You Scared?

Right now I'm watching "Reefer Madness" and it inspired me to to write a post about the stupid shit that plagues my sensibilities. No, not really. That just seemed like a great introduction rather than me trying to find another one-of-a-kind opening line that garners a pithy giggle, or at best a weary sigh.

In a world filled with shit that is just aching to kill you (lookin' at you Australia) there is more than enough to make you soil yourself before you kick it into the great, big abyss. With my well-developed frontal lobe and higher reasoning abilities than the average human, I have kept myself from harboring a slew of needless anxieties. Snakes don't concern me much and I named the resident spider in my office Jane Fonda. Heights are just a cool perspective point and planes are a great way to be stuck in a small, flying cabin with 100 people you hate. While I am clearly more grounded than most, I am not without my phobias. Here are my big three: mascots, automatic car washes, and sharks in places they shouldn't be.

Let's start with the least ridiculous of the three: mascots. Until about four years ago I had no misgivings about mascots. I mean, I always thought they were annoying and I felt pity for the poorly paid intern who had to marinate inside of the vacant-faced and soulless costume. I worry that four years ago I unleashed some repressed memory because now I possess the most immense fear of these dopey-smiling assholes. When I say "immense fear" I don't mean mild discomfort, I mean hyperventilating, sweating, sobbing, and looking for the nearest exit. I shit you not. Mascots are like Satan's dickhead mother-in-law and they want nothing more than to destroy any last glimmer of happiness in my heart (just kidding, I don't have a heart, but mascots still suck).

Next on the list there is (are?) automatic car washes. I like when things are clean and spotless. I do not like being locked in an immobilized vehicle while being slowly pushed through a dark tunnel that is monstrously loud and disorienting. Whenever my car needs to be run through the Tunnel of Terror, I have to mentally prepare myself ahead of time and weep that I don't have a Xanax prescription. It is important to note that I am not claustrophobic or afraid of any of these independent qualities. It is only when they are all assembled like the nightmare sect of The Avengers that I lose my ability to rationally fulfill my mundane adult responsibilities.

Finally, the most inane, absurd, and laughable of my fears: sharks in places they shouldn't be. This fear first presented itself when I was young. I recall going to my grandfather's house and swimming in the above ground pool that he had installed specifically for the use of his three grandchildren (but mostly me because I'm the best). When the pool cover was pulled back it would slightly hang over the far edge of the pool. This overhang caused a shadow to be cast over 1/8 of the pool and I was absolutely convinced that said shadow would actually reveal itself to be a human-eating shark. I would avoid that side of the pool at all costs and sometimes, when my mind was particularly overreactive, I would refuse to turn my back on it, or float carelessly across the surface. This fear further perpetuated itself when I was slightly older, but still a child, and would swim in the lake at my maternal grandparent's summer cabin in northern Wisconsin. I only swam in the lake a few times, because let's be real, lakes are gross as fuck. Still, that dark and murky water was certainly hiding some sort of vicious sea beast that was going to reduce me to a human bobber with intestines for fishing line. This is where it gets really dumb, so brace yourselves. In my childhood home, our upstairs bathroom had a bathtub, and while I preferred showers, I would occasionally want to soak in a tub of poorly heated water. It was during the tail-end of my bath-over-shower preferences that I became concerned that a shark, or other large, aquatic animal, would manifest in the tub and tear my ass apart. This wasn't some sort of metaphorical worry, this was a literal burden on my mind. To make this even more senseless, I was the first of my family to jump feet first into the ocean on our trip to Mexico. I had zero concerns that a shark, in its natural habitat, would consider tearing me limb from limb. Rather, I saved all of those thoughts for when I was bathing because a shark wasn't supposed to be in a bathtub or a lake, but they were supposed to be in oceans. BECAUSE THAT MAKES TOTAL FUCKING SENSE. This fear has become substantially less pronounced in my adulthood as I am able to retain maximum control of what activities I will and won't participate in, but the moment someone entertains the idea of throwing me in a lake I will rip their eyeballs out from the back of their skull.

Instead of being afraid of the very real things in the world that could kill me, I have managed to develop deeply rooted fears that are straight out of Final Destination or some other D-list horror movie. This explains so much.