Monthly Archives: June 2010

Today’s MAJOR disaster

A guy comes in panicked. He was here a week or so ago BUT he couldn’t get his key to open the lock. No matter HOW long he stayed and how HARD he tried. I’m telling you the guy was in a full blown tizzy.

He confirms, eight times during this trip that, if he STILL can’t open his lock with the key he KNOWS is the one that I can cut it off. I assure him, eight times, I can and will gladly do so.

If only to make him go the fuck away.

He’s freaking out that someone did something to his lock OR his key OR both! I explain that keys do, indeed, wear out.

Just like patience, I thought. But did not mention.

He goes out to try the lock and is away for much longer than it would take to put a key in a lock, turn, find success or not. I watched him on the monitor and he was really giving it the old college try. Work it for a few seconds, step back, assess the situation and tackle it again. That went on for another ninety seconds or so before he decided, glumly, to give up the ghost and kiss this experiment in terror goodbye.

I take the bolt cutter and follow him. He asks me to look at the lock as if I have x-ray vision capable of seeing through locks to deduce the trouble.

Sadly, I didn’t need x-ray vision to deduce the trouble.

I take his key, put it in the lock, turn, and, the part he didn’t seem to understand, pull it open.

Oh, but if you think that’s all, you are sorely mistaken!

He tells me to stay to see if he, himself, with no outside assistance, can pull off that remarkable feat. One he’s been working on for, combining the two times, near five minutes.

He puts in the key, nerves jangle. He plants his feet into the proper lock opening position. Turns the key and. . .I turned quickly so as not to make eye contact.

I was afraid all the words in my head would spill from my mouth like a cooler full of caustic Dummyaid if I dared eye contact.

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It’s Not Satan!

I’m sure you’ve all heard about the cock dangling that goes on in the world of Chatroulette. Well, I’m here to say in a wagon of wankers there can still be an oasis of funny:

“I’m tough.”

The guy said in a convincing manner.

In my continuing saga of ‘People I Really Should Stay Away From But, Sadly, Can’t Because It’s My Job’ I had the pleasure of having a gentleman tell me what a hard ass he is.

I know he’s stupid. I know he’s a big mouth. I know he doesn’t have the sense he had as a zygote. I know he’s such a stupid, senseless, big mouth he once robbed a convenience store with a screwdriver. There is a possibility he could have pulled off this crime if he hadn’t picked a convenience store around the corner from his house. He hadn’t even opened one of the packs of cigarettes from his bounty by the time the cops came a knocking.

But this time, out of the many times we’ve spoken, for whatever reason, he wanted to impress upon me that he was a bad, bad man.

Fine. I believe you. Now go.

But that wasn’t enough. Obviously.

He kept telling me just how bad a dude he is.

“I crack skulls, you know.”

“Yes,” I say agreeing. “You’re such a tough guy your cereal says, snap, crack, and pop a cap in your ass.”

The Obvious

A large gentleman in a bad mood was standing in front of me in red faced bellow. Is there a worse way to begin a paragraph than that? Okay, maybe if he was wielding a machete or raging hard on or both, but you must admit, that’s not a good start.

It doesn’t matter why he was upset. It wasn’t my fault (it was, here’s the shocker, his) but it is up to me to put a calm in the proceedings.

I’m doing it in a very unsuccessful manner if his continued agitation is any indication. He’s gone through his range of emotions (which are: disbelief, anger, anger, anger, threat, threat, threat. He’s quite the evolved humanoid) and now must try to explain that my continued lack of helpfulness will be dealt with severely.

“I’m a bouncer.”

I’m aware of that. I helped you spell your street name on a form.

“You gotta do this.”

How’s it feel to be on the other side of the proverbial velvet ropes, Neckboy?

“I’m much bigger than you.”

Now this is when he became a broken record. I guess that was his tada moment because he kept closing with it.

And, yes, he was totally right about it. The top of his head was 12-14 inches away from mine. He was at least twice my weight (but don’t hold me to that. I was fired from the carny guessing booth when I was younger).

Generally speaking, much bigger.

By now I happen to see that the clock has wound down on my work day. I didn’t say my work day was over. I just said I’ve stopped getting paid.

I wonder if workman’s comp covers what is potentially in my future? Hey! Let’s find out together, why don’t we?

I move toward the door motioning him to join me. In one step he’s there. Boy, you know what? He IS much larger than me.

So there we are, standing toe to toe (because they were our only body part that matched up) and, as he looks down while leaning over me, he repeats,

“I’m much bigger than you.”

“I know!” I say opening the door. “And I’m much smarter than you but you don’t see me pointing out the obvious, do you?”

I put my hand on the small of his back (which wasn’t all that small) and guide him toward the other side of the about to be locked door.

In the immortal words of Roger Murtaugh,

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

Actual Conversation

“What are your hours? When I got my package I didn’t get anything with the hours on it.”

“The hours are printed on the front of the envelope. Nonetheless, the hours are. . .”

“. . .oh, I have the envelope right here. Let me look. I didn’t see that before. Was it always there?”

“No! It takes a call to the office to activate it!”

Realization

A guy was regaling me with his tale of woe. He’d come to a painful realization and was struggling to come to terms with it.

He’s been with this woman for close to eighteen months (I will pause here for a moment so those of us who’ve been in relationships for much longer periods of time to chuckle) and he’s experiencing extreme angst because of the realization that his girlfriends shit does, indeed, stink.

As much as I wanted to laugh in his face I’m told that, in polite society, that is considered rude. So, chuckling wildly internally, I commiserated to the best of my abilities with,

“I understand. I used to think my girlfriends shit didn’t stink until I found out she was using a citrus spray as a cover-up.”

How come I get the feeling that, as hard as I try, people don’t actually find me all that helpful?

Funny Father’s Day

Looking for the best way to celebrate dad’s day? I’d suggest you get on over to the Spiegel Auditorium in Harvard Square to check out the one man show, “A Parenting Story”, by Boston comedy legend, Bill Campbell.

I could say many great things about Bill and his show but I’m sure you’d like to hear from those with a tad more credibility.

“Unique brand of storyteller”
– Boston Globe
“Delightful view of parenthood”
– Dallas Morning News
“Funny & Touching”
– Minneapolis Fringe Festival

I can say “A Parenting Story” is a ninety minute parenting roller coaster ride that takes you from babies to grandparenting. You’ll find yourself laughing one minute and wiping a tear the next as this Ding Ho veteran comic shares his experiences raising three children while pursuing a comedy career.

So mark your calendar to enjoy a special evening made even more special with Bill’s special guest, Bob Gautreau.

Saturday June19th 8:00 pm
Spiegel Auditorium – Harvard Square
56 Brattle Street, Cambridge
Tix: $15.00
Reservations / Info: 978.884.8182

http://www.billcampbellcomedy.com