totally true story

Ninja Crouching Black

The totally true story of my Black Friday escapade

8 Comments

Today belonged to me. This was my day to shine. Usually, I was the guy causing unexpected chaos and destruction. Today, I’d be causing expected chaos and destruction along with thousands of others. Yes, I would finally fit in, be one of the crowd, join the hordes of like-minded people gathering in the same place for the same purpose. Oh, how liberating it felt to be part of something bigger than myself, this time without being involved in illegal “human Voltron” experiments.

My eyes scanned the crowd of people waiting outside the closed doors. We were mere minutes away from all hell breaking loose. I could feel the tension and excitement. People were growing impatient, pushing and shoving to get a better spot.

I did no pushing.

I did no shoving, either.

I’d already claimed the perfect spot. One where I could remain uncontested. I smiled. Once again, I turned out to have been smarter than the rest.

The doors would open any moment now. I stretched, anticipating the fun ahead. Finally, two store attendants showed up and made their way to the front of the crowd. They unlocked the doors and began the countdown.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six,” at this point, the rest of the crowd joined in, “FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE…”

“BLAAAAACK FRIDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” I bellowed and jumped down onto the unsuspecting crowd below from the second-story ledge I’d been hiding up on. My feet made impact with a few heads and faces, and the rest of my body soon followed. I landed right in the middle of the shuffling mass of people, who were clearly surprised by my masterfully planned, perfectly timed, and impeccably executed stunt. Some of them screamed, others shrieked. All of them were clearly unprepared for the strategy I’d chosen. I used the element of surprise to grab a bag from one of the nearby women while simultaneously performing a leg sweep on the man to her left. This was playing out almost exactly the way I’d seen Black Friday play out on TV. So far so good.

It was only in the middle of taking down the fifth person that I’d noticed nobody else seemed to be participating in this rambunctious, no-holds-barred merriment. In fact, most people looked decidedly appalled and even angry. By inertia, I pushed and tripped a couple of more people, but soon my wild swinging and punching slowed and ultimately came to a complete halt. What was wrong? Why were these people just standing there, as if this wasn’t the one day of the year when we were all supposed to partake in state-sanctioned violence?

“What is wrong? Why are you people just standing there, as if this isn’t the one day of the year when we are all supposed to partake in state-sanctioned violence?” I demanded.

“Because it isn’t, you goddamn psycho!” someone yelled.

I looked around. The people I’d tackled were getting up from the ground, rubbing their injuries and shaking their heads. Everyone else was looking on in what I could sense was severe disapproval. It appeared my understanding of the concept of Black Friday—which, like most things in my life, was based mainly on what I’d picked up from watching funny YouTube clips—was somewhat incomplete. Not to worry: If my similar past experiences were anything to go by, I’d easily find a way to navigate the situation.

“Moron,” the victim of my leg sweep said, “What’s your deal? And what’s with the hideous black rags you’re wearing?!”

“These are not rags,” I declared with pride, “It’s my ninja outfit!”

People in the crowd started muttering and exchanging glances. I could tell by their confusion that they were woefully unfamiliar with the honorable men and women of the ninja persuasion. I continued:

“Ninja—also known as shinobi—were elite covert agents in feudal Japan. They carried out risky assignments, such as–”

“We know what ninjas are, you tool. Why are you dressed as one?” spoke the leg-swept man.

“This is my creative Black Friday outfit. Yes, Black Friday, the day when everyone wears black and heads out to the city to legally fight other people in an effort to win the coveted title of ‘Master Black Friderer.'”

Most people were now giving me a look I was all too familiar with. I seemed to get that look quite often in my interactions with others. It was a special mix of pity, condescension, and disbelief about how somebody could be this clueless.

“That’s not at all what Black Friday is about, dude,” someone said.

“I knew that,” I said. I did not know that. “Duh,” I added.

“Right, well let’s see you explain that to security, buddy.”

Oh no they wouldn’t. Not this time. I may have made the same mistake once, or twice, or a dozen times, but this wasn’t going to be one of them. The truth was on my side. The truth, and the makeshift smoke bomb I’d fashioned out of charcoal lighter fluid, plastic wrap, and stray cat fur gathered over the course of several months. They wouldn’t see it coming, and they wouldn’t see me going.

With one quick, sharp, confident movement that lasted for over half a minute, I pulled out the smoke bomb, dropped it on the ground, picked it up, fumbled for my lighter, struggled to start it, succeeded in starting it, and then held it to the plastic wrap. The plastic wrap was slow to start but quick to melt, covering my hand in a stream of hot goo. I did not quit. I continued to hold the lighter to the plastic-wrapped ball of cat hair, all the while maintaining uninterrupted eye contact with the shocked crowd of people. Finally, the plastic wrap disappeared entirely and the cat hair instantly caught fire. It generated copious amounts of thick, black smoke.

It worked. By the powers of Holy Sky Ninja, it worked! I was fully engulfed by the smoke, just like the movies promised I’d be. By the time smoke dissipated, I’d be gone and the foolish fools would be none the wiser.

The smoke dissipated.

Strangely, something must have malfunctioned. I didn’t find myself magically teleported to the comfort of my own home. Instead, I was still exactly where I’d stood seconds ago, except now I was covered in toxic-smelling soot and my eyes were tearing profusely. Worst of all, the crowd was equally as unteleported as I was. Even more worst of all still, several members of the store’s security team were now approaching me. Moments later, they encircled me inside a square that they formed.

I knew the battle was lost.

I’d be getting arrested once more.

Thankfully, I’d had plenty of experience dealing with that, too…

Job interview: Woman at desk writing with a pen

The totally true story of how I went to a job interview

18 Comments

My interviewer was an imposing man with a wide face and an angry…also face. He sat atop a horse, refusing to budge or speak when I addressed him. I have introduced myself five times, but he remained silent and angry.

This was a test, I gathered. He was trying to shake my confidence and see how persistent I was willing to be. A lot. I was willing to be persistent a lot.

“Sir, as I said, my name is Daniel. I am here for the job interview for the Advice-Giving Specialist position. Can I–”

“Daniel?” came a voice from behind, “Here for the interview?”

The voice belonged to a young woman who was clutching a stack of papers: my CV, my cover letter, and the colorful picture of a dragon riding a skateboard I’d sent in as proof of my creative potential.

“Yes! That’s the ticket. Me. That’s me, I meant. I am here for the job interview, as I was just telling Mr…?” I nodded toward the angry-faced man on a horse.

“That’s Dave Simpkins, the company’s founder. You’re looking at his portrait,” The woman tilted her head sideways, sizing me up.

“Right. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Simpkins. Nice horse!” I enthused.

“As I was saying: That’s a portrait,” the paper-clutching lady repeated. A few moments of silence passed. I looked at the lady. She looked back at me. I looked over at Dave Simpkins, then at his horse, then, again, at his angry face.

“Right,” I said.

“You do know what a portrait is, don’t you?” This was a second test. I’d have to be eloquent and quick-thinking to get out of this one.

“Erhm…sure?” I said, spreading my legs wide and pushing my chest out to appear bigger. I’d read about that trick in a book once.

The woman shook her head, then silently beckoned me to follow her. She led me into another room. The job interview room. At last. The interviewer by the desk was tall and slim. He reminded me a lot of Waldo, except he was bald and didn’t have any striped clothing or a cane. He was also a she. We shook hands, and the not-Waldo woman introduced herself as Sandra.

“Morning, Daniel, please have a seat,” she said, gesturing at the chair by her desk.

Clever ploy: She was trying to see how susceptible I was to external influence. Not so fast, lady. I pushed the chair aside and sat down on the floor. As a result, most of my head ended up under the desk, except for my eyes. I arranged them into a frown, watching her reaction closely.

“Don’t you want to take the ch–”

“No!” I bellowed. Sandra instinctively jolted backward but regained her composure soon after.

“That’s fine. So, Daniel. I’m going to ask you a bit about yourself, if that’s OK?”

“Sure. Will Dave Simpkins be joining us?” I asked.

“Dave has been dead for 40 years,” Sandra looked at me with an expression that implied I was speaking nonsense.

“Wrong. I just saw Dave in the lobby, actually. On a horse!” I said, smugly. Looks like I caught her trying to throw me off.

“That’s a portrait,” Sandra said. Long silence again. I looked at Sandra. Sandra looked back at me, or rather at my eyes hovering above the desk. I didn’t quite follow this repeated “portrait” reasoning and why it should prevent Dave from attending, but I wasn’t going to argue with a potential employer. You have to be less confrontational at job interviews. I read about that in a book once. Once more, I spread my legs wide and pushed out my chest to appear bigger. This made me sink further to the floor, so that my forehead was now the only thing above the desk.

“Let’s proceed, shall we?” I said.

“Can I please get you to take a seat on the chair, Daniel? It’s a bit difficult to talk when I can’t see you.”

“Nonsense, Sandra. Sound waves travel from my mouth to your ears. Eyes have nothing to do with it,” I parried. Check and mate, Sandra. Another one of your sneaky tests had failed. This job interview was going to be a cakewalk. Then I’d go get me some cake.

“Fine. Tell me why you want this job.”

“It pays money,” I said, making sure that the visible part of my forehead clearly conveyed how pointless I felt the question was.

“That’s true. But why here? Why Dave’s Advice & Consultation Bureau?”

“Because you’re hiring,” I said. Yet another long silence followed. I was starting to think that people in this company weren’t that good at conversation. Sandra sighed. She rubbed her forehead. Then, at last, she spoke:

“Daniel. This is a job interview. Do you know how a job interview works?”

“You ask me questions. I answer. I think we’ve been doing that quite well so far,” I arranged my mouth into a smile, but then, remembering that my mouth wasn’t visible, I arranged my forehead into a smile instead.

“Right, but you have to convince me that you’re the right candidate for this job. Like, what are your strengths?”

Finally we were speaking my language. Strength was something I had plenty of and then some. In lieu of a verbal answer, I quickly jumped to my feet, grabbed Sandra’s desk with both of my hands and yanked it upward, yelling, “This is my strength, Sandra!” Unfortunately, I only managed to lift the desk a few centimeters off the ground. I tumbled backward under its weight and ended up on the floor, with the desk on top of me.

Sandra rushed over and helped free me from under the desk. I thanked her, then asked:

“Shall we continue?”

“Get out!” Sandra said.

“But–”

“Get out,” she repeated, pushing me toward the door. I paused at the threshold and turned to face Sandra.

“So, did I get the job, or?”

“Out,” Sandra said again.

“Will you guys call me, then?” I inquired.

Sandra said nothing. Instead, she slammed the door of her office shut. For a while, I stood by the door, staring blankly at it. Then I turned around and walked over to Dave Simpkins. He was still there, along with his horse.

“Dave,” I said, “If I were you, I’d keep a very close eye on Sandra. She’s emotionally unstable, and, frankly, as the newly hired employee of the company, I find her a bit rude and not conducive to a healthy work environment. Think about that, Dave.”

I turned around and walked out of the building. I had plenty of things to prepare for Monday when I’d be starting my new job. But for now—cake was calling my name.

Spy Satellite

The totally true story of how I pulled a sting

28 Comments

I’ll cut right to the chase: I was robbed.

By one of my colleagues, no less.

You see, I have several cubes of post-its on my desk at work. Each cube contains exactly 58 post-its.

I know this because I obsessively count them on a daily basis. I do that not due to a crippling mental condition, but because it’s a perfectly healthy behaviour of a stable human being and shut up!

On a fateful Monday, two weeks ago, I counted 46 post-its at the end of the work day. The night before I had 50. During the day I have used exactly 2 for my own purposes. It appeared that 2 post-its went mysteriously missing. A quick calculation in an excel sheet confirmed that my math was correct: 2 post-its were gone. Something was afoot. Evil. Thievery of the worst kind: the white collar kind.

I had two options. One, I could confront my colleagues and ask for an explanation, hoping somebody would fess up. Two, I could set up an elaborate undercover sting to catch the criminal red-handed and collect undeniable evidence of his or her wrongdoing.

I went with the only sane option.

A sting of such proportions required a lot of advanced spy gear, so I turned to the most trusted source of discreet spy equipment: eBay.com.

First order of business was to find an inconspicuous hidden camera. My gaze fell upon this nifty calculator:

But then I thought: “Too obvious. Who uses calculators anymore?!”

No, what I needed was an item that would fit seamlessly into the natural arrangement of my work desk. Something low key. Something that wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

So I finally settled on this:

Perfect! Just…perfect!

I knew that a single hidden camera disguised as a deceptively cute stuffed dog wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to equip myself with more eyes and ears for this sort of sting. That’s why I found this stylish, yet functional, belt-buckle camera:

I now had two different hidden vantage points from which to record the inevitable crime.

Then it hit me: what if the thief was prone to muttering words that described his crime while committing it? Wouldn’t that be worthwhile to record?

I needed a powerful and subtle eavesdropping device to help me capture his self-confession. I needed this:

I was slightly surprised to discover that the device came without the female assistant clearly visible in the picture, but that’s a story of false advertising for another time.

I was almost ready. Almost. The final piece of the puzzle was a tool to help me observe and record the crime at night, should that prove necessary. Behold, the glory of the 5 vision-mode ultra-vision night-vision goggles vision-vision:

At last, I was ready. Anticipation washed over me like a tidal wave. I was about to put my sting into motion.

The next day I arrived to work, acting as if nothing had changed. I was dressed as my usual self. The only thing different about me was the trendy Playboy belt I was strutting and the Duffel bag full of advanced spy equipment.

When lunch hour came I made the usual excuse of not wanting to eat together with my colleagues, so I stayed back. It was time to act.

I took out the stuffed-dog-camera and placed it on my desk, facing the stack of post-it cubes. Then I retreated to an empty conference room at the opposite end of the building, which offered an unobstructed line-of-sight to my desk.

Then I waited.

And waited.

For the first several days, nothing suspicious happened at or near my desk.

Then, on Friday, I struck gold. It was 11:37AM when a lanky figure ambled towards my desk with the gait of a criminal intent on doing criminal deeds. This shady figure had a name: it was Ted from human resources. Displaying zero hesitation and a complete lack of shame over his actions, Ted leaned over my desk, ripped out a single post-it note and shamelessly started to scribble something on it, right there and then.

My dog camera showed a close up of Ted’s hands as they glided over the post-it, desecrating it with his filthy words. I had all the evidence I needed. I left my hiding spot and rushed over to my desk.

As I approached, Ted was still leaning over the desk with his back to me. Wasting no more time I placed my hand firmly on Ted’s shoulder and, leaning close to his ear, said:

“Gotcha!”

Ted spun around and, upon facing me, let out an inhuman scream that reverberated throughout the building. His scream, amplified tenfold by the “Spy Ear Bionic Listening Device” I was wearing, disoriented me and made my ears bleed, slightly. Ruptured eardrums or not, I wouldn’t be deterred.

“You’re the bastard that’s been stealing my post-its, aren’t you?!” I announced, pressing both of my hands to my ears to stem the bleeding.

“Jesus Christ…Daniel? You scared the shit out of me! Why the hell are you dressed like a cyborg? Is it Halloween already?”

Ted was referring to my multi-vision vision goggles, which, in my excitement, I’d forgotten to take off.

“Don’t change the subject, Ted! This isn’t about me and my visionary vision goggles. This is about you stealing my post-its, you post-it stealer!” I said, satisfied with the clever choice of words.

“I was just going to leave a note on your desk, asking you to contact HR when you return. You haven’t come to work and nobody’s heard from you for three days,” Ted said.

“You were ‘just’ going to leave a note? What if I ‘just’ set your whole desk on fire, Ted?!” I parried.

“I don’t see how it’s the same th-”

“What if I ‘just’ greased my body in oil and rolled around naked on that fancy couch you have in your office?!”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. I wanted to leave you a message, that’s all,” Ted was going on the defensive. Now was my chance to strike.

“Ha! So you don’t deny taking my post-it note with the sole purpose of using it for your own nefarious purposes?!” I thrust my pelvis upward at Ted’s face, to ensure the microphone on my belt camera captured every word that came out of his lying mouth.

“Daniel, you’re acting crazy right now. That’s another thing HR wants to talk to you about. You’re a bit of a loose cannon, Daniel”, Ted was backing away from me and looking around, nervously. Typical behaviour of a remorseless criminal. I cut off his retreat and blocked the exit.

“Crazy?! Tell that to Sparky!” I screamed, holding up the stuffed dog triumphantly above my head, “Sparky and I have the whole thing on tape! Don’t we, Sparky?! Who’s a good dog, Sparky? Who’s a good dog?!”

Stuffed Animal Spy Camera

You are, Sparky! You are! Yes, you! Yes you are!

Ted was beginning to show signs of panic, indisputably confirming his guilt. It was time to deliver the final blow. I took out a pair of handcuffs that I’d crafted out of paper clips and staples during my three-day wait. I tackled Ted to the ground and slapped the handcuffs onto his wrists.

“There, you’ve been Stinged, baby! I have Fields-Of-Gold-ed you!”

“What?!” Ted bellowed, thrashing around on the ground. I sat on top of him, savouring my victory. I continued:

“Sting. He wrote that. Now I’m Stinging you, Ted. Welcome to New York, Englishman!”

“That’s…that’s not why it’s called “the sting”. Please, man, you’re hurting me!”

Suddenly, I felt a pair of arms pull me away from Ted. When I turned around I saw a group of colleagues looking at me in shock and confusion. They’d returned from lunch and had clearly misunderstood the whole situation.

“Good you’re here, everyone. We have a thief in our ranks!” I said, pointing at Ted.

In a shocking, cruel twist, the colleagues released Ted from his handcuffs and turned to me. For a while, no words were spoken, except for “lunatic”, “snapped at last” and “call the cops”. Finally, a female colleague by the name of Olga looked at me and said:

“OK, Daniel, this has gone far enough. Last week we caught you greased up and rolling around naked on the couch in the staff room. Two weeks before that you were asking that everyone refer to you as “Lord of Darkness” and constantly flipping the light switch off. But this…attacking Ted like that? Sorry, but the cops will have to take it from here!”

Disappointing. Justice was on my side. My colleagues were not. Tactical retreat was my only option.

I spun around and rushed to the exit. A few colleagues gave chase, but they were no match for my speed, my agility, and my flipping over the soda machine to block their path.

Once outside I made for the nearby woods. There, I found a hiding spot and set up another sting: the sting to gather evidence against all of them.

They may have had the numerical advantage, but I had the “Bionic Listening Device” and my vision vision ultra vision goggles.

Most importantly, I had Sparky.

And Sparky had me.

As long as we stuck together, they’d never take us alive.

***

There Is MoreFor more totally true stories, check out:

The totally true story of how I went shopping

The totally true story of how I visited the airport

The totally true story of how I got arrested

Blue Plane

The totally true story of how I visited the airport

16 Comments

I quickened my pace as the terminal building drew closer. I was excited. Today I was going to fly for the first time ever. More accurately, this would be the first time I’d be successfully flying upwards instead of falling down from balconies as I was prone to do.

The airport was unexpectedly busy. I counted hundreds of people standing in different lines. Would there be enough planes for each one of them?

Were there any planes left for me?

People were seemingly unaware of the many empty counters and insisted on queuing for a few already busy ones instead. Stupid. Well, as they say, “an idiot is born once in a blue moon, while the black sheep catches the worm”. There’s much truth to that saying.

I put on my “smart hat” and made a beeline for the counter with no people. A smiling lady greeted me as I approached.

“Hello,” I said.

“Good day. May I see your passport and boarding pass?”

Silly woman. She must have assumed I was there on some official business that required passes and whatnot. I patiently clarified:

“No passes, mam. I’m just here to rent a plane. What’s the going rate?”

“Excuse me?” the lady arched her eyebrows in surprise.

“I. Would like. To rent. A plane!” my patience was starting to wear thin. Why was I always dealing with ignorant people?

“Uhm. You can’t ‘rent’ a plane, sir. Did you want to buy a ticket to somewhere?”

“Mam, this is an airport, correct? The port for airplanes? Surely there are planes here. I’d just like to rent one of them, that’s all.” I countered with impeccable logic.

“I’m afraid that’s not how it works. You can buy a ticket, though.”

Seemed like I’d have to play it her way. I never thought airplanes required tickets like amusement park rides, but I wasn’t going to waste more energy arguing with her strange rules.

“Sure,” I said “give me a ticket.”

“Where to, sir?”

“I haven’t made up my mind, yet. I’ll figure that out once I’m in the air!”

The look of shock and utter confusion on her face told me all I needed to know. She was obviously unqualified for her job and, quite possibly, a bit crazy. I’d have to tread lightly, lest I upset her fragile mental balance.

“Look, I was hoping to tell the driver where I wanted to go, but if you’re…”

“Did you mean ‘pilot’?”

“…going to insist on a ‘prepaid’ deal, so be it. Let’s say Paris.”

“OK, Paris. There’s a plane leaving later today, five hours from now.”

“That’s really inconvenient. Can we schedule it closer to now?”

“Sir, do you even know how airports operate? We can’t just reschedule a flight. There are other passengers involved!”

“I am travelling alone, as you can very well see! There’ll be no other passengers!” I was losing my cool. My right hand formed a fist and was banging it repeatedly on the counter, as if of its own accord, except it was actually me doing it.

A crowd had gathered behind me and some of them were attempting to calm me down. Why did this always happen to me? All I wanted was to rent a plane for a quick flight, yet somehow I was the bad guy. I was not going to let myself get arrested again!

“You were arrested before?!” the woman asked, while holding a phone to her ear and frantically dialling an unknown, 3-digit number. How did she know?! Was she reading my mind? Was she some sort of a psychic witch telepath?

“No, you’re just saying everything out loud!” a voice came from the crowd.

I turned around swiftly, but misjudged the spin and ended up facing the same check-in lady. Dammit!

I’ve had enough of people acting like I was some kind of weirdo. Who is he to tell me what I did or didn’t say. “I think I’d know if I was saying stuff out loud instead of thinking it, smart ass,” I thought to myself.

“Yeah, you said that out loud too,” the smart ass continued mocking me.

Seemed like my chances of flying today were quickly diminishing. I would have to try renting a plane again another day from someone who wasn’t clearly insane. I muttered a goodbye, which sounded a lot like “useless nutjob” and turned to leave the airport.

“Sir, you will have to come with me,” said a man with a name tag that read “Mike Thompson, Airport Security”.

“Are you here for my security?” I asked.

“I’m here to escort you from the premises,” the man answered, suppressing what appeared to be a smile.

“Good enough for me,” I said, adding “Thank you, whatever your name is.”

“It’s Mike. Mike Thompson.”

“Thank you Mike, whoever you may be,” I continued.

“I’m from Airport Security”

“Right,” I said. “That makes quite a lot of sense,” I added, even though it didn’t.

“Come with me,” Mike said and took me gently by the shoulder, pushing me ever so slightly towards the nearest exit.

I turned around to cast a condescending glance at the check-in woman and the crowd. Just a few moments ago they were acting so superior. Now they were left in the dust while I was being personally escorted out by my new friend Mike. I hoped they’d learned a valuable lesson, but I wouldn’t be holding my breath. Some people just never get it.

***

There Is MoreFor more nonsense like this, check out:

The totally true story of how I got arrested

The totally true story of how I went shopping

Weekend diary of a man gone mad

Blue Shopping Basket

The totally true story of how I went shopping

20 Comments

This was it. I had finally made it!

I stood by the entrance to the supermarket for the first time in my life. I was holding a shopping basket, a box of crayons and a taxidermied frog. I knew that only one of those items was likely to prove useful, but I had to be ready for anything.

As soon as I walked in I realised I was in way over my head. Purchasable items were not arranged conveniently in a 6 x 6 grid for my perusal like they were when I shopped online. Instead, they were stacked neatly into countless shelves that were forming an impossible labyrinthian pattern.

I would not be deterred, I decided, and informed a nearby shopper of my determination, by screaming “I will not be deterred” at him and swinging the taxidermied frog in his general direction for added effect. The man jumped backwards and knocked over a stand filled with chocolate bars. Embarrassing way to behave in a supermarket, as far as I was concerned, but I wasn’t going to judge him. I had better things to do.

I was on a mission: to bring home a jar of bacon-flavoured marmalade that my girlfriend had asked for. I was sure she had asked for it, because I could clearly recall her mentioning both bacon and marmalade at some point in our mutual coexistence. She would get her wish, even if it killed me. Especially if it killed me. No wait, that couldn’t be right.

Blue Left Sign

It could be left, but that would make a terrible pun.

As I cautiously proceeded forward through the maze of shelves, I caught sight of a suspicious lady standing by a tiny table. The table was covered with what appeared to be crackers topped with creamy, cheese-like substance. Every few moments she would pick up one of the crackers and thrust it at passers by, screaming what I had no doubt were obscenities of some sort. I needed to avoid this lady at all costs, but unfortunately the maze of shelves offered no alternate route. I bravely pushed on, bracing myself for her attack and my subsequent retaliation.

“Here, have a Philadelphia cracker!” the lady screamed aggressively in a quiet voice, while smiling at me.

“You’re not the boss of me!” I retorted and flipped her table over to show her just how much of my boss she wasn’t.

For some reason the supermarket crowd didn’t support me in my quest to defend myself. Some of them even attempted to intervene by issuing combative threats in the form of “Please don’t do that”, “Take it easy” and the like. It became very clear to me that I was fighting a losing battle, so I sprinted away from the scene to escape undue attention and regroup.

Group Of People

Groups are the best, when they’re not ganging up on you

My plight wasn’t quite over, as somebody seemed to have called a member of the supermarket staff. I was approached by a woman wearing a badge with the name of the supermarket on it. She started accusing me of everything from disturbing the peace, destroying property and scaring other shoppers. I was going to have to win her over with my well reasoned and calmly delivered argumentation.

“I am an adult and I demand to be treated like one!” I declared, making sure my voice carried an air of authority and sophistication.

“OK, sir, but first I’ll have to ask you to please climb out of the meat freezer.”

Reluctantly, I climbed out of my temporary sanctuary. Assorted packets of meat still clung to my jacket as I did so. A rather large crowd had gathered around the freezer and I saw a few of the people point at me and snicker. That’s when I understood what was happening: this whole situation was an elaborate charade to ridicule me. I was on candid camera. I’d have to show my appreciation for this ruse and win them over with my charming personality.

“Ha!” I said.

“Ha, ha!” I added, after some thought.

“Ha Ha Ha HA!” I cackled wildly to really drive home the point.

The supermarket woman started making gestures that indicated she wanted me to quiet down. People were now whispering to each other while giving me strange glances. A part of me started to suspect that this was not a charade after all. I had to deal with this awkward moment in a mature and dignified way.

I ripped off the loose packets of meat that hung from my jacket, flung them into the crowd as a distraction, and ran through the winding maze of shelves towards the exit. On my way out I grabbed a pack of bacon and a jar of strawberry jam. My girlfriend would have to make her own bacon marmalade at home this time around.

Strawberry Jam Red

It’s a pretty straightforward recipe.

I stopped running when I realised nobody was pursuing me. I was close to home now, so I chose to complete the remaining 23 kilometres on foot.

When I arrived home I kicked open the front door and held the jar of strawberry jam and the bacon proudly above my head.

“I am home!” I yelled, “I have the bacon and the jam you wanted!”

My girlfriend lifted her head from the book she was reading and said:

“First of all, please stop kicking in the door. We’ve talked about that. Secondly, I didn’t ask for any bacon or jam. All I did was ask you to go downstairs to pick up the newspapers. You’ve been gone for 5 whole hours now. It’s less than the last time when you punched that sheep, but not by much. Thirdly, you have to promise me that…”

“DAMNIT!” I screamed, “My crayons and the frog are still in the meat freezer! I must go recover them!”

“Shockingly, nothing in that sentence surprises me,” she said.

I placed the strawberry jam and the bacon on the kitchen table and bolted out the door.

***

There Is MoreFor more of this nonsense, check out:

The totally true story of how I got arrested

The totally true story of how I visited the airport

Weekend diary of a man gone mad

Cop In Blue Uniform

The totally true story of how I got arrested

22 Comments

That morning I woke up with a sense of purpose, a sort of invisible power that was urging me to do epic deeds. I sat up in my bed and resolutely said out loud, “Today I’m going to get arrested!”

Right after I’d uttered those words I heard another voice respond with, “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

At first I thought it was my pet horse Waffles, which would have been ridiculous, because I didn’t own a pet horse. Instead, it turned out, it was my girlfriend. She was looking up at me from her pillow and making that face she made when she wondered what the hell was wrong with me. I repeated, this time with a hint of temerity, “I. Am going. To get. Arrested.”

I could see from her facial expression that she felt it was a very bad idea. She said, “I think that is a very bad idea”, but it sounded like she was calling me out for being too much of a pussy to do it. “Challenge accepted!” I screamed at the wall I was facing, even though the words were meant for my girlfriend. She said some sort of a sentence that began with “I should have never,” and ended with, “ever dated you!”

I didn’t pay too much attention to her words, because at that stage I was already too busy dressing myself. With my outfit – a bathrobe, a pair of army boots, a shower cap – complete, I took the shortest way outside. That is to say I bolted over the railing of our second floor balcony and fell three metres down onto our neighbours’ flower bed. Except, having missed the flower bed, I landed onto the plot of concrete next to it. Ignoring the pain and the fact that my right leg was now broken in three separate places I proceeded to limp proudly to the fields located within a five minute walk from our building.

After two hours I had finally made it to the fields and immediately came face to face with one of Devil’s minions, sent there to drag me down to the netherworld. The minion had cleverly disguised itself as a common sheep and was pretending to stare impassively in my direction. I approached this spawn of evil and, bravely, called out to it:

“Are you the spawn of evil, sent here to drag me to the netherworld?!”

The minion stubbornly refused to speak. I was not to be deterred by this, so I continued:

“I demand that you state your purpose here or I shall be forced to battle you!”

Silence.

“Alright, we shall have it your way, minion! This is your final warning. Blink twice if you’re just an ordinary sheep. Blink forty seven times if you are, as I rightfully suspect, the second cousin of Lucifer.”

The minion managed to blink exactly once before I punched it between the eyes, just to be on the safe side. I hopped over its back and ran-limped towards the nearby forest. From behind me I could hear the minion desperately summoning the rest of his Hell buddies. This summoning call sounded suspiciously like “Baaaaaaaa! BAAAAAAAAA!”

By the time I had reached the forest I was only able to hop on my left leg, because the right one refused to cooperate and insisted on bleeding instead. My mission – to get arrested – was far from over, so I needed a plan. While I sat at the edge of the forest, focusing intently on coming up with said plan, I noticed a rather large group of people making their way towards me. As they got closer I could hear bits of phrases, including “sheep-punching moron”, “unrestrained lunatic” and “could get arrested for that”. Yes! Eureka! All I had to do in order to get arrested was to punch a sheep. As pure luck would have it, that’s exactly what I had done. Clearly, The Universe had aligned itself to help me fulfill my mission.

The group of approaching men continued approaching me and had soon approached me completely. One of them was wearing a cop uniform and so were the rest of them. “They are cops!” I deduced with my superhuman powers of observation and logic. “Cops can arrest people!” I continued logicking my way forward. One of the cops attempted to speak to me in the language of words, but I let my fist do the talking instead and swung it at his face. Unfortunately, his face was over a metre above me, as at this point I was lying on the ground and unable to lift myself up. Or, more accurately, I was being pinned to the ground by the other cops, which, again quite logically, prevented me from being able to lift myself up. Rather than allowing the cops to have total physical victory over me I chose, instead, to courageously lose consciousness…

When I came to I found myself sitting inside a jail cell with a pair of handcuffs slapped onto my wrists. “I have been arrested!” I concluded, still impressed with my logical prowess. “Wait til my girlfriend hears about this,” I said out loud.

“She already has,” said my girlfriend’s voice. The voice was coming from my girlfriend, who stood by the cell, accompanied by the same police officer who had goaded me into trying to punch his stupid face. The officer opened the cell door and said, “He’s all yours. Just make sure he takes his pills from now on.”

Soon my girlfriend was driving me home. She looked extremely angry, but I thought I saw a hint of approval in her otherwise disapproving look. She turned to me and, through clenched teeth, said:

“This is the last time, Daniel, I swear it!”

But I knew she had meant to say, “This is the last time…so far!”

***

There Is MoreFor more of this type of nonsense, check out:

The totally true story of how I went shopping

The totally true story of how I visited the airport

Weekend diary of a man gone mad