idiotprufs

the blog that made the pope laugh so hard he peed himself.

Archive for the tag “waiting in line”

Local Man to Embark on Grueling 3-Day Trip to Popeye’s Drive-Thru — gooferie

With his vacation time approved, Erie resident Turner Donaldson has finished preparations for his three-day journey through the West 12th Street Popeye’s drive-thru. “I drive by every day and see how busy it is,” said Donaldson. “I figured I’d plan my vacation around getting some of that chicken. I’m actually taking four days’ worth of […]

via Local Man to Embark on Grueling 3-Day Trip to Popeye’s Drive-Thru — gooferie

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Just the Eggs Ma’am

broken egg shellPurchasing two dozen eggs at the supermarket is something that ought to be quick and simple.

Unfortunately I had forgotten who I am–nothing can be quick and simple.

Cashier: Did you check the eggs to make sure they’re not broken?

Me: Yes I did.

Cashier: You have to check them individually.

Me: I already…(I look up from my wallet to find her individually checking every egg.)…did that.

Cashier: Men never check the eggs.

Me: I don’t necessarily think that’s true.

Cashier: Yes it is. (She moves on to the second dozen.) What are you going to do with these eggs?

Me: Well, I saw police car in front of the store and thought it would be cool to get my name in the paper.

Cashier: (stops checking the eggs and stares at me with suspicion.) I can’t sell these eggs to you if you’re going to throw them at a police car.

Me: That was just a joke.

Cashier: So what are going to do with them?

Me: Just normal egg things.

Cashier: Such as?

Me (irritated): I thought I’d put them all in a big glass and drink them raw like Rocky.

Cashier: Who’s Rocky.

Me: Rocky Balboa.

Cashier: I don’t know him.

Me: From the movie Rocky.

Cashier: Never saw it.

Me: Really, because it’s a pretty famous movie.

Cashier: Let me talk to my manager. (She disappears into the office.)

Me (Under my breath): I’ll bet your manager’s seen Rocky.

I now notice the growing line behind me and realize that I am  “that idiot” who screwed up the express lane.

Small child behind me in line: Guess what?

Me: What?

Small child: Eggs come from a chicken’s pooper.

Me: You have an amazing grasp of chicken physiology.

Small child: I know.

Me: It’s your turn to guess what.

Small Child: What?

Me: Chicken butt.

Small Child: (Laughs hysterically and starts repeating chicken butt over and over.)

Child’s Mother: (Glares at me.)

Me: What? You prefer pooper to chicken butt?

Several moments of awkward silence ensued (apart from the small child joyfully repeating the phrase chicken butt) followed by the manager emerging from the office to look me over. The manager studied me for a moment and returned to the office for several more awkward silent moments before the cashier returned.

Cashier: The manager says I can sell you the eggs.

Me: Fantastic.

I paid for the eggs, left the store, and egged the cashier’s car.

I didn’t really do that…don’t tell the police.

 

rocky drinking eggs

Just normal egg things.

 

Don’t Get Behind Me

Don't get in line behind me.image source: wpclipart.com

Don’t get in line behind me.

I am waiting line death.

It doesn’t matter if it’s at the supermarket, in a department store, at the theatre, in the post office, or at toll booths, whatever line I choose will come to a catastrophic halt.

If you get in a line to use the restroom and you’re standing behind me; it end with you soiling yourself.

I once got in a line at the Department of Motor Vehicles and it started moving backwards. It wasn’t long before I was standing in the parking lot, surrounded by ill-tempered drivers who began pelting me with their nearly expired licenses.

I was in a receiving line at a wedding and the couple divorced before I got to them.

If I get into a line at the supermarket, the person in front of me will spontaneously combust, bringing the line to an unnerving end, creating a horrible smoky mess and ruining all of my dairy products.

Or the cashier will get into a dispute with a customer over the validity of a fifty cent coupon for brownie mix. The customer will tell the cashier that she simply isn’t intelligent enough to understand the wording on the coupon. The cashier will tell the customer that she does in fact understand the wording on the coupon and that the customer shouldn’t be eating brownies anyway because she could stand to lose a few pounds. One of them uses the word bitchy. The other uses the phrase fat and bitchy. Things quickly escalate and they have to shut down the line to clean the blood off the cash register.

Or the cashier will get into a long protracted conversation about her uncle Ron. We’re all upset that he’s back in prison, but if you’re on probation you shouldn’t smoke pot in your car and drive over speed limit…or on the sidewalk.

sloth dmv

I always get the sloth.

I was once in line behind a guy who was putting his change on the conveyor as he was counting it out. As the conveyor moved, it dumped his change down the crack in between the conveyor and the counter. As his change clanked away so did his ability to pay for the item he was trying to purchase. As it turned out, that check-out counter was an impenetrable Fort Knox from which nothing could be retrieved. The cashier could do nothing. Her boss could do nothing. The store manager could do nothing. The store owner could do nothing. Evidently the change had entered some unearthly abyss and was gone forever.

As you can see: I’m like Typhoid Mary without the disease and death. Sometimes there’s disease, but there’s rarely ever death. Expect for that time I was in line at the funeral home, but that guy was dead before I got there…I think.

There were only two people in this line when got into it. And photography was still only in black and white.

There were only two people in this line when got into it. And photography was still black and white.

huffingtonpost

I tried to get into a line in Minnesota, but they were ready for me.

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