Sitting under a canvas umbrella in a wooden lounge chair, Bettie fans her face, staring into the distance with a perpetual smile. “Oh, Earl! Don’t you just love the sound of the ocean crashing on the beach. I just knew this was the perfect place for our romantic getaway.”
Beside her, Earl grunts loudly, which means both yes and can’t you see I’m reading. His eyes are fixed on a paperback novel that he found in the condo. The cover suggested that it was a thriller, but it has proved to be a gothic romance. Being fifty pages in, he’s too invested to set it aside, and though he’ll never admit it to his golfing buddies, he wants to see if Malachi Grumble will see the error of his ways and finally accept his undying love for Tabitha Blackwood.
“Excuse me, sir and ma’am,” I say, stepping into the center of Bettie’s panoramic view of the ocean. “I notice you don’t have any water bottles. You know it very well could be the hottest day on record, according to the weatherman.”
“Oh,” Bettie says. “We’re quite fine, thank you, and while we’re aware of the heat index, heat dome, and the indomitable heat monster, it’s just too beautiful out here to worry ourselves.” She scowls to her right. “Isn’t that right, Earl?”
“Why does Darci keep coming between Malachi and Tabitha?” Earl says, gesturing to his gothic romance novel. “She has nothing to gain with her insistent lies. Malachi doesn’t love her. He wants to be with Tabitha.” He shakes his head, leaning farther back in his chair. “If only he hadn’t been burned so many times before.”
“Speaking of burn,” I interject, “you’re looking rather red if I say so myself. Have you applied any sunscreen lotion today?”
“I don’t mind getting sunburned,” Earl says, waving off my suggestion as if tossing it into the ocean. “Besides, Bettie’s right. This place really is paradise, so I really can’t complain.”
Yes, you can, Earl! In fact, we all can. Whether we’re basking in the summer heat on some island paradise or sitting on a park bench feeding pigeons, we can complain, and for those of you who like to say “it wouldn’t do any good if I did,” well, I beg to differ. Some of the best friendships are formed on finding mutual things to complain about, and there’s no better pastime than complaining about the weather, especially the summer heat. With a little help you can build camaraderie with your peers and let them not only know your plight but how you have experienced even worse heat than anybody else on the face of the earth. So, get your pen and paper ready, Earl. It’s time to learn the art of complaining about the heat like a pro.
“You know, if Malachi would listen to Tabitha for change…” Earl huffs indignantly.
No matter where you are on the planet, whether you’re sprawled in a partly deflated life raft in the middle of the Mediterranean or getting a piggyback ride from a penguin in Antarctica, you can always make a new friend with the simplest question. “How about this weather we’re having?”
Oh, I know it’s cliche to start a conversation about the weather, but hey, it works. And the reason why it works is because we are all experiencing the same weather wherever we are. And while people may defer to a “glass is half full” mentality (Oh, I know. Isn’t it just lovely.), you can always offer up a clever hyperbole to give them a taste of who you are, and then you can get them to agree with you very easily by following it with a little nod and another question. For example:
I plop down next to Bettie, sitting on the scorching hot sand. “Whooo wee! This weather is somethin’ ennit?”
“Well, like I said it’s rather nice today,” she says, smiling or possibly wincing.
“I tell you what!” I grab my shirt and flap it wildly in a vain attempt to cool off. “It’s hotter than a fried tater smothered and slathered in buffalo sauce sweat. Know what I mean?” I nod with a huge smile.
Bettie nods but seems confused.
See how that works, folks? The beautiful thing about this is that oftentimes, people nod back for different reasons. Maybe they weren’t really listening and just nod to make you think they were. Or possibly, they heard exactly what you said and are too busy scheming up a way to get out of the conversation to provide a retort. But the most likely situation is that you’ve broken through their inability to complain about the weather, and that my friend, is where lifelong friendships begin. Let’s continue the conversation.
Bettie glances out to the ocean, frowning with much more thought now. “Well, now that you mention it,” she says, “I can recall hotter days, like the summer of 69. But you wouldn’t know about that. You weren’t even born back then.”
Oh, she’s clever, isn’t she? Not only is Bettie letting me know that this day isn’t anywhere near as hot as previous days she’s experienced, she’s also letting me know that I’m a bit of a wimp. This is where being old gives you an advantage, but let’s be real, folks. You can’t walk uphill both ways to school and back through rain, snow, sleet, or through the apocalyptic fury of the four horsemen. There’s gotta be a moment when the hill goes down, duh! So don’t feel discouraged; you can win the exchange, and it all starts with the idea of “a different kind of heat”.
Let’s observe my response to Bettie.
“Oh yeah, the summer of 69,” I nod, letting her think briefly that she’s won. “Bryan Adams told me all about it. Apparently, those were the best days of his life. But I have to tell you, I’ve also experienced worse heat than this, a different kind of heat, such as the time I was riding a camel through the Sahara in search of a man who went out there on a horse with no name. It was so dry that even my mirages were asking me directions to water. So while humidity can make ya think you’re drowning although you’re just sitting on a beach, dry heat can suck you thirstier than a vegan vampire at a rock concert.”
“Stop listening to Darci, you moron.” Earl turns to us. “You know, Malachi doesn’t deserve Tabitha.”
See how I strategically moved my pieces in this chess match of a conversation? I invoked my worldly travels, mentioning dry heat and the humidity. Those who can’t complain would likely just agree with you, but a well-seasoned complainer like Bettie, well, she wouldn’t want to just fold her hand and let you go home with the win. She may not be able to out complain me on the weather, but she has plenty more to complain about in relation to the weather to keep the middle-game a tight match.
“Well, the weatherman’s three degree guarantee was for 89 degrees,” she says, turning to me with a incredulous look. Very clever and even more so by topping it off with a stern follow-up remark. “Can you believe that?”
That my folks is some complaining ninjitsu there. Bettie is saying a lot. Not only is she saying the weatherman was four degrees off, rendering his “guarantee” null and void, as if he had personally wronged her, but she’s also saying that I can’t out complain her. She just upped the ante and where could I possibly go from there? I realize, at that moment, I’m dealing with a grandmaster complainer, and what she doesn’t realize is that I’m a fourth-degree black belt grandmaster times eleven and a half. So, what do I tell her?
“Actually, I can believe that,” I say with satisfaction as her stern look melts like wax in the sun. “The weatherman can’t get anything right.”
Of course she has to agree. She nods and rolls her eyes not about the inaccuracy of the weatherman but that she had tipped her hand. Now I’m in charge of this conversation of mounting complaints, and when you have your opponents up against the ropes in the middle game, you gotta get to checkmate. This is one way to get there.
“Back in the day, they used to try and handle their inaccuracies with statements such as “although this could change…” or “it’s still too early to tell…”. Nowadays, they use all these models. This model says it’s going to be 33 degrees, but that model says 31 degrees. Mah, mah mah… He’s just trying to dodge culpability.”
Checkmate. My friends. She knows that I know how the weatherman operates not only now but back in the day. But sometimes the game never truly ends. No, sometimes complaining leads to long-term friendships where we find time to complain to each other about random things from that day on. You know you’ve met a complaining companion should you reach checkmate and they respond with something such as this.
“I know people like to say weatherman but the person who gave me the weather this morning was a skinny blonde girl named Sandy,” Bettie turns and sneers. “Can you believe that? A blonde named Sandy.”
“Disgusting,” Earl says, slapping the pages of his paperback. “Malachi just proposed to Darci, while her henchmen have Tabitha tied up in the Hidden Catacombs of DeBwah!”
Maybe some of you are thinking that Bettie hasn’t given up, that the argument isn’t over, but we went from complaining about the weather to complaining about the weatherman to complaining about colloquialism as it pertains to women and men in general. Game Over. But that doesn’t mean you have to stop arguing. But don’t go out trying to out complain old ladies like Bettie just yet. They got aches, pains, husbands who only made things worse by trying to fix it themselves, a lifetime of experience, but if you stick with me, you’ll not only become a better complainer but a master complainer. This I guarantee, like the weatherman… weather woman… weather person… whether it’s weatherman or weather woman, always remember it’s OK to complain about the weather. Right Earl?
He sniffs, wiping his eyes. “Malachi…”
“Oh, Earl,” Bettie touches his arm.
“OUUCH!”
Bettie turns to me, smiling slyly. “He’s so sensitive.”
