Collin and I went to K-Mart on Thursday. There was a sale going on. Collin told me women's undies were supposed to be 50% off, so I went to the department to check it out.
"It's buy one, get the second half off," Collin said.
"Not for everything," I told him. "See? The sign clearly says Big Butt Sizes Only."
A young woman, a member of the sales staff, came running over from the racks she had been stocking. "It doesn't really say that, does it?"
The expression on her face was priceless! She looked horrified, then relieved when she got a look at the allegedly offensive sign. She went back to her racks.I couldn't stop laughing. (I have, I'm told, an extremely low threshold for humor.) Ten minutes later, a voice emerged from the racks on the other side of the aisle:
"You can stop laughing now."
It made me think of a similar situation my sarcasm had gotten me into. I'd gone to my accountant's office to pick up my tax returns a while back. I saw the amount of tax I owed, and responded accordingly. I signed the returns for mailing and, as I was walking out the door, I told his assistant, "I think I'll go home and blow my brains out."
Shortly after returning home, I received a call from the Life Crisis center. The dimwit had reported me as a potential suicide! After hanging up on them four times, I'd had enough. "Listen," I told the poor woman on the other end, who was feeling a strong dose of my temper (which is rumored to be measured on the Richter Scale), "I'm not suicidal, but if you call me one more time, I may become homicidal."
That might have landed me in even hotter water if the police had not shown up. I was in my office downstairs. Mom came to the door. "There's a police officer upstairs who says he got a call you might be suicidal."
"Oh, for crying out loud! Did you tell him I'm fine?"
"Yes, but he needs to see you for himself."
So I went upstairs--in time to hear Dad say, "You don't have to worry about her. She might kill somebody else, but she'd never kill herself. She'd never give anyone the satisfaction."
"Thanks, Dad. Now every time somebody gets offed, I'll be dragged in for the lineup." Good thing Officer What's-His-Name had a sense of humor.
Then there's the occasional guy who won't take no for an answer: "Hey, honey--what're you doing for the rest of your life?" (Geez--not even a GOOD pickup line!)
"Witness Protection Program. Sorry." Judging by the look on his face, he believed it.