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Staying true to form
I am an inveterate filler-out of forms. Form filler-outer. Outfiller of forms.
I fill out a lot of forms, is what I’m trying to say. Magazine forms, coupons, order forms, you name it. Give me a pen and I’ll get right to work.
I wouldn’t call it a compulsion. It’s more of a habit, really, as well as a way to pass the time when you’re sitting around a waiting room waiting to be called in by the doctor, the dentist, or somebody REALLY important, like the guy who’s putting the tires on your truck.
It goes back to when I was a kid and was in constant competition with my brother, P.D., including at the breakfast table. If we weren’t fighting over the prize that came with the cereal (“FREE! INSIDE THIS BOX! Your very own Navy FROGMAN who sinks to the bottom of the bathtub and stays there!”) we were fighting over who got to send away for the prize (“YOURS FOR ONLY 10 CENTS, THIS FORM AND ONE BOXTOP! Your very own Navy Submarine that acts pretty much the same as the frogman!”).
My solution was to fill out the form while it was still on the box, usually within 15 or 20 seconds of it coming out of the grocery bag.
Now, that’s not to imply I sent away for everything I saw. It was a matter of economics. I had the form and the boxtop. The dime was another matter entirely.
Anyway, I think that’s what started me down the road to becoming the form filler-outer … filler-outer of forms … ridiculous nutcase that I am today.
This is not to say I fill them out correctly. That would be boring. Since I very rarely send the forms in, there’s no reason to play it straight. Therefore I have left a lot of comment cards under names like Kent Clark, Red Ruffandsore, Otis B. Driftwood (thanks, Groucho), and Egbert Souse (pronounced “Soo-SAY,” and thanks, W.C. Fields).
There are forms you don’t fool around with, of course. Tax forms. Census forms. Medical histories. I have been known, however, to take those forms the doctor sends before you come in, run them through a copier and fill out the copies to my own liking.
Name: Ammonius Skutch.
Age: 112, give or take a few days.
Sex: At my age? Are you out of your mind?
Social Security Number: 3
Height: 225
Weight: 11D
Occupation: Fry cook and brain surgeon.
Education: Not enough to hurt.
Spouse’s name: Phoenicia Malaprop.
Insurance provider: Mutual of Oolitic.
Reason for today’s visit: You folks looked like you needed something to do.
Then, where it says “Have you ever had the following?” and lists a bunch of diseases and conditions, I just go ahead and check them all, from ingrown toenails to hot flashes. Better safe than sorry, you know.
And then I send it in. I consider it doing them a favor. Doctor’s offices are such stern places. They could use something to break up the monotony of runny noses and itchy scalps. I know they’re not going to take my goofy form seriously. I mail it back with the real one, which is marked “USE THIS ONE!” in big red letters.
Besides, I always forget to enclose the boxtop, and I never have the dime.
© 2009 Mike Redmond. All Rights Reserved.
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