The Book of Awesome (18 page)

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Authors: Neil Pasricha

BOOK: The Book of Awesome
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There’s a reason some people become
adrenaline junkies
. The boost you get from your adrenal glands waking up and getting out of bed is intoxicating. Sure, it fuzzes up your thinking and sends your intestines on sabbatical, but it pumps you up.
So remember: When something important in your life is about to happen, you can count on your good pal adrenaline to be there cheering you on and helping you fight the good fight.
AWESOME!
Getting a trucker to blow his horn
Truckers have the best horns.
Those things mean business. They’re loud and thundering and slap you in the face. See, when a hatchback lets out an itty-bitty bee-beep telling you the light turned green, it sounds like a seagull telling other seagulls,
Hey, there’s a guy tossing crusts over here.
When a trucker does the same thing, it’s a full-on roar, the sound a tugboat would make if it was about to crash into a lighthouse.
Sometimes, when you’re driving down the highway, the hours keep going and going and going. Rod Stewart, Meat Loaf, and the whole mix tape gets stale, conversation dies down, and it’s just a blur of
interstate walls and rest station signs
out the window. For kids without distractions it can seem like days back there, strapped right in and sitting in a numbing silence broken up only by potholes and passing motorcycles.
That’s why getting a trucker to blow his horn is great. It’s a laugh and a fun, little interactive break from highway monotony. Plus, it’s a time passer, because you have to get the driver to sort of ease up beside the truck first, which isn’t always easy. It’s a secret moment on wheels,
a honkin’ highway holler
, and some good old-fashioned bonding in the fast lane.
So let’s give thanks to truckers. For not taking life too seriously, for indulging our simple pleasures, and for rocking that blasting air horn in a special moment we like to call
AWESOME!
When there’s leftover cake in the office kitchen
Ever had a birthday party in the office?
If you have, you know that it’s usually celebrated with a
streamer-covered cubicle
, a signed birthday card, and a mid-afternoon cake. And while everyone says they don’t want that cake, let’s be honest: After you start including it in your diet two to three times a week, you
can’t stop jonesing for that two o’clock sugar rush
.
Of course, after the parties happen the partially eaten leftovers find their way to the office kitchen. To get in on the game you’ll need to follow these
Top Four Tips for Scoring Leftover Office Cake
:
1.
Keep extra plastic forks and paper plates at your desks.
Because how many times do you happen upon a partially devoured cake, only to notice that there’s nothing to eat it with? Put up your icing-smeared hand if you’ve ever dug into that cake anyway. Yeah, I’m talking about slicing the cake with a coffee stirrer, using a piece of paper from the printer as your plate, and tossing it back like a crumbly Jell-O shooter. It’s not pretty and it’s sort of crossing the line between
Friendly Coworker
and
Office Raccoon
. I say don’t be the raccoon. Keep cutlery at your desk.
2.
Do your cubicle rounds.
On your way into work in the morning, make sure you do your cubicle rounds. You know, just checking out if anybody’s desk is decorated for their birthday. If you spot one, it’s a good omen of cake to come.
3.
Buddy up.
When they find cake, they tell you. When you find cake, you tell them. There’s always enough to go around, so why not double your odds of scoring an icing flower? You know you have a great Cake Buddy when you find a piece of cake covered with a napkin sitting on your desk when you get back from a meeting. Now, that’s service. Make sure to thank them with a corner slice next time.
4.
Know the peak times.
Office birthday parties nearly always happen in the afternoon because this allows someone to run out and grab a cake at lunch. So make sure you’re ready and aware of those mid-afternoon fake meetings that turn into birthday parties. Also, it doesn’t hurt to swing by the kitchen at 2:30 p.m. to see what’s cooking, if you catch my drift.
Now, these are all great methods for how to score leftover cake from the office kitchen, but what happens if you’re invited to the actual office birthday party itself? Well, don’t worry, we’ve got you covered with one big rule:
If you’re at the party, don’t be the Table Setter, Servant, or Salesman.
You must make a strong effort to avoid these three dreaded office party tasks because they will delay your cake eating:

The Table Setter
is the guy assigned to finding plastic forks, paper plates, and drink cups at the last minute. It’s no fun leaving the party to run around and beg for Styrofoam. Best show up a bit late or mingle undetected in the back.

The Servant
ends up closest to the cake . . . just in time to cut it for everyone! Yeah, now you’re stuck trying to split up those much-too-thin paper plates, put a fork on each one, and slice that cake up. It’s a lot of pressure being the Servant, because everybody is crowding around you and yelling things like “No, no, no,
half
that size!” And it can all happen so fast that you don’t even realize you’re the Servant until you find yourself in the bathroom twenty minutes later awkwardly washing the cake knife with cold water and paper towels.

The Salesman
takes the cut pieces of cake and walks around the room, selling them to everybody. If you get the job, your best move is simply asking “Who doesn’t have a piece yet?” and then waggling the cake in people’s faces till they take it off your hands.
So that’s it, ladies and gentlemen. Now that you’ve got it down, get ready for some sugar comas because you’re entering a world of all cake all the time.
And it will be glorious.
AWESOME!
Hanging your hand out the car window
On a warm, sunny day in a car with the window open and your hair whipping around everywhere, what’s better than letting your hand slip safely out the window and letting it
wildly roller-coaster
against the wind?
You know how it is: That speeding car creates a strong and forceful
wind pocket
that’s fun to ride, and as you let it slip and slide across your fingers, you can kind of close your eyes and pretend you’re flying.
AWESOME!
Getting served breakfast in bed
It’s
Mother’s Day
and your kids wake you up with a plate of cold toast, runny eggs, and a short glass of lukewarm OJ. Sure, it may not be the best-tasting meal in the world, and yeah, you might spill crumbs on your sheets, but don’t tell me getting served breakfast in bed isn’t the greatest.
I mean, there you were just sleeping and someone else said, “Let’s go downstairs and cook up our best possible meal, toss it on a tray, and bring it upstairs and serve it to you.” Yes, serve it to you! Cook it up and set it up and serve it to you. I have to say you’re pretty lucky if this happens to you.
Breakfast in bed can also help accomplish the exotic
get up and eat up and get back down
move, a brilliant Saturday or Sunday feat that involves filling your belly with breakfast and then immediately crashing back into a
post-fiesta siesta
. It’s a great feeling hitting the sheets and flipping the pillow on that full stomach. And who knows? Maybe there’s lunch in bed just waiting for you on the other side of those sleepy dreams. No, honestly, it’s a good question: Has anyone ever actually scored lunch in bed? If so, I’m pretty sure you win the
World’s Greatest Day Ever
contest.
Now, the
Trump Card
for turning a good breakfast in bed into a great one is when it includes one or more of the following:
• one of those tiny miniature glass bottles of ketchup or jam
• a homemade greeting card wishing you a Happy Mother’s Day or Happy Birthday
• a breakfast dessert of any kind
• butter painstakingly carved into a perfect cube or sphere
• cute restaurant-style folded-up napkins
Let’s be honest, people. We sure do love eating.
We sure do love sleeping.
And breakfast in bed is the closest we get to combining both at the same time. You know what we think of that.
Say it with me now.
AWESOME!
Finally clipping your fingernails after you’ve been meaning to do it all week
Long fingernails consume me like a drug.
Sometimes while
buttoning my shirt
, I look down and notice my nails have grown a little bit. So I keep buttoning but silently pledge to trim them at night after I get home.
Of course, after work I generally can’t find the nail clipper, so I instead choose to fall asleep on the couch at 8:30 p.m. after scarfing a handful of nachos for dinner. Then I wake up at three in the morning, walk to bed with a
crink in my neck
, and sleep a few more hours until the alarm buzzes, at which point I’ll groggily stumble around my place
buttoning up my shirt
, silently pledging again to cut my fingernails later that night.
This will continue day after day until I’ve grown a
freakishly large set of claws
that makes me look like an eagle. Yes, my nails get worse and worse and worse until
the moment
comes when I can no longer live with myself and finally snap. That’s when I run to the drugstore and buy a new set of clippers and maddeningly chop my nails off in a fit of rage.
Hey, finally pulling off that
big, long-awaited clip
is great because it’s not a trim, it’s a full-on shear. You get the clipper right in the grooves, cutting them bit by bit until the big sharp shards lie in a crumpled napkin beside you. And you sort of feel a little buzz of pride, relief, and cleanliness—like you just gutted a fish, snipped off your
college dreadlocks
, or sold all the dusty junk from your basement in a yard sale.
Smiling with pride as you inspect your new
tingly, hypersensitive
fingertips, you pause for a second and wonder if the world’s ready for this whole new you.
AWESOME!
Coming home after a long day to the smell of someone cooking dinner
Brain boggled, pants greasy, heels too high, tie too tight?
Can you feel your heartbeat in your temples? Does your bad breath taste like paint? Is your carpal tunnel syndroming? Because if so, Office Joe, then maybe it’s been a long day. Maybe you stapled too many
expense reports
, got buried under too much homework, or had an inky run-in with a
photocopier
at the end of the day without an Unjammer Man around.
But you scrape by, you scrape home, you scrape up to the front door—
tired and sore, aching from war
—as the sun sets behind you, the traffic jams behind you, and your stomach rumbles inside you. That bagel you scarfed six hours ago is a distant memory, but you’re much too exhausted to do anything besides dial for pizza.
And that’s what makes it so great when you pop open your door and catch a hot whiff of
something sizzling
in the kitchen. Even though your clogged-up, toner-infused brain can barely soak up anything, you somehow manage to piece things together: “Dinner me eat. Food yes now.”
And suddenly there is life.
Your lips slowly curl at the corners, your
nose sniffs at the nostrils
, and your eyes flash a quick cartoonish sparkle with a faint
ding
heard somewhere in the background. You’ve got new energy, so you kick off your shoes, peel off those sweaty socks, and let the saliva start to flow for some tasty eats cooked up
hot and fresh
by someone you love.
AWESOME!
Big crowds enjoying big fireworks
Fire trickles and drips across the sky, old folks huddle and cuddle and babies cry, teenagers squeeze sweaty palms and look up, up way high. Because light fills the night,
kabooms bang in the air
, conversations stop, jaws drop, we all crane our necks up and stare. Yes, when those fireworks erupt, when they splash in the dark,
when those bright waterfalls drip down into our park
, we all ooh and ahh at them big beautiful sparks.
AWESOME!
Sleeping with one leg under the covers and one leg out
Home temperature is important.
Head in the freezer, hands in the oven, whatever your move, just make it. Pick a temp, baby, then bake it. Pump up the thermostat, bang on the rad, or crank up the air. If you’re hot, ditch the
sweatpants
, if you’re cold, slip on slippers.
Home temperature is important.
If you’re not comfortable, you just won’t be happy. Roommates want it hotter, spouses want it cooler, and you may want it
jusssssssssst
right, so you’ll need to
tweak dials
and add layers until you figure it out.

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