Observation

My Subway, my five dollah foot longs, are just a few feet from where I live.

I try to hang out there as little as possible because in spite of the bright yellow atmosphere (I am NOT a Spring or Summer), it's just not a cheerful place. Maybe it's the because of the bus stop nearby. Okay, before you judge me, it's not my queasiness about public transport that makes me pause. It's the telephone number, "486-Buss" on the helpful Metro sign.

Another drama that's often played out at the S'Way is a quiet one that's probably only in my imagination. There's one young guy who works there, not attractive and his english is sub-par, garbled, cleft. My reaction of first seeing him, honestly: thank god he found a job somewhere. We communicated just fine even though I cannot say that I understood a single thing he said. Maybe for him too.

On one night of too much office, too little of my fridge, I found myself getting another sub magically stacked to order without the benefit of understanding his words and without us pointing. Another retail miracle. Then he started waiting on the customer behind me. Magnificent Spanish rolled out of his mouth. Authority and confidence and a completely different person. Once again, I had badly misjudged someone. Now I'm a bit obsessed about creating his backstory, creating a happy ending.

***

A friend and I were talking about teasing out any false positives in our life. We've been golfing together some and golf is a Rorshach testing ground for false positives. Hell, it's what keeps golfers playing. For example, we amateurs celebrate when we hit one of those rare perfect shots as if it came from our consciousness, our muscles, our very will. Professional golfers know that for amateurs, most of those shots are coincidences- the exception, not the rule. I like to recognize this possibility and weigh any successes carefully. My friends must think me loony when I celebrate truly awful shots because I know that I did what I planned as part of my learning process.

Whether it's luck, repetition or humidity, it is far too easy to claim responsibility for good fortune. Tons of stuff fall under this false positive spell: picking a winning stock, chipping in from off the green, living in the U.S.

The other side of the coin, the false negative, is just as damaging. Go head and reverse any of the list above: picking a losing stock; muffing a chip to the green; living in a war-torn region right now.

The positives and negatives above might be your responsibility if: the entire stock market is down but you consistently find the few stocks that gain value; your chips to the green fall within three feet of the pin most times; I can't even begin to speculate about life in either place. That just seems like a bleak exercise now that I've said it. Again, the opposite might reflect on who you are either. Might not mean anything inherently bad. Maybe you should have your money in a bank and stick to Putt-Putt.

***

I found a yellowjacket nest on my patio a few weeks ago. Shockingly light and looks like an ultra-modern papier-mache bead. It lives in the bird's nest, an altar in front of the painting of the cats. Striped stones, dapper bird feathers inhabit the nest as well. I imagine that if we could creak open a door into their minds, we'd see an image like this in our kitties' brains. It makes a kind of Cornell sense that's appealing and relieving.

***

In a meeting last week, a VP in my company cited an action that I took to solve a problem as an example of how to live our corporate values. Hell, like I have a clue about those slogans. Of course I was pleased for a moment. Then I realised, Jesus, I'm 50 years old! I should damn well know how to do something like that. Don't get me wrong, I don't see this as a personal false positive. More like a corporate false positive. In the way of slippery distinctions, I don't feel qualified to delve into the murk of corporate epistomology, if that makes any sense at all.

***

Ha ha ha! Made you look!