I have to be unarguably the worst copier salesmen in the world. I always have the best intentions, but no matter how hard I try, everything always seems to go completely wrong. This morning I had a very important meeting with the CFO of Hearst International. After stalking him by phone for literally 13 months, I was finally granted 10 minutes to come in and pitch him on our new line of MFP’s.
I arrived 15 minutes early. When I have a really big meeting, it helps to have a few extra minutes to prepare. The office was stark white and much grander than I had imagined. I walked over to the receptionist, a middle-aged Jewish woman, and said in my best business voice, “Good Morning, Brett Sanders here to see Mr. Oliver.” She explained that he was on a call, and asked me to take a seat. I began going over my presentation while I waited; after all practice makes perfect. The receptionist was soon called away somewhere, and while she was gone I realized I was a bit thirsty. I noticed a big water cooler over in the corner of the room, but when I went over I discovered the tank was empty. Since no one else was around, I figured I might as well just change it myself. Although I had never changed one before, I thought how difficult could it be? I’ll just grab myself a little water, and in the process score a few brownie points with the old lady. I figured, she’d love the fact that I wasn’t afraid to show a little initiative. You see it’s little things like that, which separate sales guys like me from the amateurs.
I removed the empty water jug and placed it on the floor, and then peeled the cap from the refill sitting beside it. Having seen it done literally dozens of times before, it’s really pretty simple. The idea is to lift the container up over your shoulder, and down into the cooler in one fell swoop. As I bent down to lift the huge 40 gallon jug of water, I quickly realized it was quite a bit heavier than I had anticipated. Judging by the sheer weight, it was pretty evident, this was a job that would require razor like speed and accuracy. With that being said I squatted down in my suit, and with both hands proceeded to lift the heavy water jug. With a big heave-ho, I managed to swing the heavy jug over my shoulder. As I was coming down swiftly to place it into the base, I somehow missed the whole damn water cooler; dousing the front of my body with roughly 4 gallons of water. I had no idea water could shoot so fast out of such a small little hole. After a few second of struggling, I finally managed to flip the gushing container back right side up. Attempting to swing this now wet jug over my shoulder again into the cooler, the entire thing somehow goes flying out my hands across the room. Now here I am chasing this 40 gallon jug of water around the waiting room, with literally gallons of water gushing out all over the place. This was somehow not the way I imagined it going in my head. By the time I finally managed to get the runaway jug back into the cooler, believe it or not, the damn thing was completely empty. I thought, “WTF?”
At this point the receptionist finally comes back in. She opens the door and the first thing she sees is 40 gallons of water all over the floor, and me soaked from head to toe. She yelled, “What the hell happened?” At a loss for words, the only thing I could think to say was, “I’m sorry, I was a little thirsty.” She took one step onto the slippery floor and completely wiped out, sailing head first into the water. Now soaked herself, at the top of her lungs she just began screaming, “Get the f*ck out!” Startled, I quickly grabbed my jacket and ran out the door. As a result, I had to walk 15 blocks back to my office, completely drenched in the dead of winter.
IF YOU LIKE THIS ARTICLE PLEASE SHARE IT!! AND I LOVE COMMENTS SO PLEASE REMEMBER TO LEAVE ONE BELOW!
Last week, the very thing I fear the most actually happened to me. I was trapped alone on an elevator for nearly 25 minutes. On the way up to my 18th floor office, the elevator froze, leaving me trapped between the 9th and the 10th floors. Among my many psychological disorders, claustrophobia is on the very top of the list. So although most people would probably just think, “Hey, no big deal…I’ll just play Tetris on my phone until they fix it.” For me, I might as well have been stuck on that elevator with Jaws, Freddy Kruger, and a little rabid monkey waving a switch blade. I couldn’t have possibly been any more gripped with fear.
The emergency button on the elevator was broken, and there was no cell phone reception whatsoever. So at this point, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I was going to die. I thought, if I didn’t suffocate from running out of air; the cable was sure to snap, sending me plunging 10 stories to my death. Either way, it wasn’t going to be pretty. It’s funny how your mind works. Even though I was trapped in a steel box faced with death, the only thing I could think of was, “Dammit; I forgot to put away my midget porn!” When you walk out your door, you never in million years think there’s a chance that you won’t ever return. If I did, I certainly would not have left all of my Bridget the Midget dvd’s sprawled across my bed for the world to see. Now, no matter what good I’ve contributed to this world; or how many pairs of shoes I donated to Haiti. The only thing anybody would ever remember of me, is that I didn’t make up my bed, and I had a fetish for little foul mouthed Mexican Midgets. This was somehow not the legacy I had imagined for myself.
Suddenly I began banging and screaming for help like a mad man. I prayed to every deity I could think of. I called out to Jesus, Moses; hell I even called out a couple times to Superman. Desperate times call for desperate measures. In a state of sheer panic, I remembered my therapist once saying that if you ever find yourself in a claustrophobic situation, the trick is to do whatever you normally do to relax your mind. So with no other choice, I did the only thing I could think of to relax. I began to masturbate. Now, typically I’m not the kind of guy who whips out his Johnson on the elevator at work, and starts spanking his monkey all “Willie Nillie”. But, this was indeed a life or death situation. I wasn’t doing this for pleasure sake. My life was on the line. And dammit I wanted to live.
I have a rather obscure way of masturbating that requires me to lie down on the bed and simulate sex by humping the mattress. A technique I accidentally discovered in the 6th grade. With no bed in sight, I had no choice but to use the floor of the elevator. With that said, I got down on my knees, pretended that floor was Bridget the Midget, and I went for broke. Since this was no doubt, sure to be my last time: I pulled out all the stops. I did every move I knew, and even a few I had always wanted to try. I tried “downward facing dog” with one leg hiked up on the wall. I even tried this helicopter move I saw once in Japanese film. That one didn’t go so smooth. I guess some sexual positions really do require a second person. Otherwise it just comes off as awkward. Before I knew it, I had worked up a sweat. And believe it or not, that therapist was actually right. I could suddenly breathe again. It was a miracle.
I don’t know if it was one of my prayers, or if during all the humping I somehow managed to jiggle one of the circuits back in place. But within several minutes, the elevator started to move again. I was saved. Just in time too, because normally after one of my “self love” sessions, I have a tendency to fall out like a light. If that elevator door had opened up, with me sprawled out asleep, face down with pants to my knees. I imagine some people would’ve probably gotten the wrong idea. People can be so damn negative. Thankfully, I had just enough time to get up and button my pants before the elevator got to my floor. As I looked up to the sky to thank God, I could not believe my eyes. Mounted above me in the corner of the elevator, was a big ass security camera, aimed directly at me. I gasped and thought, “Had that been there the entire time?” I guess I was so hysterical that I didn’t even bother to look up. This was definitely not good.
I went back to my cubicle and immediately began packing up my desk. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that my black ass was as good as fired. I’ve talked myself out of some doozies in my day, but there was no way in hell I could talk my way out of sexually assaulting the elevator. But to my surprise, no one said anything the entire day. In-fact, I went back to work every day that week and still absolutely nothing. Could it be that nobody saw the tape? I thought, “It is an old elevator. Perhaps that camera doesn’t even work.” Then this morning as I was walking out of the building, something told me to turn around. As I turned, I discovered a big group of security guards gathered around the monitor, doubled over in hysterics as they pointed in my direction.
IF YOU LIKE THIS ARTICLE PLEASE SHARE IT!! AND REMEMBER TO FOLLOW BRETT AND THE CITY ON FACE BOOK!
Have you ever had to give anyone over seventy someone’s number over the phone? Talk about nerve wrecking. Today while on the phone with my grandmother, she asked me to give her someone’s number. Honestly, I’d rather she had just asked for one of my damn kidneys. Something tells me it would’ve been far less painful, and no doubt taken half the time. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my grandmother. She is literally the sweetest woman in the world. But, I would rather gnaw my own arm off; before I give that lady someone else’s number over the phone. No one on earth has that much patience. That woman would make Mother Theresa curse her out, and then light up a joint. Sure, anyone can heal lepers and feed the poor of the land. But it takes a special kind of patience to give Mrs. Mae-Ruth Brown someone’s phone number, while she attempts to write it down.
Since I moved to New York, I make sure to call my grandmother at least once a month; and I always have the same strategy: get in and get out in under three minutes; and never under any circumstances do I ever mention another family member’s name. Because that will no doubt lead to her asking for their number, and me losing mu f*cking sanity. A typical call goes something like this: “Hey Grandma. New York is great, the weather is great, hey sorry to hear about your toes…yeah diabetes is a bitch. Well at least you still got 6 good ones left…okay talk to you next month.” It took me years to develop this strategy, and it normally goes without hitch. But as luck would have it, today I caught her in the middle of a huge crisis.
My grandmother sings in what’s called The Old Folk’s Choir at church, and this was the Sunday of their big annual performance. It seemed Grandma was all in a panic, because the market across the street had apparently just run out of Depends. You see, its common knowledge that whenever Grandma Mae-Ruth “catches the spirit” in church; she unfortunately lets go of everything else. And that includes control of her bladder. Last year, she got a little overly excited in the middle of her choir’s big showstopping number Wade in the Water. And let’s just say; by the time she was done, they all were doing just that. Talk about life imitating art. That day, Grandma Mae-Ruth gave a whole new meaning to the phrase, “Let go and let God”. She really gives it all to Jesus. Literally.
Given the dire circumstances, she needed my brother to drive her to the mall and had “coincidentally” just misplaced his number. As much as I wanted to say I didn’t know it, or pretend I was going through a tunnel at that moment in the car: something told me that letting your grandma piss herself at church; probably wasn’t the most Christian thing to do. I kid you not, below is the exact transcript of our conversation:
Me: Alright are you ready Grandma? It’s 616, 242-635…
Grandma: Wait a minute. Slow down. Now, first you said 6?
Me: Yes Grandma, it’s 616. Then it’s 242-63…
Grandma: Wait a minute you’re going too fast. I’m not a computer. Just slow down and breathe. Now you said it was 6, then a 1. Now what came next?
Me: I said 6 Grandma! It’s a 6! You got that? Then it’s 242…
Grandma: 242? Are you sure? Cause that don’t sound right.
Me: Yes Grandma that’s it! If you already knew it, then why did you asked me? You asked me for brother’s number, so I’m giving it to you. It’s 616, 242-6355. Now did you get that?
Grandma: Alright, hold on then. Let me go find a pen.
After 15 minutes of listening to her rummage through literally every drawer in the house; she finally returned for what seemed like a never ending game of “Who’s on First?” She repeated that phone number back to me so many damn times; after a while hell, I actually started to get confused. By the time she finished cutting me off, transposing numbers, and repeating back what she “thought” I said; I actually began to second guess own myself. I call the number every day and believe it or not, I started to think, “Damn Brett, maybe you really don’t know the number after all.” Now, this is the point of the conversation that my mind always begins to play tricks on me. Paranoia sets in and I immediately start to think, “Wait, is this lady just f*king with me?” “What if this whole ‘sweet grandmother’ thing is nothing but one big act? Maybe after all these years, this is just her sick little way of paying me back, for that time I hid her dentures.” When I was nine, the church named my grandmother the “Usher of the Decade”, which meant that her picture would be on the front page of The Grand Rapid’s Press Newspaper. The hugest honer they could bestow. I was a very mischievous kid; so on the morning of the big photo shoot, I thought it would be funny if I hid her teeth before I left for school. Sh*t, how was I supposed to know that she would still actually go through with the shoot?
Looking back, I realized that I probably shouldn’t have done that. But, on the bright side; at least she did get a brand new set of dentures out of the big fiasco. It turned out that next to the infamous JFK’s assassination, for some strange reason, the “Toothless Grandma” edition of The Grand Rapid’s Press, ended up being one their biggest sellers ever in the history. Jay Leno even showed the picture on The Tonight Show. As a result, a local dentist ended up hiring Mae-Ruth as the spokes model for his new line of dentures: which made perfect since; especially seeing how everyone in the country had already seen her “before” shot. And unlike her previous set that I hid, at least this pair didn’t constantly keep slipping out of her mouth whenever she read the morning announcements at church.
Believe it or not, it took me almost a half an hour to give that lady a simple 10-digit phone number. And can you believe after all that; she actually had the nerve to say, “Thanks. Now do you have his email address too?”
IF YOU LIKE THIS ARTICLE PLEASE SHARE IT!! AND REMEMBER TO FOLLOW BRETT AND THE CITY ON FACE BOOK!
