Teflon and Velcro

I was commanded to make a reservation for four. I did. We show up at seven, me from the gym and three women, bridge addicts, who are intoxicated from the tournament. We sit at a table in the middle of a local bistro. Conversation begins.

With three women, conversation always begins. They rehash each and every bridge hand played. They ignore me. I become a Teflon frying pan where sausage sizzles…nothing sticks. My wife says I may want to change tables, find someone who likes to hear bench press and sit-up stats. She says that’s irrelevant to this table.

I decide to sit it out and listen, figure I may learn something. They remind me of golfers discussing strokes. Who cares? I’m Teflon. Besides, who wants to stick more boredom into their life? Remember Bobby Fischer, the chess guru? He went crazy. Said he sat alone on park benches, mumbling about chess. When asked about this strange behavior, he began to drool, saying he remembered every move in every game he ever played. That boy needed a squirt of Teflon. I repeat the story, warning these ladies that someday such benches may be their future. Can you guess the collective response? I suddenly become a Velcro strip being ripped from a useless garment.

The conversation begins to drift sideways, which with women is a normal occurrence. It stuck on the subject of tossing out the clutter in our lives. Margaret remembers a book by Gail Blanke, “Throw Out Fifty Things.” They lament as to how stuff just sticks around, from households, to offices to people. Diane says, “We need to become Teflon.” The others agree. Carolyn carries forward the logical sequence, saying, “We need to rip this stuff out.” I suggest they begin with bridge and golf, but I picture my hunting jacket becoming Velcro.

When we exhume our recent past, we find examples of both Teflon and Velcro. Remember ‘The Teflon Don’, John Gotti? And The Gipper, ‘The Teflon President?’ Very little sticks to mobsters and politicians except money. Other notables to whom the term Teflon is ascribed include Tony Blair and Vladimir Putin. I’m now a member of an exclusive cult.

Velcro is an interesting concept. Did you know that David Letterman made cultural history and put Velcro into the national spotlight? He wore a Velcro-covered suit and, with a running start, leapt into the air, hurling himself against a Velcro-strip wall. He stuck there, hanging from the wall like a dead fly. He had to be ripped off. Because of this, Velcro has now become one of the favorite bar activities in New Zealand. Will Olympic competition be next?

They soon discuss ways to lighten the load from their respective homes. I suggest they begin in their closets and open shoe stores. Can you guess the looks I get? Diane informs me that she has her wardrobe organized on an Excel spread sheet, listing the clothes, costs and depreciated value of each article. She must be a Lutheran.

They become animated. They move from room to room, ripping out everything that’s unnecessary. You know where this is heading, right? Right! My imagination goes wild…no more guns, ammo, boots, camo outfits, running shoes, narcissistic photos of myself and all evidence that a man actually lives in the home. I get the distinct feeling that I am a Velcro strip about to be ripped from the premises.

Then they begin discussing the disgusting habits of men. I could only think of two. At this point I’m trying to become Teflon. The table discussion has not yet centered on me. But, I know it’s coming. I begin deep breathing exercises to grease up my Teflon. Sticks and stones, you know, a man’s survival mantra. But it’s not working. I endure a few more minutes and ask for the check before I’m assassinated. It arrives.

The ladies have a sudden urge to join one another in the ladies room. Have you ever wondered why it takes three to….oh, forget the thought. They finally return and head to the door. I hear a weak, “Thanks” as they depart the restaurant. I shout, “What about the bill?” They become Teflon, disappearing into the darkness.

So I sit here, finishing my beer and feeling like Velcro…. ripped off. Teflon is a male illusion…we always gets stuck with the check!


Bud Hearn
January 27, 2011