Neither here nor there. Everywhere. All around. ONEWAY or another.
A little. A sprinkle. A dash. A skosh. Kinda sorta. Hinting.
A lot. A load. A fuckton. A metric fuck ton. Full-on. All the way.
I’m a little bit country.
I’m a little bit rock ‘n roll.
I’m a little autistic.
I’m a little alcoholic.
I'm a little bit of a slouch.
“Don't sell yourself short, you're a tremendous slouch.”
like Ty Webb said in Caddyshack
We’re all somewhere along the spectrum. Some of us are further along than others.
This little quiz will sum up your Autism Spectrum Quotient…
Here are a couple statements I plucked from the list and my answers expanded upon:
I notice patterns in things all the time.
—I strongly agree. I’m rolling around paying attention to things that a lot of people never notice. Patterns. Rhymes. Repetitions. Clockwork. Habits. From the static patterns emerge.
I am fascinated by numbers.
—I agree. I like numbers. But not all numbers. Fascination may be too strong of a word. Some numbers get my attention and stick with me. Street addresses, phone numbers, analog watches, digital clocks, VCR clocks blinking 12:00, zip codes, PO Box numbers, messenger numbers, hospital room numbers, coffee shop customer numbers, Lawrence Taylor's jersey number, dates and any palindromic numbers. Please note that up to this moment I’ve refrained from saying anything about 3.14159 this Pi Day.
I still remember the license plate on my mom’s 1971 Monte Carlo: CPJ 895. She sold that car in 1985. I remember the phone number we had as a kid for our yellow rotary phone: 328-2952. I remember my grandma’s old phone number too: 325-1209. Grandma had a wall mount beige rotary in the hallway with an extra long handset cord so she could pace around and talk on the phone for hours. Those were hard-hard wired land lines in the 509 of course.
I enjoy social chit-chat.
—I STRONGLY DISAGREE. I fucking hate chit chat. Can’t do it. Find ways to avoid it or I just walk away. It bothers me. I do not pretend to care about things that I don’t give a shit about. I’m not interested in what you did over the weekend. If I was, I'd ask you about it. But I’m not.
Sometimes when people are talking to me, I glaze over and stare off into space over their shoulder, then they turn and look around, wondering what the hell I’m looking at while they’re trying to tell me something important.
Before I answered the questions, I had an idea of what my score would be and it was spot-on. I have an idea of what some of my friends and coworkers’ scores might be too. There are a couple guys on my mail routes that would crush this thing. Outta the park. Off the charts. I wouldn’t want to see things from their perspective, because I can guess what it’s like. But I’m curious to learn more and I’m not just talking shit. This little quizlet has already helped me laugh at my own habits and anxieties. And I think it will help me see things differently, to walk a mile in their shoes, so to speak. Let them try to walk a mile in my blown out Sambas.
Please take 90 seconds and complete the 50 questions. Upon conclusion there will be no opportunities to enter your email and win a $2 Starbucks gift card. Your score is not important, it's just a place to start the conversation. It's not a pass-fail. It's a dipstick. But it is what it is. You can't add to it, or run low. You are you. You are here. You don’t have to share your score. You can share your score if you want. Or share it anonymously. You can tell me someday and buy me a beer. Then I’ll tell you my score and buy you a beer.
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