Back in third or fourth grade, we had someone come into our class for a special science lesson. They had petri dishes, swabs, and an incubator, and immediately after recess, they asked us to swab our hands and wipe the swab on a petri dish. Then, we were told to wash our hands with a bar of soap they brought in — the usual liquid soap was off-limits for some reason — and then re-swab our hands for another petri dish. We then labeled both dishes, put them in the incubator, and came back the next day to look at the results.

Almost everyone had more bacteria on their hands after washing them. The exceptions were two girls who “probably scrubbed enough to remove most of the bacteria physically.” It was explained that certain types of bar soap were actually decent places for bacteria to live, and that denying us the liquid soap was a trap. The presenter then went on to talk about some of the colonies of bacteria on the slides and some interesting or rare ones, as well as which ones might be dangerous.

So… that’s the story of why I stopped using all soap for over a decade — and still prefer liquid soap over bar soap. In my defense, I was young and may have missed the point of the presenter. On the other hand, he was giving a presentation to young children on how washing your hands with soap can actually add bacteria. Why would you ever think that is a good idea?

One Saturday night before heading to the movies, I decide to stop at an ATM and deposit a check. Against my better judgment, I use the street one my bank has in the neighborhood. There are three of them lined up along the street, attached to the exterior wall of the branch. 

I use the middle one, and while I’m using it, I notice someone come up to the one to the right of me and start fiddling around with it. He’s not really even using it so much as typing randomly and pretending to use it. It strikes me as odd and I try to finish quickly. 

However, right before I’m done, he moves over to my ATM and gets in line behind me. Now my alarm bells are going off. A woman walks up to the ATM he vacated and asks if it’s working. He replies quickly, “Oh, yeah! Go for it!” Now the bells are going way off. If it’s working, why is he suddenly in line behind me for this ATM?

By then, it’s too late; I’ve already entered my info and finished up. I walk away from the ATM and immediately call my bank’s 1-800 number. I explain the issue. The rep immediately says that it sounds odd and that it’s likely the guy had previously installed a card reader on the ATM. He suggests we cancel the card immediately to prevent anything from happening. I authorize it and thankfully have cash to keep myself afloat until Monday when I can go into a branch and get a temp card.

The funny thing is, he might have gotten away with it if he hadn’t been acting so squirrely.

My youngest sister is ten years younger than me, and even though we have her phone number — and ours, too, for that matter, not that it works — on the do-not-call registry, we still have cases of spam and telemarketers trying to call her. Usually, if we see it is an unsaved number, one of us — me, our other sister who is only two years younger than me, or our mom — grabs it and if it does turn out to be telemarketing, tells them off.

At this time, the sister in question is twelve years old and has a friend over. Both have their phones in the living room and are playing in her room.

I hear buzzing and try to figure out which phone before I call the wrong kid, find it’s my sister’s, and call her, but I decide to answer her phone regardless to tell them she’s coming because it had been going off for a while before I found it. I see the number on the screen is unknown, unsaved, and answered.

“Hello?”

A male voice says, “Hello?”

I ask, “Who is this?”

He then says his name and starts saying something about being with a group that is supposed to help homeowners; he is kind of hard to understand. But I do hear “homeowner” and cut him off as my sister and her friend get to the living room. I am stern, but I try not to be an a**hole because I work in retail and know how it can be, even if these guys do usually have it coming.

“This is my twelve-year-old sister’s phone. Put this number on your do-not-call list.”

There is kind of a long pause and I expect him to just hang up like they usually do when pausing this long after hearing that. But then he asks, “All right. Is there a homeowner available, then?”

I’m still being firm because I want to get him off the phone. “No, there isn’t.”

He was already getting a tone the last time he spoke, but now he goes into full-blown attitude and sarcasm. “Ohhh, so a twelve-year-old girl lives by herself, then?”

I am completely caught off guard and now I’m pissed and put more of a tone in my voice. “I never said she lives in her own. I said that the homeowner is not available!”  

He then hangs up.

But seriously, how does it click in someone’s mind that when I say a homeowner is not available that I am automatically trying to tell them a twelve-year-old kid lives by themselves and therefore I am lying to them? Excuse me? Obviously, either the parent is not around, or we rent and the landlord, ergo homeowner, is not around. Seriously.

I’m the idiot in this story. First off, I must apologise for the long setup for this, but to really appreciate how I managed to make such a massive faux pas, you do need to understand what happens in one of the magic tricks I perform.

I’m a magician, specialising in performing shows for children aged four to eight years old, and have been performing professionally for several years. This particular effect has been in my repertoire for a good few years and does not require any helpers. The effect is based on the classic nursery rhyme Two Little Dickie Birds. In this effect, I have a plastic board on a small base which shows a wall with two birds on it. I use my wand to point to the birds in turn, getting the kids to join in. 

I start off by saying, “Two little dickie birds, sitting on the wall. One named…”

I point to the first bird with my wand, and the kids shout out, “Peter!”

I then say, “…and one named…”

I point to the second one, and the kids shout out, “Paul!”

At this point, I take out a large hankie and cover the picture. I lift up the hankie and picture together and say, “Fly away, Peter.” I then lower it, and raise it again and say, “Fly away, Paul.” I put it back on the table, but as I do so, I quickly turn the picture around. I lift off the hankie to reveal the other side of the picture. This shows the same wall as before, but no birds. In full magician mode, I announce, “And they’ve gone!” and look a little grumpy when the kids start announcing loudly that I cheated. I throw in a quick aside, “Shhh!”

I continue. I cover up the picture again, lift it up whilst covered, and mime it coming in to land like the two birds whilst saying, “Come back, Peter! Come back, Paul!” When I place it back down on the table, I quickly turn it all round again and lift up the hankie to reveal the original picture. “TADAAAA!” I say, as I strike the traditional pose of magician having performed an amazing trick, whilst the kids perform the traditional act of sensible people who have caught you out and will happily and excitedly let you know. The parents sitting around the group of children will happily perform the traditional act of enjoying their children being clever.

As all good comedy works on the Rule of Three, I perform this a second time, but this time I start off by saying, “Now, some of you, for some reason, think that I was cheating, but I wasn’t. To prove it, I’ll do it one more time. Watch carefully and pay attention.”

The second time through is almost identical to the first, except this time I am throwing in more feedback — “No, I didn’t turn it round” — and generally playing up getting cross with the audience. I should point out here that I only feign getting cross, and the amount of “hammy crossness” is directly proportional to what I know the kids can take for their age; I won’t ever go full ham for the really young.

The last time I perform it, I am acting really cross, and the kids are now extremely vocal in their enjoyment of yelling that I am cheating. “RIGHT!” I say, as I thwack my table with my wand. “Two little dickie birds–” *thwack* “–sitting on the wall.” *thwack* “One named…”

I point to Paul, but the kids say, “Peter.”

“Uh-uh-uh! It’s Paul! You’ve got to pay attention!” I say, in an almost sing-song voice. I continue.

“And one named…” and I point to Peter. The kids shout out the correct name this time.

I go through the whole “Fly Away” bit almost as before, but as I am about to say, “Fly away, Paul,” I stop mid-sentence and point to the back wall of the room, saying something to get the kids to turn around. They look over their shoulders, and I do the final turn around and reveal the empty wall as before. The kids, by now, are apoplectic in their insistence that I am cheating, so I tell them that the birds really have gone. 

“And do you know why the birds have flown away?” I turn around to reveal that there is now a cat on the wall. “It’s because the cat has chased them away!” At this point, I usually have to remind the kids to applaud the cat, because the look of awe and bafflement also has the effect of silencing them. The parents, on the other hand, are usually in fits of giggles at the reactions of their kids. Their eyes and mouths will generally form perfect circles; it’s like being watched by a room full of young bowling balls.

Okay, lengthy setup over. Hopefully. you’ll find it was worth it when you hear how I went so very badly wrong one time.

I was performing this in a smallish community hall. There were about twenty kids sat on the floor in front of me and a number of parents sat around the outside. Normally, I would be looking around at everybody, adults included, to make sure everyone was happy, and adjusting my performance accordingly. But this time I wasn’t doing any of that. The kids were all having fun, and all was going well. 

I started performing the Dickie Birds routine, and everything was as it always was, with the kids getting more and more vocal at me for cheating and me getting more and more comically frustrated at them for accusing me of cheating. Then, it came to the point when I needed to do the distraction to get the kids to look to the back of the room. But, because I hadn’t been looking around at the adults, I hadn’t noticed where I was going to be pointing.

“Fly away, Peter. Fly away… Look over there! An elephant!” I looked at where I was pointing…  

…straight into the eyes of the largest woman I had ever seen.

Now, I’m a big bloke. Far too big — medically, I’m morbidly obese. But this woman was twice my size. I didn’t know what to do. I knew if I was sat where she was, I would be really upset. My brain went into overdrive. The kids didn’t make any comment about who I was pointing at, so I daren’t say anything; otherwise, I would effectively be making them aware of the incredibly rude thing I had just said. 

So, I decided to just draw the kids’ eyes back to the front and then not look at any adults for the rest of the show. 

Well, that trick ended all right, and the rest of the show was okay. I was bracing myself, trying to decide what to say to the poor lady at the end. What if she hadn’t taken it as an insult, and my apologising made things worse? What if she was distraught and in tears? But I never found out as, by the time the show had ended, she had left. I got paid by the parents of the birthday child all right, and they never said anything. I didn’t get any comebacks, but to this day — some ten years later — I still worry that I caused severe embarrassment to this poor lady.

I still perform that effect today, but the distraction line has changed. Now, instead of getting people to look for an elephant, I point out Superman. After all, no one could be embarrassed about being described as Superman, surely? 

Unless, I suppose, they’ve seen Justice League…

My grandfather recently passed away. Known for his frugality, he bought his burial plot in the cemetery at his summer home’s church when they were having some sort of sale, and he got a “super deal.” His brother-in-law and sister also bought a plot at the same time, and his brother-in-law passed six years prior to my grandfather’s death. My grandfather was a businessman and dabbled in many trades and industries and owned most of his own businesses. His most prominent one — and the one that lasted the longest and was his passion — was real estate.

We gathered around the gravesite for the burial service. Afterward, we wanted to walk to my great-uncle’s gravesite, which we could make out in the distance, but was still in view of my grandfather’s gravesite. In an effort to lighten the mood, my cousin said the following:

“Corner plot, direct line of sight from Old Uncle Jack, plenty of parking on both sides, beautiful greenery, location at his favorite church on the Cape… He really was a real estate man. Location, location, location!”

We all laughed and appreciated his humor after an emotional and somber week.