As the reigning first runner up in the Lake Zurich Junior High Spelling Bee of 1991, I consider myself a fairly intelligent person. Thus, I was understandably taken aback when I idiotically cheese-grated a little knuckle skin in with my Colby jack the other night. Saving the cheese was mission critical, so my granite countertop got a tad bloody before I finally got around to getting a Band-Aid. I opened the cabinet looking for a little Sponge Bob glow-in-the-dark action, but all I had on hand was one of those fabulous fabric bandages you use as a kid to get out of gym class. At this point I’m not sure whether I’m more annoyed about the dripping blood, throbbing pain, or that my cheese is getting soft. So I composed myself and thought the only thought that could save me… what would MacGyver do?
I scanned the room and immediately discounted the oversized Ace bandage, realized clear nail polish probably wouldn’t work like superglue, and recalled I was out of duct tape. And though I doubt MacGyver would have gone with the Kleenex-meets-ponytail-holder approach I finally chose, the moral of this story doesn’t change – we all have a little MacGyver inside us.
We whip out our inner MacGyver as kids when we want to play but can only find a stick. We let him take over in college when we’re hungry at 3 am and all we have is a pork chop, a George Foreman, and Hornsby for marinade. His mullet shines through in our milk-crate-as-bedside-table furniture assortment in our first apartment and in the two pennies holding up the broken window in our old car. Whenever we use scissors to cut pizza, a nail file as a corkscrew, garbage bags as a Halloween costume, a vanilla tree air freshener as deodorant, or a wrapping paper tube taped to a wooden spoon stuck with chewed gum and wrapped in toilet paper as a spider web cleaner… that’s your MacGyver doing the thinking.
On the flip side, I wonder if our MacGyver is not the cool, calm and resourceful side of us but truly just the bum in us. Why is our inner MacGyver too cheap to buy a pizza cutter? Why is he too lazy to go to the store and get more toilet paper? Why is he so ghetto we assemble remnants of garbage as an adequate alternative to tools or even Christmas gifts? How much of our brain is dedicated to the potential interconnectivity of broomsticks and lampshades when it could be at the store buying a damn ceiling light?
My inner MacGyver has made me too lazy to think this through. Ghetto or not, I’m relieved to realize that in my rare moments of pure stupidity, the brilliance of my third favorite 80s TV icon (Mr. Belvedere then Alf, obviously) comes to the rescue. Time to reKleenex my wound.