Warning: Screaming at the top of your lungs in the main library is strictly forbidden. Violators will be shushed...and then shot.

Ever been in a place where decorum is not only expected...it is demanded of you, and yet you find yourself inexplicably acting in the exact opposite of what is asked of you?

I have. And I shall explain.

Once I was at a funeral of a quite loved woman whom I had known for at least 10 years. The church was packed side to side, end to end. Dozens were standing wherever they could get a foothold. I was there - wearing my dress blue's uniform, white gloves, bow tie, and sword - sitting about half way back. The woman's husband was sobbing uncontrollably and loudly, and soon the people broke out into Amazing Grace. As a matter of fact, they sang three painstakingly sad versions of the song, tears flowing freely and without shame. As they ended the third verse, it happened to me. My mind quickly raced and came up with:

"One more time."

Yes, it was stupid and childish, but it happened to me nonetheless. As the giggling grew and grew towards a full-throated outburst, I quickly stood and made my way down a crowded side aisle, using "the bathroom" as my excuse. In any event, I nearly failed to get there before the hysterics reached their zenith, but luckily for me - conspicuous enough in my Army attire - I made it to the bathroom, or as it was known to me back then: The Latrine.

Nearly a year ago, as the real estate market was collapsing and my decade long employment in jeopardy, I went job finding to ward off any possible, "We can't afford you any more" scenario's. I applied to a security firm, taking a battery of written tests, and showing up one Saturday morning in a psychiatrist's office to take my psych profile. I was pretty sure it was going to be written, but it in fact turned out to be a face-to-face interview. The person sitting behind the desk looked to me to be the illegitimate love-child of Saturday Night Live's "Pat" the androgynous man and Jenet Reno. You get the idea. He (she?)...whatever...explained to me the possible answers to his (her?)...whatever...questions was either: YES, or NO. No expounding or hesitating. What soon came into my head though - much to my shock and horror - was my inner voice. My external voice answered the questions properly, while my internal voice was torturing me. By the end of the half hour session, I had to fight the urge to look at her (his?)...whatever...chair to check for stains where I quite possibly had pissed my pants trying to hold back the laughter.

To this day, if he (she?)...whatever...was any good at psychiatry at all, he (she?)...whatever...would have picked up on the fact that something was amiss with this person seated in front of his (her?)...whatever...desk.

Psy: "If you could, would you like to be a florist?"
Ext Voice: "No."
Inter Voice: "Hmmmm. I'm not gay. But my boyfriend is."

Psy: "Do you love your spouse?"
Ext: "Yes"
Inter: "What day is it? Tuesday? Ummmm...not so much after the dinner I had last night."

Psy: "Have you often played with dolls?"
Ext: "No."
Inter: "Define often"

Psy: "Do you often feel others are beneath you intellectually?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Hell yes, you fucking stupid ass."

Psy: "Have you ever stolen anything, just for fun?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Not just for fun. For profit"

Psy: "Is anyone chasing you?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "You mean like, right now?"

Psy: "Do you ever hear voices when you're alone?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Just the messages from my dog telling me to kill all the neighbors. Do those kinds of voices count?"

Psy: "Do you often hate others for being more successful than you?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "Are you kidding me? I just love it when I see a man who's in the NBA and he can't put three words together correctly, but he makes $12 Million a year. I absolutely adore that aspect of fairness in our society."

Psy: "Have you ever thought your mind was being controlled through hypnosis?"
Ext: "No"
Inter: "But I am getting veeeery sleeepy"

Psy: "Yes/No session over. Is there anything you want to tell me before we end our visit?"
Ext: "No, thank you."
Inter: "Yeah. They actually pay you to ask if I have sex dreams and think of my mom as an object of desire? And you're trying to see if I might be a perv? A mirror lady....or is it sir?... look in the mirror the next time you ask if the house cat wants to make love to you."

Somehow the job was tendered to me, in spite of the look I just had to have on my face the entire time. So remember the sage old advice:

You don't tug on Superman's cape.
You don't spit into the wind.
You don't laugh at serious things like funerals,
And you don't mess around with him.

Or was it, her?