My Life is Like a Seinfeld Epsiode


I sometimes feel like life is a Seinfeld episode where I’m the one being schemed on. Or the one being told to ‘get out’ or ‘I’m leaving’ by a girl who’s only around for a week. The one who double-dips and who, subsequently, got into a fight at a funeral. The guy who experienced shrinkage while wearing spandex at Jones Beach and who has spent the last twenty-five years explaining how cold the water was. And who walked away from a three-way because it would have changed everything. The one who remarks “that’s a shame” when his self-serving friend’s plan backfires. At a time when my overtly Jewish New York life seemed not so Jewish and not so New York. Who got the girl, only to lose her, then win her back again, before losing her for good. Whose friend’s plans would sabotage my own and we both wore confused looks, and a few steps further back in the line. Never learning, never growing, never worrying about the consequences, never shedding a tear.
I cut candy bars with a knife and twist tops off of muffins and I sometimes go tucked and offer Snapple to visitors and I have a row of cereal boxes because I like eating and drinking at the same time. I nose into parallel parking spots and I upgrade my mountain bike every year but I never seem to ride it. I open my front door wide to reveal people I don’t particularly care for but who are always, somehow, in my life. And my front door is perpetually unlocked for my neighbor who is my age and for some reason doesn’t work. And at the end of the day, I hit the reset button.