#672 Yoicks

My son called the other day and as we were talking, he looks out from the store where he works and sees this lady walking down the street with one of those fancy new strollers.
She’s chatting away merrily on her cellphone while her yuppie baby, who is covered with polar fleece and nestled in the high-tech child seat, is enjoying the shock-absorbed ride.
But look out, mom’s also got a grande latte. And she’s put it in the convenient cup-holder built in to the baby carriage’s handle, which, lo and behold, is positioned so it’s right over baby’s upturned face.
Let’s hope she’s not too busy with her cell-chat and sees that big bump in the sidewalk in time.
Amazing. An incredibly designed baby transport unit. Safety engineered into every turn. Reflectors and fireproof material and cushioning everywhere. So gee. If I were that stroller manufacturer, would I put a cup-holder for presumably hot drinks right over the place where a baby sits?
Later, I’m out on the road and suddenly everywhere I look something strikes me strange.
Like I’m over in the medical section of town by the hospital. And as I’m driving by one of the many subsidiary industry out-patient medical offices I see this sign.
It says Multi-Specialty Clinic.
Now, I know sometimes my English sticks in my mental craw and prevents me from seeing the obvious, but how do you have a multi-specialty?
Isn’t a specialty something isolated and individual? Um, yeah, my specialty is generalism. You can say I’m the world’s foremost leading expert in the field of everything.
Not long after that, I drive by this freeway panhandler and he’s got a sign that strikes me funny.
Possibly because I was even then feeling the effects of the bowl of chili I had for lunch.
The bum’s cardboard sign said “Need Gas.”
Yoicks, I says to myself, most people have plenty. More than they want or need actually, and here this guy is asking for it.
Maybe he’s trying to get a leg up over the competition in one of those hobo campfire games. Really outshine and surpass—or possibly just outpass—everyone else in a round of Darn Tootin.
America, ya gotta love it