Reflection On One Word: Check
Checkers
My wife and I discuss checking in with each other, and she mentions the idea of a check list, and I can’t help but become lost in thought. I begin sorting:
A check, as in a little note in place of money,
A blank check, up to me how much I spent, an unlimited freedom to act,
Check on, or check up on. I can’t stop checking on my tomatoes. Where do I think they’re going?
I check in to or at the hotel, or for a flight, or with the person in charge. I am signaling my arrival. I might also check into, which means “investigate.” We check in to the hotel, we check into the disappearance of the front desk clerk.
Checking out is sometimes the opposite of checking in; we check in and then out of the hotel. No need to check out of the flight after arrival, but we do check out the plane. Check out a book from the library [NOTE: Is it “check out a book” or “check a book out?”] Check out that chick across the street. Have you had time to check out the new season of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds? No? Don’t have Paramount Plus? You were going to re-subscribe but now you refuse because of this Colbert business?
This all checks out.
I bring my daughter to Acting Camp. After checking in and double checking the spelling on her name tag, we say goodbye. I walk with A Friend back to the parking lot. A man runs up to us, frantic, “do you have a phone?”
Are there many people who don’t?
“What’s up, man,” I ask.
“There’s a dude on the bike path under the bridge. He’s dead. Call 9-1-1.”
“He’s dead?”
“Swear to God,” he says. “I checked his pulse.”
“You checked?”
“Swear to God.”
We check for things. Check the fridge for milk. Check for ticks after the hike. Check for mistakes in your math homework.
We check against. In order to check against, we need a trusted source. We can’t fact check without a trusted source. But how do we check the source in the first place?1
What do you say to your Eastern European pal when you beat him at chess?
Check off is not any more similar to Chekhov.
On the bike path under the bridge, I’m on the phone. A Friend and I are both a bit nervous about being lured under a bridge by a man who claims not to have a phone, but it is 9am, a relatively safe town, and he’s asking me to call police. We walk (walk) over to check it out for ourselves. The one thing I do not want to do is get involved with CPR for a homeless person. Overcome with shame at this thought, I can barely describe the body to the dispatch operator: “White male, five-eight, 140 pounds, five-day beard—”
“Is he breathing?”
“Lemme check—” His chest moves, inflates. “Yes! He’s breathing!” The gathered crowd cheers and I am relieved because I don’t have to touch this filthy person, and the relief dissolves instantly into more shame. The man sits up, checks his pockets.
We double check, but we don’t double spot check.
I knew a man whose wife tattooed “check yaself” on the back of his right hand, such that he couldn’t help but see it when typing or playing the piano or writing or using a tattoo gun or whatever else he does with his right hand. The couple has long since separated. Does he check himself? If yes, does he think of her? How does he answer when people ask about the tattoo? Does he know the phrase “checkered past?”
Fact checkers are not related to Chinese checkers or Chubby Checkers.
Is a privilege checker policing herself or someone else?
It’s been several years since I’ve submitted to a background check. I’m always surprised when nothing comes up. Surprised? No—devastated. I have no background worth checking into. On the other hand, two Autumns ago I met with a doctor, a 50-something Indian woman who smelled like roses. She tapped her fingers on my forehead, spoke into my nose, “one two, one two. Can I hear you? Ha ha ha!”
We check in and out, on and off, for and against. Meanwhile, we checkup but not down.
Once in a while someone checks to see if I go by Mike or Michael.
90 minutes later a jogger is stabbed and robbed not fifty yards down the bike path.
A Friend texts the next day, “thinking about carrying.” I’m about to text back, “same here,” but I double check the message. She’s actually written “thinking about carrying Narcan.”
Checking: Examination, restraint, accounting. It’s also a climactic point. You need time to build toward a need for it, space in which to perform it.
A check mark is an upside-down Freytag’s Pyramid. Checking is drama.
“Hello? Are you there?” My wife waves a hand in my face. “Are we still checking in?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I was just checked out.”
When I step up in the place, hey yo, I step correct
I got that head-nod shit that make you break your neck
And you know we come through to wreck the discotheque
Throw your hands up in the air, don’t ever disrespect
I got you all in check.
–Busta Rhymes
Don’t be silly. Checks and balances don’t exist no more.
Is he your Czech mate?
Oh my god, I thought I was spiraling. You, sir, are on a whole other level! Good job making me rethink everything. 👏