This year we were running late because I had forgotten a special bottle of wine I wanted to share and we'd gone back home to get it. Dinner was supposed to be served at 4:00 and we finally arrived at 3:30. As we walked down the path to their front door, we were greeted by my sister in law yelling, "Gang way - watch out - coming through" and out of the front door she ran with a pot of heavily smoking artichokes. Little did we know what was in store. As we walked in the kitchen, we noticed on the table a completely uncooked totally raw - turkey. (Remember dinner was supposed to be ready in a half an hour?) "Oh don't worry," they said, "we're barbecuing the turkey and it only takes 45 minutes." Except the barbecue hadn't been started yet.Thanks to Holidash for this, ahem, turkey.
It seems they were just getting to that when they discovered that the briquettes were wet. So rather than going to the store and getting new ones they decided that they had a solution to getting those wet briquettes to ignite -- gasoline! So, just imagine, if you will, a wooden porch with overhanging pine trees. Yeah. After a dose of gasoline, they were right -- the briquettes did light -- shooting three-foot high flames onto the eves of the wooden house. So they put the lid on the Weber and proceeded to wrap the turkey in aluminum foil. "Don't worry, this is how we had planned on cooking it anyway."
Finally as it was getting dark, they were ready to put the turkey on the grill. Quickly they opened the lid. The column of flame shot up anew and they literally threw the turkey on the grill and slammed the lid down. After a few minutes we saw seriously angry flames shooting out of every air hole in the barbecue. Some were leaking out between the top and bottom of the Weber. The fat in the turkey had reached flash point and it was burning out of control. About 30 minutes (and several glasses of wine) later, it was decided that the turkey was probably done cooking and we should probably take it off the grill. A roof high column of flame shot up as they took off the lid. OK, so how do we get the turkey off the grill with all those flames? Using a fireplace poker, the turkey was pushed of the grill where it landed on the wooden deck, still burning furiously. The fat of the turkey and the foil were one as it kept right on burning.
By now there was talk of calling the fire department. But rather than do that, it was decided that someone needed to "put the turkey (fire) out." Of course, using a fire extinguisher would wreck the turkey (like it wasn't ruined already?) so my father-in-law and my nephews grabbed the first thing at hand -- bathroom sized dixie cups -- and began to "spoosh" the flames out. After a few minutes (and a bit more wine) it was finally out. Now, I don't know who decided it was still edible -- but as was family tradition my father-in-law carved and served that turkey - crispy on the outside and raw on the inside -- and we ate stuffing and burnt artichokes while we enjoyed taking pictures of the inedible bird. -- Karen Frank, Pleasant Hill, CA
I am a cabbie in NYC. One of my fellow cabbies is a born and bred New York Italian guy. But because his hair and complexion are so dark, he gets mistaken for being from the Middle East all the time. He decided to use this to his advantage. When people he obviously spots as tourists or foreigners (he knows not to try it on the natives) get into his cab, he pretends to speak limited English. By acting like he doesn't understand his passengers, he winds up taking long routes and going totally out of his way to their destination, thereby jacking up the meter.Anyone going to visit NYC, watch out for the cabbie with the Middle Eastern accent that has a distinct underlying native New Yawk twang.
He says it works best with people from the Midwest; they are afraid to complain and actually tip him MORE because they feel bad for the poor non-fluent immigrant.
Many years ago I worked with a man who hated his job and made it clear to everyone how badly he wanted to get fired. Our boss knew this, but wanted to force him to quit rather than allow him to get severance and collect unemployment. So it became a contest of wills.
The fellow who wanted to be fired took to wearing increasingly bizarre outfits to work. Its started with a robe and pajamas and went all the way to full on drag. The boss pretended nothing was amiss with his clothing, while at the same time piling more and more weird tasks on him, such as watering the front lawns (while he was dressed as a woman), trying to force him to quit. At this point the rest of us workers were truly enjoying whatever new spectacles that these two had for us each day. Work was most certainly not dull.
It finally became too much when the one who wanted to be fired decided to let his personal hygiene slide. No more bathing, toothbrushing or changing his clothes anymore. That's when it became unbearable for the rest of us, and we forced our boss's hand.
He was handed his walking papers with a big 'YOU WIN' written across them.
Our receptionsist prior to the one we have now was a real ditz. Bimbo would be a good description actually. She had a huge mound of bleached hair teased all around her head, wore shirts that put her cleavage front and center, skirts that barely covered her butt, chewed gum at all times, and used fake tanner to create an Oompa Loompa-like hue.
One day I noticed that the front desk phone was riginging like crazy, but it seemed that none of the calls were being transferred back to any of us, which was odd. So I walked up quietly behind her and watched for few moments.
It seems that when things got hectic, she figured out the way to lessen her workload was to answer each line, say "please hold", and then hang up rather than pressing hold. When our boss confronted her about this practice, she tried to defend herself by saying that she was helping out everyone that worked there because only about half the people called back. She claimed she was eliminating uneccessary calls, because if it was REALLY important, they would have called back.
Dude I work with is an idiot. He will do anything anyone dares him to. We dared him to drink White-Out; he did it. We dared him to eat a handful of the hottest pepper known to man, the jalapeno, (actually, the hottest pepper known to man is the Naga Jolokia pepper, but please, continue...) and he did it.
One day someone brought in a dried up piece of one of his dog's turds, but didn't tell the dude what it was, just dared him to eat it. And he did!!
Never laughed so hard in my life!
Back in high school, I worked at a video rental store. One of the guys I worked with thought it was hysterical to switch the tapes around into the incorrect boxes. His favorite was to put pornos into kid's movie boxes. When people would come back irate, he would just blame the customer that had the tape previously.
Two guys I work with have an intense football team rivalry going on. One is insane about the Giants, the other is equally loony about the Eagles.
One Monday after watching their teams play Sunday, the two of them got into a heated argument. This argument eventually became a screaming match until the Eagles fan took a swing at the Giant guy. Then it was all out war, rolling on the ground fighting like their lives depended on it - all while dressed in suits and ties. A bunch of us broke up the fight, and the men retreated to their offices with their bloody noses and bruises.
The best part is that these were two VPs of a mediation company - we are supposed to defuse situations, not ignite them.
Reefer madness
Journalism is going up in smoke... Westword, a weekly newspaper in Denver, is looking for a pothead with some writing skills for what must seem like a drug-induced dream: a job reviewing marijuana.
Colorado allows the sale and use of medical marijuana, and the paper says its reviewer must have an ailment that allows him or her to legally purchase it. But with pot prices of up to $130 an ounce, the paper says someone needs to be able to tell customers which ones are worth the (medical) money. Talk about your Rocky Mountain highs!I wonder if the expense acount will cover the munchies?
I work in an office with a big open floor plan that's all filled with cubicles everywhere the eye can see. The worst positioned cubicle has got to be the one in the way back corner, it's pretty dark and remote. Nobody in their right mind would want that one, except for Petey.Apparently you have a problem with efficent workers. He came up with a strategy to eat to take care of all his needs while never even leaving his desk. I commend him for his ingenuity.
Petey would disappear into his cubicle every morning, and not reappear until quitting time. We figured he must have brought food in to eat at his desk, but what about bathroom issues? We nicknamed him BB for Bionic Bladder behind his back.
The mystery was solved when the cleaning company's head honcho called our boss to tell him that his workers would no longer empty the wastebasket full of pee from the farthest cubicle anymore.
I run a painting company. One of the guys on my crew reported to work one morning totally trashed. I would have told him to go the hell home and sleep it off, but that would have left me one man down and our client wanted her project done and over with that day and I needed all hands on deck to meet the deadline.
As we were painting the bathroom, drunk guy is reaching up to paint a spot when he loses his balance. He grabs the shower rod to stop himself from falling. The rod pulls out of the wall, and he crashes into a ladder with an open, full can of paint on it. Dark red paint goes flying all over, including the already painted white ceiling and trim. I guess all the commotion made him feel sick, so he abruptly bent over and puked into the bathtub.
Seriously, the red covered bathroom looked like I had done what I really wanted to do to at that moment - massacre him. I fired him, and then it took a few days to repair the damage and worst of all, I had to do it all for free.
My coworker is the Queen of Grammar and Vocabulary. If you send her a quickly written email that had typos in it, but you figured, 'eh, what's the big deal it's only going to her and I'm in a rush', well, you'd be wrong. To her it is a BIG DEAL. She will copy it back to you with all your mistakes highlighted and corrected, but worst of all, she will not reply until it is corrected to her satisfaction.
She also corrects people when they are speaking. Two of her biggest pet peeves are when people say anyways and alls, to which she will start yelling - "THERE IS NO S ON THE END!! THERE IS NO S!!!". And once someone used drug as the past tense of drag, and her reply was "Is the past tense of brag, brug? How about lag? Is it lug? If I am gagging, did I gug? NO. THEREFORE, IT'S DRAGGED, NOT DRUG!!".
ome people have complained about her to our boss but he says there is nothing wrong People have complained about her to our boss but he says there is nothing wrong with a little bit of perfectionism.
When I was a younger man, I used to work on my dad's farm. One of farmhands we hired to help us bale hay hated his job and it seemed to make him rather depressed.
To get out of work he actually stabbed himself throught he foot with a pitchfork, hoping for disability.
Instead he was back two weeks later with a banadge and a limp. Seems he missed all vital parts and it was just a flesh wound.
I work with someone who likes to brag about the size of his 'manhood'. He's always fitting it into the coversation somehow. For example, if we ever use big or huge or any word with the same meaning to describe something, he'll say something along the lines of "Well it's sure as hell not as big as my shlong!" Doesn't matter what we were talking about; we could've called anything from a dog to a cloud large and he'd bust out with his penis comparison.
He once even made a joke about having to tuck it into his boot.
I'm sitting at my desk one day, pecking away on my computer, when I see the woman at the neighboring desk scratching her head furiously. She has looong hair, down to her waist, and she's digging in there under all that to get to whatever is bothering her. So I lean over to make a joke and say "Damn, girl, do you have bugs in there or what?" She replies "Well actually, my son brought home lice from his school and I caught them, but I just can't bear to cut off my hair so I just can't seem to get rid of them!" And then she laughed, like it was okay that she was spreading her cooties around our office.
I told my boss who told her to use her sick time until it was all cleared up. I got lice anyway though, and had to cut my own hair and douse myself with RID. It probably won't suprise you to know I hate her guts.
Guy I used to work with blew his snot onto the floor of his cubicle. He did the 'hold one nostril and blow hard' deal and just let them go where the wind might take 'em.
I worked for a certain person who would drive me completely insane. She used to eat yogurt with a spoon very slowly as she talked for 2 hours. I found myself staring at the spoon and wishing it would spontaneously combust and burn in a hot metal fire. She also was a fanantic about staples. When she found a staple that was not 2 inches from the top of the page and centered she would remove it and place a post-a-note informing you where to staple and circle the area in red marker. So basically you would have to redo everything. She kept me in an office completely by myself. I was not allowed to eat or talk with other staff. The only hope I had was staring out the window waiting for the delivery driver. It is no wonder my favorite color is brown.
Worked at a bowling alley. Freakazoid there enjoyed smelling the rental shoes after they had been worn. Got fired when he started telling people he couldn't find their street shoes. He was smuggling them home in a duffel bag.I like this almost abrupt, straight to the point writing style. Sorta like the old fashioned telegrams:
A man comes into the ER and yells "My wife's going to have her baby in the cab!" I grabbed my stuff, rushed out to the cab, lifted the lady's dress and began to take off her underwear.
Suddenly I noticed that there were several cabs - - - and I was in the wrong one.
At the beginning of my shift I placed a stethoscope on an elderly and slightly deaf female patient's anterior chest wall. '"Big breaths" I instructed. '"Yes, they used to be" replied the patient.
One day I had to be the bearer of bad news when I told a wife that her husband had died of a massive myocardial infarct. Not more than five minutes later, I heard her reporting to the rest of the family that he had died of a "massive internal fart."
While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient, I asked. '"How long have you been bedridden?" After a look of complete confusion she answered "Why, not for about twenty years - when my husband was alive."
I was performing rounds at the hospital one morning and while checking up on a man I asked "So how's your breakfast this morning?" It's very good except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can't seem to get used to the taste." Bob replied. I then asked to see the jelly and Bob produced a foil packet labeled 'KY Jelly.'Submitted by Dr. Leonard Kransdorf, Detroit , MI
A nurse was on duty in the Emergency Room when a young woman with purple hair styled into a punk rocker Mohawk, sporting a variety of tattoos, and wearing strange clothing, entered. It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so she was scheduled for immediate surgery. When she was completely disrobed on the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair had been dyed green, and above it there was a tattoo that read 'Keep off the grass.' Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the patient's dressing, which said ' Sorry . . .had to mow the lawn.'Submitted by RN no name
As a new, young MD doing my residency in OB , I was quite embarrassed when performing female pelvic exams.. To cover my embarrassment I had unconsciously formed a habit of whistling softly. The middle-aged lady upon whom I was performing this exam suddenly burst out laughing and further embarrassing me. I looked up from my work and sheepishly said "I'm sorry. Was I tickling you?" She replied with tears running down her cheeks from laughing so hard "No doctor, but the song you were whistling was . . .I wish I wasDr. wouldn't submit his name
an Oscar Meyer Wiener."
