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CHAPTER 1
Public Situations
Rules for My Waiter
* * *
We don't need a buddy
No offense, but I need you to be my waiter, not my pal. I don't need you to squat down to get on my level. My neck can handle looking up for a half-minute. And don't you dare slide in the booth with me.
You're not better than me
Hey, Xander (that's always his name), don't scoff at me for not knowing what vegetable escabeche is. It's your job to know, not mine. Oh, and you should know that I'm basing your tip on a complex algorithm I designed that factors in how quickly you can explain it to me, whether or not a seven-year-old can understand it, your height, and your facial expression when I ask for the silverware you didn't give me. It usually comes out to be around 20 percent.
Sing
When it's my birthday, sing the song like you mean it or don't sing it at all. It's hard enough to follow along with your restaurant's custom rendition, but your apathy is making me depressed.
You're not being timed
Spouting off today's specials like the Micro Machine guy isn't helping anyone.
The Early Bus
I've never been a waiter, so there's a good chance I'll get reamed for this. But I'd like to propose a cute little rhyme that every waiter everywhere must learn. It goes like this:
If they've already paid, bus away. But if they're still sitting down, don't you dare start bussing the freaking table as though they're an inconvenience to you, you selfish bastard.
I'm still tinkering with the rhyme scheme but I think the point remains.
Wring out your washcloth
As much as I typically love resting my elbows on a damp table, I think I'll pass tonight.
Two-second rule
When you bring me my check, wait at least two seconds to see if I'm pulling out a card. I shouldn't have to wait for you to come back.
Go ahead and fill my water
No need to ask. There's never a situation where I'd prefer a half-full glass over a full one.
Open Letter to Starbucks Patrons
* * *
Dear Starbucks patrons,
Please have a game plan before you even enter the store. Your time at the counter should closely resemble Seinfeld's encounter with the Soup Nazi. This is not the time to ask how fresh the bagels are or whether or not their beans are of the shade- grown, fair-trade variety. Simply state your order, hand them your money, and shimmy to the left without making eye contact.
No one is impressed with your complicated drink order. People with complicated drink orders always do two things: 1) They say their order really fast in order to mystify the barista with its one-of-a-kindness, and 2) They give a little half- smile/side-glance at the other people in line to make sure they know who the boss is around here. I got news for you, guy — the rest of us caffeine-deprived people in line are hoping you accidentally spill your venti triple-shot no-foam skinny mocha chip latte with peppermint drizzle on the inseam of your pleated khakis.
Please be reasonable with the volume of your voice. Here's a hint: It shouldn't resemble your "at a football game voice" or your "reuniting with a childhood friend voice." If you're unsure of what this sounds like, just look around. The rest of us seem to have it down pat.
Please share the plug love. Hey, guy who always monopolizes the only outlet in the entire store — the other seven of us working on nearly dead laptops are conspiring to stuff your charging smartphone into the burr grinder.
Please don't make me have to do a Kareem Abdul-Jabbar sky-hook to throw away my trash. I understand that you need to dress your coffee up a little bit, but you don't have to box me out like you're Walter White dropping chemicals into a beaker. There's only one trash can in the entire place, and it's underneath that six-inch hole you've been guarding for the past five minutes.
Please don't pull two tables together so you'll have room for your computer and multiple stacks of papers while other people, hypothetically, have to try to work while kneeling against a wall, which caused them to tweak something in their lower back ... which caused it to now hurt when they bend down and tie their kids' shoes this morning.
Lastly, please lock the onesy. You know, the onesy — it's the public restroom made for only one person at a time. There's a lock for a reason. This is the single worst situation to make eye contact with another person.
Sincerely,
Tripp and Tyler
Movie Commandments
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Thou shalt leave a seat buffer
When guys go to the movies together, the seating dilemma always arises. Do I choose the seat right next to him? I don't want him to get the wrong idea. Should I leave a seat in between? Will that appear homophobic? Let me clear this issue up once and for all. Leave a buffer. No one has ever gotten mad about extra elbow room. If it's crowded, act like you're saving it for someone else. Or, like me, you can obsess over sitting down first so your friend has to make the decision.
Thou shalt be reasonable with what you're sneaking in
We're all doing it. But some of us are getting a little too cocky with our contraband. A twenty-ounce Coke, Sour Patch Kids, gin and tonic ... all perfectly reasonable. A salad, breadsticks, and Never-Ending Pasta Bowl from Olive Garden, though, is going to ruin it for all of us.
Thou shalt never miss previews
The previews are just as important as the movie itself (if not more). I've broken a number of traffic laws and ruined several friendships just to make sure I get there to see them. If I happen to miss them, I sink into a mild depression that lasts at least a third of the movie.
Thou shalt not look at me during the movie
I like to grab a handful of popcorn, start at the heel of my hand (with the majority of the handful resting on my nose), and funnel the popcorn into my chomping mouth. No one dared me to do it like that. I just like it that way. So please, eyes forward. That's why it's dark in here. What happens in a movie theater stays in a movie theater.
Thou shalt shut your freaking mouth
Under no circumstances is it okay to tap me on the shoulder and ask me where you've seen that actor before. That's what IMDb is for. I specifically invited you in hopes that there would be no social interaction whatsoever. How rude.
Thou shalt never get up
I would rather get a bladder infection or even soil my pants a little than go to the bathroom during the middle of a movie. Not only do you miss out on some key plot development, but with how much you paid for your ticket, those precious three minutes come out to be worth around $7.
Concert Etiquette
* * *
Ah, concerts. The cultural enigma of paying exorbitant amounts of money to stand next to complete strangers and listen to less-polished versions of your favorite illegally downloaded MP3s.
Here are a few crucial do's and don'ts when attending one of these music shows.
() First of all, no matter what show you're at, big or small, one thing's for sure — you're going to be tempted to sing along. And, that's okay. Just remember no one is as impressed as you are with how well you've memorized the lyrics.
() If the song being performed isn't one that involves dancing, please — please — don't be the reason we are all standing. We didn't buy tickets so we could burn calories. There are plenty of other ways to express how big of a fan you are, like ... being in attendance.
() Yelling out a song title you want to hear has a .019 percent chance of working, which is roughly the same odds as the person next to you congratulating you for knowing such an obscure song.
() If you yell out "Freebird," everyone around you wants to punch you in the neck. Seriously. They literally want to paralyze your vocal chords so they won't have to hear you say it thirty-eight more times throughout the night.
() Remember back in 1996 when that clever guy brought a laser pointer and shined it on the Gin Blossoms? That was hilarious. That one time.
() If you're tempted to call a friend and hold up your phone and make them jealous for not being there, just know that what they're hearing sounds more like a pterodactyl impersonating a modern than their favorite song.
() Oh, and a quick word to the band: Easy on the new songs. They're not why we came.
() One hundred dollars says you're going to regret buying that thirty-dollar tour schedule T-shirt on the way out.
() And another hundred says that you'll never even once go back and watch that shaky footage you insisted on shooting on your iPhone.
Reasons a Japanese Steakhouse Isn't Worth the Hassle
* * *
The Shrimp Toss
Having a Japanese chef toss a shrimp in your mouth is incredible when you're twelve. It's less incredible when you're on a date with your wife. And to all the chefs out there — once it's bounced off my top lip and onto the floor, there's no need to keep trying. I've already lost my dignity. Please stop kicking me while I'm down by adding more sauce marks to my face.
Seating
A Japanese steakhouse is arguably the worst place to go for a group outing. If you don't race ahead, you'll end up getting stuck at the right-angle corner next to the random guy who tries all night to get you to join his pyramid scheme. Look, Guy, I know it makes sense — everyone uses natural gas. What doesn't make sense is how you're not picking up on my signals. I've been reading this menu for the past half hour ... and I already ordered.
Language Mix-ups
There needs to be some kind of rule about restaurant workers in America knowing at least a basic level of English. Last time I went I asked for an extra napkin and I was treated to a double shot of rice wine and a lower back massage, How are we getting these things confused? To be clear, I'm not mad about it; I'm just a little afraid of what asking for a refill might get me.
Acting Surprised at the Volcano
I don't have the heart to tell the chef that no one has been impressed with the onion volcano since 1993. He's still so proud of it. He's like the uncle that still pulls quarters out of your ear. Look, Uncle Danny, I'm twenty-eight. I know about the inner workings of an ear, okay? I would have felt metal grazing my cochlea.
Extra Portion
I can't even enjoy the first half of my meal because I'm so worried about who's getting the extra portion of fried rice. As soon as the chef begins to scoop up that last helping, I'm trying to discreetly box out my neighbors and solidify intense eye contact, even though I know deep down he's going to give it to the cute blonde who won't eat it.
Cultural Offenses
Never again will I make the mistake of asking for a fortune cookie. You would have thought I'd punched a child in the face. No, hibachi grills do orange sherbet, thank you very much — perfect for those of us who want to polish off our four-course meal with a Push Pop.
Recommendations for the Next Hotel I Stay In
* * *
() Please start washing the comforters. We all know that earlier in the day, a naked, sweaty, fat man rested his taint on the comforter while he blow-dried his hair. I know you can neither confirm nor deny this, but the least you could do is have the housekeeper bring a new comforter to my door, shrink-wrapped like an airline blanket.
() Please choose an appropriate height for your shower head. If a 5'11" man wants to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, under no circumstance should he have to do a naked wall sit in order for that to happen. Naked wall sits should be reserved for the privacy of one's own home.
() Please choose a shampoo that doesn't smell like a condiment. I have a feeling that the selection of the shampoo/conditioner/body wash combo is a pretty big decision. Just make sure the person with the final say isn't suffering from a cold or a recurring olfactory injury. I can't afford to go into that two o'clock meeting with my skin smelling like I just bathed in Hollandaise sauce.
() Please have a variety of pillows. If you're going to spend the money to have twelve pillows on my bed, at least throw a little variety in there. For those of us who like our pillows to feel like two pieces of cardboard stacked atop one another, sleeping on a pillow that resembles a rolled-up sleeping bag is an impossible task.
() Please be reasonable with the price of mini-fridge items. Your $7 bottled water and $4 Fun Size Snickers Bar is starting to make the movie theater feel like a thrift store.
() Please don't give me a guilt trip about not wanting to reuse my towel. If you're really trying to save money, just add that eleven cents worth of water you had to use to my bill.
() Please destroy all mini-coffee makers. Chances are, the only people who are desperate enough to get up and make coffee in their hotel room are also raging (and sometimes belligerent) caffeine addicts. Speaking on behalf of those addicts, a pot the size of a shot glass isn't going to cut it.
() Please get rid of the pamphlet tower. No, it's not bothering me. I just feel sorry for it. It just sits there alone underneath the pay phones, desperate for someone to come make a collect call.
() Please trust me with your hangers. I promise I won't steal your clothes hangers. Seriously. All you're doing by permanently attaching them to the closet rod is causing people to want them more. Oh, and while we're at it, now you're sewing pillows onto your chairs? Is throw pillow theft a bigger deal than I'm aware of?
() Please stop insisting that your $12.95 breakfast buffet is a great deal. I don't know what you think the going rate is for limp bacon and bouncy eggs, but you're shooting a tad high. I know, I know — you think it's worth it because you have that cool conveyer belt toaster and endless supply of batter cups for the waffle maker, but you're wrong. At least trick me into thinking it's free and sneak that $12.95 into the price of my bottled water.
() Please choose a shower faucet that idiots can figure out. If I have to spend more than 1.5 seconds figuring out A) how to turn the water on, or B) how to make it hot, you've chosen the wrong one. It is never acceptable for me to have to use two hands at this point in my showering process.
() Please chill out with the shower caps. I'd be willing to bet my life savings that the only people in the world who still use shower caps have packed their own. There is no need for them to be standard issue right next to my mini-bottles of shampoo, body lotion, and mouthwash. Put all that money you'll save toward giving that comforter an extra wash or two.
The Inadvertent Doorman
* * *
Question: When entering a restaurant, how close should a person be for you to hold the door open for him? You know what I'm talking about:
MY THOUGHTS (having just walked through a door) Oh look-someone's coming. I think I'll hold the door open for him. After all, that's the kind of guy I am.
GUY'S THOUGHTS That guy couldn't be holding the door open for me, could he? I'm like sixty yards away.
MY THOUGHTS Hmm. That guy's a lot farther away than I thought. This was a mistake. Is it okay to unhold the door?
GUY'S THOUGHTS Do I need to walk faster? What's the proper etiquette here? Does he expect me to jog?
MY THOUGHTS I don't think he sees me. I think it's okay to unhold as long as we don't make eye con— Damn. We just made eye contact. I think I'm stuck here for the long haul.
GUY'S THOUGHTS Wait, is this guy mad at me? He seems mad. How do I feel guilty right now?
MY THOUGHTS Would looking at my watch be too obvious? There has got to be a way to speed this up.
GUY'S THOUGHTS Is he actually pulling the watch-look? People do that? There's no way he cares about what time it is. He's just messing with me. I'll show him. Whoops — looks like I need to tie my shoe ... right now.
MY THOUGHTS No! What the ... okay, is he? ... I've never hated anyone as much as this guy.
GUY'S THOUGHTS Let's see, I think I'll just twirl the ol' keys a little, just to make sure he understands how little of a hurry I'm in.
MY THOUGHTS Are you kidding me!? You bastard! Release me from this bondage!
GUY'S THOUGHTS Okay, here we go. It's time to enter.
MY THOUGHTS Almost done here. You've done well. Just exchange pleasantries and be on your way.
GUY Hi. How's it going?
ME Nothing much.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Stuff You Should Know About Stuff"
by .
Copyright © 2014 Tripp Crosby and Tyler Stanton.
Excerpted by permission of BenBella Books, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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