Hot off the Press.

It's happened.
I've discovered the one fail proof way to make any subject completely and unavoidably boring.

Make lots n' lots of metaphors.
("I don't understand fishing metaphors!" -name that movie.)
And a simile or two here and there can't hurt either.

Oooh, ooh! You could also use an incredibly monotonous voice as you drone on and on while pausing extensively between... each... word.

I reached this understanding after a two-hour tour of the BYU Press Building, led by the world's oldest, still-breathing man. I'm not even joking.

He has one foot in the press building and one foot in the grave.

When my professor announced that we'd be taking a little field trip earlier in the week, my first response was excitement.

"My grandpa was manager of the university press for 40 years." I thought, "I'm practically print royalty by association."

So as Candy, her brother Stu and I sat down in the designated conference room, ready for the fun to begin, I didn't notice the ominous cloud of doom beginning to swirl over our heads.

At the head of the table, sat our tour guide.
Hunched over his life's masterpiece (a book that appeared eerily similar to a yearbook I designed in the 7th grade), he smiled crookedly at us.

"Welcome... to the university... press... building." he gummed, "You should be very excited to be here."

I glanced around as heads bobbed enthusiastically.

He continued, "Now... I've given... this speech... many a time. And every time... I try to explain it... differently. I get... bored too... you know.", he chuckled.

I would soon come to recognize this as the most ironic under-statement ever uttered by man throughout the history of time.

I will summarize what came next as an extreme act of compassion on my part. Thank me. Now.

Quick run down:
* Yakking.
* More yakking.
* Lots n' lots of yakking.
* Metaphors while yakking.
* Time slowing to a complete halt.
* Blank stares and incoherent drooling.
* Similes AND metaphors while yakking.
* Pleadings to the heavens that death come quickly.

Tell me exactly how paper fibers can be compared to shampooing hair? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

*sigh* I just love repetitive redundancy.

And that was only the FIRST HOUR.
But oh-ho-HO. It only got better from there.


We spent the following 60 minutes traipsing from one dirty machine to the next; the dull roar of several running presses blocking out any further droning of Satan's minion.

How did I survive, you ask?
I stared at things: crates of paper. Ceiling tiles. Vats of ink. Misspelled signs, warning employees to check their work twice.

Ah, the delicious irony.
We were fading fast.

Our only link to reality was remembering that I had heard earlier that day on Good Morning America that Justin Bieber had cut his hair. I never thought I'd say this, but it's the only thing that saved us.

When it was all over, we trudged back, single-file, to the death trap. It was the closest thing to a funeral march I've ever seen.

This was lost on one of the unrealistically happy press workers who happened to be standing in our path.

"It's a parade!", he smiled jovially.

"Except parade's are fun...", I protested melodramatically, wrapping the black coat I had been wearing around my head like a burial shroud.

We probably could have won a Guinness world record for the 'speediest grab-your-gear-and-let's-get-the-heck-outta-here maneuver', had anyone been watching.

I'm pretty sure we would have simply blown through the nearest wall had there not been an exit conveniently located some feet away.

"I've been known to have an extremely patient nature," Stu inserted breathlessly as we darted towards the car, "but that even pushed my limits."

"No kidding!?" I exploded, "Being run through the press would have been preferable to that torture."

"I'd give anything to have those two hours back.", Candy cried.

And so, I emphasize.
Do you wish to be so boring that people die at the very thought of your presence?

Just remember, PMS. (Coincidence? I think not...)

P - pauses
M- metaphors
S - similes

Use all three simultaneously and you're golden.
Use all three simultaneously in my presence and you're dead.