On May 4, 2020, just before leaving for the day, I walked into the restroom with the intent of disposing of the rubber gloves I was wearing during my shift at Home Improvement Megastore. However, I have a tendency to inflate the gloves to the size of beach balls before popping them with my box cutter. The resulting bang does wonders for relieving my stress and giving me a much-needed laugh. I admit I could have done without the enhanced theatrics including screaming “BOMB IN THE MEN’S ROOM!” before running out of the restroom while screaming at the top of my lungs. I sincerely apologize for the chaos that ensued and am willing to pay for the damage it caused to our store.
I don’t know how it started but it didn’t matter. My wife and I were arguing with a couple whom we’d never seen before. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know what we were arguing about, yet the words came out more and more heated as tempers grew shorter and shorter. Suddenly the man reached out and grabbed my wife’s whoopee cushion. That was the low blow. That was the last straw.
As you may know, possessing a whoopee cushion is a rare privilege in today’s society. It gives one the upper hand, the much-needed confidence booster. It permits one to demonstrate superiority and sufficient bragging rights regarding how much better off he is compared to someone else of similar stature.
However, should one lose possession of their whoopee cushion, they lose all the superiority attached to it, including their job. Hence the expression, “losing one’s whoopee cushion”. It is an allusion similar to one’s fall from grace, to be forever disgraced by the absence of the said whoopee cushion.
And here we were, my wife having had her whoopee cushion unwillfully siezed and her life instantly thrown into turmoil. She looked at me with pleading eyes, but what was I to do? I was just as helpless as she was, trying to formulate a strategy to recover her whoopee cushion that would clear as few legal hurdles as possible. Then the woman’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“We’re going to sue you,” she hissed in anger.
“Can’t wait,” I shot back. Just before we went our separate ways for now, I looked back at the woman, trying to hurl her one last insult to remind her this fight was far from over. Then I caught a glimpse of what helped me come up with the appropriate words.
“NICE UNDERBOOBS, LADY!”
My journey through the New Keys led me to Hidden Lake Key, a quaint little island that had every appearance of paradise with its usual arrangement of palm trees, palmettos and hibiscus plants throughout. However, in the middle of it all was a small lake on which the town here was built. Here I stopped at a nearby gas station to fill up, and it was here I got a good glimpse of the local scenery. Then I noticed something unusual.
I could see people walking, others riding their bikes, others peddling their wares from their booths along the road overlooking the lake, yet everyone seemed to avoid looking at the lake altogether. In fact, those walking were wearing special glasses with side shields to keep them from glancing sideways. I asked the gas station attendant about this and he explained, “This is Hidden Lake Key, right? The lake here is what gives it its name, but everyone here thinks it’s hidden only if you don’t see it. Have a nice day and please, don’t look at the lake.”
Heading for home began looking like a viable option at this point, but soon my curiosity about the rest of the New Keys got the best of me and I was back on the road on this strange journey that was set to get even stranger…
To be continued…
After my bizarre meal at Potato Key I drove back on Highway 1.5 to see where it would take me next. The highway crossed miles and miles of the pristine waters that sparkled under the midday sun. It was a perfect day for driving and exploring the New Keys.
A half hour later I arrived at Sinking Key, a rather curious name for such a beautiful island. It presented itself well with palm trees lined up alongside the road overlooking the beach along with trees with colorful orchids blooming from its branches lined up along the median of the highway that passed by countless souvenir shops and restaurants. Yet there was no traffic here, no cars to be seen anywhere. I drove on a few minutes more when I spotted the city hall with its parking lot overflowing with cars. Apparently there was something going on, and my curiosity got the best of me to find out what it was.
I walked into the city hall to join what was a meeting in progress. The room was so full that there were people standing because all the chairs were taken, yet they stood in silence to focus their attention on the man at the podium.
“Who knows how much longer we have,” the man said, “but we need to get moving soon. All of us.”
“But where?” asked someone in the audience.
“Who knows where, but as I speak we may be headed to our respective dooms.”
“Respective dooms,” chortled another attendee. “All because we live on Sinking Key.”
There was murmuring throughout the room upon this revelation.
“Yes, just as the name implies, we’re slowly sinking into the ocean, and we need to find ourselves new homes and fast.” the man at the podium announced.
“But I’ve lived here 20 years and I see no signs of us sinking!” an old man spoke up.
“That’s because it’s a very gradual sinking we’re going through. It may not be obvious now, but in 20 years we’re most likely going to be knee deep in water!”
More concerned mumbling. I decided to speak up.
“Excuse me, I know I’m a mere visitor but there’s something I’d like to point out,” I said.
“Oh, please do,” the man at the podium invited me on stage. “Anything to put our troubled minds at ease.”
“Thank you,” I took my place at the podium. “As I was driving into Sinking Key, I couldn’t help notice a corroded sign along Highway 1.5. I took a closer look and saw this inscription:”
Welcome to Sinking Key
In the name of Britain I so claim this island. Deal with it.
Captain James Sinking
There was a hushed silence as everyone stared at me in disbelief. I waited a few minutes before sensing my time was up, so I left City Hall and returned to my car. I looked back at City Hall one last time and heard nothing but silence. Even the ocean was quiet. Shrugging, I got in my car and drove on to continue my journey.
To be continued…
Recently I read that there is far more to Florida’s Keys than ever imagined. Additional archipelago formations not far from the well-known chain of islands connecting Florida to Key West have appeared, which were quickly inhabited and claimed by businesses and eccentric individuals seeking to literally putting themselves on the map. I got curious about these New Keys and decided to embark on a journey that would forever change my perceptions of the world.
After packing my bags and loading my car, I headed south to Key Largo, which had an exit to Highway 1.5 that branched west to offer a passageway connecting the newly discovered archipelago formations that made up the New Keys. I was completely unprepared for what I was about to see.
After a half hour of driving on Highway 1.5 and admiring the scenic sights of the ocean, I arrived at Potato Key, known for having the perfect soil for growing endless bounties of potatoes. I was hungry so I pulled into a roadside diner aptly named The Potato Pit.
“Welcome!” the waitress greeted me as I entered to take a seat at the counter. She handed me a menu and stood patiently nearby as I decided what to order.
Potato pancakes, potato salad, potato soup, baked potato, french fries, potato chips, mashed potatoes, potato pie, hash browns, tater tots, potato bread, potato doughnuts, potato skins, potato waffles, potato wedges, poutine, gnocchi, potato casserole, latkes, potato pizza, potato rolls, potato pretzels, potato potatoes, popped potatoes, frosted potato flakes, potato ice cream, potato milkshakes…
I opted for a baked potato while I waited for my order decided to strike up a conversation with the waitress, whose name was Sue.
“It seems strange that there’s soil this far south that’s ideal for growing potatoes,” I said. Curiously, there was no response. Sue stood there, her face locked in a grimace as she struggled to maintain her composure.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes!” She screamed. “That’s all I ever hear! It’s always potato this, potato that. I haven’t heard one sentence without the word ‘potato’! People always coming in here and saying hi, I’ll have a baked potato. I’ll have some mashed potatoes. Gimme a potato beer! Every day, it’s potato this, potato that! Potatoes, potatoes, potatoes! I’m SICK of that word!”
“But this is Potato Key,” I offered.
“AAARGH!” I heard a scream from the kitchen as the cook suddenly appeared. “YOU THINK YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE SICK OF THAT WORD?” he screamed at Sue before he fled the diner.
After taking several deep breaths, Sue placed a plate in front of me.
“Here’s your baked…” she stammered. “Your baked…your baked…your baked…”
“Potato,” I said.
“AAARGH!” Sue screamed before she too fled the diner, leaving me the only one there. I finished my meal, left enough cash to cover the check and tip and left to resume my trip.
And yet it was only getting started…
To be continued…
The customer was extremely irate. She had a right to be, since it was 11 o’clock at night and I was still at her house trying to install her I-World service.
“Four hours, you said,” she said with her voice trembling with anger, “it’ll be all set up in four hours, you said. You’ve been here 14 hours and I still have no Internet service, no TV and no phone. I can’t believe I passed up playing cards with my friends so I could stay home and watch you fumble around. Are you sure you’re from WGT? What’s that stand for, anyway? World Global Telecom? Isn’t that redundant?”
In the meantime I was struggling to get her service up and running but was trying to resolve the multitude of issues that stood in my way, such as antiquated phone lines in her neighborhood and the distance from the source of the I-World service she had ordered. Add the fact that I hadn’t been working this job very long and that set the stage for one very miserable day. And now this customer was berating me, her mouth rambling nonstop and pushing me to the very edge of my sanity.
After trying once more to reattach the coaxial cable to its outlet on the wall, I decided to try once more to reboot the modem in the next room to see if the TV service worked yet. Of course, the customer followed me with her metal cane scraping the floor as she let loose yet another barrage of insults.
“I can’t believe I fell for this scam,” the customer ranted, “WGT makes billions of dollars a day yet it can’t even provide decent service for its customers. I knew I should’ve stayed with Adelphia Cable, but then I would’ve paid much more for Internet. But at least they have technicians who know what they’re doing instead of drunk monkeys like you-”
Suddenly her speech was cut off by a short, piercing dial tone that swiftly darkened the room. Immediately afterwards there were two bright flashes of light followed by the sound of something falling to the floor. Finally the room began to fill with the sickening smell of burning flesh. I nervously reached for my toolbelt and switched on the flashlight and the truth was illuminated in an instant.
The customer’s metal cane had touched the stripped phone line on the floor, creating a short circuit that sent the dial tone shooting out of her mouth before the electrical current reduced her to a smoldering pile of ashes on the floor.
Then my work phone rang. I knew who it was without looking at the screen.
“Hey, Mike,” my boss shouted, “I’m still waiting for you. I can’t lock up the yard without your truck back over here. Are you done yet?”
Your bad day doesn’t seem so bad anymore, does it?
Dear Tech Support,
I am having a problem with your Dopey Drivers app. Each time I try running it, I get the title screen but after that I get a blank screen and nothing seems to happen. Is there a problem with the app?
Our app is working fine. As stated in the documentation, Dopey Drivers plots the location of every dumb driver using black dots on a map. With millions and millions of these idiots on the road…
Dear Tech Support,
Say no more.
I quietly made my way across the attic towards the light behind the door. Many years ago my father slept in the small bedroom behind that door, but now it seemed that anyone could sleep there now, including vagrants. Just because my dearly departed grandparents’ old house stood vacant and unsold for years didn’t mean anyone could sleep there.
I began pounding on the door. Immediately I heard a yelp from the bedroom, but I was only getting started. I kicked the door open and began switching the light on and off in rapid succession. The fact I was completely invisible to the vagrant amplified the poltergeist effect tenfold, effectively intensifying the terror inflicted on the terrified vagrant. He fled the bedroom and the rest of the attic, hopefully never to return.
One down, who knows how many to go.
Time to check the basement. I made sure the attic windows were locked before going downstairs to the kitchen which had a nearby door leading to the basement below. Already I had a feeling there was going to be several more vagrants to deal with down there.
I was right. There were three of them sleeping in the basement. Angered at this sight, I slowly tiptoed down the stairs and snuck past the sleeping vagrants as I walked to the small closet in the corner that doubled as a workshop. Inside, on a coat rack next to the door, hung my grandfather’s winter jacket and hat, still there, decades after his passing. I stepped into the workshop and closed the door as I put on the jacket and hat.
“Yaaaaaah!” I screamed as I kicked the workshop door open and ran out into the basement towards the terrified vagrants. Of course, I was invisible so only the jacket and hat were seen flying through the air. The vagrants fled the basement and I slammed the door shut behind them and this time made sure it was secured and locked. Hopefully that’s the last time I’ll have to deal with this problem.
Satisfied, I opened my eyes to be greeted by the moon shining through my cabin window. Maybe, just maybe, I can now enjoy my cruise without any further worries.
I answered the door in response to some rather frenzied knocking. There stood a short man with greenish skin, oh wait, that was from the green light outside my front door. Anyway, this man seemed rather upset.
“Ah, celebrating Christmas, I see,” he said after observing my holiday themed set up. “You may not remember me, but several months ago you cut me off and took my parking spot at the DOLLAR STORE WHERE YOU DID YOUR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING!”
Instantly there were audible gasps from the other houses surrounding mine. Great. Now everyone knows where I did my holiday shopping. I know I wasn’t not the only one seeking to save a little money this time of year.
Then my attention returned to the angry man at the door. “Wait a minute,” I said, “This was several months ago?”
“Yes, and I’ve waited this long just so I can ruin your Christmas!”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
“You see, I am a THORCERER!”
“Don’t you mean sorcerer?”
“NO, I SAID THORCERER!”
Assuming that infamous stork karate pose, he chanted in a voice so deep it sounded like a long belch, “May everything associated with your holiday go BOOM!” With that, he turned around and disappeared into the night.
I was chuckling at what I just witnessed, but after I closed the door and began walking towards my living room I stopped chuckling because there was no longer anything to chuckle at, but if there was something to chuckle at, I would have been chuckling except I wasn’t chuckling, because there really wasn’t anything to chuckle at.
Anyway, my Christmas tree was growing abnormally large and stood 7 feet tall, which was really abnormal considering that the tree was only 1 foot tall when I bought it. Not only was the tree growing larger but also the ornaments appeared to inflate like balloons.
Instantly the tree exploded, ornaments and all, leaving nothing behind, not even those pesky pine needles. All that was left were the presents on the floor, except they were now inflating like balloons.
The presents exploded, showering the floor with shredded wrapping paper and unidentifiable fragments of plastic and metal. As usual nothing resembling batteries.
I heard a loud explosion coming from behind and when I spun around I saw the showering fragments of what used to be the holiday garland strung along the wall. Next to explode were the Christmas cards on my dining room table soon covered with their dust. Finally I heard popping sounds coming from outside the window. Sure enough, I could see my holiday lights popping like firecrackers on a string. Then all was quiet.
I surveyed the remains of my Christmas decorations and realized there was one thing left that the thorcerer can never destroy.
My Christmas spirit.
Christmas trees dry up and die, holiday lights burn out and a majority of gifts fall apart, but the Christmas spirit is what remains intact, year in and year out. Impressed by this sudden insight, I began to feel something well up from deep inside, except it wasn’t my pride. It was my Christmas spirit, growing larger and larger, soon becoming so large that my head began to swell. Seconds later…
This thorcerer really got me good.
“Nice job, Steve,” Ron sighed. “You just demolished the bedroom and there’s no box in sight. What is this, some kind of joke?”
“I swear, there is a box hidden here somewhere,” Steve countered before he was consumed by a sudden, illuminating thought. After a lengthy pause, he announced, “I think I know where it is.”
“Where?” Ron asked.
Steve pointed at the closet. “In there.”
“Oh great, here we go with more demolition,” Karen complained as Steve opened the closet door in preparation for tearing down the walls inside. Once again the crowbar flew into action, tearing out large chunks of wall before piling them on the already large pile of drywall on the floor. After a few minutes of vicious hammering and ripping, the noise suddenly stopped.
“I found it.”
Steve emerged from the closet holding a small jewelry box held shut by a snap hinge. He handed it to Ron, who eyed it skeptically.
“I’d like you to do the honors,” Steve said, “I think it’s fitting for you, Ian’s parents, to unseal his legacy.”
Ron gripped the jewelry box and struggled to unsnap the rusty hinge that held it shut. Suddenly the lid flew open as a giant spring loaded snake jumped out, filling Ian’s parents with terror. As they stood in place screaming, Steve fled the room, not out of fear but in satisfaction that he had at last fulfilled Ian’s secret legacy – to prank parents and mess up his old bedroom one last time.