This is why I stay away from attics

My friend, S., came home one day, looked above her garage and saw that there was a big, gaping hole in her attic window. With a bravery that I can only aspire to, she headed upstairs, plastic garbage bag and tape in hand, and ventured toward the broken window while balancing herself precariously on a support beam. As she inched closer to the window, S. noticed a flock of bats peacefully dangling from the attic rafters. It was all very Bela Lugosi.

Although frightened, S. managed to keep her composure long enough to exit the attic without startling the bats. Once she was within the safe confines of her own living space, she calmly called a company that specializes in removing such critters. And then she had her window fixed.

I admire S. for her coolness under pressure and for her unflinching resolve to keep her emotions in check so that she could handle her business.

I, on the other had, upon noticing the bats, would have let out a blood curdling scream, thrown the garbage bag and tape in the air and went running in the opposite direction, forgetting that I am on a support beam. If my scream didn't wake the bats, my fall certainly would.

And if by some miracle I managed to avoid a Tippi Hedren like scene that ends with me dying a gruesome, rabies-induced death, my call to the critter company would prove to be very unproductive as the shock would reduce my verbal skills to something reminiscent of Phil Hartman's Frankenstein character making a 911 call.

"Uuhhh, uuuhhhh, uuuuuuuuhhhhhhh!"

And then, I would pass out.

Not the most effective way to get rid of bats.

The power of suggestion

I was standing in the snack aisle of the grocery store laboring over what kind of cookie to get to pack in my lunch box. I just couldn't make up my mind. Lemon Jumbles, Ginger Snaps, Pecan Sandies. So many choices, so little room left in my waistband.

After several minutes of pondering, I start to notice the demonstration lady planted at the end of the aisle. She is offering to everyone who passes by a sample of either pita chips or Ritz chips and finding no takers. Not only were people not stopping, they were not even acknowledging her presence. I stand in the cookie aisle for a few more minutes, finally make a selection and, out of pity, decide to try one of the demonstration lady's samples.

I pull my basket up to her table and grab a cocktail napkin full of Southwestern Ranch flavored Ritz Chips. I place a chip in my mouth and proclaim "These are really good!" with a surprised tone in my voice. Within seconds someone else tries the Ritz Chips. And then someone else. Soon her table is surrounded by taste testers.

After finishing my chips, I grab my basket and steer it away from the crowd. I look back at the demonstration lady and congratulate myself on a job well done.

Celebrity citing

I entered the baggage claim area for Northwest airlines. I was there to pick up a friend and I was a little early. I sauntered past a very attractive woman leaning against a support beam. I look at her for two seconds and recognize her immediately. It was Cameron Diaz. Even disguised with long black hair, I could tell it was her.

When my friend arrived, I instructed him to walk past the woman who was now sitting on a big, black suitcase and tell me if she indeed looked like Cameron Diaz. He did as he was told and reported back that she looked exactly like her but concluded it could not be her as she was sitting out in the open like some commoner. That didn't seem strange to me at all. There's something to be said for the effectiveness of hiding in plain sight.

Like everyone else, Cameron was there to pick up her luggage. Her carry-on was a brown Louis Vuitton. Her black suitcase looked like something I would own. I did think it odd that a celebrity of her status and fortune did not have matching suitcases. But maybe that was a tool of disguise. One could reason that a regular shmoe from Topeka probably couldn't afford to have an entire collection of designer luggage. This little detail might throw potential admirers off her trail.

Such trickery may fool imperceptive observers but you've got to get up pretty early in the morning to outfox my Sherlockian deductive skills. Scotland Yard has got nothing on me.