The Tao & the Weekly Exercise Tip

I went grocery shopping today. Here in San Francisco, getting groceries has become an obstacle course. It’s how I get my weekly exercise.

It starts as soon as I park. Before I’m even outta the car, there’s a tap on the window. It’s the box boy.

“Roll it down!”

I roll it down.

He says he’s out here “collecting shopping carts… you know… Tips!”  He flips his phone in my face. He’s got the TipMo app. The screen says: $1 / $2 / $3.

A tip? For what? Maybe I’m going to the post office. Maybe I’m here to meet a Tinder date.

Way back in the 70s, when I worked as a box boy, I never got no tips. I double-bagged groceries, I pushed heavy carts through parking lots, I loaded up trunk after trunk. Maybe I’d get a nickel. Maybe I’d get a dime, a silver dime if I was lucky.

I look at the box boy at my window: “Hold on a sec… Maybe I got some change.”

Then, while I’m fingering junk in the cup holder, the box boy loses his patience and slinks off to pursue more promising prey.

That’s when I make my move!

I’m out of my car, dashing past the empty Waymos. When I get to the train of shopping carts, I tug and I tug till I yank one loose.

Fortunately, it’s a weekday morning. There’s no kids around, no one selling TranScout cookies.

Right as the automatic door swings open, a woman with a clipboard needs a couple signatures.

“Maybe later!” I say. I try to push past her.

But she flips her phone around in my face: $2 / $4 / $6.

I fake a grab at the clipboard, then cut left, squeeze right… I’m into the store! Touchdown!

So, I’m in the produce section, but I can’t find the Honeycrisp apples. I ask the guy stocking the broccoli. “Honeycrisp apples?” he asks. He pulls out his phone to check their location. “Oh! Oh! Over here!” And leads me to the apples.

And I am so grateful for this small simple kindness. I say, “Thank you so much!”

He flips his phone around: $3 / $6 / $9.

I can’t believe it!

I tap a nearby woman squeezing cucumbers.

“What’s with all this tipping?”

“Times are tough!” She flips her phone around: $12.95.

That’s enough exercise for one week.

Ladies & Gentlemen… Papa Gringo!!!

Now that Saturn’s gone direct, it’s time to move forward with the stand-up comedy classes, which start tomorrow night in the heart of San Francisco’s legendary North Beach.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been jotting down ideas on a yellow legal pad, sketching out jokes and bits for introducing Papa Gringo to an imaginary crowd.

Here’s one possible opening. Please let me know what you think.

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Hi, I’m Papa Gringo.

Yes, that’s a fake name.

The name Donald Trump has got to be a fake name.

If not, that’s child abuse.

Trump, alone, sounds frumpy and dumpy.

Then you add Donald Duck.

No wonder he’s a quack.

Take the name Ronald Reagan.

As an actor, that was the president’s stage name.

His real name was… Ronald Reagan

In his case, the name was real but the man was fake.

And why are the Republicans’ two biggest presidents named Ronald and Donald?

Ronald McDonald is a fake name.

The point is, with a fake name, you can be the real you.

So, here are some real truths about the real me….

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What Do You Think?

Should I give up my day job? Ideally, I need a few good laughs in the first thirty second. Let me know if you got any ideas.