It seems that when we read headlines, and sometimes even the corresponding article lingering hopefully below the headline, we are drawn to those that support what we believe or want to believe. Confirmation bias is difficult to overcome, and oft times it is operating quietly under the surface unbeknownst to the conscious portion of our monkey brain.

The other day I spied the headline “The Psychological Importance of Wasting Time” and felt a twinge of delight. I felt another delightful twinge when the article went on to dispel the “inbox zero” campaign that reared its ugly head a few years ago. The crux of “inbox zero” is just as the name implies…be sure your email inbox is at zero at the end of each day.

I tried this for a few days. It appealed to my anal retentive side, but apparently my procrastinator side is a bully and shut down the whole experiment. So, now I’m back to having mounds of emails in my inbox, and I don’t care, and finding an article that supported my not caring confirmed that I shouldn’t care.

Did I look for articles that supported the “inbox zero” movement? No, I had my answer, and I liked it. I also had time to waste, as my psychological wellbeing is important. Often questionable, but important just the same. If you intentionally waste time are you really wasting time? On the flipside, if you spontaneously waste time, who is to say what would have occurred in that timeframe would have been productive?

When I was a kid I had a whoopee-cushion, oh how I delighted in slipping it under couch cushions. Hours of fun. Well my brother, Jarvis, decided that simply sitting on my whoopee-cushion wasn’t enough. He never thought enough-was-enough. He jumped high in the air to get optimal whoopee out of my cushion.

The cushion made a noise, but not the noise that is music to the male species ears, it made a “popping” noise. A popping noise followed by my brother rolling off the deflated whoopee cushion clutching the backside of his Tough Skin jeans in pain. At least the whoopee-cushions last gasp was a good one.

That whoopee-cushion and I had had some good times together, and I wasn’t about to walk away from it now in its time of need. Once so full of life, it lay crumpled and lifeless, with a gaping hole in its hull. We had to move fast if there was to be any hope.

We hopped on our CoastKing bicycles and headed north to the Wheatland Oil Company. I knew the owner, LeOtis Olney, had patched a tire for my dad, I knew inner tubes are rubber, I knew whoopee-cushions are rubber, I knew LeOtis was my only hope.

I brought in the lifeless whoopee-cushion, and asked LeOtis if he could patch it. He smiled and said, “Let’s see what we can do.” We stood and intently watched as LeOtis took time out of his day to patch a whoopee-cushion. I guess that’s the beauty of growing up in a small town. Everyone goes above and beyond to help one another out…even if it may appear to be a waste of time.

LeOtis may have wasted some of his time that day, but he saved a whoopee-cushion, and he made an impression on a young boy that has lasted over 30 years. Thanks LeOtis, and thanks Lignite. They say it takes a village to raise an idiot…you did a fine job.