Halx

This is the TFP storytelling initiative. I know you've got at least one amusing story to tell. Please tell it!

The other day, I was on the subway and minding my business. I looked up and... I swore it was Natalie Portman. Now, if anyone knows me, they know that I think Natalie is way hot. Naturally, I stare. The dude who she was with pointed at me and she looked over. I nonchalantly looked away.

Now, I wasn't 100% sure anymore, but she looked so similar. She was bubbly, expressive, and she had the same lips, teeth and jaw as Natalie. I couldn't tell much else because she had a baseball cap on. I would, too if I were a celebrity of her popularity riding on the subway. I spent the entire ride glancing t her and then looking away, trying to figure it out.

When she got off the train at 168th, I convinced myself that it wasn't really her. Then again, what would I have done if it was her? Probably the same thing I had been doing.

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[Don't Feed The Animals]

CptAJ

So check this out. Last week I got one of those annoying chain-letter emails. This one came with a twist though, it was actually a parody of chain letters. It made the same wild predictions of happiness in a joking manner. It was kinda clever and I got a few laughs. At the end it had one of those obligation clauses. It said that if I didn't send it to 50 people in the next 30 seconds I would have a pigeon poop on my head the next day.

Funny stuff but, keeping with tradition, I erased it immediately and didn't foward it to anyone.

Then the next morning comes along. I'm walking out the door, heading for my car and BAM! Smack down in the middle of my brand new shirt's shoulder. A big, black & white pile of bird poop.

I stood there, eyes wide open, staring at my shoulder. A few cars passed by and they must've wondered if I was crazy, standing there covered in poop. But I just couldn't believe what had just happened. I had never been pooped on by a bird in my life before, I wasn't near any trees. But it happened, and it happened the morning after I received the letter. I went back inside and simultaneously changed my shirt and my entire outlook on the universe and the laws of causality.











Now its time for revenge. If you read my post, you have to send this story to everyone on your contact list or a bird will poop on your shoulder as well!
Hahah! Just kidding (or am I?). True story though.

__________________
"Knowledge comes by eyes always open and working hands, and there is no knowledge that is not power." Jeremy Taylor

analog

Today- just now in fact- I was driving home and an old man (likely in his mid-to-late 80's) started to change lanes into MY lane while I was still in it. I mean, his front bumper was even with mine. All it would have taken was a quick sideways glance, and he'd have been looking right at me.

So all of a sudden I notice that he's getting a little close, so I move over a little, figuring he's drifting. Nope. He's coming right at me. I have to wrench my car as far over as I can without going off the road while I quickly brake, all the while laying into my car's horn. Does the horn dissuade him or even make him look over? Nope. But oh, he can hear it- because as soon as he was finally done with his drift into my lane, and the horn was still going, he waved at me like "Yeah, yeah, i hear ya!"

To top it off, he pulls into where he lives just a bit up the road, right in the same retirement complex my grandmother lives in. Fuck.

The guy is obviously a danger to himself and, more importantly, to others on the road. I watched him the whole time. He didn't once move his head to look over, and didn't even slow down when i layed into my horn.

So, I'm calling DCF (department of children and families) to report him as incompetent to drive. I have no idea what their capabilities are, but the police couldn't help me (I called them first). The policewoman I spoke with told me to call them, because until he actually maims or kills someone (my words, not hers), the police can't do anything to him. She did say, however, that DCF can go interview him and see what's what, including checking his mental acuity to operate a vehicle.

So, we'll see what comes of it.

The moral of the story is, I could be severely injured (we were doing 50mph and I was on the outside lane, who knows what I would have plowed into) or worse, and had damage done to my vehicle. That can't be allowed to go unnoticed.

psycada

I provide Help Desk support for some 500 people. Although it is not the best IT job, it is a start and provides me with some experience when I move to the next job. As anyone who has done Helpdesk before knows, there is always something interesting stories that come with it. Well, today was just new to me. I got to witness someone almost die while I was training her.

She just got authorized for a new device, and I was tasked to train her. Now, had I gotten to her yesterday when our original appointment was, I would have completely avoided this situation and would not have been there to help her, nor would anyone else. She is in an office by herself, and rarely has other people in there.

Well, what happened was, right after installing the device software on her pc, I grabbed tutorial docs and was about to train her on the device. At that point she said to me that she needed to sit down (now seeing the ergonomic supports in her chair, I imagined she was in pain and needed to get off of her feet.) As she started to say she needed to sit, I started to move over for her so she could, but as she said the word "down" in the sentence, she went down herself. And this was not a soft landing, on the way down she smashed her face on the corner of her desk. This was not a soft hit, the thud of her face hitting the desk was loud enough to be heard by other offices nearby, and the thud of her hitting the floor was even louder. At that point I yelled for help. (this is the part that shows I work with Civil Service Employees.) The first time I called for help, no one moved, I yelled a second time, still nothing. It wasn't until I found every ounce of vocal power I had and yelled a third time that the ENTIRE floor came into this tiny office.
By the time I got help, the lady was coming to, so another lady and I helped her to her feet and sat her back in her chair. At that time I saw that the right side of her face was completely blackened. Very disturbing to see.
Fortunately, it turned out that the lady took pain meds that morn and wasn't used to them. From what I heard, she was able to stay alert and was brought home shortly later. Thankfully.
That was my freaky start to my Friday.

Ah yes, the moral of the story: Never ask a state employee for help. You may be dead by the time they get off their asses to do anything for anyone.

Good thing I was there.

PS, I don't work for the state, just hired by them.

Mr_E

The year was 1992, or was it 1993?
Hawaii. I was stationed in Pearl Harbor at the time.
The setting : "the Jazz Cellar", a heavy metal bar in downtown Waikiki.

Me and my sidekick Brad are hanging out there listening to the local cover band.
They're not too bad, and this place stayed open past 2AM, so we'd usually wind up here eventually.

We have a table right up front, the music is blasting, and I'm on bourbon and Coke number 12 or so.

Me and B are rockin' to their cover of Ozzy's "Flying High Again", counting on another slow night, when out of nowhere an extremely attractive young lady plunks down at our table.

She looks about 23 or so, with a slender build, and long, straight, black hair.
She was freaking hot, and the raised eyebrow "Mr. Spock" look Brad gives me tells me he's thinking the same thing.

She yells at me over the noise asking if it's cool if she parks here.
Why, of course it's cool with us! Feel free.

So there's no further communication for an hour or so. She just seems to be enjoying the music and her big fruity "I'm vacationing in Hawaii" drink.
I'm enjoying both the music and the eye candy.

Then, it happened..

It was one of those events you have in your life that you just know you'll remember until the day you die... and you know you'll probably write about someday just because you think it was so damned cool at the time.

Like on someone's website. Hmph..

(We'll, this was before the internet was even accessible to the general public, but here we are.. go figure)

She looks at me, looks at B, and over the noise shouts "SO IS IT WRONG TO WANNA HAVE SEX WITH TWO GUYS AT ONCE, OR WHAT? I MEAN, WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL ANYWAYS? I'M ON FREAKIN' VACATION, RIGHT?"

If you're a guy, this is right up there on that list of things to do before you die.
(Granted, we actually would prefer the male/female ratio to be reversed, but ya takes what ya gets..)

Me and Brad are both staring with the "Did I just hear that correctly?" look.

"Beg pardon?"

"I'M ASKING IF YOU GUYS LIVE AROUND HERE, HAVE A ROOM, OR WHAT?"
.. this is now between songs, so the yelling makes me assume she may be just a bit loaded, but at that stage in my life, the morality of the situation escaped me.

"Yeah, we have a room close by here.", Brad lies.

I start digging through my wallet in a panic, hoping in have enough cash to run out and GET this supposed room we have as soon as we're sure this is really going to happen (we actually both lived onboard our ship).

About 15 minutes later, after more small toal, she excuses herself to the ladies room, stating she'll be right back.

We're convinced we're "in" and start setting ground rules, in typical male homophobic fashion :

"No gazin' or eye contact, if you can avoid it. That would be gay."

"Pick an end and we'll decide it we trade later, OK?"

"Make sure you absolutely, positively, don't come into physical contact with the other guy's junk, got it?"

"This is gonna rock!", etc...

... 15 mins later... she's not back.

We panic.

"Man, she bailed on us! That's F-ked up!"

No - I'd been watching the ladies room door, she hadn't come out yet.

A few minutes later, our hormones get the better of us.
After asking a few ladies if they've seen someone matching her description in there, with no luck, I go for it.

When it looks like it may be empty, I poke my head through the ladies room door, hoping not to get the s--- slapped outta me.

And there she is. Passed out cold on the floor, face down, snoring loudly.

Apparently, she was more hammered than even I suspected.
The sinking feeling set in immediately.
For a split second, the little devil on my shoulder poofed in "wake her up and do her anyways..."
Fortunately the angel pops up on the other shoulder and reminds me how f-ed up that whole idea is.

Dejected, I go tell Brad our hopes of being in our own little porn fantasy have almost literally been flushed down the toilet...

As I'm not a complete jerk, I did ask another lady to go in there and take care of getting her a cab back to wherever she was staying. I gave her a few bucks to cover it.

That incident became our little running joke about the "Dear, Penthouse" story that almost came to be.

*many more adventures the come...

Halx

I'm liking this. Every post is quality. Keep it coming!

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-The Administrator
[Don't Feed The Animals]

ironpham

Here's an interesting little story my friend told me about his trip to New York.

He was walking down a street and he sees Bill Murray crossing the street coming his way. In front of Bill was a younger girl who was walking kind of fast, almost as if she was trying to kind of get away from Bill. When Bill crosses, my friend goes up to him and says, "Bill Murray! I'm a big fan of your work!" Bill turns around and shakes his hand and says his thanks as fast as he can and turns around and jets after the girl again.

I don't know...maybe not that interesting, but I found it a little humorous.

roachboy

my ex-wife and i were still awake and still drinking and it was 5:30 am. we were still awake and still drinking at 5:30 am at some terribly white cafe near chatelet in paris. somewhere along the way we had acquired a couple of drinking compatriots. they were two, i dont really remember much else. i think we had lurched from place to place in their company for some hours.

there is drinking until 5:30 am and then there is realizing that you have been drinking until 5:30 am. these are quite different ways of interacting with the same moment: the passage from not having a prelude to the coming hangover to having a prelude of the coming hangover can be quick, and the threshold that distinguishes them passed before you realize that something is changing. one marker of having-passed is the dissolving of any sense of momentum behind the drinking trajectory, replaced by another momentum and another trajectory, the one that directs you home.

pleasantries. need to go home, yes yes all are agreed and so we leave and go into the metro.

chatelet is a busy stop, one of the central intersections of the whole metro system. we four directed ourselves toward the train. it was crowded, which was strange given the hour, i thought. we four directed toward the train which was at the platform. the horn had sounded: it was about to pull away. i was a little in front of the 3 of them and got on the train first. i looked back and saw the two men leading m away. i saw m going with them. the doors had closed. i was looking back onto the platform. the train was pulling away.



i got off the train at the next stop. i do not know why, but it seemed reasonable. i stood there until the next train came and waited but they were not on board. i took the next train in the opposite direction and went back to chatelet. they were gone.

m had recurrent phases of agrophobia. they came, they went; sometimes with an obvious cause, sometimes not. she had come to france with me but would not learn french. when i was out doing stuff, she stayed at home. when i came back, we would go out exploring. i was the safe person. i was the translator. i was the buffer between her and the world.

now she was gone.
she did not speak french.
neither of our two drinking compatriots really spoke english. it was strange that they were able to redirect her so easily. everything was strange.

this is when the panic began. i remember that while i was standing on the platform at chatelet all choices seemed equally weightless. the station is an extensive network of tunnels and train platforms. there are multiple ways in and out and multiple directions that one could go once on the surface. i remember thinking that any move i made would be arbitrary.

so i went home. the thinking was that we had no way of communicating (no cellphones) and that going home at least would give m some way of contacting me.


we were living in neuilly-sur-seine. once back, i remember walking around and around the outside pattern of the fake persian carpet in the livingroom of the cube we had rented. i remember counting my steps. i remember calling a couple friends i do not know why. i wanted to talk. i could not formulate my thoughts otherwise. i could only count my steps as i walked around and around the outer edge of the carpet.


about 2 hours later she called.
she was in the east of the city, at someone's apartment. there were kids' voices in the background. there was a family, apparently friends of the remaining drinking compatriot. he had been expected. there had been rum offered and rum refused. it was unclear what was happening. i thought that he must have been taken by surprise by the fact that m moved away from the train when they did, had had no plan, and had not yet decided what it was that he was doing. so he went to breakfast as scheduled, and brought m with him.
i tried to get her to find out where she was.
for some reason, the limited english of the compatriot had now collapsed entirely.
none of the others spoke english it seemed.
so she was able to give only a vague idea. somewhere in the 11th.
then the line went dead.


time passed very slowly.


she called again a couple hours later. he had been taking her from place to place, walking his indecisiveness. one place was a church in the 19th, which meant that they had moved north. she described an odd encounter between the compatriot and a priest. they seemed to know each other. the priest was not happy to see him.
but they were no longer in the 19th: they had moved again.
she said that she was ok but wanted to come home.
the guy kept telling her that that he would take her to the metro. but something always came up: another destination, another errand.
it was not clear what was going on.
i kept trying to get her to tell me where she was so that i could come out to get her. but she never knew where she was.
it is a blur, she said.



later she told me what happened next. he lead her to a building and somehow persuaded her to go into the basement. she had expected to go to another apartment, maybe to meet another family of friends. but instead, she was in an empty room with no floor. debris scattered around. she said that she saw a beat up wooden chair across the room from her.

he grabbed her. he tore her sweater in the ensuing struggle.

he let go and went across the room to get the chair.
she saw a piece of metal on the floor and picked it up.
he came back toward her carrying the chair and a length of rope.
she didnt know where it came from.
he made a move toward her again.
she slashed him across the face with the piece of metal and ran.

convinced that he was pursuing her, she ran as fast as she could down a series of streets she did not know.
eventually she found a metro stop.


m had recurrent phases of agrophobia.
they came, they went.
sometimes with an obvious cause, sometimes not.

__________________
a gramophone its corrugated trumpet silver handle
spinning dog. such faithfulness it hear

it make you sick.

-kamau brathwaite

jth

A drinking story from me, one of my favorites.

It was probably 4 summers ago, I had just graduated with my Undergraduate degree and was getting ready to move to the city to start a career as a musician/music teacher. My last two good friends back in my home town decided we were going to get hammered one night, one of them works in the Oil industry and had just gotten off a tour and had money burning holes in his pocket and subsequently bought (what we call in Nova Scotia) a Texas Mickey, which is basically 3L of Rye. We named it "Wee Lad" and took it to one of my friend's apartment, went to the store to pick up many bottles of mic, snacks and bottled water for the morning (if there was one). I had no intention of spending the whole night.

We commenced drinking about around 8pm and went hard at it for many hours. We drank over half the damn thing between the 3 of us. During the course of the evening there were many strange drunken (very drunken things) that happened and they all took place in order.

First, we were on the back porch staring in the gravel private lot where the owner of this house turned into cheap apartments had a beat up broken car that he left there for when he came to town so he had a ride. The damn thing had 3 flats and was probably 20yrs old. He lived in BC and came only once a year just to make sure everything was border line legal. We hated that bastard so my friend Donnie exclaimed

"Fuck I gotta piss"

naturally I said "Go piss!" the other friend, Erick said "Fuck dude, piss on his car!"

He proceeded not only to piss on his car, but piss in his gas tank. At this point we knew the defilement was going to get out of hand. We all pissed on his car, the hood, the windows, everywhere. Then The subject, an hour later turned to Women. Me and erick had a drunken heart to heart about why we were single while Donnie went to take a number 2. When he came out the conversation got abit more explicit, Donnie exclaimed he hadn't gotten any in months and he was desperate to "bust a fucking nut" I said, fuck it dude, if you gotta do it then do it.

He proceeded to jerk off onto previously mentioned automobile much to our shock and drunken cheers.

Then came the hunger part. We devoured 3 big bags of chips, then we continued to drink. A bunch of people started to show up, I don't remember who.

Then at around 2:30 in the morning I decided it was time to go. I was hammered, probably in the top 3 drunkest things ever I partook in decided walking home was easy. So I managed to get down the stairs and not kill myself, I was golden. I started to walk home thinking I was just fine no problem until the Cops rolled up on me flashing the blues.

Apparently I was all over the damn place on the sidewalk. The Bars were just getting out so they thought I was probably so loaded I got kicked out of one and was heading to the next. The officer rolled the window down and this conversation took place

Officer: "Son, where are you going?"
Me: "... I'm going home" I stated, probalby slured
Officer: "Alright, and where is Home?"
Me: trying to remember my address, which didn't happen, I looked down the road, I knew I was 1/2 way there, near the turn to my street "That way!" i pointed with confidence.
Officer: (laughing) "That way?" he said looked to his partner "Do you think you can get there alright?"
Me: looking at him as if insulted "I got this far didn't I!"
Officer cracks up laughing and just drives off

I made it somehow, I don't remember going into my bed but I woke up the next day with only a slight hang over. Apparently Donnie and Erick went up to the 24/hr store nd tried to buy a pizza and failed miserably

good times

__________________
"A real leader faces the music, even if he doesn't like the tune." - unknown quote

CptAJ

Woah! That is quite fucked up, my friend. Not to sound like an asshole but that'll teach her not to mindlessly follow strangers around. She should've been more confident and independent. But I guess its not her fault. You never know how you'll react in weird situations like that.

I wonder how many of these "european psycho preying on tourists" stories there are out there. Makes you wonder about movies like hostel...

__________________
"Knowledge comes by eyes always open and working hands, and there is no knowledge that is not power." Jeremy Taylor

MrFriendly

This is something I posted in another forum that I frequent a lot. It's a story about the kind of shenanigans I used to get up to in younger days, and the often bad yet amusing influence my brother had over me.

It was about 1am, and we walked passed an open Micky D's, strangely though, there was no one in it, not even staff members. So us being us, we nabbed one of the Ronald McDonald manikins that sits on the park bench with his arm out.

So my bro and I are walking down the street with this thing, figuring out what we should do with it. As we're concocting ideas, we see this dude running for dear life across an intersection that was up ahead. We were a bit WTF? but then we see a cop car speed along, slam the anchors, get out, and start chasing this dude down.

The cop car, it would seem, was left empty, with the engine running, and drivers sider door open. We now knew our mission, we now knew why we stole this damn manikin in the first place.

In unison, and without a word uttered, we moved with great pace towards the cop car. Time, was going to be of the essence. In one swift, orchestrated move, we opened the passenger side door, put Ronald in the seat, did up his seat belt, closed the door, and fled to a near by bush to view our handy work.

Ronald is shaped such that he's sitting down quite comfortably in the car seat, and his arm is holding the head rest of the drivers seat. It really was just all too perfect.

We wait patiently. The cop comes bolting back to the car, dives in, and drives off. We felt jipped that we wouldn't get to see his reaction. But we ran onto the road just encase. Sure enough, the cop got about 50 meters before he slammed the breaks and rolled out of the car yelling into the car with screams of "WHAT THE FUCK!". When the initial shock wore off, the cop suddenly realised what was going on.

Needles to say, both my bro and I almost passed out from laughter.

Aaaaaaaah good times, good times.

__________________
You are not a slave

Grasshopper Green

That's hilarious, MrFriendly.

My husband and I went to see The Passion of the Christ a couple of weeks after it came out. We went right after I got off of work, so I hadn't eaten in awhile and was pretty hungry...it's not really a popcorn flick, but I got some anyway. We sat down in the mostly empty theater; we were the only ones in there that were younger than 60. No one else had popcorn; they all had sweaters and serious looks on their faces.

About 15 minutes into the film, there is a very quiet part with a snake slithering past; Jesus then stamps on the snake and it is pretty damn loud. It startled me and my popcorn bag and I jumped several inches out of my seat. Popcorn went flying. It was all over me and in my hair, all over the seat next to me (thankfully unoccupied), and all over my husband.

We giggled for the next five minutes. Uncontrollably. During a very serious, very unfunny movie. I doubt all of the older folks found it amusing and were probably aghast that we were laughing during a movie about Jesus. It was definitely the best 5 minutes of the movie.

__________________
"They say that patriotism is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings; steal a little and they throw you in jail, steal a lot and they make you king"

Formerly Medusa

Astrocloud

I'm not sure if this is amusing or not.

When I was fourteen, my mother went into the hospital for a weekend. It was for a test. You see she had cancer and it wasn't sure what was going on with her. At least that is how she explained it. My mother had been dieing for years and this was just more trauma for me

She met this nice couple at church that were going to put me and my sister up for the weekend. It was a really nice weekend. They had a dog and I always wanted a dog. I remember some of their friends from the church came over and we played croquet.

Sunday night was one of those weird nights where you don't sleep... The sheets were cold in the air conditioned room. The bed was stiff. It was late September and the Arizona summer was just coming to an end.

The next day the church guy drove me to school. They were out of the district and he had to get up earlier than normal. Homeroom was normal; uninteresting. My first class was history and I had a cool teacher. There was a girl in the class that I liked named Michelle. She seemed completely oblivious while we watched a filmstrip. (I don't know if they still have filmstrips, they seem so completely obsolete now).

We were halfway through the filmstrip when there was a knock on the door. Mr. Willis(? - I honestly don't remember his name) -answered the door. He stoped the filmstrip and turned on the light. The school counselor came into the door frame. She was a midgetlike with short blond hair and had huge glasses.

"Is Eric here?" She said.

"It's happening," I thought.

"Bring your things. We need to see you." She had a southern drawl. I didn't like the look in her eyes.

I knew what was going on. I wondered what the other kids in the class thought. I wondered what the teacher thought. I wondered what the pretty girl thought. I looked around. They were bored -uninterested. I quickly loaded my books into my backpack and went out the door.

Outside waiting was this extremely cheesy psychologist named Marc Rhode. I say this with objectivity -at the time he was there for me. Marc was overweight balding with brown hair. He had his arms open.

He spoke plainly. "Doctor's say your Mom is going to die. She isn't going to make it."

I gave the fat guy a hug. It's what kids in his program were trained to do. It was always weird for me but I did it anyway. I didn't want to make a stand so what choice did I have?

I got in his Porsche and we drove to the hospital. As we were driving past the school's green fields -a popular song went into my head. It was the Police's "King of Pain". The album just came out and that song stuck out. It was trivial but I thought that the song was inappropriate in my head. My mom was fuckin dying.

We drove past many saguaro cactus and the suburban houses. We went to a big square building where I had my appendix removed. When we got to the floor Marc stopped somewhere.

My older sister was there before I was. We were somewhere in the hallway in front of the swinging room door. I don't remember her exact words but she tried to stop me from going into mom's room. At 17, she still had auburn hair and freckles. But there was nothing that my older sister could say to stop me from seeing my mom.

I pushed through the swinging door. There were three nurses in the room. Mom was thrashing about on the hospital bed -in extreme pain. She was completely naked. She had a thin sheet that she was systematically clinging to and then throwing off. One of the nurses would pick up the sheet and put it back on her -as if to cover her nakedness. Mom would grab it again twist it, writhe in pain and cast it off. Her eyes were open and shut.

"Why is she doing that?"

I'm not sure who I asked or who answered me. The jist was that my mother was going through hot and cold flashes where she would feel extremely hot and extremely cold. No-one could do anything, especially me.

[b]"She is in pain... Why don't you give her more pain medicine?"

If they gave her anymore pain medicine -she would die of an overdose.

At some point out of helplessness, I grabbed mom's hand.

"Mom, where I am staying now, they have a dog and you know how I've always wanted a dog. I love you mom and you know that Me and Valerie will be fine."

She pulled away while thrashing.

"They have a big house and we played croquet and I think that everything is going to work out really good for Valerie and me. I would do anything for you to be better again. Mom I love you, just get better."

That was the last time I saw her. My mom died on September 21, 1984.
"

fresnelly

One subdued February morning, I went for a walk in Toronto's High Park. I was deep into the winter-bare forest in the middle of the Park when I heard what sounded like a Cello tuning up; two clear notes pulled long and carefully, echoing through the trees.

There's an outdoor stage nearby so I figured that despite the time of year, there must be some sort of concert getting ready. I turned around to find my way over there but realized that the sound wasn't coming from the direction of the stage at all, but even deeper into the forest.

Intrigued, I followed the sound as best I could, occasionally having to stop and listen to regain my bearings. I was completely alone and aside from a few dog walkers, the entire park seemed empty. It was getting louder and I knew I was getting closer but still there was no one around. Where was the audience? What kind of Cello player would take his fragile instrument and hands out on a cold grey day in the waning days of winter to play alone in a forest?

As I got closer, I began finding it hard to pinpoint the sound's whereabouts. I eventually had to turn off the path, step over logs and through brush to follow it. Soon it seemed as if the sound was coming from everywhere and nowhere, all around me.

I was all by myself in a clear stand of oak trees, listening to those two strong and clear notes, pulled slowly and deliberately, over and over again; no Cello player to be found. I looked left, right, around, and then finally - up.

There, resting in the crook of a muscular tree branch, was a broken, slender branch reaching over to the next tree. As those two trees swayed back and forth slowly in the wind, the fallen branch was drawn across the other tree like a bow on a string.

I sat down, put my hand behind me in the cold, dry carpet of leaves and remained to listen.

__________________
Building an artificial intelligence that appreciates Mozart is easy. Building an A.I. that appreciates a theme restaurant is the real challenge - Kit Roebuck - Nine Planets Without Intelligent Life

Daoust

Astrocloud, very intense, and very heartbreaking story. Your vivid memory is a detailed brush stroke on a dismal, grey painting... Thanks for sharing.

__________________
I have faith in a few things - divinity and grace
But even when I'm on my knees I know the devil preys

Impetuous1

I tend to walk fast. Oftentimes, I'll outpace my boyfriend and end up walking ahead of him with him lagging behind.

We were at the grocery store and were heading to the produce isle. As usual I was way ahead of him. This old man stops and stares at me. Then he stops me and says, "There's someone following you". At first I'm flabbergasted, because I didn't know I was being followed. Then I turn around and realize he's talking about my boyfriend. Turning back to the old with a smile on my face, I say "I know". I think he got a little embarassed after that.

analog

Impetuous1, I had a girlfriend who walked very quickly as well. Now, I can walk quickly, and I will if I need to be fast... but that is often not the case, so I just walk leisurely. I'm a very laid-back person in general. She, on the other hand, took every walking step like she was in a speed-walking race. Because of this, I was constantly lagging behind her (we thought it was amusing, so it almost became a joke in itself). Like in the grocery store or a department store, she'd speed-walk to one place, I'd catch up and she'd be looking at things, then she'd speed-walk to another nearby area, and I'd saunter over in her direction... this constant pace of having to reunite us whenever she took off drove me to one of the most fun and exciting practices I've done with a girlfriend- the "just met" game.

For those who haven't done it, it goes like this: you walk up to your already-S.O. and try to pick them up like you've just met. "Hey... those are some nice shoes. You have good taste. I'm analog." or "Miracle Whip, huh? I also enjoy the tangy zip of Miracle Whip over any old mayonnaise... hi, i'm analog, nice to meet you. "

Several funny things can happen from there:

1. She plays along nicely, you lay down your cheesiest lines and they floor her- you quickly end up kissing and groping her.
2. She plays along, but pretends she's annoyed by you, you're not her type, etc.
3. She doesn't play along, which is just funny for you. lol

The absolute funniest combination, though, is if she plays along nicely, and another person (or people) are right there within earshot, hearing you lay down the weakest, most pathetic game they've ever heard, and she appears to be eating it up. Then, they see you make out after having "just met".

One time, we were right near this probably 20 year old guy, and I was intentionally putting out the absolute worst pick-up lines and cheesy talk I could muster, and she was loving it to the point that she lunged at me and started kissing me, feeling me all over with her hands- and I swear to God, I hear the kid whisper to himself, "what the fuck?" as in, "how the HELL did that work?" I would love to know if he tried it for himself.

One of the funniest things to do to occupy my time while we went out shopping.

djtestudo

When I was still at my previous college, I was in my dorm room one Saturday night with one of my roommates and a couple people we knew. They were drinking (all under 21), but I was not (I didn't drink then).

It was sometime after midnight when the group left the room. They were a little loud in the hall, and a passing RA asked us to keep it down. After walking the others out, my roommate came back in.

Now, this is a basic dorm room: big rectangle, with the beds along one wall and the other furniture along the other, so the middle was as open as possible.

So, my roommate sits on a box that was being used as a chair that evening, next to the box that had been their table, with the empty shot glasses, salt shaker and lime peels. Where he is sitting is important later. He is completely and obviously wasted.

So, a couple minutes later, there is a knock on our door. When I open it, there is a female police officer standing there, having been called by the RA.

She glances into my room, and asks me, "There has been a report of drinking on this floor. Do you know anything about it?"

So I turn to my roommate and ask, "Duke, any drinking in here tonight?"

He looks up with a smile, as sober as he could possibly look (especially after several shots of tequila and Lord knows what else), and says, "Nope, no drinking in here."

I turn back to the officer, who by the look on her face believes we are both full of shit, but because of where my roommate was sitting, he is blocking any evidence from view. So, she turns and walks away.

Hell of a night, and part of why I remained sober in college

__________________
"Final thought: I just rented Michael Moore's Bowling for Columbine. Frankly, it was the worst sports movie I've ever seen."
--Peter Schmuck, The (Baltimore) Sun

foolfoolz

I was just at Safeway at 1:15 AM (wanted a sandwhich, no bread, i went for the car)

I was looking for a cashier with a person there, and so were some other guys. One guy was confused that some lights were on at the register saying it was open, but no one worked there, so he said to a safeway worker in the aisle, "Is anyone working here?"

the guy working in the aisle is big. He's huge. Atleast 300 lbs, no hair above his eyebrows, and pretty much covered in tattoos. To most people, he'd probably look a little intimidating. He replied back, "You see at this time of night theres no one working the registers here. You just put your stuff on the thing and we will come to you. Yes we can see you from five feet away waiting. We are open, can you read"

The guy tried to say something like "im sorry" or an apology, but the employee kept ranting, louder to almost a yell "ANd you see this light here. its on. I'm open. Read it here, it says open. Now if you can understand that, just put your stuff on the belt."

This left the 2 guys in front of me pretty quiet, i didnt say anthing behind them, but one of them that wasnt talking earlier yells back "you know, just wait. It's my responsibility too, im at fault here as well, i also waited in line here. Not just him its also my cart. We're together here." At this point it looked as if a fight was going to break out in safeway. These 2 middle age guys were just staring down the safeway guy, who was huge.

So then after that, they paid (separately, with regular cashier/customer conversation), then as the 2nd guy left he says to the guy working there "Keep up the bad Work".

The guy says to me after they leave "fucking drunks."

my response was completely out of character for me since i was so tired i could have fallen asleep standing up and said "they dont know anything about working weekends" and walked out. Safeway gets wierd late at night.

Brewmaniac

I've posted this somewhere here before but, I'll share again.

When I was 18 my brother lived in Paris, he worked in wine shop and to earn my keep and some spending money he put me to work.
One day he gave me a stack of customer orders told me to go into caves(sp) where they store wines, etc. and load the van. So I did it was packed, I said finally it's done, he handed me a map of Paris and said now go deliver it. I knew my brother and saying I can't was not an option.
The funny thing was I had never driven there and didn't speak any French. I was in WAY over my head but muddled though hauling cases of wine, water, juice etc. up flights of stairs with a little two wheel dolly.

So near the end that evening I made my way up what seemed like ten floors and this sweet little old lady gave me too much money and we went round and round neither making sense of the situation so she calls the shop says something rather animated and hands me the phone and one of the English blokes(sp) behind the counter said she's trying to give you a tip you dumb ass!

__________________
"That's a joke... I say, that's a joke, son"

warrrreagl

While supervising a student teacher 10 years ago, she gave me a copy of a lesson plan I was to observe her teach and I saw nothing wrong with it on paper. She was planning to teach the little third-graders how to sing a Christmas song in German, and then have eight of them stand in a row/line in front of the class with their arms outstretched and representing the keys of a piano. Then, another child would stand in front of them and try to touch their outstretched arms as if he/she were playing the piano to match the melody of the German song they were all singing. Sounds great on paper, right?

This all happened in Marshalltown, Iowa, and here's what it really looked like:
Eight little blond, blue-eyed Aryan children standing shoulder-to-shoulder at attention singing lustily in German with one arm each stuck straight out in front of them and their fingers rigid and pointed. Can you picture it now?

The really funny part is that out of all the people in the room, I was the only one who noticed anything unusual about it....

__________________
Living is easy with eyes closed.

analog

Classic.

Atropos4

When we first moved into the house we had in Michigan we had a few problems with our neighbors. We lived in town and had to abide by noise ordinances which start at 11pm I believe.
During the first week Cleo barked at everything in sight, to the point it was driving me crazy. I knew though, that once she got used to the scenery and the people she'd chill out. I brought her in one night and had the police show up an hour later telling us she needed to be kept quiet. So to be safe I borrowed a friend's training collar. Problem solved, right?
A couple days after using the collar Cleo is behaving very well. I was on the phone with the friend I borrowed the collar from when I hear someone knocking at the door. It's around maybe three in the afternoon. (Had to be because alpha phi was not at home, working odd shift) It's an animal control officer.

I keep the friend on the line and answer the door.
"yes?"

"Your neighbor complained that your dog is barking"

"Really? I've not heard her make a peep all day. She's wearing a training collar." I also made question about the noise ordinance time...can't remember exactly what I said.

He looked dumbfounded as what to say, but then

"Well Does your dog have tags"

At this point I'm getting pretty pissed off but still I answer somewhat nicely.

"Yes, she does"

He raised his eyebrows at me as if to say I was lying through my teeth and asked if I had proof and pointed out that he could take my dog for being a nuisance.
At this point I lost my temper a bit. I did not appreciate someone threatening to take my baby from me. I hear my friend ask if I needed him to come over, but didn't answer.
Instead I swung the screen door open and snapped.
"Why, Yes she is wearing her tags! You can go in the back and check if you like! I'm sure she'll be REAL happy to see you!"

He actually stepped back quite a few feet shocked, mumbled a small apology for wasting my time and left.
Then I realize the friend is howling with laughter on the phone and said something to the affect of "remind me never to threaten your kids"
We didn't have any further problems with police and animal control thankfully.

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Daoust

With spring on the doorstep, I've been relishing the recent opportunities to enjoy the outdoors again, specifically with my 3 year old daughter. Today I decided to take her to the Eliot River Elementary School Dream Park, which is essentially a really cool wooden playground, or jungle gym, outdoors in the school yard. It's got all kinds of swings, slides, bridges, monkeybars etc. My daughter is just getting to the age where she can really appreciate all that the park has to offer. She still has some troubles climbing up some of the steps, and getting up and down in a few places.

When we first started coming to the dream park, I basically had to follow my daughter everywhere. She needed help with everything. She required me to be nearby, to help lift her on to things, or to encourage her to go down the slides, or to meet her at the bottom with a smile and a cheer. My daughter rarely interacted with the other children at the park, content to discover and enjoy the various attractions with silent wonder.

Today I began to notice the change that I know has been coming for a while. My daughters requests that I be nearby to help her climb up the steps were minimal. She was pretty much able to climb most of the steps herself, and to maneuver the park with relative ease. I was still there, watching her closely, waiting for her voice to call out. I lwaited off on the side for her to call out "Daddy, come help", but it never came.

At one point my daughter befriended another young girl who was climbing the steps to the same slide. The ease and speed with which their friendship was initiated alarmed me. If only we could all make friends as easily, I thought. Once my daughter found a friend, I almost became the afterthought. I chased her around the park, partly because I wanted to keep an eye on her, and partly because I wanted to feel like I had a reason for being there. I wanted to help her, and be there for her if she needed me.

Eventually, my daughters "friend" found another friend. I heard the two girls talking, and they exchanged some information about having gone to the same daycare. Suddenly my daughter was the outsider. I anxiously watched her reaction, as the two new friends ran off together toward one of the wooden towers. What would my daughter do? Would she sulk, and hang her head and go in the other direction, as I might do in that situation? Would she attempt to vie for her 'friends' attention?

As a parent, I had two conflicting emotions in that moment. The first instinctive reaction was to intervene. I wanted to run to her and hug her and be there for her. I wanted to comfort her, because I felt she had been done wrong by being dismissed by the two girls. But of course, I didn't do anything. In the end I realized that it wouldn't be fair or right for me to jump in at that moment. I realized that if my daughter felt anything, if she felt hurt or if she felt dismissed, I want her to feel that. I want her to learn what that feeling feels like, and I want her to come up with her own conclusions, and decisions on how to deal with it. Perhaps it's cruel and pessimistic of me to say this, but the way I see it, life is going to deal my daughter a fair share of problem situations, and difficulties, and sadness, and as much as I can be an influence and help her and comfort her at times, in the end she is the one who must learn to deal with these life situations. So I didn't do anything. I stood there, and waited, and watched her.

Perhaps it was an informed decision, perhaps it was ignorance, but I was amazed to watch my daughter run after the two girls and attempt to chum along with both of them, as if there was no competition, no hierarchy, no difference between them. I applauded her resilience. I prayed that she would always be so courageous and independent in her later formative years. It will serve her well.

While the signs of spring are certainly evident these days, the winds still have whispers of winter left in them, and they left their marks on my daughters cheeks and my exposed hands. I decided we'd both had our fill of the park, and went and took my daughter by the hand and led her out of the park. I feel that we both left having aged a little, have grown a little and gained a little wisdom of how the world works.

The warmth has returned to my daughters cheeks, and my hands, but I still wring with the tremors of a cold, gutteral, soul wrenching sadness that I haven't been able to shake since I left the park, and that I feel I shall not be able to shake for a long, long time...

__________________
I have faith in a few things - divinity and grace
But even when I'm on my knees I know the devil preys

noodle

I worked at a camp for chronically ill kids when I was in college. It was pretty much funded through Paul Newman, the Orlando Magic, Disney and Universal Studios. They kept telling us one week during the first summer I was working there to "keep an eye out" for a few celebrities who would be stopping by but wanted to be treated "just like anyone else."

Everything on the tables during meals was pretty much Newman's Own... from the lemonade to the cookies. One little kid was sitting on a bench at the "celebrity-cum-regular-people table" and kept asking why all the grown-ups were staring at them.
One of the counselors said, "Well, it's because we're lucky enough to be sitting with Paul Newman."
The kid said, "Who's that?"
"A movie star."
"What was he in?"
"Stuff from before you were born."
"Oh."
"He's the guy on the salad dressing."
"Who is?"
"That guy... Paul Newman," the counselor pointed.
The kid picked up the bottle, looked at Paul Newman and said, "Nuh-uh... that's not you, you're OLD."

I thought Newman was going to choke on his lunch, he was laughing so hard. Norman Swartzkopf (spelled wrong, I'm sure) was there, too, and he turned purple trying not to laugh at the billionaire. I don't think that kiddo ever did figure out why it was so funny. But, man, he's looking really, really old.

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Push-Pull

When I had just purchased a milling machine for my repair shop, I needed a 15/16" wrench to tighten/loosen the nuts that held the vise to the table. So I head down to my nearby Ace hardware and find exactly what I needed. I took it to the checkout counter which was being run by a cute blonde girl. She scanned the item, put it in a bag and said, "Well, that sure is a big wrench."
Without even thinking, I replied "Well, I have some big nuts." I didn't even realize what I had said until her face went from shock to cracking a slight smile. I just smacked my forehead, shook my head and chuckled to myself.
Every time I ran across her in that store afterwards, she would giggle a little.

__________________
"No laws, no matter how rigidly enforced, can protect a person from their own stupidity." -Me-

"Some people are like Slinkies..... They are not really good for anything, but they still bring a smile to your face when you push them down a flight of stairs." -Unknown-

DAMMIT! -Jack Bauer-

BobAlmighty

A tale of drunken debauchery in a foreign country!

A few years ago I was in Toyko, Japan. I was going to school in a outlying town called Kawasaki about 35 minutes train ride from Shinjuku. This particular story involves an evening of karaoke and drinking in the club district of Roppongi. After moving from place to place, my compatriots and I landed at a club called the Lexington Queen.

The Lexington Queen was apparently a very popular place for foreigners. The stairway and walls leading to the bar were covered in pictures of foreign movie stars and music artists. A list of big names going back some 15 or 20 years. This was my first adventure into a club and I probably looked like a wide-eyed and gawking gaijin (foreign devil). I'm from a city of 300k in Nebraska. We don't exactly have a lot of hopping clubs and walking down the hall of pictures toward the throbbing pop and techno was kind of exhilarating.

The club was tiny. There were two levels to this basement establishment. 15 foot bar and small lounge area, below that was a 30 or 40 square foot dance floor. At the very back was the VIP lounge, which was separated from the dance floor only by an impossibly long couch, and large men with no necks.

My friends and I were ready for some serious drinking and dancing by this point, most of the other clubs had been rather lame but this place was PACKED. Standing room only, 15 minute wait at the bar, and a oppressive stale humidity that can only come from hours of close packed bodies dancing and breathing to hard pounding club music. After my first 15 minute wait at the bar I quickly learned to buy 2 or 3 drinks at once, and to heavily tip my (foreign) bartender.

At this stage in my alcoholism I was adverse to drinking liquor straight. Not to mention bar drinks and the alcohol selection (even in a foreigner oriented club) was not what you'd find in an American bar. I was content with drinking rum and cokes or tequila sunrises. After a few hours, I was quite well done. I had overcome the embarrassment of getting on the dance floor, and the more carnal part of me was chasing the various hotties on the dance floor. Perhaps I'd find a chick to rent a "love hotel" for the remainder of the evening before I had to take the train back to mukogaukayuen.

It was during one my by bathroom breaks that I glanced over at the VIP section. There were several eastern European girls, wearing next to nothing, with various men lounging on couches. Naive as I was, I shouted to my friend standing next to me asking why they were bending over the table. He shouted back "What do you think that white powder is?" It was like something out of that Vin Diesel movie, triple x.

Anyway, the night progressed as did my drunkeness. Unfortunately, (but not unexpectedly) I found no chicks with which to rent an outrageously priced tiny room for a few hours. Thus, my comrades and I left for the night staggering and stammering.

It was on the trip home, as we headed into the train station that the most peculiar event happened. My friends and I were heading down a flight of stairs to the subway line when I spotted a guy wearing a bright read shirt with white letters that said "Huskers" on it. Being from Nebraska and in fact going to the University at which the Huskers are the football team, I shouted at the fellow in a drunken slur "Hey man! Nice t-shirt!" Something that was obviously mis-understood.

The guy turns around and I get a good look at him. He looks like a 6 foot tall, 200 pound Samoan fella. Darkly complexioned and powerfully built. "What'd you say!" He shouted at me. Nice shirt man! I shout back. Maybe it was the acoustics of the stairwell, or maybe it was my drunken state...probably both, but I swore the guy was getting angry. The guy turns around and starts moving toward me. At that point, my friends stepped in. One of them grabbed me and hustled me toward the approaching train. One of the girls stepped in to mediate, soothingly saying I wasn't saying anything. Saying that I was drunk and didn't know what I had said. We all quickly got on the train and headed out of there.

My friend still had a hold of me and I threw him off. I didn't know what was really going on at that point. I kept trying to say to him that I had only tried to complement a dude wearing a husker shirt! "Dude, that Samoan was going to kill you!" he told me. I was totally confused, but finally it started to dawn on me that the guy thought I was trying to start some shit. We rode in silence for the 45 minutes back toward our dorms. Finally right as we got off the train I said to my friend "You know...I could have taken him."

Mister Coaster

Growing up, my grandmother (mother's side) lived with us. She had her own room, and was basically a good all-around grandma type. About the time I was in 3rd grade, something just snapped inside her head and she was never the same since. Although she was never diagnosed with "alzheimer's disease" there were big time similarities. She withdrew from social interaction, was quick to get ill-tempered and wanted nothing more to do than sit on the shitty couch in the back room of the house chain-smoking Carlton Menthols. She also seemed not to remember anything, like she couldn't retain any short term memories.

Eventually, we had to place her in a guarded care facility. As a kid, I was fine to see her go, but I knew it tore my mom up inside. We would visit, but it was like she never really knew who I was, nor did she seem to care.

Anyway, after a few years there, her health took a turn for the worse, and she had to go to a more serious/hospital-ish facility. Mom and I went to visit one day, knowing the end was quickly drawing near. About half-way through the visit she looks at me and gives me a smile that I had not seen in YEARS.

Her: "Jason? Is that you?
Me: "Yeah, Grandma, it me."
Her: "I haven't seen you is so long, how have you been? It's so nice to see you!"

It was this moment that I knew that her "mind" had suddenly and unexplainably "returned." We had a lovely, but brief conversation about what my hobbies were, school, friends, my grades and such. I could see in her eyes that she understood me and that she cared. I left the hospital that afternoon feeling like she'd finally be "back to normal" again. Sadly, this was not the case, she died the next morning.

I was very happy to have had those few moments with her, even if I didn't (and still don't) understand how it happened.

__________________
If you have any poo... fling it NOW!

mixedmedia

One summer when I was about ten years old, my grandfather died. My mother’s father. He had shot himself after five years of cancer that started in his colon and steadily worked its way through his abdomen. We always just say that he died of cancer - and it's true in every sense except for the most cold and literal one. Proof that the truth sometimes is not so simple as “just the facts, ma’am.” I have no memories of my Pe-paw when he was not sick (we're Southern so forgive our artless endearments, lol). I used to spend a lot of weekends at their house though, and many days during this particular summer. Rarely did I ever see him out of bed - and that was usually only at night when he ventured out of their bedroom to watch "his shows" after my grandmother had gone to sleep. Like The Rockford Files and Columbo and The Streets of San Francisco. I would usually sit and watch with him even though these "grown-up" shows held little interest for me. We hardly ever spoke, I don't think he was particularly fond of kids, but I hang onto these times as significant nevertheless. They are the only real memories I have of being in his presence.

And then there were times that he would come out to type...with a small electric typewriter on a little rolling table. I never wondered or questioned what he was typing all that time, usually I’d be occupying myself with the huge collection of slide photographs they had taken on a trip to Europe when he was still healthy or the big plastic garbage bag of get-well cards he had collected over the years. He must have counted on my disinterest because, as it turned out, what he had been typing were voluminous amounts of suicide notes and plans for suicide that were found by the family after he died. He had been vigorously and methodically planning this final act for more than a year - developing different methods of doing it, different places, different times - complete with detailed plans and even some with sketches and diagrams. But in the end, he decided to forego all his plans and do it rather haphazardly - with a bullet to the heart in the shower of the spare bedroom. Still, it worked with one shot. From what I am told, he was always a very capable and exacting man.

I can vividly remember standing in that shower stall a couple days later and touching the large chip that was missing from the baby blue tile after the bullet had passed through his body and hit the wall. I remember it as my first shudder of surreal-ity…my first realization that we lived in a world that was strange and impermanent and, to a large extent, unknowable...that people close to me can be experiencing the ultimate despair and I don’t know it, can’t see it. It frightened me. And I remember vividly, as well, the next day standing next to his coffin in the funeral home, rubbing his arm and telling him that it was okay. Not to worry. That everything was going to be alright. And finally...crying.

__________________
Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats. - Diane Arbus
PESSIMISM, n. A philosophy forced upon the convictions of the observer by the disheartening prevalence of the optimist with his scarecrow hope and his unsightly smile. - Ambrose Bierce

Ourcrazymodern?

GOOD LORD! When I started fucking the mother of my children, it seemed good. It still does.
the past, imperfect,
makes us into what we are
or else we are not.

That's all I have for humor, folks

__________________
BE JUST AND FEAR NOT

mixedmedia

I don't view it as a bad memory or even a particularly sad memory. Rather it is an event from my youth, something out of my control, that had a vital impact on what I am today. I'm grateful for what I've been able to take from it.

But maybe that's what you're trying to say.

__________________
Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats. - Diane Arbus
PESSIMISM, n. A philosophy forced upon the convictions of the observer by the disheartening prevalence of the optimist with his scarecrow hope and his unsightly smile. - Ambrose Bierce