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Disclaimers don't scare me; they're like car alarms. You hear them but you keep on going.
A man in a drug commercial is throwing a football with a great, big smile. He chucks it quite a few times through a tire hanging from a tree as his wife looks on with joy.
The disclaimer: This product could cause headaches, seizure, vomiting and multiple legs to grow from your body.
Sure, I hear about the downside, but I want this product to help with my love life. A seizure would be fine; the other things I just ignore because I had no side effects from the placebo my doctor gave me last year.
Feeling good, I go down to the dealership to see that new pickup truck that pulls Mount Everest to New York.
I ask the salesman to go over the disclaimer I heard on the radio before I sign on the dotted line.
Zero percent interest only applies to the first payment. Sales tax, tag, title, impact fees and copier ink are not included in price. Anything you have seen or heard about this vehicle and its ability to climb over tall buildings and travel faster than a speeding locomotive has to be taken with a grain of salt. The only thing we will guarantee for sure is when you leave the lot it will depreciate 25 percent and your payments and insurance will be higher than you thought.
Whatever - I'll take it! I'm still not listening!
I stop for smokes on the way home. Laboratory rats claim they die from smoking. But if I hung around the lab all day with some guy feeding me smokes like candy, I wouldn't do well either if I weighed a quarter of a pound.
I pass the local golf course and dive into the glowing green ponds to look for golf balls. That sign about contaminated water from the golf course is just to scare people so they can sell the used golf balls themselves.
I get home and see my drugs have arrived from Canada. I walk out back and try to throw the football through a tire; didn't help at all. I walk out front and notice for the first time how well Miss Jefferson looks for being 98 years old. I try to upchuck the pills to keep me from asking Miss Jefferson out to dinner.
I head to the mall to see a movie. The disclaimer on the ticket says they have the right to cancel any showing without notice. Some kids run up to me. "Wow, mister, how did you get your whole body to glow in the dark?" Need to contact my attorney about that golf course.
I notice I'm the only one in the theater. I can't believe Super Dog is not sold out. A young man with a trash can and broom informs me the movie has been canceled.
"You can't cancel it; you just told me it's canceled!"
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"My ticket said you have the right to cancel without notice, but you just informed me it was canceled, so you gave me notice."
The manager asks if he can help me.
"That young man just told me the movie was canceled, is this true?"
"Why no, sir. It should be on any time now. But if you notice it's not on soon, it may have been canceled without notice."
Hmm . . .
I try to sneak into the next theater to see that movie.
"I'm sorry, sir, this ticket is for theater nine; this is theater 11."
"I heard that movie might be canceled!"
"No, you couldn't have heard that, sir. We don't inform people of cancellations. It's written on the ticket stub."
As police escort me out of the theater, they read me their disclaimer. "You have the right to remain silent." That's the last thing I hear before I have a seizure and grow multiple legs.
Thank God I don't get the headache symptoms; I hate headaches!
- Bruce Michaud lives in Odessa and writes occasionally for North of Tampa.