Cristin's friend and teammate from Asia was in town recently, so the three of us along with friends Renae and Ka...errr, Baby* went out to eat. Cristin wanted to go somewhere good, yet inexpensive, so I suggested a local burger/fried food joint. (Hey, she said good, not healthy.) I didn't know until right before we got to the restaurant that Baby was coming. I made the comment as we got out of the car that I couldn't see Baby dining at this place and that dinner should be interesting. Oh little did I know!
To give you a little background on this burger joint, it is located in my little Southern town and is run by, how shall I say, small Southern town "country" people. Not people Baby typically kicks it with on a Friday night...or any other night for that matter. We ordered our food up front and then went to the back to find a table. One of the rooms in the joint was closed off for a Tupperware party. I felt a little excluded, but tucked my insecurities away and tried not to be bitter about the fact that the "partiers" were allowed to sit in the room with the murals of Greece on the walls. Yes, that's right, Greece. This place is what would happen if South Carolina and Greece made a baby, albeit smaller and not as loud.
Our food was brought out and we continued our lively discussion about Cristin's weekend as athletic trainer at a cheerleading competition. As we ate, the conversation progressed to the topic of men and how we wished they understood us better. We started talking about writing some books to help our male counterparts and the title "How to be Normal" came up. It turns out that one of the goofy young male workers was listening in on our conversation, apparently enjoying it, and decided to contribute. He said something along the lines of, "If you have to read a book on how to be normal, there's a problem." Cristin, hoping to scare him away, replied, "Well, we're talking about guys, so tell your friends what you just said." Burger Boy, showing either great courage or stupidity, I'm not quite sure, actually shot back at Cristin something about guys having just as many problems as "y'all girls." I chimed in with a low, but still apparently loud enough (I've never learned to whisper) voice, "I don't have problems." My table chuckled and Burger Boy smiled and went on to try to make himself look busy.
We continued on with our conversation and a few minutes later Burger Boy was back for more. Sure, it was getting irritating, but I could tell Baby was the most annoyed by our unwelcome "friend." As she was finishing a sentence, she tacked on the end, "...and just go away" towards the direction of our "friend." While I thought this was all pretty funny, part of me wanted to crawl under the table out of embarrassment for the guy and because I was afraid a confrontation was about to take place. If Baby decided to stab Burger Boy with a spork, I wasn't prepared to deal with the police afterward. (The police here are a whole other story). However, a confrontation did not take place and we figured he heard Baby's scathing command and would certainly not be back. WRONG.
We continued our conversation, moving off the topic of men. Renae was speaking while Burger Boy decided to come back and interrupt. He leaned over on the back of the bench between Renae and Baby. Baby, startled, lurched forward to avoid being touched by him. She gave him a look that could kill and I feared that she might try to rip his arm off once the surprise factor wore off. This is basically how the conversation went:
Burger Boy: So, my friend is working the register and he was talking about y'all. (to Baby) He was looking at you and thought you were cute, and I told him he didn't have a chance...I think I hurt his feelin's.
Cristin and April: (Just laughing hysterically)
Baby: (Definitely not laughing hysterically) Right.
Burger Boy: I'm gonna bring him back over here and do you think you could just flirt with him some and make him feel good?
Baby: No
Cristin: I think that's our cue to leave.
I composed myself from laughing and filed out with the rest of the group. It was a shame because we were having some good conversation. Darn, you, stupid people for ruining a good thing! At least you compensate for giving me a good laugh and story to tell.
*Name changed to protect the writers
Post written by Cristin and April
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Whatchoo mean, "Irreconcilable differences?"
As part of my inauguration to this blog, I was requested to tell a story about the old World of Warcraft funeral incident that I blogged about a few years ago. While that story does fit the theme of this blog, it doesn’t have anything to do with me, and it’s been written about elsewhere, including here. So, instead, I’ll rehash an old but true story that my uncle told me about one of his many off-kilter acquaintances.
It’ll be more personal, and yet I don’t have to exert much effort. Everybody wins.
My uncle’s friend, Joe*, needs to haul animals around from time to time. Handyman that he is, Joe builds himself a new trailer to handle the job. A nice one. The day he finally finishes it, his wife comes out to the drive to see the finished product. He shows her how he put it together and proudly points at the finish inside that ought to handle the abuse that its cargo might inflict upon it. She steps into the trailer to see, and Joe, ever the prankster, closes the door behind her and latches it. She yells at him to open the door, and he pretends he can't understand what she's saying. Joe says he likely would've let her out after a minute, but she starts yelling out the little openings in the side and cussing and swearing that "If you dont open this _______ _______ door this instant you____________, I'll _____________________!!!..." etc, etc.
So rather than let her out, Joe decides to take full advantage of the opportunity and backs his truck up to the trailer, hitches it up, and goes out for a test drive around town. "I'm sure that made things all better," my uncle tells him. Joe admits it might not have been so bad until he pulled up in front of a house where some friends of theirs lived, honked the horn until they came out on the porch, and then pointed to the back to say, "look what I got!" All while she shrieked and cussed at him the whole way.
My uncle told him he'd have been scared to let her out of there. Joe said he was, too. So he didn't. He drove home, unhitched the trailer from the truck, and went into town to let her cool off. Then he called the neighbor's house and asked if they'd do him a favor and go next door and let his wife out of the trailer.
My uncle's only response to the end of the story: "I can't understand why she left you, Joe."
Indeed.
*Nah. Not his real name.
It’ll be more personal, and yet I don’t have to exert much effort. Everybody wins.
My uncle’s friend, Joe*, needs to haul animals around from time to time. Handyman that he is, Joe builds himself a new trailer to handle the job. A nice one. The day he finally finishes it, his wife comes out to the drive to see the finished product. He shows her how he put it together and proudly points at the finish inside that ought to handle the abuse that its cargo might inflict upon it. She steps into the trailer to see, and Joe, ever the prankster, closes the door behind her and latches it. She yells at him to open the door, and he pretends he can't understand what she's saying. Joe says he likely would've let her out after a minute, but she starts yelling out the little openings in the side and cussing and swearing that "If you dont open this _______ _______ door this instant you____________, I'll _____________________!!!..." etc, etc.
So rather than let her out, Joe decides to take full advantage of the opportunity and backs his truck up to the trailer, hitches it up, and goes out for a test drive around town. "I'm sure that made things all better," my uncle tells him. Joe admits it might not have been so bad until he pulled up in front of a house where some friends of theirs lived, honked the horn until they came out on the porch, and then pointed to the back to say, "look what I got!" All while she shrieked and cussed at him the whole way.
My uncle told him he'd have been scared to let her out of there. Joe said he was, too. So he didn't. He drove home, unhitched the trailer from the truck, and went into town to let her cool off. Then he called the neighbor's house and asked if they'd do him a favor and go next door and let his wife out of the trailer.
My uncle's only response to the end of the story: "I can't understand why she left you, Joe."
Indeed.
*Nah. Not his real name.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Stolen Car
A couple years ago, I was in a meeting and my phone rang. It was my mother, so I silenced the ringer and called her back later. I mention this because this wasn't a typical phone call from my mom.
"What's your license plate number?" she asked upon answering the phone.
"I don't know; I'll have to look. Why?"
"Your brother's car has been stolen and I want to make sure we gave the police his license plate number and not yours. We wouldn't want them coming to arrest you."
"Wait, what? Michael's car was stolen?! Where? How?"
"Well, they left his keys in the ignition at the shop after they fixed his car and the shop owner's mother was left up front to look after things. She saw a man drive off with the car, but thought he was one of the mechanics. They didn't realize until later that the car was stolen."
Ok, so this ended up not being the stupidest part of the situation. The car was reported and we figured it was gone for good. However, days later the police called and said they found the car. It wasn't abandoned on the side of the road. Pieces weren't miraculously discovered in a chop shop somewhere. It was rendered not drivable and irreparable though. It was hit by a train. That's right, a train. You see, the guy who stole the car found some fake temporary tags and sold the car to some unsuspecting guy. The buyer of the car had a special purpose for the 1996 Buick Regal-to die in it.
The suicidal car buyer packed his pills and drove himself down to the train tracks in his "new" car. He parked it on the tracks, swallowed his death candy and waited for the train to come. The train came, but unfortunately from the opposite way from where the poor man thought it would come. The train hit the backside of the car and knocked it down a sixty foot embankment. The dead guy wannabe was a little bloody, yet breathing, and still with the mortal world. The Buick was a goner.
My brother and a few other family members went to the junk yard to pay their final respects. Billy the tow truck driver (who is a post all on his own; I have other stories about him) said the Buick was a doozy to get out of that ditch. He even "messed up his [blankety blank] shoe trying to tow that car out." It took him several hours. (That's just karma, Billy). Visiting the car was a somber moment for my brother. He had been upset the whole time because he left his tennis rackets in the trunk of the car. From the way the train hit, they definitely wouldn't have made it. However, when he looked in the backseat of the car, lo and behold, his tennis rackets were sitting there! Suicidal Man was courteous enough to move them and they didn't even carry a scratch.
So, all's well that end's well, I suppose. A man got a second chance at life (whether he wanted it or not), my brother got his tennis rackets back and Billy messed up his shoe.
Here are some pictures of the wreckage:
"What's your license plate number?" she asked upon answering the phone.
"I don't know; I'll have to look. Why?"
"Your brother's car has been stolen and I want to make sure we gave the police his license plate number and not yours. We wouldn't want them coming to arrest you."
"Wait, what? Michael's car was stolen?! Where? How?"
"Well, they left his keys in the ignition at the shop after they fixed his car and the shop owner's mother was left up front to look after things. She saw a man drive off with the car, but thought he was one of the mechanics. They didn't realize until later that the car was stolen."
Ok, so this ended up not being the stupidest part of the situation. The car was reported and we figured it was gone for good. However, days later the police called and said they found the car. It wasn't abandoned on the side of the road. Pieces weren't miraculously discovered in a chop shop somewhere. It was rendered not drivable and irreparable though. It was hit by a train. That's right, a train. You see, the guy who stole the car found some fake temporary tags and sold the car to some unsuspecting guy. The buyer of the car had a special purpose for the 1996 Buick Regal-to die in it.
The suicidal car buyer packed his pills and drove himself down to the train tracks in his "new" car. He parked it on the tracks, swallowed his death candy and waited for the train to come. The train came, but unfortunately from the opposite way from where the poor man thought it would come. The train hit the backside of the car and knocked it down a sixty foot embankment. The dead guy wannabe was a little bloody, yet breathing, and still with the mortal world. The Buick was a goner.
My brother and a few other family members went to the junk yard to pay their final respects. Billy the tow truck driver (who is a post all on his own; I have other stories about him) said the Buick was a doozy to get out of that ditch. He even "messed up his [blankety blank] shoe trying to tow that car out." It took him several hours. (That's just karma, Billy). Visiting the car was a somber moment for my brother. He had been upset the whole time because he left his tennis rackets in the trunk of the car. From the way the train hit, they definitely wouldn't have made it. However, when he looked in the backseat of the car, lo and behold, his tennis rackets were sitting there! Suicidal Man was courteous enough to move them and they didn't even carry a scratch.
So, all's well that end's well, I suppose. A man got a second chance at life (whether he wanted it or not), my brother got his tennis rackets back and Billy messed up his shoe.
Here are some pictures of the wreckage:
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