It’s currently 2:49 PM on a lazy Saturday afternoon. I’m sitting outside on a sunny day, and I’m hiding in the shadows so I can make out my laptop’s screen. I should be feeling good, but I’m not. Today I received some terrifying news.
I am stressed out.
After adding a few more pounds of muscle to my Barry Bonds-like frame at the gym, I stopped by the local Safeway to pickup a sandwich. But as I approached, my mind drifted from the thoughts of my favorite Hail Caesar sandwich to a much more appetizing offer: free stress test.
I’ve seen these “free stress tests” being administered outside Pizza My Heart in Palo Alto, just a block from JotSpot’s office. But I’ve always been too busy working to stop for a test. Or maybe I’ve just been worried that some of my colleagues might see me. They all know me for being oh so carefree around the office, no worries at all. I hope this post doesn’t tarnish my reputation.
Anyhow, I’ve long secretly suspected that I’ve been stressed out, so I walked over to the table, which was decorated with colorful books about something called Dianetics. Sounded like a scientific term, and being a man of science, I was intrigued.
“Would you like a free stress test?” said a portly woman in her middle 50s. She had short brown hair – the kind that women have after they’ve given up any hope of being attractive – and she wore a shirt with a flowered design. She smiled at me and she had fangs.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ve seen these around before and have always been curious.”
“Well, great. Have a seat. My name is Margin.”
“Hi, Marge? Margin?”
“Yes, Margin.”
“I’m Ryan. Nice to meet you.”
I sat down and studied the instrumentation at the table. Clearly the work of some mad but brilliant scientists.
“Ryan, this test should only take about 3 or 4 minutes.”
Margin handed me two hollow aluminum cylinders. They could have been Coke cans that somehow had the Coke print removed from the can. Good thing – just the thought of Coke really stresses me out. The fizz is...irritating.
Margin asked me to hold the cans in my hand, so I did. The cans were connected via some sort of rubber wire to the instrumentation on the table.
“Now think of people that you know,” Margin said.
If anything is stressing me out, it’s probably work-related, so I thought of my co-workers. Suddenly one of the needles jumped to the right.
“Oh, interesting, but those people don’t stress you out,” Margin remarked.
I was confused. Evidently the scientists who crafted the sophisticated instrumentation designed it backwards. Unlike a speedometer or pretty much any working instrument I’ve ever used, the stress test meter had high values on the left side and low values on the right side. Those scientists are genius!
“I’m surprised,” I say. “I was thinking of people from work, and work can be stressful sometimes.”
“Well, the meter can be extremely sensitive." Margin turned a few knobs. "Now try thinking of some other people.”
I thought of my parents, my dogs, and a number of friends. The meter bounced around and at some point – I don’t even know who I was thinking of – Margin exclaimed, “Oh, no! Who are you thinking of?”
“Ummm…my girlfriend.” I wasn’t actual thinking about any girls at all by that point (which for me is surprising), but I thought I’d have a little fun with Margin.
“Wow, she really stresses you out. Are there past relationships that could be causing you stress?”
“Well, no. We’ve been dating for a while, and everything is cool. I mean, she did try to kill me once, but we worked past that. Do you want to see the scars from where she stabbed me in the shoulder blade?”
“No, thanks. Wow, I can imagine that your girlfriend would stress you out. Would you like to know how Dianetics can help you with your stress problems?”
“I was just kidding. My girlfriend didn’t try to kill me.”
“Oh, well, I still think Scientology could really help you.”
"Actually, I don't think I need the help. I think I perform well under stress. If I need to relive my stress, I can just write on my blog. Actually, I think I’ll blog about this!”
“Oh, well, you don’t have to do that.”
“It’s all right. I can handle my stress just fine. But I’m going to get a sandwich, cause I can't handle this hunger much longer!"
And so concludes this post. I have relieved my stress and have had some good fun f'in with a Scientologist in the process. And if you're a complete idiot and/or do not know me, rest assured I knew it was Scientology scam the whole time :)
