Make Good Use of Your Sidebar

I may eventually put something worthwhile here. Then again, perhaps I won't.


Mixed load

I stared at the controls. My choices were "tumble dry," "casuals," and "cottons." I stared at the load of wet laundry. Jeans, so that's cottons, right? But the next handful of clothes were polyester shirts and women's underwear. No cotton there, so maybe casuals? Can underwear be casual? Okay, surely tumble dry means something. I had the vision of one piece of clothing tumbling over another as the thing inside the machine rotates. Wait - isn't that thing called a tumbler? So all the settings are really tumble dry, aren't they?

I gave up. "Honey, it's a nice day outside. Why don't you hang the clothes on the line outside to dry?"



Lost afternoon

"Come join me in the bedroom," my wife said. In some households, that could be an invitation to something good. I knew it was a demand to waste my afternoon and beyond.

"Okay, I'm here. What's up?"

She pointed to the wall above the dresser. The wall contained five swathes of paint. I groaned inwardly. "I picked these up from the paint store. We have Polar White, Eggshell, Juniper, and Clay." I looked. White, pretty much white, green, and gray."

"Um, wonderful. You said five swathes, but mentioned only four. What's that brownish stain to the right?"

She stared. "Oh, that's just gravy from a snack I had last night."

"Too bad. That was my first choice."



The perfect martini

The waiter asked how I would like my martini. This is always a good sign: when they just write down "martini" on the order pad, what comes back is usuallty cheap gin drowned in cheaper vermouth.

"A measure of your best London Dry gin, a hint of Martini & Rossi dry vermouth, and three plump Spanish queen olives - no weird stuffings, either. Shaken well, please."

"Yes, sir." He scribbled.

I waited for the masterpiece. When the waiter returned, he shook the shaker vigorously and poured the concoction into the glass. It came out pink. I stared with horror. "Wha...what is this?"

The waiter said, "I did just what you said. I know that slow cooking is in vogue, so I figured the best gin we had was sloe gin."



One Saturday morning at the Waffle House

The waitress came over to the new customer, who had seated himself at the counter. "Coffee?" she asked, motioning to the carafe in her hand. He nodded. She retrieved her order pad. "What can I get for you?"

"Just a stack of flapjacks."

"Right, one order of pancakes coming up."

"No, not pancakes, flapjacks."

"It's the same thing, sir. We call them pancakes here... just look at the menu."

"It's not the same thing at all." He sighed. "Fine, then some hotcakes."

"Those are pancakes, too."

"Where did the cook learn his trade? Hotcakes and flapjacks are not pancakes. If you insist, though, fine. I'll take some griddle cakes."

The waitress wrote "pancakes" on her pad. "Very well, sir. One order of griddle cakes coming right up."



Suggestion box

My company's new CEO installed a suggestion box outside the executive suite. He emailed the staff, informing us of its existence and assuring us that anonymous suggestions were perfectly acceptable. He wanted us to feel part of the organization. And, after all, who better to understand where the firm could improve but its current employees?

I dropped my suggestion in the box early one morning, so no one could see me do it. "How about cut your obscene salary and give us a raise for once?" it read. My termination notice pointed out the ceiling camera just above the box.