Words and Thoughts: Doodyhead v. Stumpus, Tot Law

Hello again, alleged readers!  And an equally enthusiastic hello to my old friend, Stumpus. Growing up I used to call the neighbor girl in my grade “Stumpus”. Her real name was Mary, however “Good morning, Mary”, didn’t have the desired effect that “Hey Stumpus, you big stupid!” did. Stumpus wasn’t big, and was an A student. I on the other hand couldn’t draw the letter “A” until high school. Even today though, I still sometimes forget the sideways part. Ʌnyway, it was always fun to bother Stumpus.

Stumpus works in medicine now, and takes ski trips to Aspen with her family. I sometimes take medicine, and take trips to the alley behind the bowling alley with a possum. I hope Stumpus is doing as well as Ol’ Stav is!

Stumpus comes to mind because earlier this week, my boss had picked up his four-year-old daughter from the on-site daycare at work, and brought her to the cafeteria for lunch. I too had gone to the cafeteria at lunch, after having picked up Dillon’s lunch for myself from the fridge. I was marveling at how many tater tots Dillon, or whoever packed Dillon’s lunch, was able to fit into the knock-off Rubbermaid that Dillon appears partial to. My marveling was interrupted by a juvenile shout from two tables over, “Doodyhead!”.

I looked at the perpetrator. It was my boss’ daughter, pointing at me. “DOODYHEAD!” came the taunt again.

I yelled back, “Hey, c’mon, that’s just how my hair looks”. But this child was not to be reasoned with. Not right away that is. Further and more in-depth dialogue would need to be established.

“DOODYHEAD!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yuh-huh Doodyhead!”

“Nuh-uh times a billion!”

“Doodyhead times a doodyhead”.

The child’s grasp on math was worse than mine, it seemed.

Without thinking any further, I stood up. Tot in hand. “Hey Stumpus!”  I instinctually screeched. “You big stupid!  Think fast!”

Tot no longer in hand. Tot in flight. Fast flight. Tot breading separating from the tot in miniscule chunks like ice breaking away from the Apollo rocket on launch. Tot Backlit magnificently, as if glowing upon atmospheric reentry. Tot whimsically changing trajectory after doinking majestically off New Stumpus’ forehead. Just Stumpus for short. Tot, slightly dented, settling on the floor. Silence.

Normal silence, then stunned silence.

Would you believe that HR doesn’t have a policy for something like this in their handbook??  When I went to file my complaint, they were absolutely speechless, and equally as clueless regarding how to proceed. It should have been an open and shut case in my opinion: 1) She started it. 2) I was not, at the time of the incident, a “Doodyhead”, as she had so slanderously claimed. 3) I was beyond any reasonable doubt owed exactly one tater tot that had unfortunately been damaged in the altercation; an altercation of her causing.

Sure, I could just go get Dillon’s lunch any day of the week, but it’s the principle of the matter. New Stumpus owes me a tater tot. If anyone would like to fax me money for the almost certainly inevitable legal fees I’m about to incur, please go ahead and do that. American dollars preferred, but those in the righteous pursuit of justice mustn’t be picky.

Welp, I’m off to threaten Dillon with my stapler because he keeps harassing me about not being able to find his lunch or something.

The stapler’s not loaded by the way. It just looks loaded.