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Sorting out a bad situation

There are times when you immediately know you’re in a bad situation. I was watching a streamer play Fortnite, a first-person shooter game, on the weekend, and she decided to grab a zipline and head to the top of a nearby hill.

Her first words when she got to the top of the hill: “There are people up here.”

At which point she immediately jumped on the zipline and headed back down the hill to rejoin her teammates.

It was kind of funny, because there was absolutely no time lost between getting off the zipline at the top and getting back on it again to get out of there.

There are also times where people don’t seem to realize they are in a bad situation.

On Sunday, I was driving on Otway Road, heading to Miworth. There were a number of cyclists on the road, and they were all serious about what they were doing. They were all on the right side of the road and they were all wearing helmets.

Unfortunately, it seemed not all the motorists on the road were paying as much attention to what they were doing. Most of them, if they were catching up to a cyclist with another vehicle coming the other way, slowed down behind the cyclist until the other vehicle passed, then pulled out and around the cyclist.

There were a couple of morons, however (and I apologize to the morons out there for lumping these drivers in with you), who weren’t going to let little things like safety and intelligence stop them from getting where they were going as quickly as possible.

They came charging up behind the cyclist, swung out without even looking to see if there was another vehicle coming the other way, then cut back in front of the cyclist as quickly as they could.

I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if two of these drivers tried the same maneuver at the same time in opposite directions.

I also realized this weekend that I may be older than Methusaleh. I have found a couple of different ways of keeping track of 20 seconds, the time you’re supposed to wash your hand each time.

What I’ve been doing is singing “Happy Birthday” to myself twice each time. Last week, I was somewhat bored at one point, and I started adding up how many times a day I was washing my hands.

I got that number, multiplied it by the number of days since the COVID-19 thing started, and then doubled it for the number of times I sang “Happy Birthday”.

If each of those songs did, in fact, represent another year on my age, I passed Methusaleh sometime on Thursday.

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