Upon recently starting a fast-food job here in the little town where I live, I assumed that people would know, since there are only two or three fast-food restaurants in said town, what store they were in.
Oh well....
A lady walks into the store, and comes up the register.
All is well. I know how to do this.
"What can I get for you this morning?" my mouth asks. (this has become involuntary...)
The lady hands me two coupons.
The lady looks at me expectantly
At this point, the top of my head flips open and spreads my brains liberally on the ceiling like a blender with the top open. Not really. But that's what it felt like. You see, I've been working there two days, and know virtually nothing about how things go, except what I've managed to cram in my head in the 6 hours that I've now worked there.
I catch all the falling brains I can and stuff them back in where they belong, and resolve to just do my best.
"Ah-ha!" I think. "there's a little button on the register that says ' coupon' on it! Eureka!!"
I glance down at the coupons that the lady handed me.
"Wait...." my left brain says to what's left of my frontal cortex, "I don't remember anything on the menu called a 'whopper.' I don't remember that at all...."
I stutter in body language, and the lady picks up on it. Pointing at the coupons, she explains that they are "buy one, get one free" coupons, and what each of them is for, and what she wants to do with them.
For the first time, I look carefully at the coupons.
I give an audible sigh of relief, followed by a suppressed outburst of hysterical laughter, barely kept under control as I say, "Ma'am, if you look carefully right here," and I point to the appropriate spot on the coupon, "These are for Burger King."
The lady looks up at me again.
I add, "I'm sorry, but we don't accept Burger King coupons here."
Slightly embarrassed, the lady then makes her order, without using either of the words "Whopper" or "coupon."
Thankfully.
Thanks for the hilarium ad infinitum, Ms. Customer, but next time, look at my hat. It was there all the time.
:-)
August 29, 2008
August 26, 2008
And so what we have learned applies to our lives today... II
Musings upon a first day of work:
1:
While an employer might require you to be clean-shaven, using a new razor (in order to get a nice, close shave) is not always advisable. Use an old one. You may not look like you walked out of a Gillette commercial, but then again, you won't look like you had an incident with a poorly trained executioner accompanied by a blunt axe on the way to work either.
2:
When you first look at your schedule, do away with all your preconceived notions of a calendar. From personal experience, don't expect the third column on a work schedule to be "Tuesday." It might actually be Thursday, you never know.
3:
Always verbally double-check the days that you work with your manager. Don't assume that you follwed #2.
These will hopefullly save you from the fate of walking into your workplace and having your manager say "Umm...you might want to come back the day after tomorrow...."
I'll probably laugh about this...eventually...
1:
While an employer might require you to be clean-shaven, using a new razor (in order to get a nice, close shave) is not always advisable. Use an old one. You may not look like you walked out of a Gillette commercial, but then again, you won't look like you had an incident with a poorly trained executioner accompanied by a blunt axe on the way to work either.
2:
When you first look at your schedule, do away with all your preconceived notions of a calendar. From personal experience, don't expect the third column on a work schedule to be "Tuesday." It might actually be Thursday, you never know.
3:
Always verbally double-check the days that you work with your manager. Don't assume that you follwed #2.
These will hopefullly save you from the fate of walking into your workplace and having your manager say "Umm...you might want to come back the day after tomorrow...."
I'll probably laugh about this...eventually...
June 26, 2008
And so what we have learned applies to our lives today...
...and now that our song is done, we'll take a look...
weedwacker + ground-level telephone wires = bad situation
exhaust manifold of small gasoline engine + my elbow = painful situation
1 day of working in 90-100 degree weather + proximity to 60 degree river = tempting situation
'nuff said, eh?
weedwacker + ground-level telephone wires = bad situation
exhaust manifold of small gasoline engine + my elbow = painful situation
1 day of working in 90-100 degree weather + proximity to 60 degree river = tempting situation
'nuff said, eh?
June 25, 2008
Twenty-four years ago...
War was not Peace, Freedom was not Slavery, Ignorance was not Strength, 2+2 did not ever equal 5, God was not power, and Reality was objective.
But if you don't want to have the urge to throw a book against the wall, read That Hideous Strength instead, and don't damage your soul.
We do not find this book funny...at all.
(Disclaimer: George Orwell, no doubt, wrote this book in order that he might unseat the horrendous ideological atrocities to which his character falls prey. However, depressing stories don't generally make me want to read them over and over again... the book is still significant, probably very significant, but just don't make me say I like it.)
After all, Isn't the dream of Narnia so much better than the reality of the sunless land anyhow?
But if you don't want to have the urge to throw a book against the wall, read That Hideous Strength instead, and don't damage your soul.
We do not find this book funny...at all.
(Disclaimer: George Orwell, no doubt, wrote this book in order that he might unseat the horrendous ideological atrocities to which his character falls prey. However, depressing stories don't generally make me want to read them over and over again... the book is still significant, probably very significant, but just don't make me say I like it.)
After all, Isn't the dream of Narnia so much better than the reality of the sunless land anyhow?
March 10, 2008
They're like the real world meets boy meets world meets days of our lives...Meets Rube Goldberg?
There is a plant on the porch.
There is a stick supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a bit of plastic supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a clamp holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a two-by-four grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a wooden saw-horse supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a porch holding up the saw-horse that is supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a plant on the porch that is holding up the saw-horse that is supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a stick supporting the plant...
'nuff said.
This is reminding me, incredibly, of the bits and pieces of soap operas that I have seen.
This is a general (though over-simplified) plot summary:
Guy meets girl.
Girl has evil former boyfriend.
Evil former boyfriend sabotages Guy's family business.
Guy's mafia contacts get a hit man on evil former boyfriend.
Girl's uncle suddenly goes inexplicably missing.
Girl locks herself in apartment and doesn't answer phone.
Guy's long-lost cousin turns up, and tells everyone that he's an FBI agent.
Mafia catches up with Evil Former Boyfriend, and it turns out to be the long-lost cousin.
Standoff ensues (lasts for four episodes, with straining emotion on all sides)
Missing uncle turns up (in the middle of standoff) with inexplicable scars, saying he'd been golfing for a week.
REAL bad guy shows up (it can either be the original girl, the mafia contact, the butler, or a previously unnamed character), draws automatic weapons, and ends standoff, with at least one major character (who was previously thought to be bad) dying heroically to save the rest, and repenting and confessing that he loves some random other character, who cries passionately for the rest of the season.
The entire cast gathers in a final scene, where the disappointing facts are unsatisfactorily revealed, and where the original Guy gets engaged to his greatest love.
I prefer the porch...
The soap opera, I must confess, is
non hilarium ad nauseum
There is a stick supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a bit of plastic supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a clamp holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a two-by-four grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a wooden saw-horse supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a porch holding up the saw-horse that is supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a plant on the porch that is holding up the saw-horse that is supporting the two-by-four that is grasped in the clamp that is holding the plastic that is supporting the stick that is supporting the plant that is on the porch.
There is a stick supporting the plant...
'nuff said.
This is reminding me, incredibly, of the bits and pieces of soap operas that I have seen.
This is a general (though over-simplified) plot summary:
Guy meets girl.
Girl has evil former boyfriend.
Evil former boyfriend sabotages Guy's family business.
Guy's mafia contacts get a hit man on evil former boyfriend.
Girl's uncle suddenly goes inexplicably missing.
Girl locks herself in apartment and doesn't answer phone.
Guy's long-lost cousin turns up, and tells everyone that he's an FBI agent.
Mafia catches up with Evil Former Boyfriend, and it turns out to be the long-lost cousin.
Standoff ensues (lasts for four episodes, with straining emotion on all sides)
Missing uncle turns up (in the middle of standoff) with inexplicable scars, saying he'd been golfing for a week.
REAL bad guy shows up (it can either be the original girl, the mafia contact, the butler, or a previously unnamed character), draws automatic weapons, and ends standoff, with at least one major character (who was previously thought to be bad) dying heroically to save the rest, and repenting and confessing that he loves some random other character, who cries passionately for the rest of the season.
The entire cast gathers in a final scene, where the disappointing facts are unsatisfactorily revealed, and where the original Guy gets engaged to his greatest love.
I prefer the porch...
The soap opera, I must confess, is
non hilarium ad nauseum
March 7, 2008
PIVD
There is a great person with whom I am slightly acquainted who speaks to inanimate objects. I realize that this is common, but if you are considering putting these actions under the category of "normal," please hold your categorization until the end of this post.
This person does not, in the usual way, speak just to the normal inanimate objects, like most people, who speak to cars while they are on the freeway
(These people do, however, maintain that they speak to the drivers, not the cars. Said drivers, I must add, can hardly ever hear them.)
This person does not even stop with plants, as some herbivorically tendancied people do. Oh no, for this person is a great example of a condition that we have come to call PIVD: Progeny-Induced Verbal Disorder. This unusual moniker comes from the fact that this person blames all their PIVD- related problems on the fact that they have children.
This person, I am afraid to say, will speak to anything. Unlike the ancient patriarch, Moses, who would not even speak to a rock, but would rather strike it with a stick, this person has no qualms about telling the object of their consideration, when it is innocently obeying the call of gravity, to "Come back here!" Or, when confronted with a stubborn (though inanimate) something which will not bend or will not straighten, according to the laws of friction or the natural resiliency of it's own composite materials, has no problem confronting the violating article with a stern face and reprimanding it as if it was a naughty child or pet.
The common side-effects of this condition have rather to do with the people in immediate contact with this person than the person himself:
-A tendency of the patient's family to consider this disorder as lunacy. It is not.
-Inexplicable urges in the patient's friends to manually animate the object to which they talk so that their afflicted friend might actually have a decent conversation with it. While this can be entertaining, it is bad manners to take advantage of the infirm. For shame...
- Close friends might have a sudden desire to question the actions prompted by this disease. This is to be done in NO case. It may result in a reaction that makes poison ivy, stinging nettles, and Venomous Tentactula all look cute and cuddly.
Warning: This disorder is contagious. Not only do it's victims insist (like the person I described) that it came from their children, but if one is around an afflicted subject for too long, they may start to mimic their thought patterns.
Treatment:
There is no sure-fire cure for this disease. The only known way of treating it is prolonged isolation from all objects, inanimate or not. While this does not stop the patient from talking to inanimate objects, it does give their friends and relatives (who are the ones that suffer the worst symptoms) a break. Experiments are being performed, searching for new cures, but only small progress has been made.
To all of those who recognize this disease in yourself, and are now raving at the innocent, inanimate computer screen in front of you, I wish you the best of luck in your treatment...
..Enjoy the padded cell!
ahh, yet another example of hilarium ad infinitum...
This person does not, in the usual way, speak just to the normal inanimate objects, like most people, who speak to cars while they are on the freeway
(These people do, however, maintain that they speak to the drivers, not the cars. Said drivers, I must add, can hardly ever hear them.)
This person does not even stop with plants, as some herbivorically tendancied people do. Oh no, for this person is a great example of a condition that we have come to call PIVD: Progeny-Induced Verbal Disorder. This unusual moniker comes from the fact that this person blames all their PIVD- related problems on the fact that they have children.
This person, I am afraid to say, will speak to anything. Unlike the ancient patriarch, Moses, who would not even speak to a rock, but would rather strike it with a stick, this person has no qualms about telling the object of their consideration, when it is innocently obeying the call of gravity, to "Come back here!" Or, when confronted with a stubborn (though inanimate) something which will not bend or will not straighten, according to the laws of friction or the natural resiliency of it's own composite materials, has no problem confronting the violating article with a stern face and reprimanding it as if it was a naughty child or pet.
The common side-effects of this condition have rather to do with the people in immediate contact with this person than the person himself:
-A tendency of the patient's family to consider this disorder as lunacy. It is not.
-Inexplicable urges in the patient's friends to manually animate the object to which they talk so that their afflicted friend might actually have a decent conversation with it. While this can be entertaining, it is bad manners to take advantage of the infirm. For shame...
- Close friends might have a sudden desire to question the actions prompted by this disease. This is to be done in NO case. It may result in a reaction that makes poison ivy, stinging nettles, and Venomous Tentactula all look cute and cuddly.
Warning: This disorder is contagious. Not only do it's victims insist (like the person I described) that it came from their children, but if one is around an afflicted subject for too long, they may start to mimic their thought patterns.
Treatment:
There is no sure-fire cure for this disease. The only known way of treating it is prolonged isolation from all objects, inanimate or not. While this does not stop the patient from talking to inanimate objects, it does give their friends and relatives (who are the ones that suffer the worst symptoms) a break. Experiments are being performed, searching for new cures, but only small progress has been made.
To all of those who recognize this disease in yourself, and are now raving at the innocent, inanimate computer screen in front of you, I wish you the best of luck in your treatment...
..Enjoy the padded cell!
ahh, yet another example of hilarium ad infinitum...
March 3, 2008
Mourning Bartleby
Bartleby is dead....alas...
In this short story by Herman Melville, a eccentric scrivener of Wall Street dies within his own little world. His view on life: "I'd prefer not to..." I would hope that we should take a lesson from Bartleby and prefer, whether we prefer a hamburger over a hot dog, a hamster over a gerbil, or even prefer life over death, to live, we must prefer.
Bartleby was a talented, good-natured man, honest in all his doings, but, as it is with us all, died slowly of apathy.
(An addendum: This story, written wonderfully by Melville, would indeed by funny, even hilarious, if it weren't so accurate and, frankly, so un-funny.)
Hire the mourners,
Don the sackcloth,
Wail, beat your breast,
For Bartleby is dead...
Bartleby is dead...
he is dead...
is dead...
dead...
alas
In this short story by Herman Melville, a eccentric scrivener of Wall Street dies within his own little world. His view on life: "I'd prefer not to..." I would hope that we should take a lesson from Bartleby and prefer, whether we prefer a hamburger over a hot dog, a hamster over a gerbil, or even prefer life over death, to live, we must prefer.
Bartleby was a talented, good-natured man, honest in all his doings, but, as it is with us all, died slowly of apathy.
(An addendum: This story, written wonderfully by Melville, would indeed by funny, even hilarious, if it weren't so accurate and, frankly, so un-funny.)
Hire the mourners,
Don the sackcloth,
Wail, beat your breast,
For Bartleby is dead...
Bartleby is dead...
he is dead...
is dead...
dead...
alas
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