Category Archives: humor

Listen, I Heard You

Many times when I’m out in public, I’ll give or receive either a few friendly words or a hello gesture, whether it be a nod or a smile, to a complete stranger. If I’m on the receiving end of such an occurrence, often times it’s because I’ve already made eye contact and offered a grin; I can’t help it. Not only am I an incredibly friendly (and extremely modest) person, but I’ve been trained to be friendly as well, thanks to the many customer-oriented jobs I’ve held throughout my life. “Thank you, pull around!”

drivethru

I can tell you with certainty that if you’ve ever asked a stock boy at a grocery store “Are you working hard, or hardly working?”, you’re not nearly as original and funny as you think you are. In fact, chances are good that he’s probably been asked that question over a hundred times and he’s probably sick of having to laugh and pretend that he finds it amusing, especially if he’s having a bad day and is working very hard. Same goes for the person who tells him “Don’t work too hard!” He knows that you don’t really care how hard he works, and actually, you secretly figure that if he was working harder, maybe the Preparation H you planned this particular shopping trip around would be in stock so you wouldn’t have to make another stop on the way home. Besides, people in general will continue to work at the same pace no matter what wannabe-witty saying you “come up” with.

The worst thing that happens is when you ask someone a generic question, out of a desire to simply be friendly and acknowledge his or her presence, and you get an answer that has nothing to do with the question you’ve just asked. People who do this are total dorks, and I encountered one such dork in a grocery story this afternoon. The gentleman worked there, I figured out that much by the name tag stuck to his shirt, a name tag that had become clearer with each step we took toward each other. I noticed him noticing me noticing his name tag, so I offered a mere “How’s it going?” as I nodded my head in his direction. As we passed each other, he responded with “Not much.”

Not much? What the hell does that mean? It’s not going much? There’s not much going? Or, did he size me up before I had neared him, ultimately deciding that I was a What-have-you-been-up-to type of asker? I’m sure that’s what happened – when I opened my mouth and began speaking, all he probably heard was Charlie Brown’s teacher. Of course, once I was five strides beyond this exchange, I muttered “what a dork” under my breath. Then I laughed.

Why was it funny? I’m not sure, but I snickered about it a couple more times as it replayed through my mind. Maybe I’m too easily amused. Whatever the case, I finished up what I was doing and continued on with my day. Later in the afternoon, I shared a pleasant conversation with a liquor store manager during one of my last stops. He explained that he couldn’t wait to go fishing this coming weekend, and I promptly retorted with information regarding my upcoming family vacation that is taking place next week, a week which I am impatiently looking forward to.

“OK Luke, have a good vacation,” he encouraged as I gathered my belongings and prepared to leave.

“Thanks, you too.”

Doh.

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Filed under Funny, humor, Jobs, Language, Life, People

Haiku Friday, Vol. II

It’s time for the second installment of Haiku Friday:

Swollen uncle is
Suffering from side effects
Swollen brother, not

All comments must be posted in Haiku form (if you don’t remember the rules, click here).

11 Comments

Filed under Culture, Funny, humor, Language, Poetry, Relationships

Haiku Friday, Vol. I

I’ve easily written Girlfriend over a hundred poems, but don’t let that statement influence the type of guy you think I am. I’m no overly-sensitive wussy.

Back in the day, Girlfriend and I would communicate throughout the week electronically (via email and chat). She works in an office, and even though I work on the road, my work laptop is always nearby. This internet interaction broke up the monotony of the work day, and always provided me with laughs. Our conversations didn’t consist of anything substantial most of the time – it was more of a contest to see who could out-funny the other.

To keep things interesting, we started coming up with themes for that day’s correspondence: Joke Day was full of horribly corny jokes that were funny for that reason only; Poem Day didn’t last because it didn’t have enough structure; Random Day was OK at first but quickly devolved into total weirdness (examples: “your veins are hot” and “you have good handwriting”); Roses Are Red Day was great at first, but didn’t have staying power due to the format’s predictability (example: “Roses are red, stinky are farts, I hope you know, I’m better at darts”).

Then we came up with an idea that has provided us with the most comedic opportunity thus far: Haiku Day. Yes, an entire day of communicating only through Haiku. That is just funny, in and of itself.

For those of you who don’t know, Haiku is a kind of Japanese poetry. It consists of three lines containing five, seven, and five syllables, respectively. There is typically a pause after either the first or second line, although we didn’t always follow that rule. Here are a few of the gems I found while browsing through old emails of ours:

Yep you are so right
Good to know where lawn tennis
Originated

Don’t worry OK
I like my little dummy

Man, you cant teach that

You can lick my balls
Oh yes, you can lick my balls

I said lick my balls

No, you cant teach that
I said that you cant teach that

Now THAT’S repeating

I am not a girl
Unless you’ve heard of a girl

With goatee and d**k

We are getting good
Japanese would be jealous
With their squinty eyes

Try to impress me
I double-dog dare you to
Go on, rock my world

You liar liar
Look, your pants are on fire
Better take them off

Whatever you say
Enjoy the view of my head
As I walk away

I’m so tired today
I wish it was tomorrow
I’m gonna smack you

There will be smooching
Oh yes, there will be smooching
I mention smooching?

Don’t twitch, it is bad
People think you’re seizur-ing
They have meds for that

Wonder how long we
Can keep this sh*t up, all day?
So nice to have you

Isn’t that a trip?
We are meant for each other
You are an a$$hole

I hate you so much
You are such a f**king b*tch
First line is a lie

I look retarded
Driving around, counting words
Good idea, so fun

Sound like a robot
When I read Haiku poems
In my head of course

How are carrots fun?
They are small, orange, and boring
I’m a vegetable

We had such fun with it, that I decided to try a Haiku Day here and see how it goes. So, each Friday I’ll be posting a Haiku. There is only one rule: your comments must also be in Haiku form. Other than that, anything goes. Here’s the first entry:

Haiku are easy
But sometimes they don’t make sense
Refrigerator

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Filed under Culture, Funny, humor, Language, Poetry, Relationships

Feel My World Shake

My family moved around a lot throughout my childhood – Nebraska, Kansas, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana, Maryland, Florida – but if I’m ever asked where I grew up, my answer will always be Indiana – in particular, Evansville. I still have a good amount of family living there, and in a few short months I will be moving back there after having lived in Florida for the last ten years (no, I’m not crazy). So, when an 5.2 magnitude earthquake rattled the midwest on April 18th, 2008, I was especially interested. After all, this wasn’t the first time I had ever been concerned about seismic activity in my hometown…

earthquake

In 1990, I was a senior in high school, living in Evansville with my grandparents. The calendar had just turned to December, and the local news was saturated with the name Iben Browning, a man who claimed to have predicted the 1989 earthquake in California (remembered by me as the World Series earthquake). He also professed to be a climatologist, scientist, inventor, and holder of a doctorate in physiology. He had predicted that conditions were right for a major earthquake to occur along the New Madrid fault line on December 3rd, 1990, a fault line that Evansville lies along. I remember a lot of people being really freaked out (me being one of them), many of them planning to stay home from work or school that day. There was no way I was going to go school and end up in a pile of rubble, but convincing my grandparents that I should stay home was another story. I finally get out of attending when I explained that since so many students were going to be absent, we probably wouldn’t be doing any work anyway. Luckily, my claim of the probable high absenteeism was corroborated by a local news broadcast the evening before E-day. It’s important to note that it was my grandmother that I won over, and she was the one who took care of getting my grandfather to allow me to stay home – my grandpa was much too practical to believe in such nonsense or ever take part in such hysteria. My brother David lived on the other side of town with a family friend (he was a freshman at another high school), but he wasn’t going to go to school either. So, he came over and the earthquake party was on! We brought a full-sized mattress into the living room and camped out in front of the television, anxiously watching the news and waiting for the world to shake. The plan was that once it started, we would get underneath the mattress, a place that would surely protect us from the house caving in on top of us (genius, I know). The night came and went without incident of course, as did the next day – December 3rd, Earthquake Day. My grandpa didn’t let us off the hook that easily, however. Our day off from school was filled with chores and yard work. I believe it was my grandfather’s way of telling us “I told you so” without saying anything. It was later learned that Mr. Browning was not a geologist nor a seismologist, he had no formal training in climatology, his doctorate was in zoology not physiology, he had not predicted the World Series earthquake, and his projection had been based on a widely discredited theory. Oh well, thanks for the day off, Iben!

Getting back to present day; CNN was reporting that there was virtually no damage, and no reports of any casualties. Once I had heard from my family that everyone was OK, I did some more online reading about the earthquake on the website of Evansville’s local newspaper, The Evansville Courier. At the bottom of any of their online articles, readers can leave comments for the world to see. There were over three hundred comments discussing the initial earthquake article, and I found several of them to be pretty amusing. Assuming that most people in the world don’t read articles on the Evansville Courier website, I thought I would share some of the comments that gave me a good laugh. Enjoy!

“Earth Fart!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“10 sec.?? Not here. I thought I was experiencing the Excorist only there wasn’t a priest! And I haven’t had any pea soup.”

“Wow, glad I confirmed what that was. I just woke up at 4:30 and was getting in the shower. I thought maybe I just drank too much last night.”

“Got my son up in the basement, I can’t but this did.”

“10 seconds my foot! I’d say it lasted a good 30 seconds. It woke my husband up about 4:37 this morning and of course he likes to share things with me so he yells babe, wake up, we’re having an earthquake!!”

“An earthquake of this magnitude obviously is the result of man-made global warming.”

“Best one in my lifetime I think. Bed was shaking for all the wrong reasons.”

“We are having riots down here on Haynie’s Corner. I am out of food & water and I’m down to 30 rounds of ammo. I heard there was a few killings at Roberts Stadium. Are we gonna get FEMA cards?”

“Why aren’t the bridges being inspected? Why are tall buildings in downtown not being inspected? I heard on the news this morning that the Henderson bridges are fine. How do they know that? This is what 8 years of Bush in the White House has gotten us. Just look at the aftermath of hurricate Katrina. We need Obama in the White House and get rid of these non-caring republicans who want to tell us that everything is fine.”

“The earthquake this morning was NOT Bush’s fault; in fact, the earthquake was in no way political, so go back to sleep!”

“They say that dogs and animals feel these things worse than humans…..I sat straight up in bed….my stupid dog slept through it.”

“My name is SGT_SHLITZ. I am a survivor living in Evansville, Indiana. I am broadcasting on all AM frequencies. I will be at the Yankeetown Boat ramp everyday at mid-day, when the sun is highest in the sky. If you are out there… if anyone is out there… I can provide food, I can provide shelter, I can provide security. If there’s anybody out there… anybody… please. You are not alone.”

“That wasn’t an earthquake, that was Bill Clinton leaving Boonville…”

“That really rocked my world.”

“They last time I felt anything like that I had a vibrating strap around my booty trying to get rid of some fat.”

“I don’t need this. I’m gonna move to L.A.”

“Folks, get used to it. This is just more of God’s wrath, like the storms and flooding, for the way Evansville people are living. If we don’t turn this thing around and start loving each other, stop voting for only those candidates the Democrat party tells you to and do all we can to close down the nudey bars that are ruining our city, we can expect this to be a weekly occurrance.”

“If this was Gods wrath on Evansville why did it start in Illinois.”

“Damn Bush….this is all his “fault”.”

“It was really the shock of people seeing gas prices for the first time this morning”

“Maybe the big one will come and knock down all the eyesore houses around town.”

“These after shocks have wrecked my nerves. Hope it’s safe to be in a car, I think I am going to have to go to the liquor store soon.”

“I’m concerned that all of this may trigger a tsunami on the Ohio River…”

“I wonder if this will loosen my dirt and make it easier to work on a garden.”

“Well…..my sister called me this morning and said, WOW, even the earth shakes for you on your birthday! Happy Birthday!”

“The Earth is not your mother, she is not dying, and she is not mad at us. We didn’t cause this, Bush didn’t cause it, and Clinton/Obama wouldn’t have stopped it from occuring (even though I’m sure one of them will make this claim).”

“If anyone would like to challenge me in map folding…just say when and where…”

“Mother Earth needs to lay off the beans (or get some Beano!)…”

“04/18/2008 … never forget.”

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Filed under Family, Funny, humor, Life, Nature, Politics

Don’t Cry Because It’s Over; Smile Because It Happened

Hey baby,

I can’t believe how hard it has been for me to get up the nerve to write this letter; one would think we’ve been together for years. Just try to keep the big picture in mind when you read what I’m about to say. I mean, it really has only been four and a half months since I first laid eyes on you. Yes, we have spent a lot of time together – don’t think for a minute that I don’t cherish those shared moments, or that I’ll soon forget them. You were always there for me when I needed you. You were always warm, and comforting. Trust me when I tell you that it’s not you – it’s me.

If only I had more space – that’s what I need; more space. I’ve looked at every possible angle to see if there was any way I could somehow keep you in my life, but it just wouldn’t make sense. I don’t want to force something that just isn’t there. Life is funny in that way…we used to fit together like a couple of puzzle pieces, but now it’s seems that we are destined to go our separate ways.

I still remember the first time I laid eyes on you: you were sitting there, looking beautiful (as usual), the light above highlighting your smooth, mocha-colored shape. I knew I had to have you in that very instant. It wasn’t long after that, that I was carrying you into my house; remember that night? Of course you do, it was our first together – the first of many. It was magical. Remember when I fell asleep watching The Three Amigos, and I woke up in the middle of the night, drooling on you? I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t, because you always made me feel so comfortable. I thank you for that.

So how did we end up here? I’m not sure, but it surely saddens me. I was going to say that maybe you should consider seeing other people, but I don’t think would be fair, or completely honest of me. I don’t want to can’t see you any more. You have to move on. But don’t worry, I know you’re going to be OK. You’re beautiful in every way – I’m sure there’s somebody out there for you who can care for you in a way that I cannot.

Love Always,
Luke

I’m going to be moving in a few months, I’m buying a house and moving back to the town I call “home”. This past December, I bought a new sectional sofa; however, due to the measurements of the home I’m going to be moving into, I can’t take said sofa with me – it won’t fit in my new living room. This is a letter to my sofa.

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Filed under Funny, humor, Life, Love, Men, Relationships, Women

(P)Oops, I Did It Again

I’ve done plenty of embarrassing and/or stupid things in my life, especially when I was younger.

OK, mostly when I was younger.

(Who am I kidding?)

Anyway, here is one such story; a story that, twenty-one years later, my brother David will not let me forget. He loves telling people this story. I might as well share it, because chances are good you’ll eventually hear about it from him anyway. Did I mention that he loves reminding me of this story? Everything you are about to read is, of course, true.

the_forest

The year was 1987, and I was living in Baltimore, Maryland with my siblings and my dad. It had been a warm spring, and it just so happened to be the year of the locusts (everyone called them locusts, when in actuality, they were cicadas). The locusts swarmed in and covered everything from trees to telephone poles. If you were outside, you could hear the constant hum of their buzzing. Luckily, they weren’t dangerous; they didn’t bite or sting. The locusts only lived a few days, maybe a week. I remember them being nothing more than a nuisance. Their shells remained attached to everything long after they were dead. When I say that these shells were everywhere, I mean e v e r y w h e r e. The constant buzzing of the locusts had been replaced by the constant crunch-crunch-crunching of their shells under my feet, as I ran through the park that I had spent many an afternoon in, eagerly trying to catch up to the Nerf football that had been thrown ahead of me. There was nothing like a good game of crunch football.

Locust season passed; spring turned to summer. When school let out, I traveled to Evansville, Indiana to spend the time off with my grandparents and one of my uncles. When I returned to Maryland, the fall season was quickly approaching with cooling temperatures and color-changing leaves. It was a perfect time of year to be thirteen, to have a bicycle, and access to that nearby park containing trails through it’s vast surrounding woods. I wasted no time in contacting my friend Stevie who lived down the block, anxious to get outdoors.

Stevie lived on the same side of the street as me, just down the block. His parents were very nice – they had me over for dinner on more than one occasion. His family always had more than we had (they had both VHS and Beta), but they were not-at-all snobby or selfish. They had told my father how impressed they were with me a few different times, mainly because I always addressed them as “sir” and “ma’am,” which surely filled my father with pride.

Stevie was a fun friend to have. He was the guy who was willing to do anything to win your approval and be your friend, and I was the guy willing to make him do stuff just to see if he would do it. Like the time we started a club, and we held our “meetings’ in the basement of his house (which was a playroom). These meetings consisted of video games, wrestling, or most commonly, a starting place for our outdoor adventures throughout the day. When the coast was clear, I confiscated a large empty canning jar from his mother’s kitchen. We then invited the neighborhood boys to join our club, under one condition – they had to pee in the jar and keep it a secret. Stevie’s responsibility as vice president was to keep the pee jar hidden there, in his basement. For two weeks, in the bottom drawer of a dresser at our club’s headquarters sat a big, warm, mason jar containing the urine of five or six little boys. His parents weren’t as impressed with me when his mom found it one morning.

We rode down to the park, and it is exactly what one would imagine upon hearing the word “park”: trees, a playground (monkey bars, merry-go-round, swings – all of the necessities), a sidewalk path throughout, benches for grown-ups so they could watch their little ones play, and pooper-scooper stations for owners whose dogs had decided that the park looked like a giant dog toilet. It was a big park; it could easily accommodate several large groups of people at once. If you ventured towards the middle of the park, there was a downward hill leading to a rather large grass field that saw many a crunch-football game take place. Continuing past this field was the forest, which is what you call any wooded area when you’re thirteen years old. This was my favorite part of the park.

The forest contained several man-made paths for walking and biking. If you wanted to, you could wander off of the beaten path, as this area was not overly dense. I was rather skilled with my Huffy and not-at-all afraid, so of course, Stevie and I had gone exploring several times already. On one of our very first trips, we discovered a creek. On weekends we would build a fort in a secluded area, but I guess our hideaway was never very structurally sound – upon our return, we’d only find a pile of branches, sticks, and twigs, as if some other kids actually discovered our land and knocked it over. Nah… it must have been the wind.

One Saturday morning, Stevie and I decided that we were going to try to venture further into the forest than we ever had before. I loaded up on necessities from the corner store (12 oz. can of Coke and a pack of Rain-Blo bubble gum stuffed into, and sticking out of, my crumpled up tube sock), and headed into the unknown.

We rode for almost two hours, stopping whenever we saw anything interesting. We always stopped at anything that could be a used as a bike ramp. We built another fort, our biggest to date, and it felt like we were so deep into the forest that it would never be found. It had been a very good day so far. Well, up until I was consumed by the overwhelming need to relieve myself.

There are a couple things you need to understand at this point. Number one, I had to go number two. Number two, I wished I only had to go number one. If I only had to go number one, all I would have had to do is stand behind a tree and do what all men have done at some point in their lives. But this was far more complex. I could have made the return trip home to a bathroom, but I knew that such a decision would end our expedition. I wasn’t ready to go home – we were having too much fun. However, I really didn’t want Stevie (or anyone, ever) to see me crapping, and I had nothing with which to wipe.

As quickly as these thoughts came and went, the urge to “drop the kids off at the pool” had rapidly increased. I realized that there was no way I would have been able to make it back home. I wouldn’t last that long, and holding it in was becoming a bit painful. It was “go” time. I jumped off my bike, and made Stevie promise not to look while I simultaneously scanned the area for the spot that would supply the most privacy. There’s no need to go into detail about what happened next. Once relieved, I briefly considered cleaning up with my shirt or my underwear and then just leaving them out there in the forest. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk to sacrifice any article of clothing – I didn’t have a lot of clothes to begin with. If Dad were to find out what I had done, he’d surely beat the shit out of me (pun intended).

Instead, I grabbed the biggest leaf I could find, and did the best I could. Three leaves seemed to do the trick. As I gathered myself, I was suddenly filled with pride. I had conquered nature. I was a man.

I pooped in the forest.

Back at home later that night, I couldn’t help but notice how itchy my backside was becoming. I needed to shower – it’s probably not possible to properly clean yourself in the previous conditions. I went to bed after I showered, but I wasn’t going to get much sleep that night. I tossed and turned, scratched my butt, scratched my hands (why were they itching?), scratched my butt some more… I finally slept.

I woke up still itching and scared to death – I had a rash on both hands, and on two of the fingers on my left hand there were pus-filled bubbles hanging off that were each the size of a dime. To my horror, my backside was also wet for some reason, a reason that was quickly becoming quite obvious. I ran to the bathroom. Now, have you ever had to bend over slightly and look behind yourself into a mirror at yourself? I don’t ever, ever recommend it, even under normal conditions. I discourage it even more if you had just previously used poison oak leaves as toilet paper.

I showed, and told, my father what happened to me. He was trying to yell at me to stop scratching through his laughter. I’m pretty sure this was not one of those moments that my behavior filled him with pride, and I’m still not sure which was the most embarrassing: being dumb enough to wipe my behind with poison oak leaves? Or, to be bent over the edge of the bed, pants pulled down, having calamine lotion applied to the affected area by my father? You decide.

A couple of interesting notes:
•Super Target sells travel-sized Charmin
•If you want to miss a week of school, try poison oak. It worked for me.
•I didn’t use my underwear to “clean up” because I didn’t want to destroy an article of clothing. In the following week of my recovery, I ruined eight pair.
•My brother David, to this day, routinely refers to me as “poison oak boy.” A couple of years ago, for my birthday, he drew me this cartoon. It’s hanging on my fridge.

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Filed under Family, Friends, Funny, humor, Life, Nature

I’ll Try the Steak; Hold the Small Talk

I realize that the ability to conduct small talk is a social skill. I wonder… what do they call “the inability to enjoy” it? Inhuman? Could it be a genetic trait? (I can picture my grandpa coming up with witty retorts (read: the straightforward kind of witty (OK enough with the parentheses)) that left many a person speechless.) Whatever it is, I have it.

Now, don’t get me wrong – almost every job I’ve ever held has required my friendly interaction with complete strangers. I would say that I am “above average” in the small talk department. It’s not pointless conversation as a whole that annoys me, it’s the apparently-inbred, forced, robotic, nonsensical vocabulary of one vocation in particular: waiters/waitresses.

Before any of you slam me for making fun of pointing out a few server idiosyncrasies, know that I worked in this industry for several years. I’ve been a busboy, a waiter, a server trainer, and even a manager – it’s very possible that I taught you how to do your job. Keeping that in mind, here are a few rules to follow that will ensure the continuation of a long-standing tradition in the restaurant industry: annoying small talk[1]. I may or may not be guilty of some of the things you are about to read.

♦ Rule #1: Make sure that, when you come to my table, you tell me that you’re going to be taking care of me today (more on the word today later). I, as a stranger in your building, am probably very nervous. It’s comforting to know that if anything happens, you’re going to be there for me no matter what. What a relief! I can finally relax and eat, which is what I was hoping for.

♦ Rule #2: It’s important that you are honest with me from the moment I take a seat in your section; make sure that I understand our relationship will be over almost as quickly as it’s about to begin. Leading me on could cost you money. You can impress this upon me by simply using the word today, over and over. Examples: From Rule #1 – “I’ll be taking care of you today.” “How are you doing today?” “Can I start you off with something to drink today?” This will make it clear to me that you don’t really care if I’m going to be hungry or thirsty tomorrow. The time is now and I need to enjoy this moment while it lasts. By doing this, you are not only going to quiet my growling stomach, but you’re also teaching me one of life’s lessons. That should be worth an extra dollar at the very least.

♦ Rule #3: Also known as, “The For-Ya Rule of Five.” Confused? It’s simple. Try to end as many questions as possible with the prepositional phrase for ya[2]. Examples: “What can I get for ya?” “Can I get that out of your way for ya?” “Can I get anything else for ya?” “Can I rub your back for ya?[3]” This lets me know that you are paying extra attention to my needs, and tells anyone else within an earshot of your voice that you are not talking to them.

♦ Rule #4: Any question that you don’t end with the words for ya (which must be done at least five times, hence the name of Rule #3) or today must be completed with the word or, but make sure you don’t offer the second choice that or so obviously indicates. This will leave me momentarily confused and forever-wondering what the other choice might have been. It’s also very important that your voice trails off into oblivion. Following this rule will make you seem secretive and mysterious, and will surely make me want to leave you extra tip money in the hopes that you might open up to me. Examples: “Would you like some more to drink, or…?” “Does everything taste OK, or…?” “Do you need a box, or…?” I still wonder what the other container-choices are for taking home leftovers.

♦ Rule #5: There is one way, and one way only, to ask me if I will be ordering dessert: “Did you save room for dessert?” (It’s optional, but not necessary, to incorporate Rule #3 into this Rule.) Asking me for dessert in this way shows me what an incredible sense of humor you have. You watched me stuff myself silly in true American fashion for forty-five minutes, and only afterwards did you let me know that I could have had something else, something sweet and delicious, had I monitored my intake a bit more carefully. My answer, of course, will be “No,” causing you no extra work whatsoever. What it will do, however, is cause us to share a laugh and smile. I will feel closer to you than ever at this point – how can I not be even more generous with my gratuity?!

♦ Rule #6: If your server is extremely hot, all other rules are thrown out the window. Her small talk is never annoying, no matter how stupid or robotic or forced. It’s cute and endearing, and she probably wants you. She now has permission to speak in Pig Latin if she so chooses[4].

Footnotes

[1]Including, but not limited to: bad grammar, bad jokes, bad breath, or just plain stupidity.

[2]Using “ya” in place of “you” shows that you are very casual, laid-back, and chill. It makes me feel like we are friends.

[3]This one hasn’t actually happened yet, but one can only dream.

[4]Ouyay obablypray illstay on’tway etgay ay ackrubbay.

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Filed under Food, Funny, humor, Language, Life, Restaurants