Being Useful

 When I was about 9, my friend Mike M and his Dad Bobby were repairing their car. I knew nothing about mechanics, and was sort of standing around watching. Mr. M. said "Hey Dave -- make yourself useful -- go get the wrench in the back of the garage!"

I did, and the words resonated with me. I had never heard them before: "Make yourself useful." So simple, and such great advice.

Unfortunately, so many are use-LESS in life -- you can't depend on them at all. And that's just the way it is.

I always try to be the useful guy, though the circle I serve grows smaller and smaller. Yesterday I dropped off a box of welcome kits for our neighborhood, now that I have retired as "Welcome Chair." My replacement Berta thanked me, and asked the worst part of the volunteer job. I told her it's when you make the effort to go greet the new neighbor, and give them a gift -- in my case it was a bottle of wine -- and you never hear from them -- as if they just assume they're entitled to this, for some reason.

She said she won't abide that -- she will follow up to make sure anyone she serves know it's a volunteer thing. I wish her well.

I long ago learned that treating people royally doesn't mean you can expect anything in return. Sometimes people just forget.

Our neighbor Jose got Wifey to the front of the line to see a specialist at the Med School, last week. The Ds were joking about it last night: Wifey was telling them on a loud phone call that the patient sitting next to her had made her appointment in August, and Wifey cruised right in.

I knew there was zero chance Wifey would remember to thank Jose, so I did. I'll get him some Austin Hope wine this weekend, too -- he really likes it.

So I'll try to be useful, and return calls from those I care about. Being use-LESS, is well, being use-LESS.

Speaking of the Wifey anecdote...

Last night we drove to D1's and spent some time with the boys, and then drove to D2 where we had plans for a non-seder second seder. I poured a Tito's, and waited for Jonathan and D1 and Joey to arrive.

Jonathan did, a ton of Aegean Street Food in hand, and I lampooned my late suegro. When he was home when I arrived after a long work day, he would bark "Go put da short pants on! Relax!" I was too nice to tell him the only way I would relax was when he and my suegra, of blessed memory, would get the F out my house.

Jonathan well knows the tale, and I AM sensitive about getting in the way of my working sons in law after a long work day.

But Jonathan was cool -- he poured us some healthy martinis, and we sat down to feast.

Well, the tale came up about Wifey's bragging to the Ds on the phone in the presence of the poor, non VIP patient.

I had been drinking, a lot, and I lost my breath. It has happened most of my adult life -- after I drink, and laugh uncontrollably, it takes me a few seconds to be able to inhale. It appear I am choking, but I'm not.

Poor Joey jumped up -- thinking I needed the Heimlich maneuver, as his Dad once did when he choked on some steak. I waved him off -- and sure enough, I was fine. But I wrecked his buzz, poor guy.

On the way home, it occurred to me, Dying of laughter is not a bad way to go. I hope it doesn't happen for a good long time -- but hey -- less embarrassment than Nelson Rockefeller's exit, on his office desk with his young assistant. I don't have any young assistants anymore, anyway.

In the mean time, I try to stay use-FUL, and return calls promptly. No uselessness for me. And thanks, Mr. M, for the lesson so many years ago.