The Junk Drawer

In my line of work, I find myself cleaning malware off my clients’ computers two or three times a week. Sometimes that involves an entire reinstall of Windows, applications and data. You have no idea what I’d like to do to the people who spend their time invading computers with their crap programs.

I’m not a violent person, but let’s just say my punishment would involve burying them in sand up to their necks and unleashing an army of hungry fire ants. It may also involve gasoline, a match and maniacal laughter. OK, so maybe I am violent.

The one thing that’s troubling for users when they acquire malware is that they feel almost physically violated. Some look like they’re going to cry. All are annoyed, and rightly so. Yet others react to it as though I told them they have a case of head lice.

This is what the discussion feels like when I inform them of their infection:

Client: I have what?

Me: You have head lice.

Client: How did I get it?

Me: Likely a website.

Client: But I’m careful.

Me: Head lice is everywhere.

Client: How can I prevent it?

Me: It’s hard to avoid it.

Client: But I haven’t been hanging around sites with head lice.

Me: You wouldn’t really know it if you were. Lots of normal-looking sites have head lice.

Client: How do I get rid of it?

Me: I clean it with head lice remover.

Client: Will it work?

Me: Not always. Sometimes we have to chop off your whole head. It could take hours.

Client: So if you get rid of my head lice and I lose my whole head, can you at least save my data?

Me: Yes.

Client: Wow, I really want to punch those stupid people who gave me head lice.

Me: I’ve got it covered. See these fire ants?

* If you have a bout of head lice on your Windows PC, you can remove it easily (most of the time) with the free Malwarebytes program. It’s best to run it in Safe Mode.

In my entire blogging career, I’ve never seen another blogger with a whole category for embarrassing posts. Of my 449 posts, 52 are labeled that way. Is it any wonder?

I drove to the grocery store today and parked. Before heading inside, I swapped my sunglasses for regular, grabbed my list, ATM card and coupons. And then my stomach growled. They always say you should never go grocery shopping on an empty stomach. I was going to have to be strong.

Anyway.

I got out of my car, locked it, and then in what I can only characterize as Ethel Merman-esque, sang aloud to myself I’m huuuungry!

Well, to myself and that lady who was sitting with her window down in the Jeep next to me about six inches from my face who I hadn’t noticed until after I opened my stupid mouth.

She stared straight ahead. Didn’t flinch. That means she either played deaf, didn’t appreciate my singing talent or was embarrassed for me.

Yeah. Like there’s any question which.

After wearing the same walking sneakers for five years, I thought it was time to get new ones. I buy mine at an independent sports shop where the owners take a very serious approach to footwear.

They want you to come into the store wearing the shoes you currently use so they can examine them for wear and help you find a better-fitting shoe if you need it. They also encourage you to take sneaks for a test run up and down Main Street.

Awesome, except for one thing. This puts my old smelly shoes in the vicinity of people with functioning nostrils.

No, I never wore my shoes barefoot, but that hardly matters. There’s some kind of foot-to-sock-to-shoe funk transference phenomenon going on there that only the wearer of the shoe can tolerate. In fact, I keep them in the laundry room where they can’t hurt anyone in the house.

Motivated by the desire to get a really good sneaker, I soldier on and lace up the Funky Shoes and head to the store.

I’m excited that I can find a new sneaker almost right away. A very nice salesman tells me he’ll be right with me and when he comes back he says “Oh, that’s the new model of the ones you’re wearing now.”

Ugh. He’s already looked at them. Can he smell them, too?

I take a seat and nervously remove my sneaks, hoping that the guy isn’t flat out killed by what’s about to be released into the air. He’s not. Is he a robot? He crouches down in front of me to examine the shoes for wear. 

He flips one over and rubs his hand over the sole, pronounces them dreadfully worn and asks how long I’ve had them. I answer four or five years and wonder whether someone could calculate that by the number of seconds it takes to pass out from the smell, sort of like aging a tree by its number of rings, only in reverse.

He does not wince or choke. In fact, the robot smiles and says he’s glad I’m replacing them. He sets down the shoe he touched with his bare hands. Lord have mercy.

I’m desperate to put the shoes back on — the clock is ticking on this bomb! Thankfully he doesn’t make small talk. He asks what size I need. Before I could answer, he went for the reach again.

Oh no.

Don’t do it, man.

Just don’t.

He picked up one of my sneakers and pulled it close to his face to read the size label under the tongue.

Does he know how mortified am I right now?  Does he know he just carelessly peered into the Chernobyl of Shoes? Can’t he just toss me a heap of ten different-sized shoes and let me rummage through them? I’m convinced he’s named Employee of the Month every month for sticking his nose in the abyss of customers’ shoes and coming out alive. That, or he’s desperate for a $100 sale.

He leaves briefly to get my size and I snatch my old ones and move them up on the chair next to me, as if that’ll help. The fumes were released already and you can’t put the genie back in the bottle. I am Pig Pen, sitting in my own stink cloud.

He returns with my new shoes and I thank God they fit perfectly and feel great. I take them for a quick spin around the fitting chairs and give a big thumbs up. Good. Now my funk and I can pay up and leave. I’m certain the salesman needed a decontamination shower after I left. Certain.

When I got home, I immediately deposited my old shoes in the trash bin in the garage. Good-bye stinky ‘ol shoes! I later toss a bag of garbage over top of them, latch the lid and let it all simmer.

The next day I remembered I should have kept the old sneakers to wear for lawn mowing. So I went into the bin, removed the garbage and salvaged the shoes for another God knows how many years.

So let me ask you, how bad do you think they smell now?

So how much weight have you gained since blogging?

Me? A whopping 30 pounds and I’m tired of walking around with all that extra tonnage. So what am I doing to lose?

• Walking two miles most weekdays and eight on weekends.
• Eating a healthy breakfast and lunch, with fruit for snacks.
• Having a very light dinner.
• Eliminating the Frisbee-sized iced cinnamon bun I used to have twice a week. OK, make that three times.

I’ve had good success during the first month. And rather than mark my weight loss milestones by a straight number of pounds, I’ve decided to mark them by the number of Stinkys I’ve lost. Stinky, my beautiful, sweet kitty, weighs 5.2 pounds.

My progress so far:

And to the guy who asked me last week if I was losing weight, you have no idea how close I got to jumping in your lap and giving you a big sloppy kiss. Thank you!