CoWorker #1: You think they put them away in the winter?
CoWorker #2: Put what away?
CoWorker #1: Those.
CoWorker #2: The Ferris wheels?
CoWorker #1: Yeah, so they don’t get all wet and snowed on.
CoWorker #2: Okay, where would you want to put them?
CoWorker #1, exasperated: I don’t know; a garage?
CoWorker #2: Who the hell hired you?
(I ring up Grand Theft Auto Vice City and looks at her 7 year old child.)
Me: “Ma’am, I’d like to advise you that this game is rated M for mature. It contains graphic vio–”
Customer: “Listen here, I know video games.”
Son: “Mommy I want it now!”
Me: “You don’t understand, it’s very–”
Customer: *yelling* “Are you going to sell me that game or not?!”
Me: “I will sell you the game, but you must understand that it’s not intended for children.”
Customer: “[Son] gets what he wants.”
(Three hours go by and I’m standing near the register. The same customer walks in looking exasperated.)
Customer: “I’d like to return this.”
Me: “Is there a problem with the disk? We can exchange the disk for free if there’s anything wrong with it.”
Customer: “No. It’s not that. I walked in on my son playing the game. I witnessed him stealing a car, driving up to a prostitute, having sex with her, and then running her over and then get out and collect the cash. When I asked him why he did this, he responded, ‘b**** ain’t gonna need that money, she’s dead!’”
I used to vacation with a few friends at a cottage in northern Ontario. The morning of this particular tale we set off at about 8 a.m.; four of us traveling in our own cars, loaded up with the necessary baggage and food for our stay. Three of us arrive at the cottage at about the same time, having made the trip in just over an hour and a half, but our friend Gus is conspicuously missing. Just after noon he rolls up in his shiny new point-of-pride, a CRX.
He casually gets out of his car to a round of questions, everyone wanting to know what’d taken him so long.
He replies “What do you expect, guys, this is a brand new car,” which we’re apparently supposed to take as sufficient explanation. Of course we ask him to elaborate; so he obliges….
“No, I didn’t stop for anything, I just drove slower.” Why? “Well, you know that if you drive slower you’ll put less mileage on your car, don’t you?”
Yes, folks, he *was* serious, and was even offended at our doubting his radical speed/distance theory. He went on to explain, exasperated at our stupidity in the face of reason, “When you’re driving, just look at your odometer, first when you’re driving around town, and then look at it again when you’re on the highway. You’ve gotta notice that the odometer rolls a hell of a lot faster when you’re go’n’ 60 or 70 m.p.h.”
It took us hours to convince him that he was not saving any mileage driving slower. We needed maps, rulers, calculators — it took every resource we could pool, even a demonstration, to make him believe us. But I still think Gus is out there, somewhere, driving around at half the speed limit….
I used to vacation with a few friends at a cottage in northern Ontario. The morning of this particular tale we set off at about 8 a.m.; four of us traveling in our own cars, loaded up with the necessary baggage and food for our stay. Three of us arrive at the cottage at about the same time, having made the trip in just over an hour and a half, but our friend Gus is conspicuously missing. Just after noon he rolls up in his shiny new point-of-pride, a CRX.
He casually gets out of his car to a round of questions, everyone wanting to know what’d taken him so long.
He replies “What do you expect, guys, this is a brand new car,” which we’re apparently supposed to take as sufficient explanation. Of course we ask him to elaborate; so he obliges….
“No, I didn’t stop for anything, I just drove slower.” Why? “Well, you know that if you drive slower you’ll put less mileage on your car, don’t you?”
Yes, folks, he *was* serious, and was even offended at our doubting his radical speed/distance theory. He went on to explain, exasperated at our stupidity in the face of reason, “When you’re driving, just look at your odometer, first when you’re driving around town, and then look at it again when you’re on the highway. You’ve gotta notice that the odometer rolls a hell of a lot faster when you’re go’n’ 60 or 70 m.p.h.”
It took us hours to convince him that he was not saving any mileage driving slower. We needed maps, rulers, calculators — it took every resource we could pool, even a demonstration, to make him believe us. But I still think Gus is out there, somewhere, driving around at half the speed limit….
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