Thoughts from the ammo line

If it’s Friday, it just occurred to me, it’s time for Ammo Grrrll. She calls this edition of her thoughts STUCK ON STUPID. Grrrll, take it away:

At the risk of appearing to pander, I am going to assert that, based on the quality of comments, Power Line regulars are smarter than the average bears. However, I have read that in surveys, almost everyone rates himself or herself as “above average” in intelligence. Clearly, if “average” has any meaning at all, this cannot be true; demonstrably, in some cases.

As unseemly as it is to still be going on about it half a century later, Ammo Grrrll was, in fact, one of four valedictorians of her high school class with a perfect 4.0 average. Hard as it is to imagine from my accompanying wildly-outdated picture, Ammo Grrrll was not a cute cheerleader or a beautiful Prom Queen. No, seriously. This is all she had to hang her hat on. And so it is with a heavy heart that I will now show you how far the mighty have fallen.

Yesterday I made a delicious and healthy Smoothie in my blender. When it came time to wash the blender, naturally I unscrewed the base with the sharp blades and washed that separately and carefully. Then I washed the glass pitcher part and commenced to rinse it. A blender with no bottom becomes a perfect funnel. With the wide top part under a running faucet and the bottom part pointed at what we at the gun range call “center mass,” the obvious will ensue. “And the 4th Runner Up in the Girls Gone Stupid Wet T-Shirt Contest is…”

This was neither the first time I had done this, nor the most boneheaded play of my day.

I purchased an Indoor-Outdoor thermometer system to get daily confirmation that Arizona is, indeed, hot. (But only from April through October, so no worries.) Rather than bother my husband, my yard guy, or my outrageously handy, kindly retired neighbor, I vowed to put on my Big Girl Pants and do it myself! A college graduate should be able to read simple directions and install 5 batteries in two units, even if she does have a uterus.

And so, I did everything the accompanying brochure told me to do in the exact order specified and proudly placed the remote sensor outdoors. And waited. Alas, the values on the indoor unit’s screen never changed. I installed different batteries. No change.

I was hunting for the receipt to return the clearly defective unit to Walmart, when Enrique, the aforementioned yard guy came in for a Coke. Enrique is not a college graduate. Though he can fix, build, or do anything and probably could have been a brain surgeon, he had to quit school after 4th grade to help support his large, fatherless family in Mexico.

He glanced at the unit, tried with limited success to keep from laughing at Senora, and removed the clear plastic film with the fake values printed on it that the unit came with. It worked perfectly. Oh my. Well, except for the fact that it claimed to be 165 degrees, straining credulity even for Arizona. Enrique moved the unit from the direct sunlight, as the brochure had recommended, and it plunged to a seasonably pleasant and accurate 107.

I have been retired for several years now. But, should I have to return to work, my resume might read: “Un-recent Sociology Major seeks work. Excellent at standing in lines.”


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