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There are a plethora of industries in which not much fun is had, as far as I can tell.

Technology is definitely one of them. Fun can’t fit in the room with that much smugness or depressed resignation. These are the only two character traits made available to technology people by the cosmos, I checked, so they have to pick one to live by.

Smug Person (a.) always walks around with a slight smile on their face that has nothing to do with enjoying what they see unless it’s their opal-black Tesla over the rim of their Grande Americano as they jet off to the office, or possibly if they’re looking into a mirror.

Resigned Person (b.) has eyes that dance furtively as if they’re a downed fighter pilot behind enemy lines 1944, desperately searching for a member of the Resistance, that is until they review their most recent direct deposit, at which point their eyes dilate like a character from Trainspotting and they lean back from their standing desk and sigh at the water view from their newly-constructed, postmodern Space House.

Not that I’m jealous.

Sidebar: I realize people are working from home but remember when all you heard about tech companies was the free sodas, ping pong tables and Friday afternoon, company sponsored stand-up paddleboard outings? Is that still a thing? Even before COVID I sort of stopped hearing about it, maybe it became passe.

Medicine is another tough one – definitely hard to have fun there given the whole life and death thing. I will say I was in the “after shot” part of a COVID vaccine clinic today where they sort of watch you to make sure you don’t drop dead from anaphylaxis and they were playing Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean.” Which was fun, and added some levity to the fact that we were all secretly calculating the odds of who would go down first. At least I’m pretty sure we were all thinking that.

That reminds me, when I got a vasectomy I went to this guy called “Dr. Snip.” Oddly enough it was a referral from my friend Bruce. Who apparently got a vasectomy too. I hope. Christ, do you think Bruce referred me to the guy with no real knowledge of what he was like, like people do when you’re single and they set you up with a date and it’s horrible because really their metric for setting you both up was the fact that you’re breathing but you otherwise have nothing in common? And Bruce isn’t actually vasectomized?

Anyway, Dr. Snip’s clinic is located in the Laurelhurst neighborhood of Seattle (in case you’re looking for a vasectomy) and despite the fact this is a really classy and high-dollar neighborhood and the clinic has a nice façade, once you walk in it’s really quite (alarmingly) threadbare. Like not updated at all, and there’s CARPET everywhere. What kind of medical facility is carpeted? Well, one where they snip your vas deferens so you can’t sire any more offspring and fill the world with your brilliance, it turns out. It must not be a messy process. Either that or “Dr. Snip” is about to be paid a visit by Labor & Industries and the Health Department.

If I remember correctly the first visit is a kind of registration where they ask you questions while staring at your crotch as if appraising a wheat field for harvest, then they give you a form to sign that says (a.) yes indeed there will be a knife in the general vicinity of your nether regions and (b.) once you do this you will not be able to have more kids so thanks to our patriarchal society your family line ends here unless you already have a (c.) boy, (d.) several boys, or (e.) several other secret families your wife doesn’t know about that are full of boys you helped make. In my case I furtively circled item (e.) while my wife wasn’t looking, although it wasn’t required. I just wanted them to know.

Then on the day of the event everything is virtually the same, except of course for the snipping process. You’re still in street clothes, you didn’t have to fast or anything, no IV or drugs given, although you have waxed yourself. Or I thought I was supposed to wax myself. It turns out they just want you to shave, ah, down there, or they’ll do it for you, but I thought proper preparation involved furious amounts of waxing, so I felt like a real rube when Dr. Snip let out a “…what the…?” as I lay on the table and he lifted up what certainly was a 30-year old, definitely undersized floral gown I’d been told to don, not to mention the highly awkward disposable bedsheet wrapped around my waist. I’ve heard some of the sheets come with convenient holes precut in them (mine did not), although I can’t imagine what for. Anyway, the unrequired waxing itself was so unbelievably traumatic it made what happened next feel like a tea party. Granted a really weird tea party, like out of  Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas.

You see what happened next was Dr. Snip – well, I don’t know what happened next because I’m sane and thus had no desire to look. Good Lord. I know he sprayed some kind of numbing medication down there because (a.) without some kind of anesthetic people would scream and he wouldn’t be able to make any money as a doctor and (b.) the paperwork clearly stated, in large font, they don’t use needles, for the same reason as outlined in item (a.) In fact, “needleless” is a big part of their marketing communications. Which makes me wonder what in the hell kind of 21st century vasectomy clinic uses needles?

I have no idea what happened during the rest of it other than I watched ESPN on the TV attached to the ceiling directly above my head like they have at my kid’s dentist and I gave a firm “No” when Dr. Snip asked, “Do you want to see your vas?”

I mean, the guy obviously chose the right medical specialty if he’s so fascinated by male plumbing that he wants to show the patient its inner workings. But I meant Christ Almighty. Does anyone say, “Yes?” I wonder if Bruce did.

Dr. Snip also talked a lot about his business. Well, I forced him to by constantly badgering him with questions in an effort to distract myself from what was happening as ESPN featured horse racing that morning, which I don’t remotely understand the allure to unless it involved armored warriors with broadswords and maces chasing each other across downtown Cleveland or something.

I think Dr. Snip does pretty well. When it was all over he gave me an engraved pocket knife. Which is funny, so I guess fun can be had within industries I previously doomed to obscurity via unfun-ness. Too bad it’s engraved with “Dr. Snip” rather than my name, but still, nice work.

I’d better work on not generalizing too much about things I don’t truly understand.

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Engaging irreverence, occasional coherence, often pointed, mixed with enough indelicate humor as to create a want, a craving for more.