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Jcomp
06-05-2008, 06:41 PM
C'mon, let's gather round the AW bar and play a little bit of "top this." I'm going first, so I'll buy the first round.

See, I've never had a good, "tell a stranger at a bar" worthy story before. Not until last night. And it's really not even my story in a way. But I'm going to tell it... I am absolutely compelled to tell it...

Last night I go to my usual Wednesday night spot where everybody knows my name because I used to host the open mic there. Now I just go to show love, though I haven't been for the last few weeks.

The doorman--who everybody calls "Bear"--is relatively new; he's only been working at this club for a little over a month. He remembers me from the last time I was there. He sees me coming, checks my ID to confirm my name again and starts chuckling. He says something to the effect of "I can't believe I'm looking at the real Johnny Compton."

Baffled, but amused, I just say, "What?"

And then he tells me the story. About a year or so ago, Bear and his buddy--who apparently bears a resemblance to me--are arriving at Bear's apartments after a night out. As they step out of the car some guys with obvious ill-intentions basically come out of the shadows and start toward them. Bear and his buddy are wearing their jewelry and nice watches and they're driving a nice car, and they're both recognizing the signs of an impending robbery attempt.

Just before it goes down though, one of the would be robbers steps forth, looks at Bear's buddy and then tells his accomplices, "Wait, this is my boy Johnny Compton! We can't rob these guys! I know this fool!"

Bear's buddy wisely goes along with it, he and the robber briefly catch up on old times and promise to stay in touch, and presto, robbery averted.

Now... you have to understand, I am by no means a gangster. Not at all. I don't typically befriend gangsters either. I'm friends with a few knuckleheads, sure, and I've known a few legitimate thugs, but I've never been pals with one. But it would seem that this would-be-mugger at least thought we were good enough friends for him to spare me from being robbed (though we must not have been close enough for him to remember what I really look like).

I'm sitting here this morning still laughing about it, trying to figure out who the hell this cat could be.

But seriously... how cool is that? As if I needed an ego boost. I am now "Johnny Compton -He Who Shall Not Be Robbed." I'm going to start telling people that if you're ever being robbed you should drop my name. It might save your life. Or at least your wallet.

This is easily the craziest thing that never happened to me...

robeiae
06-05-2008, 07:09 PM
Once, I had sex in a glass elevator.


I just wish I hadn't been alone...

Jcomp
06-05-2008, 07:32 PM
Once, I had sex in a glass elevator.


I just wish I hadn't been alone...

You're not alone so long as you have a witness...

icerose
06-05-2008, 08:00 PM
That is a crazy story Jcomp. I'm not sure if this tops it or not.

I was 7 months pregnant with my first child, my husband worked graveyards so I was home alone in this crappy neighborhood in a tiny studio home.

I woke up from a dead sleep and I hear male voices outside, at least three or four distinguishable voices. They rattle on my door. Then one says "Let's try the window."

I can hear them crunching the weeds down as they walk around the house and then they stop outside the window.

I slide off the bed, grab the rifle, it's a .247 and call 911, then my husband.

I'm in the furthest corner, scared to death, when the window starts to slide open and a man's head starts coming through the window.

I fired a bullet at the wall near his head to try and scare them off.

They all run away before my husband arrives, and then the police arrive twenty minutes later, this cop was on the next street over, how rediculous is that?

There was some blood outside and our next door neighbor shows up with a bandage on his arm, I had apparently shot him in the arm.

I stayed with my sister's the next night and he stayed home, they were stupid enough to try again. (Morons!) But he had an attack dog with us that went through the screen door after them.

The cop came back and asked why I wasn't there. My husband said I was spending the night at my sister's. He said "You know they're less likely to break in if she's here."

My husband responded "They could break in and rape her."

The cop replied "We could arrest them for that."

....yeah we moved three days later.

StoryG27
06-05-2008, 08:16 PM
"We could arrest them for that." ?!?!?!?!?!?! Are you friggin' kidding me! Wow, the compassion. I had a stalker once, he'd only come around when Hubby wasn't home. The one night I called the police 'cuz Stalker Man was on my porch, walking around my house, it took them an hour and twenty-seven minutes to get there, I believe.


Okay Johnny, let's hope I can drop your name if I'm ever mugged.


Rob. . .no.

DWSTXS
06-05-2008, 08:25 PM
This wasn't me, but I know the guy it happened to. He was incredibly embarrassed by it, for obvious reasons. (SERIOUSLY, it was NOT me!)

My buddy meets a girl in class at college, they go out on their first date. They go to a great Mexican food restaurant. Then they go to a club, get fairly drunk, and start necking and they are getting along 'very well' and decide to take it back to her apartment to have some fun in bed. he lives in a dorm room with other guys, so she didn't want to go back there.
she tells him it's okay, because her roommate, Brenda, is out of town and not due back until the next day. So they can have fun without being interrupted.

about 3 a m., his stomach is bothering him (It's the Mexican food)and he gets up to go to the bathroom, because he needs to 'get rid' of some gas. His stomach is bubbling and he realizes it would be rude to let fly on their first date, and the first time they've been intimate.
He gets up to tiptoe into the bathroom, and she wakes up, asks where he's going. He tells her, 'to the bathroom'. She says O K, but to hurry because she needs to go too.

Now, he's worried, because he can't wait, but he doesn't want her to have to go in there after him and have to deal with 'his stinky hell', so he tells her that he'll wait. While she's in there, his stomach is cramping up horribly and he needs to let loose or he's gonna really be in trouble. He has an idea, and he walks down the hallway.

He makes sure she's not watching, and he opens the door to the roommates room, closes it quickly, leans over the desk braces himself with one hand on the desk and one hand on his stomach, and forces out a long, loud, blubbery, blustery unbelieveably foul and stinky one.

He finishes and hears a voice "Who the F*** are you and what the HELL are you doing in my room?' and then, 'Did you have to do that in here?'

Apparently Brenda the roommate had come home a day early.

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 08:31 PM
Deja vous all over again. Didn't you tell this story in another thread?

Richard

soleary
06-05-2008, 08:32 PM
I almost ran over Liza Minelli with a golf cart at Madison Square Garden. Confused the brake with the gas pedal. Even with two newly replaced hips, she dove out of the way just in the nick of time.

DWSTXS
06-05-2008, 08:32 PM
Deja vous all over again. Didn't you tell this story in another thread?

Richard

yes, I did. someone suggested that I post it again. here.

but i do have other, better stories. swear.

DWSTXS
06-05-2008, 08:33 PM
I almost ran over Liza Minelli with a golf cart at Madison Square Garden. Confused the brake with the gas pedal. Even with two newly replaced hips, she dove out of the way just in the nick of time.


wow! Did you zag (with a 'z') to get out of the way? LOL

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 08:36 PM
I almost ran over Liza Minelli with a golf cart at Madison Square Garden. Confused the brake with the gas pedal. Even with two newly replaced hips, she dove out of the way just in the nick of time.


Were you on the way to a cabaret?

Richard

soleary
06-05-2008, 08:36 PM
And let me tell you, Ms. Minelli swears like a drunken sailor!

soleary
06-05-2008, 08:38 PM
It was a private event for an insurance company, New York Life. I was in charge of getting 5 African elephants, a dog show and 4 brown bears up the back ramp and onto the stage on time. I was late and flying around the corner. She was smoking a Marlboro red pack. Until, that is, it flew out of her mouth during the leap.

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 08:40 PM
It was a private event for an insurance company, New York Life. I was in charge of getting 5 African elephants, a dog show and 4 brown bears up the back ramp and onto the stage on time. I was late and flying around the corner. She was smoking a Marlboro red pack. Until, that is, it flew out of her mouth during the leap.


An elephant, dog and brown bear show. I think I saw one of those in Tiajuana once.

Richard

soleary
06-05-2008, 08:41 PM
It was truly fascinating. The elephants were trained to go to the bathroom on command. Oh, and elephants can't see the bears or they stampede.

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 08:43 PM
. The elephants were trained to go to the bathroom on command.

I once had a boss who owned a convertable car. I sure could have used one of those trained elephants then.

Richard

soleary
06-05-2008, 08:44 PM
LMAO

robeiae
06-05-2008, 08:48 PM
One time, I shot an elephant in my pajamas...

StoryG27
06-05-2008, 08:50 PM
*sigh* Rob, no.

soleary
06-05-2008, 08:50 PM
The elephant was in your pajamas? Whoa ...

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 08:52 PM
One time, I shot an elephant in my pajamas...


Did you get the pajamas back from the elephant?

Richard

Tink
06-05-2008, 08:57 PM
Did you get the pajamas back from the elephant?

Richard:roll::ROFL::roll:

Ol' Fashioned Girl
06-05-2008, 09:10 PM
He finishes and hears a voice "Who the F*** are you and what the HELL are you doing in my room?' and then, 'Did you have to do that in here?'

Apparently Brenda the roommate had come home a day early.

And thus endeth the warning lesson: Do not eat Mexican food on a first date.

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 09:35 PM
I sat there in my “costume” trying to look like a girl fresh off the farm.


You mean your not fresh off the farm. But I thought...

Richard

robeiae
06-05-2008, 09:41 PM
If she's not fresh off the farm, that would make her curdled.

III
06-05-2008, 09:51 PM
A few months ago, my posse and I were rolling around San Antonio robbing people when I thought I recognized one of our marks from AW. It was difficult to tell, since his profile picture is usually elongated but his grammar and sentence structures were impeccable so we let him go. Now I feel a little foolish about it . . .

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 09:53 PM
Now I'm scared. I'm going to be in San Antonio in a few days. I have to watch out for roving bands of writers.

Richard

DWSTXS
06-05-2008, 09:55 PM
Now I'm scared. I'm going to be in San Antonio in a few days. I have to watch out for roving bands of writers.

Richard

also, watch out for sewerwalk (I think they call it the Riverwalk)

robeiae
06-05-2008, 09:58 PM
Don't be scared. His "posse" is made up of David Coverdale look-a-likes.

StoryG27
06-05-2008, 09:59 PM
Don't be scared. His "posse" is made up of David Coverdale look-a-likes.
You're just jealous you didn't get accepted into it.

Seaclusion
06-05-2008, 09:59 PM
Then there's that thing about the Alamo. I can't quite remember.

Richard

robeiae
06-05-2008, 10:00 PM
You're just jealous you didn't get accepted into it.
Btw, would anyone like to see a picture of Storygirl's birthmark?

III
06-05-2008, 10:49 PM
Don't be scared. His "posse" is made up of David Coverdale look-a-likes.

*hops on tour bus to Florida to scratch Rob's eyes out*

http://www.popculturemadness.com/Entertainment/Pics/Whitesnake.jpg

StoryG27
06-05-2008, 10:51 PM
Btw, would anyone like to see a picture of Storygirl's birthmark?
LOL! Rob, behave. . .If that's possible.

Mr Flibble
06-05-2008, 11:02 PM
Well there was this one time...

I spent a year working in a very rural area of Spain. My first week, my boss warns me about the local guys ( apparantly as I'm a) blonde and b) the local girls didn't go on dates without a chaperone,)

Local fiesta day, about a week after I get there, I decide to mingle. I have a few drinks, and I discover that all the guys know three phrases of english. You beautiful. I love you. My house, just five minutes. ( how could I refuse lol). So this one guy starts following me, along with his band of mates. He keeps on with the three phrases, and seems not to understand the words no or sod off ( even in spanish). So I meander back to my little moped, intent on driving home. Before I get to it, he sits on it, and basically says 'you go nowhere till I have kiss' in sign language. So, in sign language, I hold up my fist and mime a punch. He and all his mates laugh, and he points to his chin. A clear invitation. So I punched that sucker so hard he made a dent in the car next to him. All his mates are laughing at him now ( uh oh, blow the pride. whoops) and he looks pretty angry. It's dark and I'm nowhere near anyone else, so I start shouting Policia! loud as I can.

Guy gets up from dented car, and calmly says 'Me policia'. Oh crap, I just punched a cop. I got outta there real quick

( and yes, he was a cop, I drove past the station the next day, and there he was, in uniform with a black eye to die for). Mind you, I didn't have any trouble with the local lads after that.

Fingers
06-05-2008, 11:21 PM
I used to work in a screwmachine shop (no you loosers, not that kind of screwmachine) as the quality inspector. My job was to go to each machine and take up to 24 parts and do a quick inspection to blueprint. Each guy ran five machines at a time, so I was not very popular whenever I found a problem as the machinist would have to stop whatever they were doing and fix the machine. The lead machinist did not like quality control people and as I was the entire quality department he really did not like me.
Frequently when I would find a problem his initial response was to tell me "Bite me!". It usually escalated from there. One day when I was being run ragged doing one of my ten 'other' duties I had to put up with this guy once again yelling bite me over his shoulder. So I walked up to him and bit him on the upper arm. Hard. I didnt draw blood or anything, but he was so shocked that he never said it again. I cant follow instructions eh?

yer pal Brian

DWSTXS
06-06-2008, 12:02 AM
I used to work in a screwmachine shop (no you loosers, not that kind of screwmachine) as the quality inspector. My job was to go to each machine and take up to 24 parts and do a quick inspection to blueprint. Each guy ran five machines at a time, so I was not very popular whenever I found a problem as the machinist would have to stop whatever they were doing and fix the machine. The lead machinist did not like quality control people and as I was the entire quality department he really did not like me.
Frequently when I would find a problem his initial response was to tell me "Bite me!". It usually escalated from there. One day when I was being run ragged doing one of my ten 'other' duties I had to put up with this guy once again yelling bite me over his shoulder. So I walked up to him and bit him on the upper arm. Hard. I didnt draw blood or anything, but he was so shocked that he never said it again. I cant follow instructions eh?

yer pal Brian

wow! I guess he was left standing there, thinking that he was glad that he didn't yell, 'Well screw me!'

inkkognito
06-06-2008, 12:18 AM
I dunno about topping crazy stories, but I can probably top most people for craziest job. Once upon a time I worked in a cemetery leading funeral processions on horseback. They owned the horse, a llama, swans, ducks, peacocks and a herd of deer. They had Easter egg hunts over the graves, Santa for the kiddies at Christmas time, and even a 10K run.

That place provided a lot of article fodder for me. Here's a link to one:

http://www.bnlifeskills.com/tear4.pdf

icerose
06-06-2008, 12:22 AM
Haha, this one didn't happen to me but I had to share it. Yesterday my husband's boss stopped by to borrow my husband's keys to the school where he works and he was covered from head to toe in thick heavy mud. My husband asked what he was up to.

He said he and his brother had to artifically inseminate all his cows because they'd gone feral and wouldn't allow the bulls to do their thing.

He said his job wasn't too bad, he just had to hold the cows still.

That would be a crazy job.

soleary
06-06-2008, 12:29 AM
I once worked as a country club waitress. On my last night, I worked a party of 50. It was a woman's 50th birthday party. She was drinking heavily. As she leaned over to blow out her birthday candles, she lost her balance and got her 44 DD boobs stuck in the cake. I couldn't laugh, so I stood at attention with tears running down my face. It make a sucking sound when she finally pulled herself out of the cake. By far my favorite working moment.

Carole
06-06-2008, 04:02 AM
I was at work one day in a Santerian herb shop when one of the sacrificial chickens got loose and ran around the store.

Ahh, memories...

DWSTXS
06-06-2008, 04:11 AM
well, this one DID happen to me, and yes, I have posted this story elsewhere before.

middle of the night. summer in 1971. Side of the highway. cop pulls me over. I'm 16 years old. it's drizzling rain. nobody on the streets except me and cop. he uses his bullhorn, tells me to get out of the car and step back to his car.
Me, nervous as hell. standing there in the drizzle. thinking i'm about to get a ticket.

Knew i wouldn't get busted because my stash was empty.
4 cops in the car. cop in the back seat is eyes me suspiciously. cop in front calls in my driver's license to check me out.

I'm fidgety. nervous. pull out a cigarette pack. take one out. pull out a lighter and light it. from the glow of the flame at the tip of the cigarette, i see how i've pulled out a forgotten joint and now I'm lighting up in front of 4 cops. can you say fu**ed?

my eyes go wide. I fidget and drop the joint and rub it out under my shoe. Cop in back seat does triple take. he leans forward to say something to cop #1. Radio squawks something loud and urgent. cop#1 gives me a dirty look, tosses my driver's license out the window onto the pavement, yells at me to go home, says if they see me out again they'll bust my ass. They peel out and lights flashing, haul ass in a hurry to some other emergency.

I breathe a sigh of relief and walk, legs trembling, back to my car. I wish I had a cigarette.

Kerr
06-06-2008, 04:14 AM
Back when I was young and raising my daughters alone, I worked weekends for a time at a flea market. One night, as I was sitting outside on my little 4X8 square of cement in the yard, cooking some hot dogs on this hibachi grill, a nice looking young guy comes walking across the yard from another apartment carrying a rabbit fur jacket on a hanger. He has an open beer in the other hand and a cock-sure expression on his face. He says he heard I worked at the market and wondered if I'd try to sell the jacket for him. He wanted $35.00 which I thought was high for used goods, but I could hang the jacket there and maybe draw the curious. He says maybe $25.00 if I'll throw in a home-cooked meal. An odd way to look to get acquainted, I thought, but agreed.

Before I know it, he's sitting down and making himself comfortable. He mentions that he's looking for a place to spend the night. He's not happy about staying at his cousin's across the yard with his cousin's girlfriend there. It comes out that he's just gotten out of prison and, as he continues to talk, I can practically feel a barely suppressed rage coming off of him. He's frightening me and I'm afraid to cut him off in an abrupt way that he'll think rude, though I keep hedging toward the door with the excuse that my girls are waiting for their supper. Suddenly, the cousin's girlfriend shows up wanting him to go smoke something.

He heads back across the yard, then turns. "Stay right where you are. I'll be back."

Of course I didn't wait. I was in that apartment almost before their door was closed, locking doors and closing curtains. The kids had fallen asleep waiting and I put them to bed, kept the TV off and laid there unable to sleep myself. At two in the morning, I hear tapping on the patio door and after a few moments it rolls open. I locked that door, I thought.

In he walks and jumps into the bed, once again as though he's been invited. He begin grabbing at me and my mind is racing. He's not the type to have a wrestling match with, he's violent. It will only get him excited. "It's a shame," I say very calmly.

"What?"

"You, going back to jail when you've just gotten out...."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I haven't invited you here. Why are you here, in my room?"

"Well, your daughter let me in."

"My daughter. Which one?" I ask, thinking come morning my child is dead meat.

It turned out that it was the two-year-old. She had heard the tapping and gone and opened the door. After a scolding, she never did a thing like that again. And he left peacefully, begging me to try to sell his jacket and not forget his home cooked meal.

Summer passed. The jacket didn't sell, as I'd thought, but after this initial night of adrenalines he seemed to quiet down and I lost my fear of him, though I'd still not handed over any money or cooked any meals. He came by one night to let me know he was leaving the following week. I brought the jacket home to give back, but then, on impulse, decided to keep it. I gave him the $25, all the money I had back then to last a week, but I loved the jacket. It looked great. He reminded me that that deal came with a meal.

"Come Wednesday at five," I said, thinking I was being clever. The following day he was leaving.

On Wednesday he was right on time. I was stirring spaghetti sauce in the kitchen when he let himself in the patio door. He sniffed the air and rubbed his hands together. "Smells great. Can I wash my hands?"

I pointed to the bathroom. He went inside and I went back to my pot. Dinner was almost ready and five minutes later I was putting it on the table. Almost done.

"I forgot something," he said. "Be right back!"

Shortly, he returned with a bottle of wine. It won't help, I thought, but had a glass. It wasn't a bad evening. The food and wine were good, and we had a few laughs. Again, he left peacefully like a true gentleman. I chalked one up for my team, but he said something odd on his way out. "Remember, I'm always a player."

Player? Not with me.

I breathed a sigh of relief the next day as he pulled out. Several days later, though, when the temperature dropped, I got excited. I was going out that night with some of the girls. I'd wear my new jacket. But when I was ready and went to the closet, I found the jacket gone. In my room, I found the screen had been pushed out of the window. He had tossed the jacket out and later, when he ran home, had gone around and collected the jacket. He had my hard earned $25, the jacket, and a free meal!

About a year went by, and one day I saw him thumbing for a ride about an hour west of where I lived. As I drove past his face lit. Had he forgotten? Oh, what the hell? I thought. I jerked the car to the side about two blocks past and watched in the rear view mirror as he ran to catch up. When he was almost there I peeled out, spitting rocks all over him. His mouth dropped open as though he couldn't believe. Then, he gave me the finger. I laughed all the way home.

DWSTXS
06-06-2008, 04:20 AM
Kerr, that story gave me shivers. Talk about scary-creepy.

Carole
06-06-2008, 04:23 AM
I was at work one day in a Santerian herb shop when one of the sacrificial chickens got loose and ran around the store.

Ahh, memories...

Totally not made up. I swear! I have many other stories about that little shop. This one was the quickest and probably the most believable of them all. :)

DWSTXS
06-06-2008, 04:31 AM
Carole,
You should have hypnotized that chicken-

How to hypnotize a chicken,

I know that famers did it years ago, when getting ready to chop off a chicken's head before plucking the feathers, in preparation to cooking it.

You did it to stop the chicken from flopping around when you're trying to chop it's head off.

grab the chicken. Hold it by it's feet. lay it down on the ground. hold it's head down to the ground. (it will be flapping it's wings wildly, trying to get away.)

Hold the chicken's head down in the dirt. Put it's beak on the ground, and have someone come up and, using their finger, draw a line in the dirt, outward from the tip of the chicken's beak.
The chicken will 'freeze' in place and you can slowly let go. It will lay there, frozen in place, 'hypnotized' for quite a while. As long as no loud noises startle it, or anyone touches it and/or moves it, it will stay there, and allow someone to chop it's head off without it flopping around.
I have seen it and done it.

Marian Perera
06-06-2008, 04:39 AM
The only really strange story I have is of the time I TAed an introductory microbiology lab class. One student dipped her glass spreader in ethanol, flamed it and put the spreader back into the ethanol jar.

Poof, the ethanol caught fire.

The student screamed, but then got over the shock and took action to extinguish the flames. She blew on them vigorously.

I put her micro textbook down on the jar and the flames went out, though not before they managed to char the book's cover nicely.

StoryG27
06-06-2008, 04:48 AM
I laughed for a good five minutes, followed by periodic giggles over this little line:

I used to work in a screwmachine shop (no you loosers, not that kind of screwmachine)
*snert* No matter how times I read it, I still crack up.

Kerr
06-06-2008, 06:19 AM
Kerr, that story gave me shivers. Talk about scary-creepy.

No, your's was the best, or your friend's rather. ;) I've been chuckling all night.

Jcomp
06-06-2008, 06:21 AM
Totally not made up. I swear! I have many other stories about that little shop. This one was the quickest and probably the most believable of them all. :)

You can't leave us hanging like that. C'mon! I have to hear the Santeria shop stories.

StoryG27
06-06-2008, 06:22 AM
Oh, I once was hand-cuffed and put in a very scary holding cell for not sharing my nachos.


I was probably seven or eight and I was practically raised in the PD (mom was a dispatcher) so the cops felt fairly comfortable teaching me lessons.

Kerr
06-06-2008, 07:30 AM
Oh, I once was hand-cuffed and put in a very scary holding cell for not sharing my nachos.


I was probably seven or eight and I was practically raised in the PD (mom was a dispatcher) so the cops felt fairly comfortable teaching me lessons.

Yea, and those nasty cops would probably have eaten most of your nachos, too. What kind of lesson is that?

Carole, I second that. More on the ceremonial chicken shop. Give us some great horror thoughts for the day. Where was this?

Chumplet
06-06-2008, 07:30 AM
I may have posted this elsewhere, but here it is again:

When I was a teenager, I visited my dad who was working in Algeria. He had a girlfriend who is now my stepmom.

We went horseback riding and I was thrilled with my Berber mount. After a leisurely ride, my horse decided to take the bit in his mouth and took off at full speed.

I didn't know what to do - pulling might throw me off balance and out of the saddle, so I grabbed a handful of mane and hunched over his back, holding on for dear life.

We approached a line of trees and I thought we'd crash into them, but he dodged to the left and followed the trees. However, another bunch of scrub was straight ahead.

He skidded to a halt a few feet short of the trees and I flew over his head, still hanging onto his neck. I landed on my feet right in front of him and we both gasped for air, two sets of knees shaking.

I think it took a full minute before my dad, his girlfriend and the guide caught up with us. My dad, ever the concerned one, yelled, "Are you all right?"

His girlfriend cried, "Sandra, that was fantastic!" It was then that I decided I liked her.

I got to ride the guide's stallion back to the stables. He was much better behaved.

Cthulhu
06-06-2008, 07:33 AM
Just the other day, actually, on the way to the mall with my friends, we stopped at a gas station and I went inside with my friend to get some drinks. We both got chocolate milk, but she checked out first and went out to the car. I went up to the counter and said to the cashier "Just the chocolate milk" as a preemptive answer to the usual "Is that all?" type of question.

He punches in the amount and takes my money, but as he does so, says, "That's not chocolate milk, that's cranberry juice."

Thinking I had misheard him, I asked what he said. He just repeats himself and adds, "Yeah, they changed the bottle. That's not cranberry juice, you need to grab something else over there for the chocolate milk."

I second-guessed myself at this point, and glanced at the bottle, see that it is in fact chocolate milk, and just give the guy an incredibly puzzled look and just walk out.

I'm pretty sure he was incredibly high and just trying to mess with me, though. Still one of the strangest interactions I've had in quite a long time.

DWSTXS
06-06-2008, 07:54 AM
Just the other day, actually, on the way to the mall with my friends, we stopped at a gas station and I went inside with my friend to get some drinks. We both got chocolate milk, but she checked out first and went out to the car. I went up to the counter and said to the cashier "Just the chocolate milk" as a preemptive answer to the usual "Is that all?" type of question.

He punches in the amount and takes my money, but as he does so, says, "That's not chocolate milk, that's cranberry juice."

Thinking I had misheard him, I asked what he said. He just repeats himself and adds, "Yeah, they changed the bottle. That's not cranberry juice, you need to grab something else over there for the chocolate milk."

I second-guessed myself at this point, and glanced at the bottle, see that it is in fact chocolate milk, and just give the guy an incredibly puzzled look and just walk out.

I'm pretty sure he was incredibly high and just trying to mess with me, though. Still one of the strangest interactions I've had in quite a long time.

That was me.

sorry.

I was high.

eight miles high.

Fraulein
06-06-2008, 08:08 AM
My entire life. Seriously. When I look back through the years, I feel like I've lived three lives instead of a fraction of one.

I don't know why I am the way that I am and sometimes I can't explain how things fall into place, but everything clicks for me at some point.

I must have been born with grace, or at least that's what my aunt says.

heyjude
06-06-2008, 07:27 PM
Went to a family reunion last year. Uncle came up to me, clapped my hubby on the back and said, "He treating you good?" in his still-lingering Italian accent.

"Yes," I said.

My husband's face went absolutely white and I realized that Unc was holding onto his shoulder rather hard. "You sure?" he asked, tone still jovial.

"Positive," I said, starting to look around for my dad.

"'Cause I'll kill him if not," Unc said. Then he laughed, clapped hubby on the shoulder, and said, "Treat her right, pal."

He leaned over and said one more thing in hubby's ear.

Hubby has been perfect for the last year.

DWSTXS
06-06-2008, 07:28 PM
Went to a family reunion last year. Uncle came up to me, clapped my hubby on the back and said, "He treating you good?" in his still-lingering Italian accent.

"Yes," I said.

My husband's face went absolutely white and I realized that Unc was holding onto his shoulder rather hard. "You sure?" he asked, tone still jovial.

"Positive," I said, starting to look around for my dad.

"'Cause I'll kill him if not," Unc said. Then he laughed, clapped hubby on the shoulder, and said, "Treat her right, pal."

He leaned over and said one more thing in hubby's ear.

Hubby has been perfect for the last year.

can borrow him for one hour? I just need him to meet my boss. I'll buy the spaghetti for lunch.

heyjude
06-06-2008, 08:55 PM
He loves a good spaghetti. Get him a cold beer too and he's your man. :)

MoonWriter
06-06-2008, 10:18 PM
I'd like to borrow him to have a talk with my kids, a sophomore in college and a sophomore in high school. Both are underperforming. Smart, but lazy. Think your uncle would be interested? My wife makes a good lasagna and cannelloni.

DWSTXS
06-06-2008, 10:25 PM
he doesn't even have to break my bosses legs. Just make it so he limps for a while.

heyjude
06-07-2008, 12:24 AM
I'd like to borrow him to have a talk with my kids, a sophomore in college and a sophomore in high school. Both are underperforming. Smart, but lazy. Think your uncle would be interested? My wife makes a good lasagna and cannelloni.

Unfortunately when Unc got through with them they would not be performing at all.

But he would love the lasagna.

heyjude
06-07-2008, 12:25 AM
he doesn't even have to break my bosses legs. Just make it so he limps for a while.

Please the man has pride in his work. Limp my behind. Why go halfway?!

StoryG27
06-07-2008, 05:29 AM
Wow, let's never get our uncles together. I have one who is at least six and a half feet tall, hair down to his wait, covered in tattoos and rides with the Sons of Silence. I don't want to know what he's done because he's always been good to me. He's never tried to intimidate anyone I know personally. He loved my husband from the moment they met (of course Hubby is VERY charming) but my uncle is someone who I, if not related, would not want to bump into in a dark alley, and not someone I would ever want to be on his bad side.

Carole
06-07-2008, 04:38 PM
You can't leave us hanging like that. C'mon! I have to hear the Santeria shop stories.



Carole, I second that. More on the ceremonial chicken shop. Give us some great horror thoughts for the day. Where was this?

Edited: Mr. Vagabond just brought one scary thought to mind. Most of the frequenters of this shop were dependent on government assistance - welfare - and they made this store their first stop on their way home, after cashing their checks. The average amount of money they would spend was about $300. That's scary.

I don't even know where to start with them. Most of them, no one would believe without having been there.

Ok, here's a totally believable one. I had this crappy car and it was totally illegal in every way. Expired tag, no insurance, all that jazz. My boss in that shop was a Santerian High Priest. Sometimes if he was feeling weirdness, he'd drag me into the back to do a reading to see what was going on.

One morning when I got to work, he looked at me like I smelled like poo. He said that he had to do a reading on me because something was going on. So I followed him into the back and he threw out the shells. He told me, "Whatever you do, don't drive anywhere today. I see cops everywhere all around you." I said something like, 'Uh - yeah - I drove to work and I have to get home somehow." He persisted until I said that I would let Mr. Vagabond drive. He was at the store with me that day.

So anyway, my boss left halfway through the day and we wanted Pepsi and cigarettes, and Mr. Vagabond told me that it would be fine and to go on to the store. I hesitated, but he never believes anything will go wrong so I eventually went.

Sure enough, on my way back, blue flashies. Crap. So I pulled over and was instantly freaked out knowing that my car had expired tags and no insurance. What I didn't know, but the cop was soon to tell me, was that my license had been suspended too! (Turned out that it was suspended because I failed to tell the DMV in Virginia that a ticket had been paid.)

Anyway, I waited. And waited. I waited so long that I just knew he was sending a car to take me to jail, since I didn't figure he was gonna give me a ride to jail on his motorcycle. He came back to my car occasionally to ask me questions. Then I noticed something unusual - his name. I can't remember it now, but I do remember that his last name was strangely similar to one of the Orishas that kinda liked me. It could have gone either way, but I brought it up - how similar his name was to that particular Orisha. He smiled.

Know what happened? He let me GO! No tags, no insurance and a suspended license, and he let me go!!!

My boss later told me that he knew I was going to be stupid that day so he sent "one of his boys" to look out for me, "boys" being one of the Orishas.

Since that day nearly 9 years ago, I have had what my kids call "cop repellent".

Carole
06-07-2008, 05:07 PM
Ok, here's another that's more in line with being creepy.

It was Halloween, and something groovy always happened there at Halloween. That year, they were having a big ceremony. Mr. Vagabond and I were not initiated into Santeria, but I was the shop manager and my boss just loved hubby (then, boyfriend) so we were going to stay for the happenings. Our job during the ceremony was to keep the music playing, and playing LOUD while they all did their thing in the back.

Well, it never failed that as soon as the CD would stop and we'd have to put in something else, you'd hear a goat or chicken making a lot of noise! We'd quick-like get another CD in and start playing it. This shop was in a little strip mall with a Chinese restaurant beside it...you can imagine the implications for that restaurant if anyone having dinner heard goats and chickens making noise!

Anyhoo...Once everything was over, we were hanging out in the front of the store - the shop part. Mr. Vagabond and me and all the people who came for the ceremony. We had no idea what the ceremony was for that night until one man started unbuttoning Mr. Vagabond's shirt and tried to climb inside it with him!! Kinda weird, but we saw weirdness all the time there. Hubby was backing off until my boss stopped him and told him to just let the guy to his thing. Ooookay. Well, apparently this guy liked my hubby a lot. He was the vessel for the "entity" they called that night. Santeria often works with possessions of a person. So one person will volunteer or be nominated or chosen and when they call what or whomever they are calling that night, the volunteer will be temporarily possessed by that entity. The guy climbing into hubby's shirt had been the one possessed that night and they all just figured that whatever was in him just hadn't left yet.

Ok...so when there is a ordinary ceremony with a sacrifice, afterward they will take the chicken or goat to Little Haiti and give it to the people to cook and eat. There is no waste. But if the ceremony is negative, they can't take the animal to be eaten. Instead, they have to dispose of it at a crossroads.

So guess who got to drive my boss to dispose of the chicken? Mr. Vagabond. It was like a stealth mission finding a crossroads in that town where no one would be a witness. Theirs is a legal religion with sacrifices and everything, but there's something about not having a witness to the disposal.

On the drive to the crossroads, Mr. Vagabond asked my boss, "So who did you call tonight? Who was possessing the guy who climbed into my shirt?" Without blinking, my boss said, "The Devil. THAT is who was climbing into your shirt". You never could believe half of what came out of his mouth, so hubby took it in stride. Seeing that he didn't believe him, he opened the bag and said, "Smell that". Hubby says that he nearly threw up. The chicken that had been sacrificed just an hour earlier smelled like it had been dead a week and laid out in the sun. My boss laughed and said, "I don't care what it is, nothing that's been dead an hour smells like that."

And not another word was said about it.

StoryG27
06-07-2008, 05:16 PM
Carole, that is creepy. And gross and kind of sad.

*pushes away cereal bowl* I don't think I'm that hungry anymore.

Carole
06-07-2008, 05:34 PM
They asked for it!

StoryG27
06-07-2008, 05:39 PM
I know. But they are weird!

:D

Jcomp
06-07-2008, 08:02 PM
Ok, here's another that's more in line with being creepy.

It was Halloween, and something groovy always happened there at Halloween. That year, they were having a big ceremony. Mr. Vagabond and I were not initiated into Santeria, but I was the shop manager and my boss just loved hubby (then, boyfriend) so we were going to stay for the happenings. Our job during the ceremony was to keep the music playing, and playing LOUD while they all did their thing in the back.

Well, it never failed that as soon as the CD would stop and we'd have to put in something else, you'd hear a goat or chicken making a lot of noise! We'd quick-like get another CD in and start playing it. This shop was in a little strip mall with a Chinese restaurant beside it...you can imagine the implications for that restaurant if anyone having dinner heard goats and chickens making noise!

Anyhoo...Once everything was over, we were hanging out in the front of the store - the shop part. Mr. Vagabond and me and all the people who came for the ceremony. We had no idea what the ceremony was for that night until one man started unbuttoning Mr. Vagabond's shirt and tried to climb inside it with him!! Kinda weird, but we saw weirdness all the time there. Hubby was backing off until my boss stopped him and told him to just let the guy to his thing. Ooookay. Well, apparently this guy liked my hubby a lot. He was the vessel for the "entity" they called that night. Santeria often works with possessions of a person. So one person will volunteer or be nominated or chosen and when they call what or whomever they are calling that night, the volunteer will be temporarily possessed by that entity. The guy climbing into hubby's shirt had been the one possessed that night and they all just figured that whatever was in him just hadn't left yet.

Ok...so when there is a ordinary ceremony with a sacrifice, afterward they will take the chicken or goat to Little Haiti and give it to the people to cook and eat. There is no waste. But if the ceremony is negative, they can't take the animal to be eaten. Instead, they have to dispose of it at a crossroads.

So guess who got to drive my boss to dispose of the chicken? Mr. Vagabond. It was like a stealth mission finding a crossroads in that town where no one would be a witness. Theirs is a legal religion with sacrifices and everything, but there's something about not having a witness to the disposal.

On the drive to the crossroads, Mr. Vagabond asked my boss, "So who did you call tonight? Who was possessing the guy who climbed into my shirt?" Without blinking, my boss said, "The Devil. THAT is who was climbing into your shirt". You never could believe half of what came out of his mouth, so hubby took it in stride. Seeing that he didn't believe him, he opened the bag and said, "Smell that". Hubby says that he nearly threw up. The chicken that had been sacrificed just an hour earlier smelled like it had been dead a week and laid out in the sun. My boss laughed and said, "I don't care what it is, nothing that's been dead an hour smells like that."

And not another word was said about it.

Creeeeeeeeeepy. Great story...

Cthulhu
06-07-2008, 11:14 PM
Dude...what the hell was this shop, exactly???

It sounds absolutely ridiculous.

icerose
06-07-2008, 11:34 PM
Dude...what the hell was this shop, exactly???

It sounds absolutely ridiculous.

It was a Santeria shop which is a variation of Voodoo that uses Catholic Saints as representatives of their various gods. It's basically the result of the Catholic policy of old "Convert or die" instead of fully converting, they would pretend to convert, then use the new religion for a disguise of their old.

Carole
06-08-2008, 02:26 AM
In the front of the store, we sold herbs, oils, books, candles, beads, handmade incense, jewelry, statues of the saints and all sorts of other things. In the back part of the shop, we mixed the incense and oils, my boss anointed candles, and there were curtained rooms where he did readings.


Dude...what the hell was this shop, exactly???

It sounds absolutely ridiculous.

Interesting observation, Cthulu.

Izunya
06-08-2008, 03:25 AM
I don't have anything that compares to the Santeria shop, but I used to be a teacher. A special ed teacher. Gave me a few stories to tell when conversations get dull.

F'rinstance, the first year that I taught, my co-teacher and I decided to read The Best Christmas Pageant Ever to our students around Christmas time. For those of you who haven't read it, it's about a bunch of "bad kids" who crash the terminally insipid church pageant and approach it with a sort of demented logic that ends up adding realism to the whole affair. Yes, all based on Christian tradition, but it doesn't proselytize particularly—and besides, we were in an overwhelmingly Baptist county. On the whole, probably safer than reading aloud from Harry Potter. Or even the Chronicles of Narnia. Right?

Right?

Well, we got to the bit where the narrator's mother is attempting to explain the pageant—a bit which, in the book, is punctuated by frequent interruptions and a brief altercation over whether angels ought to go "Shazam!" My co-teacher and I were calling heavily on our teacher superpower of Not Laughing, because our kids—special ed kids, remember—were the Herdmans, the "bad kids" of the book, and were reacting just like them. A manger is a feeding trough? Where was CPS? And, for the record, just wtf is myrrh? (One of our students had heard a reading that involved resins and fragrant oils, and had gotten the vague impression that the wise men came bearing machine oil.)

So my co-teacher, let's call her L, started a small side-discussion about how life was pretty different in ancient times, and the pictures in our heads aren't necessarily accurate. For instance, when she had a kid's illustrated Bible, they showed Mary all pretty, blonde, and dressed in blue—when the actual Mary was probably very tired, dressed like someone who had been on the road for days, and too poor to afford blue cloth. These things, she said, get filtered through a lot of retelling—Christmas probably wasn't exactly on the twenty-fifth, and it almost certainly didn't involve snow . . .

Okay, yeah, looking back on it, we both figured out it was a stupid direction to take things, but the kids were engaged and even a bit excited (about words on paper—you don't know how hard we worked for that) and the discussion didn't degenerate into anything controversial. Just a smidge of history and an explanation of the word "context."

The other shoe dropped a couple of days later.

The mother of one of our boys—a boy I once characterized as ADHHHHD, a boy who greeted me several times by leaping onto my back and trying to tackle me, who once broke a school computer desk in an attempt to be helpful—came in and wanted to speak to the principal. I was in the office at the time, and so was my mother, who also worked for the school. (Which got complicated from time to time, let me tell you . . .) Well, this lady told us that she wanted to talk to us about us indoctrinating the students with anti-Christian teachings, so I scurry off to fetch the principal, and my mother, who has the amazing ability to become the most boring person alive when she wants to get rid of someone, sat down with the woman to see if she could calm her down. The woman's thesis, evidently, was that person or persons unknown had told her son that Christmas wasn't December 25, and she believed in the King James Bible, which stated specifically that Christmas was the twenty-fifth, by God, world without end, Amen. And anyone who said differently was a heathen.

(Anyone have a King James Bible? Care to quote me chapter and verse on that? 'Cause I can wait.)

I didn't find the principal; I got the vice principal. I also got my co-teacher, who was, after all, my senior.

Walked back into the office, with both of them in tow, to hear my mother droning on about how dates had changed over the years, how our modern calendar was actually invented after the Roman Empire fell, by Pope Gregory the—

The boy's mother interrupts, fire in her eyes, suspicion all over her face.. "Pope Gregory! Him a Catholic?"

She. Was. Dead. Serious. It wasn't a rhetorical question.

There was a small, suppressed "Hrk! noise from the four of us, and I did my best not to look at either the vice principal or L, because I happened to know that they were both Catholics and if I caught a glimpse of their faces, I knew, I just knew, that I would lose it. My mother, in that soothing monotone she reserves for people who have climbed up the bookshelf and started throwing things, said, "Ma'am, the distinction between Protestant and Catholic only came into being with Martin Luther, who blah blah blah-de-blah theses Reformation drone." Giving, somehow, the impression that Pope Gregory the whatever pre-dated the Catholic church. Which . . . yeah. I don't know either. I just hope my Mom never uses her powers for evil, is all.

So, all and all, the incident got settled with a lot of talking and a coupla apologies and nary a mention of the other L word (not my co-teacher. Lawyer.) and we all went on with our lives. But I can still crack my Mom up with the phrase, "Him a Catholic?"

Izunya

Kerr
06-08-2008, 07:03 AM
You know what they say, Izunya, never talk religion or politics. People just go bonkers.

Carole, thanks so much for sharing. Great stories, both. I envy you your experiences, though I'd probably have been too chicken to stay after work for a ceremony. It always seems a lot more frightening to me when there are people who think a thing completely serious.