The Book of Awesome

by Neil Pasricha

  So I smile and nod along, but inside I'm frustrated. And it's even worse when they use my name right away. "So Neil, where you from?" they'll ask innocently, but I'm too busy combing through cobweb-covered spare parts in Skull Factory to properly answer them. My eye contact drifts and I get distracted and fidgety.

  It's at these desperate times that I try one of the three Name-Teasing Techniques I've learned over the years:

  1. The Take Two. A friend joins my side at the party and I say to the Mystery Man, "Oh, have you met Chad?" hoping that Chad will put his hand out and lean in with a "Nice to meet you! Sorry, what was your name?" If Chad nails it, I give him a high five later. If he doesn't, I throw a cup of punch in his face so he gets it right next time.

  2. Spell Check. If I don't remember their name, but I think it was long or complicated, then I ask them to spell it for me. If they say P-a-r-d-e-e-p, then I'm all aces, if they say P-a-m, then I'm an idiot. High risk, high reward.

  3. The Anecdote Wait. This is an absolutely terrible move that I use all the time. It involves waiting until they finally tell an anecdote where they refer to themselves by their first name. For example: "So my ex-boyfriend finally said, 'Catherine, it's either me or that cat' . . . and I picked the cat!" With an anecdote like that, you just found out her name is Catherine so you're good to start using it. Also, no cat jokes.

  Sure, these techniques look easy, but the truth is that they're awkward and embarrassing to use with no guaranteed results. Let's be honest, it's much more satisfying to actually remember and drop their name right at the beginning of a sentence with confidence, like you've been old friends for years.

  Then they'll look back at you with beaming eyes and a bright smile that shows you two are getting to know each other. Hey, maybe you'll see each other again, maybe you'll become friends, maybe you'll do business, maybe you'll start dating.

  All because you remembered their name at the party.

  Nice move, you.

  AWESOME!

  Somebody flashing their high beams at you to warn you about the cops

  Tired and groggy, you're driving late at night, whipping down side streets and back paths to get home a bit faster, your eyelids drooping, your body achy and sore. Occasionally there are headlights in the opposite direction, blurry whiz-by streaks of bright white--shift workers, truck drivers, and party animals all riding the lonely roads, trying to get somewhere quick.

  Then suddenly an approaching car flashes its high beams at you. Blinded, you sit up, awake and alert, checking all your mirrors, slowing the car down. What's going on, you wonder, until a few seconds later when you pass a cop car with its lights off, sitting on the side of the road, a patient and silent predator waiting for its prey.

  "Thank you," you whisper under your breath as you drive by under the speed limit. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

  Part of what makes this great is the fact that the flasher is going the opposite way and can't really get the favor returned. You don't know him or her, him or her don't know you, but they sort of threw the favor out there, a warm passing smile on a dark drive, no payback required or expected. It's just The Late-Night Driver's Pact, a rebellious fight-thapolice stance that helps everyone out in the pocketbook a bit.

  So you smile as you drive on, and when you see another car heading in the opposite direction, you know what to do.

  Flash them high beams, sister. Flash them bright and light up the night.

  AWESOME!

  The Man Couch

  The Man Couch is any couch conveniently located near the change rooms in a women's clothing store.

  You can tell which one's The Man Couch because it's generally covered in man. Most are either text messaging, illegally napping, or staring straight ahead, jaws dropped, pupils dilated, completely zoned out, their arms full of purses and bags from other stores.

  Now, The Man Couch really is good for everybody:

  For women, it gives them a convenient place to find their male shopping companion. There they are, right outside the change room! This is much better than having to track them down in the magazine section of the bookstore or in the line for fries at the food court. Also, it's great knowing your purse is safe and there's an opinion available if you want it.

  For guys, The Man Couch is a place of solace and comfort. Its giving cushions provide a quiet reprieve from the unrelenting Day of Shopping. Surrounding guys are fellow travelers with worn-weary eyes telling cautionary tales of Seven-Sweater Fashion Shows and Lineups for Hemming. Yeah, it's a tired, quiet gang sitting there in the couch hostel at the back of the store.

  So thank you, Man Couch. Without you our calves would be burning even more, our boyfriends would be at the record store, and we'd all be sitting on the floor.

  The Man Couch, ladies and gentlemen!

  AWESOME!

  The shampoo head massage you sometimes get at the hairdresser

  Close your eyes, dip your head in the sink, and relax as that warm shower gets sprayed all over your scalp. Then just smile softly as the hairdresser tenderly rubs and massages your head with shampoo and conditioner. Relax, unwind, and detensify as you slowly climax toward Total Scalp Actualization .

  AWESOME!

  Finding the TV remote after looking forever

  Look, there it is, wedged way down in the couch cushions this whole time.

  AWESOME!

  Adrenaline

  Did you know you have two yellow nine-volt-battery-sized adrenal glands in your body, just chilling out, maxin' and relaxin' all cool on top of your kidneys? Someone told me this and I checked it out. Turns out it's true.

  It seems as though your adrenal glands are kind of like those British Royal Guards with the big black fuzzy hats who stand like statues in front of Buckingham Palace. They just stand there quietly, not doing much really, just enjoying the brown slippery beach that is your kidneys.

  However, if anything startling should happen that requires your attention--like you're about to give a speech at a wedding, a twig cracks outside your tent, or your doorbell rings in the middle of the night--then they leap into action, jumping out of their peaceful slumber to squeeze a big dose of adrenaline right into your body, pumping you up and turning you into a primal warrior-like version of yourself.

  When tension runs high and adrenaline is secreted into your body, some crazy things can happen, which is sometimes called the fight-or-flight response:

  * Your heart rate increases. And specifically, your body starts sending blood to all your big muscles and diverts it away from "non-critical" parts of your body like your brain, immune system, and stomach. I guess someone figured you could digest the sandwich after you killed the bear.

  * Your pupils dilate and you get tunnel vision. Quite literally, adrenaline also reduces your peripheral vision, which together with your big, wide pupils helps you focus on what lies ahead. You can't quite see through walls, but if a crow is diving at your eyes you might be able to swat it away better.

  * Your body gets ready to boot it. In addition to the rising heart rate, your body starts turning piles of inner goo into sugar and fills you with energy. You might not feel pain as easily, so the raspberry bushes that shred your legs when you're running out of the forest won't slow you down.

  What's also great about adrenaline is that you don't have to control it. It kicks into high gear when it figures you need a boost. I think it's kind of cool knowing that your body will help you out when you need it most. Punch me in the face and suddenly my internal British Royal Guard tosses away his fuzzy black cap, cracks his neck, and rolls up his sleeves.

  And really, isn't it that little dose of adrenaline that helps you do a better job when you need it most? It's a natural upper, helping you nail the big speech, ace the final exam, or perhaps flee both of those scenes.

  There's a reason some people become adrenaline junkies. The boost you get from your adrenal glands waking up and getting out of bed is intoxicating. Sure, it fuzzes up your thinking and sends you
r intestines on sabbatical, but it pumps you up.

  So remember: When something important in your life is about to happen, you can count on your good pal adrenaline to be there cheering you on and helping you fight the good fight.

  AWESOME!

  Getting a trucker to blow his horn

  Truckers have the best horns.

  Those things mean business. They're loud and thundering and slap you in the face. See, when a hatchback lets out an itty-bitty bee-beep telling you the light turned green, it sounds like a seagull telling other seagulls, Hey, there's a guy tossing crusts over here. When a trucker does the same thing, it's a full-on roar, the sound a tugboat would make if it was about to crash into a lighthouse.

  Sometimes, when you're driving down the highway, the hours keep going and going and going. Rod Stewart, Meat Loaf, and the whole mix tape gets stale, conversation dies down, and it's just a blur of interstate walls and rest station signs out the window. For kids without distractions it can seem like days back there, strapped right in and sitting in a numbing silence broken up only by potholes and passing motorcycles.

  That's why getting a trucker to blow his horn is great. It's a laugh and a fun, little interactive break from highway monotony. Plus, it's a time passer, because you have to get the driver to sort of ease up beside the truck first, which isn't always easy. It's a secret moment on wheels, a honkin' highway holler, and some good old-fashioned bonding in the fast lane.

  So let's give thanks to truckers. For not taking life too seriously, for indulging our simple pleasures, and for rocking that blasting air horn in a special moment we like to call

  AWESOME!

  When there's leftover cake in the office kitchen

  Ever had a birthday party in the office?

  If you have, you know that it's usually celebrated with a streamer-covered cubicle, a signed birthday card, and a mid-afternoon cake. And while everyone says they don't want that cake, let's be honest: After you start including it in your diet two to three times a week, you can't stop jonesing for that two o'clock sugar rush.

  Of course, after the parties happen the partially eaten leftovers find their way to the office kitchen. To get in on the game you'll need to follow these Top Four Tips for Scoring Leftover Office Cake:

  1. Keep extra plastic forks and paper plates at your desks. Because how many times do you happen upon a partially devoured cake, only to notice that there's nothing to eat it with? Put up your icing-smeared hand if you've ever dug into that cake anyway. Yeah, I'm talking about slicing the cake with a coffee stirrer, using a piece of paper from the printer as your plate, and tossing it back like a crumbly Jell-O shooter. It's not pretty and it's sort of crossing the line between Friendly Coworker and Office Raccoon. I say don't be the raccoon. Keep cutlery at your desk.

  2. Do your cubicle rounds. On your way into work in the morning, make sure you do your cubicle rounds. You know, just checking out if anybody's desk is decorated for their birthday. If you spot one, it's a good omen of cake to come.

  3. Buddy up. When they find cake, they tell you. When you find cake, you tell them. There's always enough to go around, so why not double your odds of scoring an icing flower? You know you have a great Cake Buddy when you find a piece of cake covered with a napkin sitting on your desk when you get back from a meeting. Now, that's service. Make sure to thank them with a corner slice next time.

  4. Know the peak times. Office birthday parties nearly always happen in the afternoon because this allows someone to run out and grab a cake at lunch. So make sure you're ready and aware of those mid-afternoon fake meetings that turn into birthday parties. Also, it doesn't hurt to swing by the kitchen at 2:30 p.m. to see what's cooking, if you catch my drift.

  Now, these are all great methods for how to score leftover cake from the office kitchen, but what happens if you're invited to the actual office birthday party itself? Well, don't worry, we've got you covered with one big rule: If you're at the party, don't be the Table Setter, Servant, or Salesman. You must make a strong effort to avoid these three dreaded office party tasks because they will delay your cake eating:

  * The Table Setter is the guy assigned to finding plastic forks, paper plates, and drink cups at the last minute. It's no fun leaving the party to run around and beg for Styrofoam. Best show up a bit late or mingle undetected in the back.

  * The Servant ends up closest to the cake . . . just in time to cut it for everyone! Yeah, now you're stuck trying to split up those much-too-thin paper plates, put a fork on each one, and slice that cake up. It's a lot of pressure being the Servant, because everybody is crowding around you and yelling things like "No, no, no, half that size!" And it can all happen so fast that you don't even realize you're the Servant until you find yourself in the bathroom twenty minutes later awkwardly washing the cake knife with cold water and paper towels.

  * The Salesman takes the cut pieces of cake and walks around the room, selling them to everybody. If you get the job, your best move is simply asking "Who doesn't have a piece yet?" and then waggling the cake in people's faces till they take it off your hands.

  So that's it, ladies and gentlemen. Now that you've got it down, get ready for some sugar comas because you're entering a world of all cake all the time.

  And it will be glorious.

  AWESOME!

  Hanging your hand out the car window

  On a warm, sunny day in a car with the window open and your hair whipping around everywhere, what's better than letting your hand slip safely out the window and letting it wildly roller-coaster against the wind?

  You know how it is: That speeding car creates a strong and forceful wind pocket that's fun to ride, and as you let it slip and slide across your fingers, you can kind of close your eyes and pretend you're flying.

  AWESOME!

  Getting served breakfast in bed

  It's Mother's Day and your kids wake you up with a plate of cold toast, runny eggs, and a short glass of lukewarm OJ. Sure, it may not be the best-tasting meal in the world, and yeah, you might spill crumbs on your sheets, but don't tell me getting served breakfast in bed isn't the greatest.

  I mean, there you were just sleeping and someone else said, "Let's go downstairs and cook up our best possible meal, toss it on a tray, and bring it upstairs and serve it to you." Yes, serve it to you! Cook it up and set it up and serve it to you. I have to say you're pretty lucky if this happens to you.

  Breakfast in bed can also help accomplish the exotic get up and eat up and get back down move, a brilliant Saturday or Sunday feat that involves filling your belly with breakfast and then immediately crashing back into a post-fiesta siesta. It's a great feeling hitting the sheets and flipping the pillow on that full stomach. And who knows? Maybe there's lunch in bed just waiting for you on the other side of those sleepy dreams. No, honestly, it's a good question: Has anyone ever actually scored lunch in bed? If so, I'm pretty sure you win the World's Greatest Day Ever contest.

  Now, the Trump Card for turning a good breakfast in bed into a great one is when it includes one or more of the following:

  * one of those tiny miniature glass bottles of ketchup or jam

  * a homemade greeting card wishing you a Happy Mother's Day or Happy Birthday

  * a breakfast dessert of any kind

  * butter painstakingly carved into a perfect cube or sphere

  * cute restaurant-style folded-up napkins

  Let's be honest, people. We sure do love eating. We sure do love sleeping. And breakfast in bed is the closest we get to combining both at the same time. You know what we think of that.

  Say it with me now.

  AWESOME!

  Finally clipping your fingernails after you've been meaning to do it all week

  Long fingernails consume me like a drug.

  Sometimes while buttoning my shirt, I look down and notice my nails have grown a little bit. So I keep buttoning but silently pledge to trim them at night after I get home.

  Of course, after work I gen
erally can't find the nail clipper, so I instead choose to fall asleep on the couch at 8:30 p.m. after scarfing a handful of nachos for dinner. Then I wake up at three in the morning, walk to bed with a crink in my neck, and sleep a few more hours until the alarm buzzes, at which point I'll groggily stumble around my place buttoning up my shirt, silently pledging again to cut my fingernails later that night.

  This will continue day after day until I've grown a freakishly large set of claws that makes me look like an eagle. Yes, my nails get worse and worse and worse until the moment comes when I can no longer live with myself and finally snap. That's when I run to the drugstore and buy a new set of clippers and maddeningly chop my nails off in a fit of rage.

  Hey, finally pulling off that big, long-awaited clip is great because it's not a trim, it's a full-on shear. You get the clipper right in the grooves, cutting them bit by bit until the big sharp shards lie in a crumpled napkin beside you. And you sort of feel a little buzz of pride, relief, and cleanliness--like you just gutted a fish, snipped off your college dreadlocks, or sold all the dusty junk from your basement in a yard sale.

  Smiling with pride as you inspect your new tingly, hypersensitive fingertips, you pause for a second and wonder if the world's ready for this whole new you.

  AWESOME!

  Coming home after a long day to the smell of someone cooking dinner

  Brain boggled, pants greasy, heels too high, tie too tight?

  Can you feel your heartbeat in your temples? Does your bad breath taste like paint? Is your carpal tunnel syndroming? Because if so, Office Joe, then maybe it's been a long day. Maybe you stapled too many expense reports, got buried under too much homework, or had an inky run-in with a photocopier at the end of the day without an Unjammer Man around.