I’m Not Scared of Anything Normal, I’m Only Scared of Mr. Bean — The Fairer Sex Files
Most people are scared of normal things like dying, or being trampled by a pack of wild elephants. If you ask me, both of those things seem fine…and mostly inevitable, given my life trajectory thus far. My greatest fear? You’re looking at him.
In my short time on this planet, I’ve done some irrationally brave (read: idiotic) things. A few examples:
- Jumping off a 60-foot cliff — over the top of a tree — into water of unknown depth. (Pro tip: Do not land butt first, unless a bleeding wedgie sounds like a good time. )
- Exploring the ‘La Perla’ slums of San Juan, Puerto Rico alone. A Puerto Rican friend in NY later told me that the police won’t even go there. This should have made me feel stupid, but instead I felt proud. Because I am a moron.
- Walking on the ceiling beams of a crumbling, 3-story abandoned movie theatre, while wasted and screaming “Sunday Funday!” As evidence of my alcohol-related lack of balance, an hour later I fell off of a tree branch into the James River.
- Packing all of my belongings into the back of my car and leaving my entire life behind to live in a tent on a farm.
So yeah, I’m kind of a moron, but it’s always been pretty important to me to take risks and chase adventure, since I don’t like, believe in heaven or whatever. #YOLO, am I right, friends? I’ve also been pretty lucky, and nothing too terrible has happened so far. This only serves to further reinforce my idea that my terrible decisions are justified, or that I am “charmed” or “lucky.”
How could I not feel cosmically protected, after I manage to make a running exit from my station wagon roughly 15 seconds before it explodes into a ball of flames on a Vermont backroad in a snowstorm? That is not a metaphor, it happened. I felt like an action hero, watching the inferno from the bottom of the hill with a cigarette in my mouth, as the horses in a pen nearby reared up on two legs, whinnying. I know what you’re thinking: Jackie, when your car heat stopped working in the arctic -15 degree winter of the north country several weeks prior, didn’t you think it wise to find out if something was very wrong with your car? Perhaps a coolant leak, that might overheat, if you pushed the engine too far while attempting to climb a snowy, unplowed hill? Shut up, square! Once again, Jackie dodges the evil villain, consequence!
So I don’t spook easily, but there is one bizarre exceptions to that rule:
The first time I ever laid eyes on Rowan Atkinson as ‘Mr. Bean’ was perhaps the first time I ever felt the sensation you normal people refer to as “terror.” I’ll never forget it; I was flipping channels and suddenly my spine turned to ice and my stomach jumped into my mouth as I watched the bumbly, pale, nervous-energy filled man doing his creepy laundry, while humming and mumbling like a demon-possessed frog. For some unexplained reason he chilled my blood, and has continued to do so to this day. I made someone else get this link for me:
Subscribe to 103.7 The Hawk on
UGH, I hit play by accident.
It’s pretty embarrassing, at this point. Lots of people appreciate Mr. Bean for his weirdness, his off-kilter humor, his…I don’t know, I can’t even say that much about him, since I have gone to great lengths to avoid him. If he’s in a movie, I haven’t seen it. WHY would I subject myself to that feeling? It’s terrible!
Look, I’m grateful. Even if this fear is an indication of some sort of deeply-buried psychosis, or the result of a repressed memory of the British TV star molesting me that won’t surface until I’m on my death bed and have a moment of clarity, I’m still grateful. Why? Because he might be the only thing I’m scared of, and I’ve been remarkably good at avoiding him thus far.
Plus, a quick and bone-chilling image search gives me the idea that I might not be alone:
If as a result of this story, you think it would be a real hoot to send me a cleverly-disguised link to a video of Rowan Atkinson, please remember: I am mostly fearless, highly irrational, and have access to your IP address. Plus, I’ve just decided that I’m never clicking on anything sent to me ever again.
Jackie Mancini is the associate editor of GuySpeed and an unabashed lover of large breasts, porno, foul mouths and loud music. Her childhood diagnosis of Oppositional Defiant Disorder is most likely responsible for her current position as the only female employee of a men’s website. Her column ‘The [Fairer Se]X Files’ appears every Wednesday. You can read more of her work here, and you can also follow her on Twitter.