curse them,
we increase their gratuity.
I’m just sayin’, there’s a dead fish under the
couch in Denmark. Our priorities have gotten
all topsy-turvy and we are tipping for torture
when we should be tipping back in our
easy chairs.
Comment at jwalker@the-signal.com or at
http://Twitter.com/DontSeriously.
