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idiotprufs

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

Archive for the tag “work”

Let Me Explain

let me explain

This was an actual conversation I witnessed between a co-worker and a supervisor and the thoughts I had as I listened to the conversation.

It was our first week on a temporary job and my co-worker was keen to be hired in full time. So keen that he felt the need to explain in detail why he had called off the previous Friday.

Co-worker: I wanted to explain why I had to call off on Friday.

Supervisor: Okay.

Co-worker: I was in jail.

Me thinking: Oh no, don’t tell him that.

Co-worker: But it wasn’t my fault. My buddy got pulled over for running a stop sign and the cop took both our licenses. I just happened to have a warrant out for my arrest.

Me Thinking: You just happened to have a warrant out for your arrest?

Supervisor: You just happened to have a warrant out for your arrest?

Co-worker: It was from like, four years ago. I still owed money on a fine.

Me thinking: Don’t tell him why you were arrested.

Co-worker: It was for cocaine possession.

surprise

Co-worker: But I don’t use illegal drugs anymore…

Me thinking: The first non-damaging thing you’ve said.

Co-worker: …very often.

Me thinking: Of course.

Co-worker: In fact, out of all the times I’ve been in jail, that’s the first time I didn’t know somebody in there.

Me thinking: Seriously? Why would you tell him that?

Supervisor: It sounds like you had a rough weekend.

Co-worker: Yeah. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t get hammered on the weekend.

Me thinking: He couldn’t possibly make this worse.

Co-worker: At least I didn’t get (at this point he crudely described being raped by another man) by a big guy named Bubba.

Me thinking: I stand corrected.

Co-worker: And they took all the cash I had and put it toward what I owed on the fine. I’ve had to bum smokes off everyone today…I mean cigarettes–not weed.

Me thinking: Good catch, that’ll save the day.

Supervisor: Well, try to stay out of trouble next weekend.

A few minutes later on the job.

Co-worker: I think that went really well.

Me: Really? You think that went well?

Co-worker: People appreciate honesty?

Me: I certainly appreciated it.

Two months later.

The co-worker was brought on full-time–I was not.

A few weeks later.

The co-worker arrived at work drunk out of his mind, fell asleep on the job, and was fired.

The moral to this little story: people are stupid and they suck.

drunk person

“I’m ready for work.”

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The Disturbing Part of My Conversation With Bill

baby

“Please stop talking now.”

In my previous post I detailed my first conversation with Bill, a coworker with one testicle.

Bill had described to me an unfortunate turn of events involving alcohol, a nail gun, a regrettable ricochet, and the subsequent loss of one of his testicles.

He described it with a level of detail that seemed completely unnecessary–it was disturbing.

Following the nail gun discussion, we navigated through several comparatively mundane topics of conversation, most of which had nothing to do with anybody’s testicles, damaged or otherwise.

Eventually he began to tell me about his ex-girlfriend. He described to me how much he adored her. He described to me how much she reciprocated his feelings. He told me with regret that they were forced to break-up.

“How is it that you were forced to break-up?” I asked him.

“Well, it turned out that she’s ‘kind of’ my sister,” he replied casually.

Then he stood there silently. For the first time all day–he stood there silently. He had jabbered on about his guns, his dog, his truck, and his testicles–the one he still had and one he didn’t. But now he stood there silently.

“Please explain,” I said.

“Explain what?” He replied innocently.

The man who thought it necessary to guide me through a graphically detailed journey of the loss of his testicle now had nothing say.

“Explain how she’s ‘kind of’ your sister.”

“We have the same father,” he again replied innocently.

I puzzled for a moment as I absorbed what I had just heard.

“That would make her less ‘kind of’ your sister and more ‘exactly’ your sister…it’s pretty much the text book definition of a sister.”

“Half-sister,” he corrected me. “We have different mothers.”

It seems the poor girl’s mother had never told her who her real father was until the circumstance of her dating her half-brother had forced the situation.

“It was really too bad we had to break-up,” he said with regret. “We had a lot in common.”

“Of course you had a lot in common,” I told him, “DNA for starters.”

Then he said something horrible.

Note: I know what you’re thinking: more horrible than the story about a nail piercing his testicle? Yes!

“We had great sex,” he proclaimed with an amount of pride that seemed wholly inappropriate.

“Stop it,” I yelled in a panic.

I didn’t need the mental image of a man with one testicle having sex with his sister. (Correction: half-sister.)

“I’d be more comfortable if we went back to talking about your lost testicle,” I said emphatically.

Just saying the words made me queasy; no man should ever have to utter that phrase.

The state of Bill’s family tree.

Why Did You Tell Me That?

surprised cat

Exactly.

His name was Bill, and I had just met him five minutes ago. It was my first day on the job, and I was helping him. We worked in silence for a few minutes before he turned to me and said with stunning nonchalance, “Yeah. I’ve only got one testicle.”

I gaped stupidly.

I prefer to know a person at least one full day before I work my testicles into a conversation.

He looked at me expectantly, as if he was waiting for me to say, “great, tell me more about your testicles, or lack of them. I’m keen to hear.”

As I gaped stupidly, several possible responses flipped through my mind:

  • I guess were getting to know each other aren’t we?
  • Left one or right one?
  • Does it make you walk in circles?
  • Fantastic. Straight to the weirdest thing possible.
  • I think I’ll work on the other side of the room.
  • Oh. That’s why the guy called you One-balled Bill.
  • My whole life: that’s how long I could have gone without knowing that.

I said none of those things. I replied by saying the stupidest thing my brain could conjure: “I have two of them?”

And yes, I said it as a question. I’m still not certain why I felt confused.

Perhaps I just didn’t want to appear as though I was bragging. If I had confidently told him, “I have two testicles–the proper amount,” that would have seemed grandiose.

He looked at me like I was an idiot. I felt like an idiot. There was that inevitable awkward silence that occurs when two men discuss their testicles for the first time.

Undeterred by my idiocy, he launched into the story “I was out in my garage having a few beers when I thought to myself: this would be a good time to try out my new nail gun.”

The next several minutes were horrifying. I will spare you details because…well…ick.

I did learn some things from Bill:

  • Shockingly, alcohol and power tools don’t mix.
  • Nail guns are designed to drive a nail through wood or plaster. The fact that a nail gun will readily penetrate a layer of denim and your scrotum just goes without saying.
  • A nail in your testicle really hurts.
  • A nail in your testicle will bleed a lot.
  • It’s difficult to drive yourself to the hospital with a nail in your testicle.
  • It’s difficult to walk with a nail in your testicle.
  • It’s difficult to breathe with a nail in your testicle.
  • It’s difficult to do virtually anything with a nail in your testicle, the exception being whimpering; whimpering is practically a requirement when you have a  nail in your testicle.
  • Did I mention that it really hurts?
  • There was never a more appropriate use of the phrase: unfortunate ricochet.

I can write one thing with relative certitude: it was not a good time to try out his new nail gun.

I spent the remainder of the night with one overriding thought in my mind: please don’t offer to show me a scar.

Bill has only one.

 

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