I hope at least.
I am taking four English classes this semester, three of which are creative writing classes. Therefore, I hope to blog most of my stories and such, as I'm sure many of them will end up being funny.
About myself: I am no longer working at Taco Bell. I now work at Home Depot, and have been for the last 3 months. And yes, I know I need to change my title description...
Unfortunately, there have not been many funny stories of the same caliber as my Taco Bell stories. The only two that even come remotely close I will relate to you.
The first was when an older lady came to my register to purchase a few things. I rung up her stuff, and told her the total. She proceeded to write a check. When she handed me the check, this is what I saw:
The check was made out to "Builders Hardware"
The check was dated "January 14th, 2005"
The problem with the date was the fact that it was actually the 18th, and in the year 2006.
So I informed her where she was shopping and that today wasn't the 14th. She then said, "Oh, the 15th?" I kindly corrected her by saying, "No, actually, it's the 18th. And it's the year 2006."
"Oh", she said. "I guess I'm behind a little."
The second funny thing I came across was when someone was purchasing a sledgehammer. The funny thing about it was the sticker which was located on the handle of the sledgehammer. I actually just finished writing a one-page story for a homework assignment, and I based my original idea for the story solely around what that sticker said. Here is the story:
Hank, a rather portly and uncivilized fellow, whose personal life motto happened to be “More Pork, Less Fork”, never was the type of person who, when presented with a question, answered it in a socially acceptable manner. Hank was what some would call a cerebral sadist. When faced with a question that caused him great mental anguish in obtaining a suitable answer, he tended to strike himself repeatedly in the cranial area until such a response stumbled, slipped, and spilled from somewhere inside the shadowy depths of his pebble-sized brain out through his mouth and whichever nostril had been blown within the last month. Of course, this was contingent on how often he cleaned his cat, Snuffles, between his mucus migrations.
As he made his way through a local hardware store, he stumbled upon a large and rather colorful display. It advertised the sale of several rather hefty and heavy sledgehammers. Each one consisted of a three-foot long yellow fiberglass handle, with the typical black mass of metal formed in an optimally “wrecktangular” shape at the end, which constituted the head, or the thing that breaks stuff.
He picked one up to inspect it closer, and something caught his eye on the handle. It was a promotional-looking sticker, like the ones which are typically found in other retail stores, which read, “Buy One, Get One Free”, “Financing Available”, or “Hands Off You Scum!” This one, despite the inherent logical contradictions, simply read, “Try Me.” Hank, lost in the intricacies of the irony, simply stood there, staring off into space.
“OWWW!!!!!!! SON OF A…TURNIP” said Hank, as a few of his brain synapses failed to connect in order to remind his arms about the heavy instrument which they had just dropped on his feet. After having experienced that initial burst of podiatric pain, several other synapses disconnected, just in time to make Hank forget which expletive he was about to yelp, only to have it replaced with some vegetable-related tangent long forgotten within the depths of his brain.
Not being a huge fan of pain in other areas of the body besides the head, Hank became understandably enraged and unexplainably constipated, possibly adding to his indignation. He proceeded to pick up the sledgehammer and smash everything in sight. Displays of power tools and designer wrenches, cash registers, contractors, hicks, hick contractors, and in a fantastic display of acrobatic ability – the twenty-foot tall drywall ceiling, causing a downpour of gypsum to rain all over the now demolished store.
The next thing Hank noticed after coming out of his savage trance was that his beefy hands were being thrust behind his back in a vain attempt to have them meet closely enough for handcuffs to be effective. Unfortunately for the police, Hank was an average American male, meaning he was an exceedingly large man, whose unnatural girth defied the standard size of handcuffs. Once properly detained, with the aid of 3 consecutively linking pairs of handcuffs, and several rolls of duct tape, Hank was placed in the police cruiser, and approached by two police officers. The first, Officer Jurks, asked, “What’s your name, son?”
Feeling the first premonitions of a head-bashing urge coming, Hank replied, “Steve.”
“How come your license says Hank Banks, then?" asked Officer Suie.
Twitching slightly, Hank answered, “I lied.”
“Oh weeeellll then. We got a scallawag on our hands, don’t we now?” presumed Officer Jurks.
“Seems to be the case. We’ll have to ask you lots of questions to be sure you’re telling the truth once we get back to the station, Steve.” said Officer Suie.
Veins nearly popping out in his head, Hank’s only prevailing thought as they drove out onto the sun-drenched streets was, “If only I still had that sledgehammer…”