Oh spit! 

I never had a particular interest in the manly art of spitting. 

In my twenties I had friends, guys who worked in warehouses or spent their time staring at car engines, who could – seemingly out of nowhere – summon up a “loogy” and spit it out, a silvery comet of sputum that traveled for yards. My father, a fireman, was a champion spitter. An otherworldly snort from somewhere deep in his head while driving, then rolling down the car window to let her fly. Our next-door neighbor left for work every morning at 6 a.m. – my bedroom window overlooked his driveway – and like the rooster’s crow, I greeted each sunrise with the sound of him clearing out his nasal cavities. 

I mention everyone’s profession purposely, since a headful of phlegm and catarrh seemed consistent with guys whose schooling stopped at high school. Not drawing any conclusions, just an observation. 

By the way, if you’re a British rock singer, it’s a plus. Listen to the “soulful grit” of Rod Stewart, the Stories’ Brother Louie or John Lennon singing Twist and Shout. And let’s not get into the whole punk thing of spitting at performers to show appreciation. 

I’m coming down off a head cold and at least a couple of times a day I raise up a loogy that needs to be quickly addressed. Obviously, I’m not good at this, retching when the thing lands in my mouth, then running to the nearest bathroom to spit it into the toilet. It’s not pretty and sounds even worse. If I’d paid attention to this sort of thing when I was younger, it might not be such a grisly chore. 

The other day in my car, a crackling cough brought forward a loogy and for some insane reason, my immediate reaction was to spit it out the window. But wait. I could picture the thing never making the window, dripping instead down the inside of the car door. Or having it fly back into the car. Instead, I did the sensible thing, waiting until I got a red light, then opening my door and spitting. It didn’t even make it to the street, hitting the inside chassis of the car. 

What’s the rule about 10,000 hours of practice to achieve a mastery of complex skills? In this case, I’m way behind and I’d like to keep it that way.