Occupational Hazards

May 30, 2006

I really enjoy being a smartass. Of all the things I do that don’t involve grain alcohol, life-size inflatables, or old Sears-Roebuck catalogs, being a smartass is probably my favorite.

“Of all the things I do that don’t involve grain alcohol, life-size inflatables, or old Sears-Roebuck catalogs, being a smartass is probably my favorite.”

I’ve realized, though, that being a full-time smartass is a dangerous job. There are a lot of ways to bite the big one in this world, but smartasses seem to have more ways than most. We’re right up there with ‘bomb squad trainee’, ‘parachute tester’, and ‘Kenny from South Park‘ on the list of suckers likeliest to die in the line of duty.

Here are just a few ways in which your average smartass might croak, while your typical civilian citizen probably won’t:

Gunshot wound on a dare

On TV, you always see smartasses taunting gun-toting thugs, maniacs, and cops. They ask, ‘what’re ya gonna do… shoot me?‘ And no one ever seems to.

Don’t try this at home, sass-mouthed kids. Trust me — in the real world, most people are just begging for an excuse to line their sights up on you. And no jury’s going to convict your killer if your last words are, ‘you don’t have the guts!‘ Don’t push your luck.

Eaten on an expedition

When things go south for Arctic explorers or a mountaineering party, who do you think get cannibalized first? Whoever draws the short straw? The fat guy? The horses?

Hardly. It’s the loudmouth; the one who keeps yapping about how he told everyone to turn left back there, and boy, wasn’t this trip a good idea, and ooh, ‘snow… imagine that.’

Incidentally, this is why I can never go on camping trips. I won’t even walk through the park without a GPS and a team of sherpas. You can never be too careful out there.

Impaled at the blood bank

Even smartasses can be the generous sort, and donate plasma and platelets to the less hematologically fortunate. But we can’t do our good deed without being pissy about it, and what better gripe than a nurse who struggles with getting the needle into your arm?

‘What am I, a patient or a pincushion?‘

‘You gonna drain my blood, or just poke it out one drop at a time?‘

‘I haven’t felt this many pricks since I climbed into the hot tub at the YMCA.‘

Don’t be surprised if you find yourself stabbed through the forearm and pinned to your chair. They’ll put down a bucket — no need to waste good blood — but don’t expect any medical treatment. Or cookies and orange juice. The treats are for the non-smartassed patients. Or so they tell me.

Pulverized by a professional athlete

Men and women at the highest level of sports competition face an enormous amount of pressure and abuse. From opponents, from coaches, from teammates, from themselves — and certainly, from the fans. At some point, one of them is going to lose it, and go completely berserking mental.

And who do you think they’ll go after? The big hulking player next to them? The family of four out for a game? The little old lady in the cheap seats? Or will it be the smartass sitting behind the bench all game, chanting:

‘Steh-roids. Steeeeeeeeh-roooooooids.‘

I’ll give you four guesses who’s getting a baseball bat to the babymakers, and the first three don’t count.

And let me tell you — when it happens, that athlete’s going to hurt somebody, and bad. Because, you know, they’re all hopped up on the juice these days.

Heart attack on April 1st

You’d think April Fools’ Day would be a smartass’ paradise. You can say or do anything, and people have to chalk it up to the calendar, for one day only.

But what if something really goes wrong that day? With the whole world expecting shenanigans from you, who’s going to flinch if you take a gasping header onto the floor? Nobody, that’s who. Here’s your ‘first aid’ treatment: ‘Get up, fool. You look like a jackass.‘

You just have to hope you can survive until the 2nd, when someone might actually take you seriously. Smartass.