Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

How To Begin A Successful Work Day

While I was riding up the escalator at the mall today before I headed into work, I was thinking about this stupid song called "Alice's Camel" that I used to sing at camp. It had been stuck in my head for over an hour.

Alice's camel has ten humps
Alice's camel has ten humps
Alice's camel has ten humps
So go, Alice, go, boom boom boom


I thought about how the song had always annoyed me, and how no camel, even if it was Alice's camel, had ever had ten freaking humps, and why would Alice have a camel, anyway? Especially a deformed one? And what was that bit with the going and the booming about? Did Alice have some sort of extracurricular interest in this monstrously deformed beast?

Alice's camel has seven humps
Alice's camel has seven humps
Alice's camel has seven humps
So go, Alice, go, boom boom boom


The seven-hump verse grated even worse whenever the earworm looped to that part, because seven is the only number from one to ten that has more than one syllable. It just doesn't fit neatly into the song. Stupid seven humps. Screw the seven humps!

And then I noticed the guy in front of me on the escalator step up two steps away from me. And then I heard the guy behind me clear his throat, and he stepped back down a step. And then, while I looked around and sniffed to see who farted, I heard my own voice clear as a bell:

So go, Alice, go, boom boom boom

I had not taken notice that the earworm I was suffering was actually audibly escaping my mouth until that moment, but there it was. I was singing "Alice's Camel" out loud. In the mall. In front of strangers.

PEOPLE WERE BACKING AWAY FROM THE NUTBAR ON THE ESCALATOR, AND THAT NUTBAR WAS ME.

There's no good way to distance yourself from your own crazy when you're stuck on the up escalator with other people who also wish that they could distance themselves from your crazy, so I tried to play it off like I was just a happy person humming to herself by dropping my voice a few decibels and singing da da da to the beat instead of the actual words.

My plan totally didn't work. I was the crazy person on that escalator, and no amount of da-da-da-ing, or the even the less conspicuous mm-mm-mm-ing, was going to let me sidestep that label.

If the people on that escalator were water, I was parting them like Moses.

And that, my friends, is how you begin a successful work day. Next time I'm going to give "John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt" a whirl and see how much breathing room that one affords me.

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