The List

Clark cannot leave a voicemail without saying “um, okay, bye” twice. The second “bye” is involuntary. He has accepted this about himself.

Clark cannot win the “after you” standoff at a doorway. He gestures. They gesture. He insists. They insist. The negotiation outlasts the time it would have taken either of them to simply walk through, and they end up going at once, wedged, having achieved nothing but courtesy.

Clark cannot remember whether he locked the door. He locked the door. He always locks the door. He will return to check, and it will be locked, and tomorrow he will not remember again.

Clark cannot end a phone call cleanly. There is always one more “okay.” The okays multiply. He has been on the phone with his mother for forty minutes and they finished the conversation thirty-nine minutes ago.

Clark cannot tell if a door is push or pull. The handle gives no clue; the handle is a liar. He pushes. He pulls. He does the small full-body shove that announces to everyone inside that a man has arrived who cannot work a door, and now they’re watching him do it.

Clark cannot fold a fitted sheet. He has watched the tutorial four times. The sheet wins every time. It is, as far as he can tell, an object with no corners and no mercy.