Tag Archives: William Turbyfill

All People Poop, Some People More Than Others by William Turbyfill

sandwich-1024x682Do I poop here in my home or do I wait until I get to the sandwich shop? Like all great adventures, this one started with a choice.

After just moving to a new area I needed to find work. I filled out applications all over town and the one place that felt like taking our relationship to the next level was a sandwich shop a quarter mile from my home. They invited me in for an interview. It was a great job possibility considering the circumstances. Not too many hours a week, an easy walk from my home and free sandwiches.

Up until this point in my job history I worked as a Blockbuster cashier, a Movie Concessions person, a wedding videographer and Catering company lackey. You’ll notice none of those jobs included the perk of free sandwiches. I was moving up in the world. I had a good feeling.

I also had to poop.

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Merry Christmas from William Turbyfill

10565770_10154490820925624_53728410_nThroughout history and across different cultures, nations and peoples, the bleak midwinter has been a time for celebrations. It doesn’t matter if it’s Christian, Jewish, Pagan or secular, the darkest and coldest parts of the year are full of food, drink and dance. December in particular is lousy with holidays where revelry is expected.

At first glance this seems odd. Springtime is where the fun’s at. It’s warm, it’s bright; and plants, animals, and people are making baby plants, animals and people. True, springtime holds its share of celebrations but nothing compared what happens when the days get shorter and the nights grow longer; where people have little to do but sit around and try to stay warm. But therein lies the beauty.

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A Misunderstanding Pertaining to Tomatoes by William Turbyfill

Fried GreenI do not know how to make fried green tomatoes and I have mixed emotions about this. Part of me is glad I didn’t know. If I knew then the following experience never would have happened and I would be missing an important defining story in my life. The other, larger, more honest part of me wishes I had known so that I could have skipped this moment because stories are over rated.

My one goal was to bring back a contribution to our community’s weekly potluck meal. The theme this week: southern food. The menu included chicken, cornbread and beans. So basically someone with no idea what actual southern people ate designed the menu. Because I am originally from the great state of The South it was my moral obligation to bring some authenticity to the night.

The problem is, I didn’t and still don’t own a deep fryer. Thankfully, not a mile from my house sits a restaurant that serves as my Southern consulate. Despite being located in Tacoma Washington, as soon as you pass through the doors of the Southern Kitchen, you might as well be crossing the Mason Dixon line. That is to say, it serves fried catfish for breakfast and the lemonade comes in massive mason jars.

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Squirrels Hate Robots by William Turbyfill


“Squirrels hate robots.” He says it with such earnestness that it catches me off guard.

“I beg your pardon.”

“Squirrels. Hate. Robots. It’s really not that complicated.” The five year old is right. It is not a complicated concept to comprehend and yet, I have questions, not the least of which is, ‘if squirrels hate robots, do robots in turn, hate squirrels?’ “I could draw you a picture of it if that would make it easier for you.” I’m not a fan of his condescending attitude.

“How do you know this, about the robots and the squirrels and what not?” I say this while looking for a pencil and paper. As much as I want to smack him, if I’m honest, I also really want him to draw me a picture of squirrels hating on robots.

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