SillyEz.com

This is not an urban legend, it happened to an RA in our New York office

This guy lives in Westchester, NY and goes to school at Ithaca College. 
For two years, he has wanted to ask a certain girl (who is also from
Westchester and also goes to Ithaca) out on a date, but has never had the
courage. Finally, one day over the summer, he sees her at home and musters
up the courage to ask her out. She accepts, and they make dinner plans for
Saturday night.

Friday night, this guy goes out with all of his buddies, and drinks like
Prohibition is coming back. Saturday, he is in such bad shape that he 
can’t make it through twenty minutes without either puking or defecating. 
After several hours of this, he is able to stop puking, but he is still 
running to the toilet every 20 minutes to defecate. He doesn’t want to 
cancel the date, because he’s afraid he won’t ever talk to her again. So 
they meet in Westchester, and take the train to New York City (about a 30 
minute ride).

They get to the restaurant, and he excuses himself during the appetizers 
to use the bathroom. They enjoy the rest of the appetizers without
interruption, but he has to go back again during the entrees. They decide
to get dessert. During dessert, our hero feels another rumbling, but
doesn’t want to look like a complete bathroom freak, so he holds it.

After a few minutes, the rumbling subsides, but he still has a bit of gas
stored up. He decides to let this little bit of gas fly right there at the
table (discreetly, of course). Unfortunately, this little bit of gas came
with another little surprise. “Oh shit,” he thinks (and feels). Instead of
running to the bathroom right away, our hero immediately leans on the arms
of his chair to keep from sitting on this surprise. He maintains this yoga
position for the rest of dessert, trying to figure out what to do before
his tan pants… (a) start to smell, or (b) start to show stains on the
outside.

He quickly pays for dinner and they leave the restaurant. Oh, by the way,
he is walking like a cowboy.. On the way to the train station, they pass
the Gap.

“Do you mind if I run in and buy a sweater that I was looking at last
week?” he asks.

“No problem, I’d like to look around too,” she replies.

They go into the Gap. Fortunately, at the Gap, men’s fashions are on the
right, women’s fashions are on the left. They split up. Our hero grabs the
first sweater within reach, and hurries back to the khakis. After 
selecting a pair that most closely resemble his current outfit, he brings 
both items to the register. His eyes are on his date (still on the other 
side of the store) to make sure that she doesn’t see him buying the pants. 
He doesn’t even want the sweater, so he says through clenched teeth (just 
in case his date can read lips from 40 feet away)

“Just the pants.”

“What?” asks the Gap girl.

“Just the pants!” (His eyes still trained on his date.)

Gap girl: “Oh, OK.”

He pays for the pants and walks over to his date, then they leave the
store.

They board the train just before it leaves the station and find two seats
in the middle of the car. Without sitting down, our hero excuses himself
and walks to the bathroom in the back of the car. He gets to the bathroom
as the train departs, and quickly rips off his pants and boxer shorts. He
rolls them into a ball and throws them out the window. After cleaning
himself off, he opens the Gap bag and pulls out…just the sweater.

**PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU WOULD DO IN THIS
SITUATION.**

As you must have realized, the only solution is to wear the sweater as
pants. So he squeezes his legs into the arms of the sweater and pulls the
rest of the fabric tight around his waist. He can only keep himself 
covered by hunching over. Walking will be a new challenge altogether.

Rather than going through the absolute trauma of returning to his seat and
explaining (or creating an elaborate lie to explain) the entire incident,
our hero waits in the bathroom until the train stops at the next station.
He waits until the moment the train starts to pull away from the station,
then dashes out of the bathroom (as quickly as a hunched over cowboy with
sweater pants can dash) and jumps off the train. He is lost and stranded
somewhere between New York City and Westchester.

He hasn’t seen the girl since.

Hot sun. Salty air. Rhythmic waves.

A little boy is on his knees scooping and packing the sand with plastic shovels into a bright blue bucket. Then he upends the bucket on the surface and
lifts it. And, to the delight of the little architect, a castle tower is created.

All afternoon he will work. Spooning out the moat. Packing the walls. Bottle tops will be sentries. Popsicle sticks will be bridges. A sandcastle will
be built.

Big city. Busy streets. Rumbling traffic.

A man is in his office. At his desk he shuffles papers into stacks and delegates assignments. He cradles the phone on his shoulder and punches the keyboard
with his fingers. Numbers are juggled and contracts are signed and much to the delight of the man, a profit is made.

All his life he will work. Formulating the plans. Forecasting the future. Annuities will be sentries. Capital gains will be bridges. An empire will be
built.

Two builders of two castles. They have much in common. They shape granules into grandeurs. They see nothing and make something. They are diligent and determined.
And for both the tide will rise and the end will come.

Yet that is where the similarities cease. For the boy sees the end while the man ignores it. Watch the boy as the dusk approaches.

As the waves near, the wise child jumps to his feet and begins to clap. There is no sorrow. No fear. No regret. He knew this would happen. He is not surprised.
And when the great breaker crashes into his castle and his masterpiece is sucked into the sea, he smiles. He smiles, picks up his tools, takes his father’s
hand, and goes home.

The grownup, however, is not so wise. As the wave of years collapses on his castle he is terrified. He hovers over the sandy monument to protect it. He
blocks the waves from the walls he has made. Salt-water soaked and shivering he snarls at the incoming tide.

“It’s my castle,” he defies.

The ocean need not respond. Both know to whom the sand belongs…

I don’t know much about sandcastles. But children do. Watch them and learn. Go ahead and build, but build with a child’s heart. When the sun sets and the
tides take – applaud. Salute the process of life and go home.

Beating Sorrow — An Ancient Chinese Tale

Sent in by

L Wang of Beijing

There is an old Chinese tale about a woman whose only son died.

In her grief, she went to the holy man and asked, “What prayers, what magical incantations do you have to bring my son back to life?” Instead of sending
her away or reasoning with her, he said to her,

“Fetch me a mustard seed from a home that has never known sorrow. We will use it to drive the sorrow out of your life.”

The woman went off at once in search of that magical mustard seed. She came first to a splendid mansion, knocked at the door, and said, “I am looking for
a home that has never known sorrow. Is this such a place? It is very important to me.”

They told her, “You’ve certainly come to the wrong place,” and began to describe all the tragic things that recently had befallen them. The woman said
to herself, “Who is better able to help these unfortunate people than I, who have had misfortune of my own?” She stayed to comfort them, then went on in
search of a home that had never known sorrow.

But wherever she turned, in hotels, in cities, in villages small and large and throughout the land, she found one tale after another of sadness and misfortune.
The woman became so involved in helping others cope with their sorrows that she eventually let go of her own.

She would later come to understand that it was the quest to find the magical mustard seed that drove away her suffering.