Room Number
My office is room 1318 but is located inside a laboratory, room 1303. When someone telephones to make an appointment to see me, I always tell the person that my office is in room 1303. If I don't, they're liable to spend countless hours roaming the halls trying to find room 1318, not knowing that the room is actually accessed by going into room 1303. Because I ask people to come to room 1303 when they need to see me, I don't pay much attention to my office room number. More often than not, I can't recall the office number if asked.
One day a visitor showed up unannounced as I stood directly in front of my office door. "Can you tell me where I can find room 1318?" the visitor asked.
I replied, "It should be on the hall somewhere in this area but I don't know for sure." I turned to one of my assistants and asked, "Do you know where room 1318 is located?"
My assistant just about fell over laughing. As I moved slightly, the visitor now had a clear view of the number on my office door. The visitor said, "Perhaps you should take a look at the door behind you."
"Well, what do you know?" I said. "I guess you're probably looking for me."
"Is this your office?" stated the visitor.
"I don't know." I replied. "What's the room number?"
Ninety-Nine Cents
If you want a relly bad burger really bad, the Checkers Burger near my house is the place to go. It is a relatively new place and my wife and I desided to try but were unimpressed. Thinking that they might just be having a bad day, we tried them again. We were equally unimpressed.
Actually, the real reason we went a second time was because we had coupons. I mean, how bad could it be? I should have known better since the coupons were for ninety-nine cent burgers. Just how good should you expect a ninety-nine cent hamburger to be?
Barring the fact that I had exceptionally high hopes for a cheap burger, there was something else that should have tipped me off. The restaurant has two drive though lanes but I was the only patron in either of them. Not another soul in sight. Clue number three should have been when I placed my order.
"Welcome to Checkers. May I take your order?"
"Yes. I want four of your ninety-nine cent burgers."
"Do you want the special?"
"What is the special?"
"Two burgers for three dollars."
"Whats the difference between those burgers and the ninety-nine cent burgers?"
"They are the same."
"So I can buy four burgers for four dollars or two specials for six dollars."
"Yes, that's right."
"What comes with the special"
"Two burgers."
"No fries or drink?"
"No sir, just two burgers."
"So what is special is that I'll pay an extra two dollars for four burgers."
"What?"
"I'll take four for ninety-nine cents."
So, as I said before, if you want a really bad burger really bad go to Checkers. While your looking around to see if you happen to be the only one there, be sure to take advantage of the special before it takes advantage of you.
Corsage
My mother in-law once owned and operated a very successful catering business. After retiring, she still organizes the occasional event for church and civic groups. Her service is the kind of thing that is done so well that people don't even realize all that she has done. Many times her efforts go without thanks.
She recently coordinated a major event at her church where close to three hundred people were slated to attend. It was a formal event and she mentioned to her husband that most of the women would probably be wearing corsages.
Not wanting his wife to be left out, he asked in his most subtle manor, "What kind of corsage would most women wear to something like this?"
"Oh, you know," she said. "The kind that you wear on your wrist."
Her husband asked, "I wonder what would be the right color for such an event?"
She replied, "I want white."
It's a Long Story
The big Ace Bandage on my arm makes it obvious to people that I have injured myself, thus it is their obligation to ask me how it happened. It's interesting how, immediately after an injury, one is eager to explain an accident in great detail but as time marches on the illustration becomes less specific.
The question, "So, what did you do to your hand?" is the perfect opportunity to inflict more information on the inquisitor than they probably want to know.
"Well, I caught between the discombobulation widget roll of an aerodynamic volumetric piston fibultor. I had first thought that the entire hand would require amputation but upon examination by the highly trained medical staff of the Mount Cyanide Apocalyptic Hospital Trauma Center and Electronics Superstore, it was determined that there is a severe fracture of the proximal phalanx of the small finger as well as radical degloving of the soft tissue. The wound was cleaned and debrided by means of a pulse lavage before the small finger was set with a 18 gauge pin and the degloved tissue was sutured with polyester coated polybutilate. I spent a total of 122.65 hours in the hospital where 3 surgeries, including a skin graft, were performed. The medical professionals tell me that the prognosis is good for full recovery and..."
The tale of the accident begins with the paramedics who arrive on the scene. Then, it never ends. The paramedics drop you off at the hospital where you are asked the same questions over and over again by every person on the staff whether or not they are really involved in your actual medical care. Where severe trauma is concerned, everyone must know everything and the more you are treated for the injury the longer your story gets. However, after 500,000 folks have asked the same question, the story gets shorter and much less detailed.
"So, what did you do to your hand?"
"Well, I got it caught in a machine at work and messed it up pretty bad. I had to have a couple of surgeries and my little finger pinned but my doctor says that I'm going to be okay."
I have now explained my injury 999,999 different times and I waiting for my millionth customer. My jaws are exhausted from repeating myself and so I have decided that the grand prize explanation will go like this:
"So, what did you do to your hand?"
"I hurt it."
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