70-Year-Old Spousal Warranty

INSTITUTE FOR SPOUSAL HEALTH

THE MAYO CLINIC

ROCHESTER, MINNESOTA 55902

Dr. Nancy -----------

Address on file

Dear Dr. --------------,

Under the terms of your nuptial agreement, The Institute for Spousal Health has performed the scheduled 70-year maintenance and service as described in the warranty agreement governing your spouse, d.o.b. 12-14-1950, d.o.m. 08-15-1981.

On behalf of the Institute for Spousal Health, let me congratulate you on your spouse achieving this milestone. Without the active intervention of their spouses, most men of this age would find themselves on the brink of catastrophic failure.

We also appreciate your bringing your spouse to us for measurement and observation as requested in your warranty. In summary, his condition is good despite some obvious gaps, and he is likely to provide several more years of spousal comfort if managed appropriately. And remember, rest, exercise, and a healthy diet will give him his best chance at wellness, and a healthy coat.

These notes summarize our findings.

Your husband is now 73.75 inches tall. We note that he was 74.8 inches tall some while ago, and we calculate we will be about 72 inches, a reasonable value, upon termination, if we can get him to stand up straight. Please keep in mind your spouse getting smaller reflects physical reality, not your subjective impressions..

A good measure of health for spouses in this age group is the Carlson-Hannity Symptom Index. The Index is calculated by counting those illnesses from which the spouse reports suffering from and for which medications are advertised on the Six O’clock Fox News Special Report with Bret Baier. Your spouse’s score on this index places him in the 60th percentile for symptom manifestation and hypochondria. We recommend a series of restorative, distracting comments on your part such as “What do these politicians know?,” “Is it cold in here?” and “Who are the (insert sports team of interest) playing on Sunday?

An additional gauge that sheds light on your spouse’s condition is the Jenner-West Bloviation Score. The first component of this measurement is the Kramden-Norton Opinionation Pyramid, which awards specific scores to different classes of matters on which the spouse expresses deeply-held opinions, in proportion to their severity, where:

· opinions on the weather, how much things cost, and rap music are awarded one point;

· opinions on lawn maintenance, asymmetric haircuts, and how poorly people drive nowadays two points;

· opinions on Metamucil flavors, the use of “r,” “u,” “b,” “2,” and “4,” instead of English words in text messages, and the effect of one’s diet on one’s A1C level three points;

· opinions on two- versus three-button suitcoats, why the best Stones guitarist was Mick Taylor, and how come two steps no longer means traveling in the NBA, four points;

· opinions on how the new and old Perry Masons could not be the same person, grammatical errors by television newscasters (including split infinitives and that/which, can/may, and irony/paradox confusions), and ’61 Yankees versus ’76 Reds, who was better? five points.

The spouse’s score on the Opinionation Pyramid is then multiplied by the spouse’s Powerll-Giuliani Expression Number, which awards scores on how those opinions are expressed, where :

· muttering under one’s breath equals one point;

· remarking in front of company at the dinner table, two points;

· angry Facebook posts in capital letters, three points;

· mentioning in a conversation with the next person on the supermarket checkout line, four points;

· tirades made to plumbers, electricians, meter readers, and perfect strangers five points.

Warren’s total score of 12 indicates moderate opinionation, a level that can be addressed through behavioral therapy, including strict application of the phrase, “No one cares, dear.” But even in the extreme, opinionation is one of the few medical conditions that can be addressed by ignoring it, although this approach can take decades. Levels above 15 require medication and an immediate cessation of all newspapers, social media, and other external stimuli, all of which aggravate the underlying condition. (In an emergency, the score can be roughly estimated by counting the number of “Hey Boomer!”s the patient experiences over the course of 24 hours.)

We then administered the Empty Room Cognitive Assessment to your spouse, in which we place the spouse in an empty room and observe the time it takes the spouse to determine what he’s doing there. In your spouse’s case, this took two minutes, the 35th percentile response. His confusion level, therefore, is not critical, but merits ongoing observation. The Empty Room Assessment correlates with higher scores the Supermarket List Completion Score, values for the Lost Phone Radius (for which “Oh, it’s right here!” warrants cautious monitoring), and the spouse’s Unzipped Fly Quotient.

Sleep is an essential part of your spouse’s maintenance. We calculate your spouse sleeps ten hours a day. Unfortunately, four of these hours take place during meals, television programming, book reading, and conversations with family members experiencing emotional distress. A further measure of the quality of your spouse’s sleep is the Sleep/Wake Decibel Ratio. This measure calculates the average decibel level of all noises emitted by the spouse (whether vocal, respiratory, digestive, or intestinal in origin) during sleep and during wakefulness and calculating the ratio of the two. Your spouse’s score of 1.3 indicates he is thirty percent louder when sleeping than when awake, roughly average for spouses in his age group. On a positive note, it would be worse if he snored.

Finally, your spouse performed well on the Cognitive Superiority Assessment, in which we tell the spouse to remember five words – man, woman, person, camera, TV – and then ask the words be recalled after a few minutes of distracting conversation. Of course, any adult without a severe mental impairment can recall these words – the test for our purposes is not the recollection of these words but rather the spouse’s reaction after completion. Your spouse’s response upon completion (“I told you I was smarter than that idiot.”) is considered completely normal.

Please do not hesitate to contact us if your spouse exhibits new and disturbing manifestations. Which will probably be soon.

With every best wish,

Waiting for Vaccine

(with apologies to Samuel Beckett)

A country road. A tree.

Evening.

Estragon, sitting on a low stump, is trying to take off his boot. He pulls at it with both hands, panting. He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again. As before.

Enter Vladimir.

Estragon: (giving up again) Nothing to be done.

Vladimir: I’m beginning to come around to that opinion.

Estragon: I think I have COVID toe.

Vladimir: You’re upsetting yourself.

Estragon: My toes are purple, with tender or itchy bumps. Are yours?

Vladimir: No.

Estragon: Then my feet are sick. (returns to struggling with his shoe)

Vladimir: There's man all over for you, blaming his feet for the faults of his boots.

Estragon: I thought I had a dry cough yesterday.

Vladimir: What of it?

Estragon: And shortness of breath.

Vladimir: Still breathing, then? Mind you don’t waste your time.

Estragon: And fever. I had fever!

Vladimir: It may have just been passion. They are hard to untwine.

Estragon: And I can’t taste a thing!

Vladimir: Then the taste of failure won’t linger in your mouth.

Estragon: What if I am dying?

Vladimir: (scoffs) You are not dying. You are simply getting acquainted with the corpse that dwells within you.

Estragon: I need a test.

Vladimir: We are all tested, every day. And most fail.

Estragon: I need help. Let’s go.

Vladimir: We can’t go. We have to wait.

Estragon: To wait? For whom?

Vladimir: We are waiting for vaccine.

Besides, you must be well, even if you feel badly.

Estragon: Do you think so?

Vladimir: Say you are well, even if it isn’t true.

Estragon: I am well.

Vladimir: So am I.

Estragon: So am I.

Vladimir: We are well.

Estragon: We are well. Ah, that’s better! (Silence.) What do we do now, now that we are well?

Vladimir: We wait for vaccine.

Estragon: It should be here by now. They said it would come today.

Vladimir: It might.

Estragon: And if it doesn’t come?

Vladimir: We’ll come back tomorrow.

Estragon: And then the day after tomorrow?

Vladimir: Certainly. Where is your mask?

Estragon: (looks under his hat, sighs resignedly) I don’t know.

Vladimir: Have you washed your hands?

Estragon: These? (looks at his hands) I can’t tell.

Vladimir: Do you avoid crowds?

Estragon: (looks around) They have avoided me.

Vladimir: Have you coughed into your sleeve?

Estragon: (looks down his sleeve) I don’t see anything. Or is that the future? I will die, like the others.

Vladimir: What others?

Estragon: All the others. The caregivers. The meatpackers. The downtrodden and dispossessed. The children of the powerful. The powerful themselves. They are dying, all of them.

Vladimir: (sententious) To every man his little cross. (he sighs) Till he dies.

Estragon: You see! (he grabs his throat) So I do have it! I knew it! (he falls to the ground and begins taking off his boot again) I must see my toe!

Vladimir: Your toe is fine.

Estragon: But something is wrong! I know it!

Valdimir: How do you know that?

Estragon: I have deduced it.

Vladimir: How did you do that?

Estragon: (proudly) Vaccine is 95 percent effective, is it not?

Vladimir: So it is said.

Estragon: Then five percent of me will be beset! My toe, my tongue…somewhere, the five percent will undo me. (he shakes his head sadly) To live is to learn how one will die.

Vladimir: You are not dying. And when the vaccine comes, you will not die yet again.

Estragon: Then, in the meantime, what shall we do?

Vladimir: We will wait. We will wait for vaccine.

Estragon: They said it would be here by Election Day.

Vladimir: Are you saying Election Day was a fraud?.

Estragon: They said it would be here by Thanksgiving.

Vladimir: There were no thanks to give.

Estragon: They said it would be here by Christmas.

Vladimir: Our Lord and Savior. Let us pray.

Estragon: (puts his hands together, then looks up) What shall we pray for?

Vladimir: It makes no difference. Prayers are unanswered.

Estragon: I will pray nevertheless. (He closes his eyes tightly, then suddenly groans and thrusts his arms forward.) God help me!

Vladimir: What is it?

Estragon. I can’t see! I’m blind! It’s the COVID!

Vladimir: (chastisingly) No, you’re not. Open your eyes.

Estragon: I’m not? (He blinks his eyes and looks about.) I’m not blind! I’ve been spared!

Vladimir: That passed the time.

Estragon: It would have passed in any case.

Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.

The Boy: (offstage) Messieurs!

(They both look towards the voice.)

Vladimir: Approach, my child. What is it?

The Boy: (entering) Dear sirs, the vaccine. They have sent me to tell you about it.

Vladimir: Obviously.

Estragon: (violently) What kept you these months?

Vladimir: You have a message about the vaccine?

Estragon: (Mistrustfully) Have you kept it cold?

Vladimir: (to Estragon) Leave him alone.

Estragon: (Advancing to The Boy) Is it cold? It must be as cold. As cold as the deepest void of distant universes.

The Boy: I don’t know of such things.

Estragon: As cold as the Arctic once was.

The Boy: I cannot say.

Estragon: As cold as the heart of God.

Valdimir: Mind you do not exaggerate.

The Boy: I don’t know that.

Estragon: Don’t know! Well, I assure you, lad, look round you. God’s heart is cold.

The Boy: I meant vaccine.

Vladimir: What does he know? He’s only a boy. What do you know, Boy?

The Boy: The vaccine will be coming soon.

Estragon: For whom? For me?

Vladimir: (To Estragon) Let him alone.

Estragon: It’s all a pack of lies. (shaking The Boy by the arm.) Tell us the truth!

Vladimir: Will you let him alone! What’s the matter with you?

Estragon: I’m not well. I think I am ill.

Vladimir: Since when?

Estragon: Why does it matter? I am ill and need vaccine.

Vladimir: If you are ill, you do not need the vaccine.

Estragon: I don’t?

Vladimir: No. it would be too late. The vaccine poses as the virus. If you have the virus, there is no need for the pose.

Estragon: So…if I am sick, then I am cured!

Vladimir: In a manner of speaking. (to The Boy) Well?

The Boy: Sir?

Vladimir: (angrily) The vaccine, boy! When will it come?

The Boy: This month, and if not, the next. And if not, the month to follow. That will depend.

Vladimir: Depend?

The Boy: Yes, Sir. Are you a responder? Are you old? Do you have co-morbidity?

Estragon: I have comorbidity with everyone. We shall all die together!

Vladimir: Are you telling us the truth, boy?

The Boy: As best I know it, Sir.

Estragon: It is the truth, as far as he knows.

Vladimir: What truth isn’t?

The Boy: I will take my leave, then. Wait here and vaccine will arrive.

(The Boy exits)

(Silence.)

Estragon: What do we do now?

Vladimir: We wait.

Estragon: We wait.

(Silence.)

Vladimir: We could wear our masks.

Estragon: We could stay an appropriate distance from each other.

Vladimir: We could wash our hands.

Estragon: We could cough into our sleeves.

Vladimir: We could stay away from crowds.

Estragon: We could quarantine!

Vladimir: Yes! We can quarantine together!

Estragon: Yes! Let us do that!

Vladimir: Yes! We will do all of that!

Estragon: All of it, yes! And while we do it, we will wait!

Vladimir: Wait for the vaccine, yes!

(They stand there, motionlessly and silently.)

Estragon: That’s enough. I’m tired of all of that. It is too much to do.

Vladimir: I am as well. But it passed the time.

Estragon: Wouldn’t it have passed in any case?

Vladimir: We will come back tomorrow.

Estragon: And do what?

Valdimir: Who knows? Perhaps we’ll hang ourselves tomorrow. (pause) Unless vaccine comes.

Estragon: And if it comes?

Vladimir: We’ll be saved.

Estragon: Well then, shall we go?

Vladimir: Yes. Let us go, so we may come back tomorrow.

Estragon: And what will we do tomorrow?

Vladimir: We will wait. For the vaccine.

Estragon: Of course.

Vladimir: Yes. Let’s. Shall we go?

Estragon: Yes, let’s go.

(They do not move.)

Curtain.

Pictured are some of the remarkable actors who have taken on the challenge of Waiting for Godot: Robin Williams and Steve Martin, Burt Lahr and E. G. Marshall (audio on YouTube), Nathan Lane and Bill irwin, Burgess Meredith and Zero Mostel (my favorite, and available in its entirety on YouTube!), Kyle Manzay and Wendell Pierce (in a production staged in New Orleans after Katrina), and Patrick Sewart and Ian McKellen, followed by the author, Samuel Beckett.

The Trolley Problem

Norman Pottshouser stood at the front of a line so long that when he turned, the end could not be seen. He barely remembered waiting on the line, and he certainly didn’t remember getting on it in the first place. In fact, Norman Pottshouser was only now coming to understand Norman Pottshouser was dead. If nothing else, the incredible radiance of the surroundings convinced him – white marble everywhere, opulent but tacky. That, and even though he must have been on line for a very long time, his back wasn’t sore and he didn’t have to pee. And at that moment it all came together in his mind -- he was on the line for the Last Judgment he had heard so much about.

Norman Pottshouser looked at the various angels who were unsmilingly keeping the line moving, and the seraphim droning over the scene, their tiny wings buzzing. Norman Pottshouser then looked down and noticed he was clad in a white robe and admired the gilt piping on the sleeves. Maybe, he thought, being dead won’t be too bad after all. But then he looked straight ahead, and there was God, the Author, the Creator, right in front of him. Surprisingly, he was a white man with a beard.

God dismissed the person He was finished judging and beckoned Norman forward. An angel sitting next to Him gave Him the divine equivalent of a 3 by 5 index card, and Norman Pottshouser was called before the Lord

.

“So, you’re Norman Pottshouser?” God asked rhetorically. “Yes, yes, I created you – Lebanon, Pennsylvania, wasn’t it?” Norman Pottshouser might have taken encouragement from this friendly byplay, but God avoided eye contact and turned back to his notes.

“You were a retired air conditioning contractor, it says here. Married, three children, three grandchildren, only 66 years old.” Norman Pottshouser shrugged embarrassedly – it did seem fairly young. “Well, they told you to cut the carbs and get some exercise,” God said dismissively and scanned the card, then exclaimed, “Aha! Look at this! If I have this right – and I do – forty years ago, you were standing on a bridge overlooking a trolley track. There was a fellow next to you. At that moment, a trolley came careening down the tracks without brakes. You then noticed a switch had been set incorrectly and, if left unchanged, the trolley was heading for derailment, taking all those on board to certain deaths. So, you grabbed the person next to you and threw him onto the track, and the impact of his body on the switch stopped the trolley before a terrible cataclysm could occur.” God paused and looked up at Norman Pottshouser. “That was quick thinking on your part.”

Norman Pottshouser looked about to see if he was now expected to talk. “Well, of course,” he began hesitatingly, “it was an incident that lived with me forever. There were legal consequences. But I made the calculation the loss of one life would avert the loss of many, and by assuming agency over myself and my actions, the worse outcome was avoided.”

“By murdering a stranger?” God replied disbelievingly.

“I know, it was regrettable, and it turned out he was a minister, which was upsetting. But,” Norman Pottshouser brightened, “he did have a terminal disease.”

“Which he didn’t know about.”

Norman Pottshouser nodded. “So, I spared him the pain of finding out, as I see it. And I contributed to a better world, net net, of course. I regret his having to die and one wishes it hadn’t have happened –"

“Having to die? Having to happen? Why didn’t you just jump off the bridge yourself?”

Norman Pottshouser smirked involuntarily. “Well, I’m not crazy. Besides, if I had given myself up, I wouldn’t have survived to learn whether the expected outcome was achieved. I think a big part of the motivation for making these choices is finding out how they turn out.”

God scoffed. “Oh, I see. Well, the penalty for choosing to end the life of another, a malfeasance referred to in the Ten Commandments, usually is damnation.”

The word caused Norman Pottshouser’s soul to startle. He could see his line of argument was getting him nowhere. “But look -- there were a trolleyload of people and only one of him. Sure, he was a minister and a very fine fellow, leaving aside the terminal illness of which he was unaware, so let’s say there were twenty? -- a hundred? -- people on that trolley and only one – OK, with his ministry, call it one-and-a-half -- of him. Anyway you do the math –”

“Silence!” God commanded. “Your comparisons are odious – one life versus many! Who made you God?” It was a particularly biting remark, coming from Him.

“OK,” Norman Pottshouser replied. “Then let me just ask you this. What if the trolley was full of school children? Or nuns? Blind nuns,” he improvised, but then wondered whether He would see that as a special case or not.

“It wasn’t.”

“But what if it was? What if the fellow I threw over the edge didn’t hit a trolley but instead landed on a button that prevented World War Three?”

“There is no such button.”

“What if the fellow I threw over was Hitler’s father?”

God’s brow furrowed angrily as the angels in the area stifled their tittering. “Another Hitler’s father!” God scoffed. “Gee, I never heard that one before! Well, Hitler’s father is not in play, as they say.”

“But what if –”

“What if, what if!” God exclaimed. “Look, you decided to be the instrument of social good, which was very noble, although you were also protecting yourself as well by not volunteering to die. And you did so knowing there would be consequences, and now you’re facing them. Don’t be a wimp.” He turned to the angel holding the index cards. “Get him out of here.”

Two other angels took Norman Pottshouser by the arms and led him away. Norman Pottshouser realized what was happening and became a trembling mass of rage and fear. “It’s not fair! I did the right thing! You can’t do this!” he cried as he was dragged away, although it was patently evident that He could. In a moment, Norman Pottshouser’s soul was remanded to purgatory and God turned to the angel with the index card for the next case.

The angel dutifully handed it to Him, but then spoke.

“If I may, Lord…Just yesterday, in a manner of speaking, you had a fellow in front of you named Petrovsky who was driving his family in a van on a two-lane road and was about to hit a sinkhole and flip over a dangerous escarpment, so he swerved into an oncoming bicyclist. And yet you gave Petrovsky entry to Paradise. As I understand it, these are all variants on a classic problem in philosophy called “The Trolley Problem,” which was first put forward in 1967 by Philippa Foot, in which she considers the bad consequences of good deeds..

“Yes, I remember her – came through here about ten years ago, wasn’t it?” God scratched His hoary head, trying to recollect. So many souls…

“Yes, Lord. But may I ask, what is the difference between that case and this one?”

God shrugged. “Well, it’s just one of those fascinating questions, isn’t it? There’s really no right answer.”

“But if that’s the case –”

"Well, you know what they say," God replied. '"'Life's a bitch and then you die.' Next!"