Resting Therapy Face

Apparently I suffer from Resting Therapy Face. It's not a cool syndrome, something that gives you bragging rights. I never asked for it. But, alas, I have it. People always want to unload their life's story on me. As a writer, I used to welcome it, lots of ammo for fodder. But it's grown tiresome, almost as tiresome as women continually mistaking me for George Clooney.

First a little background before I unveil the drama: Seven months ago we decided to Christmas gift my daughter with a garage door. We went through Lowe's, a mammoth big box hardware store chain (I'm not changing the name, because...well, because they suck!). The pushy salesman said it would take a couple months. No problem, we thought, Christmas will come late. Months and months go by. Finally, we get a call from a guy who wants to come out and take measurements. He does. Many, many more moons go by. My wife gets fed up and calls Lowe's. After the typical Lowe's phone run-around, a sales person says, "Oh, yes, your door has been made and is sitting here now. We just need to schedule an installation." Fast forward another couple of months without word. This time the clerk says, "Oh. Well... Yeah, your garage door hasn't been made yet, because we can't find anyone to go out and do a lead test." Soooooo many crickets and not enough curse words. At long last, we told Lowe's to eat it and canned the order. (A side note to this very long side note: Soon after this trauma, we saw a truck tooling around town with the name, "Same Day Garage Door Service." I said, "Huh. And here we were hoping for same year service.")

What does this have to do with my horrific Resting Therapy Face illness? Not a damn thing! But I had to vent.

Back on point... So we find Jimmy with "We Be Pros Garage Door." I like Jimmy. He's kinda hyper, gung-ho, wants to do a good job, is a nice guy, and it didn't take him six months to come out. We start talking about smoking and how he wants to quit but is afraid he'll balloon up in weight. We compare past divorces. Soon, Jimmy lets me know that he's biologically incapable of having children (adoption is a possibility) and that he only cheated on a girlfriend once. Furthermore, Jimmy doesn't believe in prescription drugs, doesn't drink alcohol, and the only diet drink he tolerates is Diet Mountain Dew. As we wound down our intensely personal pow-wow/garage door installation, he dropped his biggest bombshell on me yet: he'd just found out today his girlfriend was cheating on him. I thought, huh, and you're out here installing a garage door? I told him as much.

"Hey, the show must go on," he says and does a little dance step. 

Bravo, I think. I would've been curled up in a fetal position, mewing like a drowning kitten, and bemoaning my sad existence. Definitely not installing a garage door.

"Maybe she's not cheating on you, Jimmy," I say, trying to keep hope alive, but not holding out much hope.

"No, look..." He held his phone up for me to see. "I've been talking to the guy all day, pretending to be her."

So, he finally finished our garage door job. His next stop? Going home to confront his cheating girlfriend.

Upon a firm, departing handshake, I say, "Jimmy, I don't know what you're expecting, but I hope you get it."

He says, "The truth. I just want truth."

Wow. My Resting Therapy Face was working overtime that day. It happens quite a bit, actually. Just last week Joe, the roofer, came over to collect his check. Within three minutes, he told me his oldest daughter had blown up two cars and was working on her third. He also let me know where his political affiliations lay and that he was friends with his work crew and even helped a couple get their green cards.

Maybe I just have a trustworthy face. Or perhaps I have a permanently sorrowful appearance and people want to cheer me up by telling me their problems are much worse than mine. I dunno. But, listen up, people...cut it out!

Post Jimmy story for those curious amongst you: Turns out Jimmy didn't bring along a remote for the garage door so he had to return. Which meant I had to travel back to my daughter's small town to lock up her hell-hounds and let Jimmy in. AND I got to find out how Jimmy's saga turned out. He said that he was letting his ex-girlfriend stay with him until she found a place of her own because he didn't want to just kick her to the curb. Man. What a guy! I don't know how many guys would be that kind in a similar situation.

Post-post Jimmy story: My daughter just called. The garage door doesn't lock. And the remote quit working. I wonder if Jimmy planned it this way: maybe he has another new life drama he wants to unspool on me. My Resting Therapy Face is back on the job! To be continued!

Speaking of long faces, Shawn Biltmore has one. He's got women problems, work issues, and drinks waaaaay too much. But his face REALLY gets long when he turns into a werewolf. Read all about it in Corporate Wolf!