Keep Calm and Don't Worry, Be Happy

Chicken wings have become all that ties together a group of friends. It used to be Magic: The Gathering (a nerdy-yet-very-competitive strategy game based off building decks out of a huge pool of cards, then playing the decks against an opponent), but with the closure of the local gaming shop, I've been unable to keep up with the crew via the game. Instead, I see them mostly on Wednesday evenings, 6:00, when a local eatery has a chicken wing special.

This past Wednesday was no exception, and the crew gathered, ate extreme amounts of cheap wings, and conversed about Magic, Memorial weekend plans, and work. Three of them all work at the same hardware/home improvement store, which provides as many entertaining stories as that Dane Cook movie would have you believe. Do yourself a favor, you don’t have to watch that movie, just take my word for it. Nobody needs to see any more Dane Cook.

After my bill was settled up, I stood up to leave, saying I've got yard work to procrastinate on, but Moped was studying two of the bills: hers and that of her boyfriend, Kaiba. It appeared that despite having two less wings than he, Moped was charged nearly a dollar extra. Whatever, we got cheap wings on special, Kaiba was paying for it all anyways, no big deal, right?

Guess so. When our artsy-hippy chick server (I say that most lovingly) returned, Kaiba brought up the discrepancy. The poor girl was already having a rough night; every table of the restaurant was filled and the pressure already manifested in some minor ordering errors (I’m not going to complain, those errors had resulted in me getting some free wings). So she exasperates “That’s because she’s got BBQ wings and you didn't, and since they aren't part of the special there’s an extra charge. Really, I undercharged you.” I laugh at Kaiba, who did in fact have BBQ wings and just talked his way out of a discounted meal. Our server comped the drinks and rang the bills up fresh for them, and I figured the issue was resolved.

Moped wasn't satisfied. She studied the subsequent slips with as much skeptical scrutiny as she did the prior bills. “Where does this dollar come from?” Those of us at the table explained that it’s the upcharge for BBQ sauce, just the way it works there, and how it’s been since we've all started meeting there for wings. She was not content, as the dollar charge did not appear on Kaiba's bill, despite him having BBQ sauce as well.

I was already standing to leave, and had to laugh at the situation. “Is that dollar worth all the stress and worrying you’re doing about it?!” A few others agreed with me. I just hope they left the poor server alone after that… and a tip, too.

It’s an interesting point to consider. Is a dollar worth your well-being? What is the cost of giving a fuck?

DGAF: Don’t Give A Fuck. It’s a philosophy I first heard of from some of my friends’ more underground stoner hip hop artists from Subnoize Records (Kottonmouth Kings, et al). Think about it, though. How often do we allow ourselves to get worked up over nothing? How many extraneous fucks are we giving over mundane or benign experiences?

Giving fucks is dangerous at times. Scenario: you’re driving a carload of friends to a concert. Music is playing, windows down as there’s always that one guy in the back smoking a cigarette, traffic all around you as you arrive to the metropolitan center of wherever. You’re paying attention to the cars around you, doing your best to not become tonight’s news story. The guy next to you is scouring road signs for your exit, but then that joker in the back seat is makes some wise crack and you’re watching him do his best Jack Nicholson impression through your rear view mirror. Suddenly you’re astute and observant navigator shouts “That’s our exit! Go right!!” Do you A) swerve across a lane or more of traffic in a sudden jerky of the wheel to cut through the yellow lines and narrowly avoid the retaining barrier of the exit, or B) not give a fuck and say “We’ll take the next exit and double back.”?

Damn. I just realized that probably nobody does Jack Nicholson impressions anymore. Um… Arnold works, right? Stallone?

There are times where giving a fuck is important, too. Most of them fall under human decency: family member or friend diagnosed with cancer, huge tornado devastates Oklahoma, that huge project is riding on your shoulders and deadline was three nights ago and clients are calling you up hourly for status reports. Shit yeah, give a fuck, and get your shit taken care of! Every once in a while there’s some story of people giving many fucks that just redeem my faith in humanity. Whether it’s Christian Bale dressed as Batman visiting a dying fan in the hospital, or kids comfortable in their homes at their computer screens setting up VPN connections for people in Libya or Syria so that they can continue to use social media and the Internet to organize and report on their social uprisings against oppressive governments who have otherwise blocked net access to their nations. I've seen people track down the perpetrators in a video showing puppies being inhumanely tossed into a river for sport and that allowed the local jurisdiction to bring them to justice (of course, though, we've seen with the Boston Marathon bombings that internet vigilantism can backfire extremely easy as well).

I encourage everyone to steady their knee-jerk reactions to events that happen to them just long enough to ask yourself if it’s worth getting worked up over. I don’t preach any Zen Buddhist meditation or anything, just a few breaths and a moment to reflect before reacting.

Some idiot cuts you off in traffic but there was no risk of collision? Someone yells “Run faster, fatty!!” while you’re out jogging? A dollar charge on your bill that’s already barely over $5?!  Give no fucks, let it slide, don’t stress out, and your life will be much more valuable without that dollar.