You ever notice how the second you think you’ve got life nailed down, it pulls the rug out from under you like a prank-happy uncle at a family reunion? One minute you’re strutting around, chest puffed out, certain you’re the king of the castle, and the next—whack!—some wise guy’s swinging a sword of doubt at your ankles. You’re de-feeted before you can even yell “timber!”
We at Sherman Pole Buildings have seen it all, and trust us: certainty’s about as reliable as a paper umbrella in a Minnesota blizzard. Nothing’s set in stone—or steel, for that matter—except maybe the fact that we’re still here, building stuff that doesn’t fall over when the wind howls.
Take my buddy Dave, for instance. He came stomping into the shop one day, swearing up and down he had hearing loss in his right ear. I leaned in, all concerned-like, and asked, “You certain?” He nodded, face as serious as a tax audit, and said, “Yes. I’m definite.” I bit my tongue so hard I nearly drew blood—didn’t have the guts to point out that “definite” sounds an awful lot like “deaf in it” when you’re mumbling through a mouthful of coffee.
Poor Dave’s out there now, nodding along to half-heard conversations, probably agreeing to host Thanksgiving when he thinks someone’s just asking about the weather. Makes you wonder how many “sure things” we’re all just mishearing, doesn’t it? E. W. Howe had it right: “A reasonable probability is the only certainty.” Smart guy, that E-dub—probably never bet the farm on a coin toss.
And Then There’s Statistics
And then there’s statistics. Oh, don’t get us started on those sneaky little numbers. They’re like a bikini, as Aaron Levenstein put it: “What they reveal is suggestive, but what they conceal is vital.” I tried flirting with a statistician once—asked for her phone number, all smooth-like. She smirked and handed me an estimate, complete with a plus-or-minus margin of error.
I dialed it anyway, full of hope, and ended up ordering a large pepperoni from Tony’s Pizza down the street. Not a bad trade, honestly—better than the awkward silence I’d have gotten otherwise. Statisticians live for that 5% chance they’re wrong—it’s their holy grail, their lifetime ambition. Me? I’m 99.7% confident I’m the weirdest person in any room, and I’ve got a closet full of mismatched socks and a knack for tripping over nothing to back it up. Try arguing with that data.
I was unaware of certain things when I applied for shift work. Like how the “F” was silent.
We’ve all been blindsided by a “definite” that wasn’t, though. Like when I signed up for shift work, cocky as a rooster, totally unaware the “F” was silent. Took me a full week of sideways glances and muffled chuckles from the crew to realize “shift” wasn’t the word they were giggling about. I’d swagger in, all proud of my new gig, while they’re over there whispering, “Somebody tell him about the ‘F’ already!” Or that time I thought I’d win a duel—yeah, a duel, don’t ask—because I’d seen a couple of pirate movies and figured I had the swagger down.
My opponent didn’t even blink—just swung low and took my pride out at the knees. I hobbled off, muttering about how certainty’s just an illusion, while he twirled his sword like some medieval show-off. Guess I should’ve doubted my fencing skills before I strutted into that mess.
Nothing Is Definite
Ever think about those 100,000 lemmings, though? You know, the ones who can’t be wrong? Spoiler: they can. They’re just too busy sprinting off cliffs to send a memo about it. We humans aren’t much better—convinced we’re rock-solid until doubt sneaks in like a raccoon in the garbage. That’s the trick: to believe with certainty, you’ve gotta start with doubting everything.
It’s why at Sherman Pole Buildings, we don’t waste time pretending the world’s full of sure bets. We’ve been around long enough to know the only thing definite is that nothing is—except our knack for slapping together pole buildings that laugh in the face of a Minnesota winter. Barns, garages, man-caves—you name it, we’ve built it tougher than a lemming’s ego before the drop.
I asked a statistician for her phone number… and she gave me an estimate.
So next time life hands you a “definite,” squint at it real hard. Could be a silent “F” waiting to trip you up, or a sword-swinging statistician ready to ruin your day. Better yet, give us a holler at Sherman Pole Buildings.
We’ll hook you up with something solid enough to stand tall when certainty goes belly-up—because if there’s one thing we’re pretty darn sure of, it’s that our stuff lasts. No estimates required, just good old-fashioned steel and grit. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a duel to lose and a pizza to pick up.
