Posts Tagged ‘funny stories’

This email wins my award for the week of the best one I received from a dating website. Drum roll please….

“U R very pretty. I like ur smile. I am a poly man and am looking for another wife. I am honest, truthful and caring. My cell is ###-####. I tink I have a lot to offer u. I hope to here from u soon.”

I had to read this three times before I could understand what the hell he was talking about. I then quickly checked his profile and yes indeedy,  he’s a polygamist.

I will give him brownie points for being honest.

His email surprised me so much that I jumped back a bit in my chair which caused the chair to catch on the carpet, stick and the next thing I knew I smacked my head against the wall behind me.

I was glad no one was around to see that.

I went to flag the email but then there was a thought in the back of my mind to check my settings on my profile.  Sure enough, I had the setting defaulted to “Interested in anything” which I quickly changed to “Single men only.”

Maybe they need settings to be more direct because I want the one that says “Must have been born a male as I only want the original packaging, single, no criminal record of any kind, likes women most of the time, can and will carry on a conversation when necessary, won’t  text/call me 50 times a day, has original thoughts  sometimes, can and does read actual books and NEVER mentions the word ‘cuddling’ in their profile because that’s male talk for copping a feel.”

Pictures of whom or what would be contacting me if I didn’t change it went through my mind. The “Craig’s List Killer,” Scott Peterson, the smelly guy that hangs out at my local 7-11, Bill Paxton from “Big Love” (which wouldn’t be bad because he’s hot) and Warren Jeffs. OK, I’m stretching it a bit on Warren Jeffs but then again, prisoners do have access to the internet.

Fortunately for me, his was the first email I got when I put up my profile so future disasters were avoided.

Why do the strange people always find me? I took another look at my profile. It was short and sweet with a couple of pictures of me that I don’t completely hate. Why would a poly male want to meet and marry me off of my bio?

Now the question arose on how to respond? Sure, I could just delete it and not say anything. I could write him back and thank him for his email and decline his kind offer or I could blast him back and tell him what I thought of his email.

I took the brave route – I deleted the email without responding and then blocked him. I blocked him so fast that I wasn’t sure I had done it at first. Suddenly before I could figure out what I wanted to do, I hit that block key, sat back and stared at my monitor and rubbed the back of my head.

It is very likely that if you’re a woman walking around on planet Earth these days, you will run into this problem.

The funny thing is, it will have absolutely nothing to do with who you are, what you do or even how you look.  Though I would suspect that if a bottom feeder does find you attractive, you’ll probably have a higher risk of this. That seems to be the nature of the beast. And I do mean beast. I am a writer and I pick my words carefully.

The first time it happened to me, I was young, naïve and it took me a few minutes to catch on to what had just happened.

I was in a business meeting with my boss and a very important client. This client was very wealthy and a dear friend of my boss. I was learning the ropes in the insurance industry and had gotten my license recently. My boss wanted me to learn about commercial insurance, so I would often tag along with him. I had to sit still, be quiet and take notes. This was not easy for me, but I did it anyway.

I am naturally inquisitive and like to ask questions when I don’t understand something, but because I was there to listen and learn I would just make notes on any questions I had.

The meeting consisted of my boss, the client and his son and their new partner. Let’s call the partner Dick.

Dick was a blow hard. He was arrogant and was rich beyond anything I could imagine on my meager salary. The client was in real estate and Dick decided he wanted to dabble in it, so he bought into the client’s business as a partner and had ordered the meeting with us to decide if we were good enough to now handle his needs. Yeah, HIS needs.

I admit I did not like this man but I kept my mouth shut. I did not like the way he talked to my boss or anyone else in the room, so I kept my gaze down because I am easy to read just by looking at my face. I maintained a pleasant smile and did my best to practice my poker face, which to this day I completely suck at.

Dick ran the entire meeting. He was belligerent and I could see the people in the room trying to appease him. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing and realized we weren’t going to be able to convince him to keep us on as his insurance agents. I could tell he was there just to let all of us know that we weren’t good enough and that he had someone else he wanted to use.

Loosing this account was going to cost our company over $100,000.00 in commissions a year. I could see what was coming and there was nothing I could do about it. I kept my mouth shut and my head down.

Dick was sitting to my right, at the head of the table. Of course he was at the head of the table. My boss was to my left and the client and his son were sitting across from me

About an hour into the meeting, I suddenly feel a hand on my knee and then felt it go up my leg and give my thigh a squeeze. I almost jumped out of my chair. No one noticed as I snapped my head towards Dick. He kept his gaze steady as he talked to the clients while he rubbed my leg under the table.

I tried to move away but he held on. I put my hand under the table and pinched his hand as hard as I could. He jerked but let go. I moved my chair back and away from him. I said nothing because I didn’t know what to say or do.

I sat there confused, hurt and angry. Part of me wanted to get up and walk out but I knew that would look bad for our company. Another part of me wanted to find my nail file in my purse and stab him in his leg with it and another part of me wanted to slap him across his face.

Since I couldn’t decide what to do, I remained silent and I thought. I thought long and hard.

Towards the end of the meeting, I got up and poured myself a cup of coffee. I sat back down. The meeting was ending and I sat very still.

As everyone was standing up and starting to shake hands, I stood up before Dick did and accidentally poured my cup of hot steaming coffee onto his lap. Watching him jump up and scream made my heart sing. Watching him jump around was icing on the cake.

I had spoken to him and only him and I knew I had just put the last nail in our coffin.

I batted my eyes and told him how sorry I was and that it was just an accident. He glared at me, muttered something under his breath and stormed out of the room.

I kept apologizing and everyone said not to worry. I secretly grinned all the way back to the office. My boss was very understanding and said he knew we were going to lose the account regardless of the coffee incident but admitted he thought it was funny. He also knew we had lost account long before we walked into the meeting. I learned from him that sometimes you just can’t control what a client will do and the best thing is to just let them do what they want to do and don’t feel you had failed.

We did lose the account the next week.

That was fine by me. We ended up writing another large account. Our doors remained opened, we weathered the storm and kept our integrity in.

Plus I learned how to handle sexual harassment all by myself. Yeah me!

So never underestimate the power of a pissed off woman.

If you sexually harass us, we can handle it. It just takes a cup of coffee and life is good again.

Will date for food

Posted: June 21, 2011 in funny stories
Tags: , ,

Yes, I have done this and though I would rather die than admit this to the men I have done this to, I will say that a good friend of mine just told me about doing the same thing.

I was sitting at home on a Saturday afternoon with my trusted laptop, writing and trying to put a story together for a writing contest. I was feeling the usual feelings of wracking my brain trying to be brilliant rather than just write the damn story when my phone rang.

This was the distraction I needed so badly and I answered the phone, knowing it was my friend Debra because I have really cool ring tones for every contact in my phone. This is technology that I love because I don’t even have to look at the phone to know who is calling nd depending on my mood, I either answer or let it go to voicemail. To me, this is the ultimate in being lazy and I cherish it.

I answered because I was just getting absolutely nowhere with my story plus I was feeling guilty about not writing much that week because I work 2 jobs and if I don’t write enough, I start to feel emotionally sluggish. Sort of a stale feeling comes over me and then I start to get nervous about even going near my laptop unless it is to play solitaire.

I grabbed the phone, hit the talk button and say hello.

“Susan, guess where I am going?”

I can tell Debra is in her car.

“You are leaving town, moving to Nevada to work as a hooker at a ranch.” Debra had recently been laid off from her job because her boss had died and the family was cutting costs by bringing in relatives, have them do the work and not pay them as much.

I hear her belly laugh. “No, I am on my way to meet a guy for a blind date.”

Debra and I have been doing the internet dating scene and often compare stories. In fact, many of my friends tell me their stories and then ask me to write about them. It’s a strange little hobby of mine. Writing stories about my life and other people.

I immediately ask her for all the details about this new guy. Debra and I are very different in our approach to internet dating. I hate it. She likes it. I really don’t want to meet any of them. She loves to meet as many people as possible and as quickly as possible. I only meet them after weeks of emailing and then maybe a few weeks of talking on the phone and then if I am still interested, I might meet them. But by then they have “moved on” (a very popular saying for internet dating along with “He’s just not that in to you” when the men you are talking to suddenly disappear) and I forget about the free website I am on until another email arrives from someone I don’t know who has just sent me their phone number or instant messaging address and is just dying to “chat”, which is another term that I don’t quite understand.

Hence, she has a lot of dates and I have very few.

“Well, I’m driving half way to meet him and he’s really good looking and that bothers me, but I’m going anyway.”

“Ah, yeah, the ‘good looking’ problem. How come you are making an exception for this one?” I ask. Both Debra and I don’t like to date drop dead gorgeous men because, well, it makes us a bit uncomfortable and very often, they haven’t developed much of a personality because they don’t have to. Women can get away with this much easier than men because men are men and I don’t think it needs much more of an explanation than that.

“Because I’m hungry and we are meeting for dinner.”

“So, you are now dating for food, is that it?” I say as I start laughing. I knew just what she was talking about but I had never told anyone that I have done it many times.

I hear her laugh again and I know this is why she is going. She’s broke, she doesn’t know what to do or where to go and this will be a nice distraction. It has to be something like that because she said he was really good looking.

“Yes, I guess you could say that. I figure I’ll meet him, get something to eat because I haven’t eaten all day and maybe have some fun.”

“Look Deb, women have been doing this for thousands of years and I think you should go for it. Be sure to order a huge meal so you can get a doggie bag and have some food for tomorrow. Be nice to him, don’t be rude and have some fun. Who knows, you might really like him and hit it off.”

She is quiet for a second and then says “Do you really think it’s OK to do this? I mean, I haven’t really talked to him much, but he seems like a nice guy.”

“Hell, Deb, you’ve married men for less than that.”

“That’s true” she says.

“Yes, it’s fine. You are meeting in a public place, driving yourself and then coming home. Just don’t do something stupid and call me as soon as you are leaving.”

She agrees and hangs up and I continue with my day on the couch with my laptop and some Ben & Jerry’s for dinner.

About 2 hours later, she calls back and I grab the phone.

“So Deb, how was dinner?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I never got to eat.”

This is not good and she sounds distant and I am suddenly worried.

“Are you OK?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Everything is fine but you will not believe what happened.”

She proceeds to tell me the story. She arrives at the restaurant and he was all ready seated and waiting for her. The first thing she notices was that he was just finishing a beer and yet she recalls he was adamant that he didn’t drink. They greet each other and he doesn’t offer her anything to drink, so she goes to the bar herself to order something.

As she sits down, the waitress gives him another drink and while they are talking, he finishes that one and orders another one. He is even better looking in person.

She is watching this and though she doesn’t really care if he drinks or not, she is starting to sense that he definitely has a drinking problem and says nothing.

The waitress comes over to take their order for dinner and he blows her off and tells her to come back later. They chat for a while and then Debra gets up to use the bathroom and he follows her.

When she comes out, he is standing there, leering at her and grabs her butt and pulls her towards him. His tongue is sticking out and laying flat on his chin and he takes his right hand, grabs the back of her head and pushes her lips onto his tongue.

While she is telling me this, I feel myself getting angrier and angrier but grateful she is fine.

“Sue it was like kissing a cows tongue! His tongue was just laying there on his chin and he pushed my face into it and it happened so fast I didn’t know what to do. Then I could tell he was really turned on and all I could think of was to get away from him as quickly as possible.”

“Yeah, but what about the doggie bag?” I asked. “You mean to tell me you drove all the way over there and you still didn’t get any food?”

She starts laughing. “No, I didn’t get any food! I pulled away and walked back to the table and grabbed my purse and left. The son of a bitch follows me out and wants to know where I want to go! He actually thought I wanted to get in his car with him and go somewhere else!”

I shake my head and find it hard to believe that anyone would act this way and then I remember several first dates of my own. I am the Queen of first dates and rarely have a second date.

“Are you kidding me? He wanted you to get in his CAR?” I ask.

“Yes! So I told him I would just follow him and he gets in his car and starts driving and I pulled out of the parking lot and took off the other way.”

“Let me guess” I say. “He started calling you after about 10 seconds, right?”


“You didn’t answer, did you?” I ask, holding my breath.

“Hell no! I’m still on my way home and he’s called about 5 times and sent 3 text messages, wondering if I got lost. The idiot is probably pulled over on the side of the road, waiting for me.”

This gets me to giggling, just visualizing this man who looks like he just stepped out of a GQ ad, drunk and by the side of the road, sending text after text and constantly hitting the “talk” button on his cell phone, waiting for Deb to come around the corner with absolutely no clue about his offensive and disturbing behavior.

“Well, I’m glad you are OK.”

“I’m fine, just hungry, that’s all. Really ticks me off I didn’t get any food out of this. Oh well, maybe next time.”

“Deb, with you, there will always be a next time.”

“Sue, you have to promise me something.”

I already know what it is, but I’ll bite.

“Sure. What is it?”

“That the next time I decide to date for food, you will remind me of this date and stop me.”

“But what if you are really hungry and have no money?”

I can actually hear her thinking about this as she drives down the road on her cell phone.

“Send me some money and I promise to go have dinner by myself.”

“I promise.”


Posted: June 6, 2011 in funny stories
Tags: , ,

I don’t get it.

I really don’t.

I’m walking down the street, minding my own business as I am really craving cookies and since I don’t have any in the house, I managed to get up, put on my shoes, grab a couple of dollars from my purse and am on a mission from God to make it to the corner store to buy some.

Just a simple thing to do. I’m not bothering anyone.

Suddenly I hear someone spit and I look up. It’s such a gross and disgusting sound, isn’t it?

I mean, my stomach gets that nauseous feeling in it and I had just finished dinner and I could feel it start to move.

I hate this man suddenly. I hate the sound he made. I hate his total and complete disregard for the street that we all share and I hate the fact that he ruined a rather enjoyable walk.

I also hate the fact that I have to now cross the street to avoid him and where he spat because I sure as hell don’t want to see it and I’m going to have to look if I don’t want to step in it.

I don’t get this at all.

I got after a young employee one time for the same thing. We were outside talking during lunch. It was a gorgeous day and many of us were outside enjoying it before having to spend the rest of the afternoon at our desks and staring at computers.

Right in the middle of what I was saying, he turned his head and spit.

Right. There. In. Front. Of. Me.

I gasped.

“Susan, you OK? What’s wrong.” he asked.

My hand was covering my mouth. My eyes were as wide as they could be.

I was struggling not to throw-up and I wanted to slap him.

I finally found my voice. “I can’t believe you did that! That is so gross and I’m feeling a bit sick.”

“Do what?”

“YOU JUST SPIT ON THE CEMENT!”  I screamed as I jumped up and away from it. I had been sitting down on a chair and as I jumped up, the heel of my shoe caught the leg of it and it tumbled behind me as I jumped away. I started to fall towards him and used his chest as a buffer with my hands and pushed myself away from him.

This caused him to be pushed back and he lost his balance for a moment.

All in all, I looked completely stupid and uncoordinated, which does happen to me from time to time.

His face got red and he turned away. He looked down at it then looked behind. He looked everywhere but at me.

“So what? It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? Then why are you looking so embarrassed?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” I said. “Now clean it up.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

I glared at him. He was only 16, sweet as could be but I guess he was being raised by wolves. I had not been, My brothers and I were taught these things. I can’t ever remember my brothers, my Dad, my uncles or any male that I’ve known all this time to just turn around and spit in front of me or anyone else.

“Tommy, do I look like I’m kidding?”

He looked at me for a moment and then slowly shook his head.

“Well, you didn’t have to hit me, you know?”

“I didn’t hit you. I bumped into you and I’m sorry but doing that is just…wrong. Now, clean it up and don’t ever do that again.”

He glared at me for a moment. “Look, I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m sorry and all, but come on! So what?”

“So you think it’s OK to just spit whenever and wherever you want? Shit, why don’t you just whip it out right now and pee all over the street? Is that OK to do?”

He chuckled. “No, of course not.”

“Tell you what Tommy. I’ll make you a deal. You ever spit like that around me again and I’ll go into great details about my period. How’s that for a deal?”

You would have thought by his reaction that I had just admitted to him that I was Hitler and Bin Laden all rolled  up into one nice package and that I was here to kill him. He was paralyzed with fear and revulsion.

I always have a ace up my sleeve. Make no doubt about it.

“No, don’t do that. Stop talking about it! Geez, you’re insane, you know that?” he said as he bent down and used a Kleenex to start cleaning.

I stood there and watched him.

“Thanks Tommy for doing that,” I said.

“No problem. Just don’t talk about ‘that stuff’ to me, ever, OK?”

I smiled. “We’ll see.”

Every so often after that, as I would walk by his desk, I would pull a tampon out of my purse and swing it around.

Tommy never spit again. At least not that I know of.

Voices In Your Head?

Posted: June 4, 2011 in Uncategorized

I had a client that would talk to the voices in his head. I didn’t know this was happening when he was taken on as a client, because if I had, I would have stopped it. 


But, he was accepted as a client and was given to me by my Sales Manager Charlie. I knew something was wrong when Charlie walked into my office with his head down, a folder pressed hard against his chest and bumped into a chair because he wasn’t watching what he was doing. I knew that whatever it was he had to say it would not be good.


He cursed the chair and rubbed his knee cap. I leaned back in my recliner, put my hands behind my head and took a deep breath. Charlie has been our Sales Manager for over 10 years and was damn good at it. He knew the type of clients that we wanted to work with and was very good at weeding out the ones we don’t, but something told me that he had made an exception.


I didn’t say anything as he looked around my office and sat down. There’s really not much to look at as my office is small.  It has a desk, 2 chairs and a credenza. It’s efficient and practical and I don’t spend much time in it. I use it to answer phone calls, return emails and play solitaire. Today was quiet and I was winning the card game, so I paused it.  I love it when the cards start jumping all over the monitor when I win. I don’t like to miss that part.


He cleared his throat but still hung onto the folder tightly. “Umm, Susan, there’s something here I want to go over with you, if you have a few minutes.”


”Sure Charlie, go ahead and tell me what’s on your mind,” I said as I leaned forward. I put my hand out for the folder but he didn’t budge.


“I signed someone up but I don’t think you’re going to be too happy. You know the sales have been sluggish the last few weeks, what with the holidays and all, and I’ve been strapped a bit financially with Laura needing braces, so I signed up someone that might just be more difficult for you.” He finally handed me the folder. I raised one eyebrow and peered at him over my glasses. This is a look I strongly recommend all managers learn and use.


I opened the folder and started reading. Charlie sat very quietly and I could see his knee bouncing up and down while he tapped his right knee with his hand.


After reading the folder, I put it aside and looked up at him.


“He hears voices? Am I reading that right?”


Charlie sighed and nodded his head.


“And you signed him up because you need to pay for your kids braces?”


Again he nodded while studying the floor intently.


“And you want me to work with him?”


“Yes. He asked specifically for you after talking to some of our clients.”


I sighed. I swear some of my clients have a wicked sense of humor.


The client, Jack, arrived the following week. I was not sure how to prepare for a client who has voices in his head so I was in virgin territory. We sat down and began talking. I was asking the usual questions to get enough information so we could figure out an effective program for him.


During the conversation he suddenly turned his head to the right and said “What?” and then appeared to listen for a moment. I watched this in fascination. When he was done listening, he looked up at me and apologized for the interruption.


“Who was that?” I asked. I figured there was no need to be rude if someone else had just joined in our conversation.


He blushed for a moment. “That was Richard.”


“Oh, OK and what does Richard have to say?”


“It doesn’t matter. I know he’s not real.”


I grinned. “If you know he’s not real, then why do you talk to him? He must be real. At least to you if no one else.”


“He’s always putting me down. If I listen to him then he stops talking faster, so that’s what I do.”


I thought about this for a moment. “Jack, let’s try this; the next time Richard starts talking, I want you to turn around to him and tell him to shut-up. Can you do that?”


Jack thought about this for a moment and agreed. We continued our conversation and then about 10 minutes later, Jack suddenly turns his head around and yells “SHUT UP RICHARD” and then continued with our conversation. This seemed to work and I spent the next year working with a lovely man who would occasionally scream mid-sentence.


I got to where it didn’t bother me much and as time went by, Richard eventually left Jack alone and never bothered him again. Jack had grown a back bone and used it.


Only pay attention to your own voice and no one else’s. No matter where those voices might come from. Your voice is the only one that matters.

My one friend is someone who drives a Datsun 240Z and if you are old enough to remember what that is, your secret will be safe with me.

It’s white and it looks like it has a million miles on it but he looks comfortable in it as if he is the original owner and has become one with his car. Just the way he sits back in it and reads. He has a ponytail (which I adore on some men) and almost always wears a cap. You know, the ones that make you think of England.

I usually pull-up a few spaces over from him. My routine is to park, grab my quarters, hid my purse and walk into the Laundromat with my basket of clothes. Once in a while we will nod to each other, but most of the time he appears to be quite engrossed in his book.

In all the years I’ve seen him, I’ve only seen him talk on his cell phone once. As for me, that’s the main thing I do while I wait for my laundry to be done. I’m bored, waiting out in the car, and I feel it’s my friends obligations to entertain me while I’m bored, so I start calling people.

It’s gotten now to where they know I am doing laundry. They will answer the phone, asking if my clothes are in the washer or the dryer. They are all smart asses.

I am a creature of habit and I’m still not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing.

After 3 years of seeing each other and doing our head nod, this guy finally spoke to me. I was, at the time, being mesmerized by my socks and underwear going round and round in the dryer. I can’t help but think what it would be like to be in there with them. Every time I watch a dryer, I have this thought.

He walked by, smiled and then stopped. I smiled back. Today he stopped, smiled and stood in front of me. Suddenly I didn’t know what to say, so I kept smiling.

I could see he was struggling with what to say. I wanted to start a conversation with him, just to ease up his agony, but I was suddenly tongue-tied.

I could see he had very blue and gentle eyes. I could hear the people in the background who were chattering, yelling at their kids and folding laundry and the constant hum of the machines.

“Hi. How are you today?” he asked.

“I’m bored. How are you?”

“Yeah, I’m bored too.”

He kept smiling and looking at me. Suddenly I was afraid he was going to ask me out for a cup of coffee. At that time, I had a boyfriend and it always seems that as soon as you hook-up with someone, suddenly you become the most desirable creature on the face of the planet to people who didn’t even know you existed before.

Then I thought I am just being silly and vain.

“I guess doing laundry is boring, isn’t it?” he asked. I couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were so blue and looked even bluer against his dark tan. This was someone who either spent a great deal of time working outdoors or went to a tanning salon. I hope it was the former because the latter would not have fit with my summation of him. Plus, it would have bummed me out because it would have ruined my illusion of him.

“Yeah, it is. I usually bring something to read but end up making phone calls instead. It’s like I can’t concentrate on a book when I’m outside.”

He looked at me like I was speaking Greek, but kept his smile going.

We chatted for a few minutes and then my dryer started beeping. I didn’t want to pull out my socks and underwear in front of him – hell, I don’t like to do that in front on anyone – so I ignored it. It could wait and no one would die.

Plus, it’s not like I fold my clothes, so no worries. I try but I usually end up just stuffing them in a drawer that has the fewest number of clothes in them.

He shuffled his feet, looked down at them. “Well, you have a good day,” he said as he walked away. I told him to do the same.

I waited until he was out the door before opening the dryer and shoving my clothes in the basket. It was a poor and pathetic basket; all torn up and hard to carry because both handles were broken, but in my everyday life, buying a laundry basket is not something I think about. I only think about it when I carry it on Sundays.

I put my laundry in the car and looked up and saw him sitting in his car, reading.

He didn’t look up as I drove away. I checked, slyly, to see if he had.

After three years, contact had been made.