Posts Tagged 'real life'

Late Because Not My Fault

The professor is a patient person.

Usually.

Sometimes, I’m not, and that’s when I riot. #riotingisfun

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A picture of me after rioting.

But, anyways and some, I pushed the elevator button, because I had to go up, after all.

Just up a floor, mind.

And I had to get there within three minutes. Not a problem.

Sadly, that’s when it all went south, like a buffalo running down a hill who loses control and starts to tumble.

jumpingbuffalo-yellowstonenationalp

You see, that’s when the hallway became packed with so many people, I feared–the sudden–for my oxygen supply.

Then there was a ding, and the elevator opened.

It was going down, not up.

“Dadblameit!” I cussed.

“That’s not going to help anything,” a girl next to me, who was also waiting, said.

“What’s not?”

“Cursing. It’s not how you should live your life.”

“But you’re as wrong as wrong can get, because I’m always right. It definitely helps. After all, Mark Twain and John Wayne said it does, and they can’t possibly be wrong.”

This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.

This is the first thing John Wayne said to me when I met him back in the day.

She raised an eyebrow.

The elevator came again.

And success!

It was going up.

But, rats and a heifer, there was no room.

That’s when the professor glanced at his watch.

Just thirty seconds now.

I ran to the stairs.

And wonders of wonders, can you believe when I arrived at the correct floor, the door to access that floor was handle-less?! No handle. No way to get it.

What made it even worse was the fact that I could see the place where I needed to be through the window.

The professor just couldn’t get there.

So…I rioted.

Riot mode.

Riot mode.

The professor busted down the door with inhuman strength, charged into the nearest room, grabbed the nearest employee, and dragged him back to the door.

“What is wrong with your building, hmm, dadblameit?! Elevator service is awfully awful and there’s no handles on your doors! What is this? A giggle-joke?!”

“I’ll fix it right away, sir!” the fellow said nervously as he shook brutally.

“You better,” I said, relaxing. “Now you’ve gone and made me late.”

“I’ll make it up to you!” He was on his knees know, begging. “Please don’t hurt me!”

The professor raised an eyebrow. “A free lunch? That’s what I require.”

“Yes!! You got it!”

Double-dadblameit. That sounded so good, too.

That’s how I did it in my mind, see.

In reality, I stood there, staring through the door for a good ten minutes, before I decided to try to find another way in.

The professor was late, and there was nothing a soul, or ghost, could do about it.

Mistake-d

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So, the professor was in a bookstore.

bookstore3

And I was wearing jeans, a sports coat, and red shoes. (That’s important.)

Also, my eyes were shielded from the blinding book lights, by great sunglasses. #cool

All in all, I was in spy-mode.

Now, the funny thing was this: A chap came half walking, half sprinting towards me. His goal: the restroom. And he was wearing jeans and red shoes, too! (Boogie-wu.)

Amazing. I didn’t dwell on it, though.

See, I was looking about. From book to book.

Picking one up, then throwing it away just as quickly as I had picked it up–if it didn’t suit my fancy, which many didn’t.

I was getting into the process, too, when I was approached by a disgruntled older man.

“What’s the idea?!” he hollered in my face, swinging a book back and forth.

“Excuse me a few hundred times?” How dare he?

“You think slop like this is acceptable?!”

And he threw a book down on the table:

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“Ohhhh…” I said.

“Yeah!” he stormed. “Exactly. How dare you! Jane Austen wasn’t respected in her day, and she sure is [bleep] respected now, is she? How dare you!”

I was quite shocked, I must admit.

A male Jane Austen fan? Wonder of wonders!!

“Look here,” I said, “I’m surprised you like JA. But you’ll be pleased to learn this fact: I didn’t write that book.”

And I nodded a few times.

His face grew redder.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“You mean because you read Jane Austen? No need to feel that way.”

“Let me make myself clear–“

“Please,” I interrupted, “’cause you’re sorta cloudy at the minute.”

Glare.

“How dare you carry this book in your store! It’s idiot small business owners, like yourself, who let this kinda thing happen!”

“I’m the owner?”

That caught him for a second. He paused, even.

“The woman at the front said I’d find you back here… You and your horribly, ugly red shoes. That’s what she said.”

I just stared at him; he stared at me, still glowering.

Owner? Wow. I could play with this.

But then, the chap who came sprinting to the restrooms earlier came out of the restroom. I looked at his red shoes, then understood.

“He’s the chap you want,” I said.

And I made my getaway.

Moral: Don’t wear red shoes when the owner of a bookstore is wearing red shoes.

Lesson: Not learned

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TPL Schedule

Sunday: OFF — Day of Shalt Nots

Monday: TPL Story

Tuesday: OFF — Because I'm Gone

Wednesday: Professor Speaks

Thursday: OFF — Because Yes

Friday: OFF — All Day Sleep Does

Saturday: OFF — Blue-Footed Boobies Need Fed

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Depends on the day, see.

Punchy Argot:

1. Dadblameit.
2. Humdinger
3. Chickit
4. Chicky-woot-woot
5. Malediction
6. Rapscallion
7. Gardoobled
8. Congratulilolations
9. Togoggin
10. Gargonic
11. Two and Five Gurgles
12. Rats and a Heifer
13. Two nods, a wink, and an astroid
14. A bit, bits, and little bits
15. Huff-Hum and a Roar
16. So many thanks, I can't begin to thank you
17. Ri-do-diculous


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