Stuff I Couldn’t Make Up If I Tried.

Not long ago I participated in one of those market research studies where you’re asked to try out a product, provide feedback and in return they give you some cash. The product was some sort of science fiction looking razor with a bazallion blades and a trimmer for sculpting and hard to reach areas. I was to use the razor for a period of time making sure I’d used the trimmer at least once. There were scantron sheets that had areas to bubble in for my answers and I never spent so much time thinking about shaving as when I filled out that questionnaire. The trimmer could be used for sideburns, under the nose, back of the neck and “other regions”.

Earlier in the week I had seen a shirt that said, “I shaved my balls for this?” and I thought back to it when I had finished shaving and realized that I had yet to use the trimmer.

You know where I’m going with this.

So of course I had to run around and lock the doors like I was going to molest a goat or something. And before you can say, “smooth plums” I had finished. I couldn’t for the life of me see what all the fuss is about. They were the same ugly wrinkled things as before only now, they were bald. Whoopee.

What I was never warned about was just how much those bastards would itch. It started as a mild annoyance and became full on scratching events that could have lead to friction sparks had I had the time, inclination and less Gold Bond medicated powder. It was damn near crippling and I was scratching more than a frat brother returning from spring break.

In the midst of this I still had to get on with life so I made my weekend pilgrimage to my local mega mart for some random supplies. I was doing okay until I stepped up to the curb at the entrance and something shifted causing a full on, mega itch event. I was too far from the car and I had to address the issue immediately. The bathroom was not option because it was too far away and I couldn’t just go to town at the entrance lest some old lady could beat me senseless with her umbrella or some other matronly weapon of mass destruction before the cops were called. In the far corner facing the wall, beyond the second set of doors were the little motorized carts for the handicapped. No one was near them so it would be perfect for a secret scratch fest. I seated myself and scratched until I was in a stupor. When I looked up three girl scouts, their scoutmaster and a store manager surrounded me. I had visions of being hauled off to jail and a lengthy prison term given by a disbelieving judge. But on the plus side, my boys would look fabulous for the strip search.

The little blonde one said in a chipper tone, “We’re here to help you shop sir.”

Still startled and in a state of thankful disbelief I could only stare back blankly. The store manager smiled warmly and nodded in confirmation. “I’ll help with the items that they can’t reach,” said their scoutmaster in an equally happy tone. What could I do? I couldn’t tell them the truth-that would be disaster. I couldn’t just get up and bolt-I had just scratched myself numb and probably could barely walk. So I did the only sensible thing I shrugged and let three little girls work on their merit badges by dutifully retrieving items from the well stocked shelves of my local mega mart. It was rather pleasant and the conversation was nice as we motored down the aisles discussing their future, my past and I must say they were rather polite not to ask what had crippled me.

Words: Mike Wilshin (oldmanmike@anemagazine.com www.myspace.com/old_man_mike)

Illustration: Grant Sutherland (www.greetingsfromwonderland.com)

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