911 Emergency Calls

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

A relative quick and funny post for the start of a new week. Always helps a bit to add a bit of humor to Mondays, I think.

This one is about 911 emergency calls. You would imagine that 911 calls would be made by serious people about serious events, that’s what the lines are set up for. But also because of their nature you don’t have to be qualified to use them.

When the intellectually challenged make a 911 call, the results are just about the same I reckon as when they make ordinary calls – unbelievable!

Here are a few examples.

Enjoy!

 

 

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What is your emergency?

Caller: I heard what sounded like gunshots coming from the brown house on the corner.

Dispatcher: Do you have an address?

Caller: No, I have on a blouse and slacks, why?

- – - – - – - – -

 

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What is your emergency?

Caller: Someone broke into my house and took a bite out of my ham and cheese sandwich .

Dispatcher: Excuse me?

Caller: I made a ham and cheese sandwich and left it on the kitchen table and when I came back from the bathroom, someone had taken a bite out of it.

Dispatcher: Was anything else taken?

Caller: No, but this has happened to me before and I’m sick and tired of it!

- – - – - – - – - -

 

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What is the nature of your emergency?

Caller: I’ m trying to reach nine eleven but my phone doesn’t have an eleven on it.

Dispatcher: This is nine eleven.

Caller: I thought you just said it was nine-one-one

Dispatcher: Yes, ma’am nine-one-one and nine-eleven are the same thing.

Caller: Honey, I may be old, but I’m not stupid.

- – - – - – - – - -

 

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What’s the nature of your emergency?

Caller: My wife is pregnant and her contractions are only two minutes apart

Dispatcher: Is this her first child?

Caller: No, you idiot! This is her husband!

- – - – - – - – - -

 

Dispatcher: 9-1-1

Caller: Yeah, I’m having trouble breathing. I’m all out of breath… Darn……I think I’m going to pass out.

Dispatcher: Sir, where are you calling from?

Caller: I’m at a pay phone. North and Foster.

Dispatcher: ! Sir, an ambulance is on the way. Are you an asthmatic?

Caller: No

Dispatcher: What were you doing before you started having trouble breathing?

Caller: Running from the Police

- – - – - – - – - -

 

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 What is your emergency?

Caller: Hi, is this the Police?

Dispatcher: This is 9-1-1. Do you need police assistance?

Caller: Well, I don’t know who to call. Can you tell me how to cook a turkey? I’ve never cooked one before.

- – - – - – - – - -

Dispatcher: 9-1-1 Fire or emergency?

Caller: Fire, I guess.

Dispatcher: How can I help you sir?

Caller: I was wondering…does the Fire Dept. put snow chains on their trucks?

Dispatcher: Yes sir, do you have an emergency?

Caller: Well, I’ve spent the last 4 hours trying to put these chains on my tires and… well.. do you think the Fire Dept. could come over and help me?

Dispatcher: Help you what?

Caller: Help me get these chains on my car!

 

My Morning In Bed With Derek!!!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

I haven’t been blogging for very long. But I have discovered by writing my own and by reading other peoples’ that they can have a way of letting you release some of the things you always wanted to say but never do in other ways. That’s a great thing. Very understated, but very important and a perhaps the best things that blogging is doing.

Thus here I am writing to the world at large (those of it who care to read this blog of course, let’s not get carried away) about the morning I spent in bed with Derek.

There you are. I’ve said it.

Crikey!

I suppose I might as well tell you the whole story.

Now I am ultra firmly in the heterosexual camp, always have been, and intend to remain there, but nevertheless I have to admit that that morning was truly one of the most exciting times I’ve ever had in bed with anyone. It was intense, to say the least!

At the time, I was nicely settled in a beautiful tropical isle, where the power of the internet and its easy communication applications has made it possible for me to spend a lot of time and still keep in touch with the big wide world out there.

One morning, it was a Saturday I think but that doesn’t really matter, I woke up late, around 9’ish, only to find Derek sitting at the bottom of my bed. How he got in I don’t know, but there he was. My eyes were still a bit out of focus, from sleeping, but I could tell he was a big fellow.

He didn’t say a word and neither did I. We just looked at each other, him sitting on the bed and me peeking out rather uncertainly from beneath the bed sheet.

It seemed as if we stayed that way for ages, locked in each other’s gaze.

Then after a while Derek made his move.

Slowly he began to make his way up the bed towards me.

I didn’t know what to do.

Should I also make a move? Or should I remain where I was?

I thought about pulling the bed sheet to one side to let my arms out, but I was afraid that I might inadvertently send the wrong signal to Derek. Would it appear too hostile, or too welcoming. Neither would be appropriate.

It was my first time in this position and my inexperience showed. I just was not sure what would be the right thing to do. Nobody teaches you these things at school. Nobody prepares you for the strange turns that life can sometimes take.

So I just lay there watching intently as Derek made his way up the bed, getting closer and closer to me. It was all done in complete silence.

When he was almost level with my face he stopped.

He turned slightly and stared into my eyes.

I stared into his.

There was something between us that was for sure, a kind of an intimate respect even though we didn’t know each other and in fact had never seen each other before.

I was about to pluck up enough courage to speak to him, but before I had the opportunity he looked away from me and began to move again.

Right up to the head of the bed.

And then on to the wall.

WTF???

On to the wall?

Well, yes.

Derek was a tarantula spider, and a bloody big one!

The preceding episode had all been a bit like that scene in Dr No where the baddies put a tarantula in James Bond’s bed. Being James Bond, and licensed to kill, he beat the proverbial crap out of his. I just let Derek wander up the wall and on to the ceiling.

Despite the uncertain introduction I have to say that Derek and I became friends. He stayed on the ceiling, most of the time absolutely still, until he took a dart here and there to capture an insect. While he was doing that he was happy and so was I.

This went on for many days.

Then one day, just as mysteriously as he had arrived, he disappeared.

I never saw him again.

Sometimes I miss him!

 

 

This is Derek

 

 

And this is James Bond
http://youtu.be/XS3Lb7PZDtQ

 

 

 

You’d Think It Should Be Easy, But You’d Be Wrong!

“Fight Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

One of my best friends is a farmer. Or was, he sold up a few years ago, tired of the long hours in all sorts of inclement weather. But he did it for many years and has a host of good stories about incidents that happened during that time.

He was a dairy farmer for a good part of his farming career. As a result he has a healthy respect, but also more than a little contempt for cows. In fact he says they are probably the stupidest animal he has ever come across. (He hasn’t met our dog that thinks it’s a cat yet!)

He says that a cow is probably the only animal that is stupid enough to get stuck behind a open gate. Actually I’ve seen this happen myself. If a field gate is partially open at least one of them will get between it and the hedge or fence and they don’t seem to be able to figure out how to reverse and take a new route out of the field.

If you’re having a laugh at that, good. It’s even funnier when you see it in person I assure you. But there’s something even stupider than the cow I fear. That is people, some people! Take this lady in the video below.

All she has to do is reverse her car out of the garage.

Simple?

Of course not!

Have a look (I’m not sure I would like her driving my kids around, would you?)

(Acknowledgements and thanks to Pradeep for finding this one)

Drained Of Life – Almost

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

The last couple of blog post have concerned people featured in the Darwin Awards, “Never Hitch Your Wagon” about someone who wasn’t eligible because he survived his and his wife’s stupidity, and “Little Dumb And Large Dumber”  because their dumbness did make them successful Darwin Award winners.

I had a friend who almost featured in the Darwin Awards too. The only reason he didn’t was because they didn’t exist in those days and probably none of us would have had the presence of mind to nominate him anyway.

I won’t tell you his real name, have to expose the innocent and protect the guilty and all that, but his nickname was “Goners” pronounced “Gone-ers”. It was a nickname he gained after the incident I am now going to tell you about, and for most of his friends he’s still stuck with it to this day.

It happened when we were all young guys, in our teens and spending a leisurely summer messing around and generally enjoying life the way you can before you get older and wiser and burden yourself with responsibilities and debt and so forth. Then the Dads were paying the mortgage and bringing home the bacon (sometimes literally) and we were carefree and happy.

This day we decided to go for a walk along a nearby river. None of us were keen fishermen but we liked the river and walks along the riverbanks and the little stony beaches that the river’s meanders had left here and there. That particular summer was hot and a bit of bathing in the cool clear unpolluted water was also on the agenda.

It wasn’t a big river, no Amazon that’s for sure. Just about 50 feet across, or thereabouts, and maybe four or five feet deep towards the middle. There were a few deeper holes that serious fishermen tended to use, but we were always content messing around in the shallower water. It was fun and safe. In fact thinking and writing about it, I wish I was back there right now.

But I’m not, so on with the story.

Part of the river bank was relatively flat with only a slightly sloping bank down to the water. Other parts were a straight drop. And yet others consisted of a fairly steep slope down to the water’s edge.

Local farmers had dug drains at intervals to let rainwater run off their fields into the river, and between where the man-made drains ended and the river began, the water flow had over the years dug its own ‘V’ and then ‘U’ type trenches by eroding the top soil.

These had to be negotiated when one was walking along the riverbank, but it wasn’t a problem. That was how things were and everybody just accepted it and got on with it. I’m sure nowadays there would be a bureaucratic do-gooding group wanting all sorts of rules and regulations both to disrupt the farmer’s lives and to spoil the nature walk for the rest of us. In those days some interfering busybody was more likely to end up in the river and they knew it so they stayed away.

Of course, when I said the drains weren’t a problem, what I meant was they weren’t a problem for most of the people most of the time. But there’s always one idiot who will find a way to mess up even a nice summer’s day stroll along the riverbank.

Enter “Goners” into the story.

Although the day I am recounting was idyllic weather wise, during the previous night there had been a thunderstorm and some furious rain for a little while. The result of that was that the following morning there was considerable run-off of rainwater from the fields, via the farmer’s drains into the river. This made the areas close to the drains a little wet and slippery, not to mention mucky.

We had been walking for a few miles, successfully crossing all the open drains we had encountered. And then it happened!

“Goners” tripped or lost is concentration or something, but his balance went and he headed over the side of the riverbank.

At first this caused unbridled hilarity amongst the rest of us. We were laughing and pointing and cheering. If we had had pens and paper with us, no doubt we would have held up makeshift score cards critiquing the ‘dive’. But we hadn’t so we just laughed and laughed, not only at the dive but at the frantic wriggling and gurgling of “Goners” in the trench.

Then somebody twigged on what was happening and said, “OMG I think he’s drowning!”

“How can you drown in three inches of water?”, came a chorus of incredulous replies.

But he was.

“Goners” was in BIG trouble.

He WAS actually drowning in probably less then three inches of water.

“Goners” had fallen into the drain nature had made with the water erosion. Obviously he didn’t intend to, and, unprepared, he fell head first, with his arms by his sides, as opposed to being in a normal diving position with his arms outstretched in front of him and slightly raised.

As he had slid down the riverbank towards the water he had embedded himself farther and farther into the drain, trapping his arms by his side.

And when he reached the water, which was indeed barely three inches deep at the edge, his face including his nose and mouth were submerged under the level of the water.

The frantic wriggling wasn’t just to try to free his arms, but to try to get his mouth and nose out of the water to grab some much needed air. And he clearly wasn’t having much success.

Once we realized that he was in real trouble, of course it was all hands on deck so to speak and everyone rushed to his assistance. Two of us each grabbed one of his feet and pulled him back up the bank a little so that his head came out of the water. Much to his relief, and ours, “Goners” made a few huge grabs for air and the crisis seemed to be over.

Now I don’t know to this day whether what happened next was a deliberate act, something sub-conscious, or just another minor accident, but with his movement and gasping for air his feet, which like the rest of him were slippery with the muck from the drain, managed to slip out of our hands and he slid back into the water again. Gurgle, gurgle, wriggle, splutter, gurgle….

We knew he was in no danger this time and yes, we did laugh again. It was funny for everyone but “Goners”. Some of us – not me you understand, no definitely not me, of course not, don’t be silly, how could you think such a thing – could have played that game all day, pulling him out of the river and then letting him slide back in. Thinking about it now, we probably invented a new water-boarding technique, to us at the time it was just fun.

But we must have thought better of it after a couple of ‘dunks’ because the we pulled “Goners” out of the drain completely and back up on to dry land.

When he got his wits about him once again he said, “Thanks guys. I was nearly a goner.”

And that was his nickname for ever more, “Goners”.

It shows you just how easily and innocently things can happen that under different circumstances would have had a lot more tragic results.

Postscript:

Strangely enough, many years later, in the very same river as it happens, a guy called Willy (the same as featured in my blog post “Willy And Woof”) did the very same thing while walking back home from a bar, very, very drunk. That time however there was no one around to help.

Now he could have been a Darwin Award winner!

 

 

Never Hitch Your Wagon To Another Man’s Horse

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

Strangely this blog post is neither about wagons nor horses, but I thought the title was catchy. It is related though, I haven’t reached the stage yet where I have to deceive people into reading my blog.

This post is about Chief Petty Officer Roman Styles, U.S. Coast Guard Station, Jacksonville, Florida who decided to repair some damaged shingles on the roof of his house himself, instead of paying a contractor to do it for him.

Ever conscious about the dangers of working at heights and on sloping shingles in particular, Chief Petty Officer Styles tied a safety rope to the trailer hitch of his truck prior to climbing up on his steep roof. Then, once he had climbed up to the peak of his roof he secured the other end of the line around his waist and slid over the top of the roof to repair the shingles.

So far so good. He started his repairs.

As luck would have it, bad luck that is, shortly after he started to work, his teenage son called for a ride home from a Boy Scout trip. Mr Styles’ wife, Jane, took the call and went straight out of the house, got into the truck and yelled to her husband that she’d be back right away.

“I didn’t see the rope,” Mrs. Styles said later, “until I saw it in the rear-view mirror. By then I was half-way down the street.”

Bill Schlimm, a next door neighbor, said, “I’ll never forget the look on Roman’s face as he came sailing over the peak of that house. If it hadn’t been for that tall cedar tree he would have been really hurt.”

After realizing what had happened, but not before she had dragged her poor husband quite a ways down the street, Mrs Styles summoned emergency help.

Mr Styles’ bad luck was compensated by the good luck that he only had to be treated for a slight concussion and a few scrapes and bruises.

 

 

Drivers Ed. Exam Answers

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

Still on the theme of driving today, but in a bit lighter vein than yesterday. This time it isn’t drunks, although one could be forgiven for thinking that some of these bozos were ‘well oiled’ when they took their test.

 

The following are a sampling of real answers received on written exams given by the California Department of Transportation’s driving school. Some of those taking the exam may have deliberately trying to be funny, but sadly I suspect the vast majority were answering as best they could.

 

Here you are.

 

Enjoy!

 

 

Q: Do you yield when a blind pedestrian is crossing the road?

A: What for? He can’t see my license plate.

 

 

Q: Who has the right of way when four cars approach a four-way stop at the same time?

A: The pick up truck with the gun rack and the bumper sticker saying, ‘Guns don’t kill people. I do.’

 

 

Q: What are the important safety tips to remember when backing your car?

A: Always wear a condom.

 

 

Q: When driving through fog, what should you use?

A: Your car.

 

 

Q: How can you reduce the possibility of having an accident?

A: Be too sh*t-faced to find your keys.

 

 

Q: What problems would you face if you were arrested for drunk driving.

A: I’d probably lose my buzz a lot faster.

 

 

Q: What changes would occur in your lifestyle if you could no longer drive lawfully?

A: I would be forced to drive unlawfully.

 

 

Q: What are some points to remember when passing or being passed?

A: Make eye contact and wave ‘hello’ if he/she is cute.

 

 

Q: What is the difference between a flashing red traffic light and a flashing yellow traffic light?

A: The color.

 

 

Q: How do you deal with heavy traffic?

A: Heavy psychedelics.

 

Some people like these must have passed their driver’s exam. Check out the video.

 

 

Don’t Drink And Drive, Please!

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

I did a post a while ago about how I hate thieves (I still do). Well, me being me, there are others on my hate list too. It isn’t a long list but one prominent group on it is drunk drivers.

There is a simple rule that everyone should follow.

If you want to drink don’t drive and if you want to drive don’t drink.

There are no gray areas.

Don’t think you can follow stupid rules made by stupid bureaucrats. There are no minimum amounts that suit everybody. Drink is like shoes, people take different sizes. I know some people who could drink a bottle of vodka and you wouldn’t even know they’d had a drink. And I know people who if they even sniffed the open bottle would be on their way to being drunk. This has a lot to do with the body’s size, metabolism, how much alcohol it can cope with and in what timescale and so forth.

But it also has to do with the person’s psychological make up too. Some people will get drunk just because they think they should be drunk. Not because they actually are.

You know the type, people who run about like headless chickens if they drink a can of Red Bull even though there’s just about the same amount of caffeine in it as in a cup of tea or coffee. What they’ve really done is swallow the advertising hype as well as the Red Bull. Personally I think it’s lovely stuff, but I’m able to down a couple of tins and still go straight to sleep.

I’ve actually tried an experiment to prove my point. One night at a party at my house I gave real beer to most of the people and alcohol free beer to a couple of the others (without telling them of course). You can guess what happened. Yes, the people who were drinking the non alcoholic beer got just as drunk and had just as good a time as everyone else, and they probably had hangovers to prove it the next morning!

But getting back to drinking and driving, or rather drinking and not driving, I have seen one or two macho morons drinking away and driving away and doing it quite publicly. That’s their real reason of course, doing it publicly. If you are intellectually challenged you imagine that the stupider things you do makes you the bigger man. Truly it doesn’t.

I have also seen one of these morons plough into another car and severely injure some poor innocents, which is very sad. And I’ve also seen the remnants of a car that another moron drove into a tree while drunk. He killed himself, and quite frankly that isn’t so sad at all.

There are a couple of videos below just to prove the dangers, if you want to look at them, but first I’ll end with the inevitable joke.

Enjoy!

 

“I would like to share an experience with you, about drinking and driving. 

As you well know, some people have been known to have had brushes with the authorities on our way home from the odd social session over the years.

A couple of nights ago, I was out for a few drinks with some friends and had a few too many beers and some rather nice red wine.

Knowing full well I may have been slightly over the limit, I did something I’ve never done before.

I took a bus home.

Sure enough there were police checks, but they waved the bus through without a problem.

I arrived home safely and without incident, which was a real surprise.

I’ve have never driven a bus before and I’m not even sure where I got it.”

  – - – - – - – - – - -

 

Now for the videos.

I haven’t included any gory stuff. You all get the point and if you want to research the subject there are a number of videos on youtube.com.

The first I have selected shows a drunk trying to park a car. If one hasn’t the coordination to do something as simple as that when drunk, imagine how much control there would be on the road, particularly in a critical situation.

The second video is a bit long but shows another drunk weaving back and forth across the road (albeit with a rather irritating commentary from the cameraman,  sorry about that). But the drunk gets his just desserts in the end and only injures himself.

 

Travel Agents Get Asked Some Funny Things

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

Only very occasionally these days do I use a travel agent. I prefer to organize things myself online. But then I am a fairly experienced traveler. For many other people, particularly the intellectually challenged it seems, the travel agent is their first and last port of call when organizing a vacation.

The following are actual stories provided by travel agents. Since I read these I’m wondering if there should be some kind of proficiency test before one is allowed out of the house let alone venture into another county or country.

That’s one for the bureaucrats to ponder over, but it probably won’t happen, after all most of them couldn’t pass it, and they all like their little trips at our expense.

As usual, I hope you enjoy.

 

What the travel agents said:

 

I had someone ask for an aisle seat so that their hair wouldn’t get messed up by being near the window.

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A client called in inquiring about a package to Hawaii.

After going over all the cost info, she asked, “Would it be cheaper to fly to California and then take the train to Hawaii?”

- – - – - – - – - -

 

I got a call from a woman who wanted to go to Capetown.

I started to explain the length of the flight and the passport information when she interrupted me with “I’m not trying to make you look stupid, but Cape Town is in Massachusetts.”

Without trying to make her look like the stupid one, I calmly explained, “Cape Cod is in Massachusetts, Capetown is in Africa.”

Her response… click.

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A man called, furious about a Florida package we did.

I asked what was wrong with the vacation in Orlando.

He said he was expecting an ocean-view room.

I tried to explain that is not possible, since Orlando is in the middle of the state.

He replied, “Don’t lie to me. I looked on the map and Florida is a very thin state.”

- – - – - – - – - -

 

I got a call from a man who asked, “Is it possible to see England from Canada?”

I said, “No.”

He said, “But they look so close on the map.”

- – - – - – - – - -

 

Another man called and asked if he could rent a car in Dallas.

When I pulled up the reservation, I noticed he had a 1-hour lay-over in Dallas.

When I asked him why he wanted to rent a car, he said, “I heard Dallas was a big airport, and I need a car to drive between the gates to save time.”

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A nice lady just called.

She needed to know how it was possible that her flight from Detroit left at 8:20am and got into Chicago at 8:33am.

I tried to explain that Michigan was an hour ahead of Illinois, but she could not understand the concept of time zones.

Finally I told her the plane went very fast, and she bought that!

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A woman called and asked, “Do airlines put your physical description on your bag so they know whose luggage belongs to who?”

I said, “No, why do you ask?”

She replied, “Well, when I checked in with the airline, they put a tag on my luggage that said FAT, and I’m overweight, is there any connection?”

After putting her on hold for a minute while “I looked into it,” ( I was actually laughing) I came back and explained that the city code for Fresno is FAT, and that the airline was just putting a destination tag on her luggage.

- – - – - – - – - -

 

I just got off the phone with a man who asked, “How do I know which plane to get on?”

I asked him what exactly he meant, to which he replied, “I was told my flight number is 823, but none of these darn planes have numbers on them.”

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A woman called and said, “I need to fly to Pepsi-Cola on one of those computer planes.”

I asked if she meant to fly to Pensacola on a commuter plane.

She said, “Yeah, whatever.”

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A business man called and had a question about the documents he needed in order to fly to China.

After a lengthy discussion about passports, I reminded him he needed a visa.

“Oh no I don’t, I’ve been to China many times and never had to have one of those.”

I double checked and sure enough, his stay required a visa.

When I told him this he said, “Look, I’ve been to China four times and every time they have accepted my American Express.”

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A secretary called in looking for hotel in Los Angles.

She gave me various names off a list, none of which I could find I finally had her fax me the list.

To my surprise, it was a list of hotels in New Orleans, Louisiana.

She thought the LA stood for Los Angles, and that New Orleans was a suburb of of L.A.

Worst of all, when I called her back, she was not even embarrassed.

- – - – - – - – - -

 

A woman called to make reservations, “I want to go from Chicago to Hippopotamus, New York.”

The agent was at a loss for words.

Finally, the agent asked, “Are you sure that’s the name of the town?”

“Yes, what flights do you have?” replied the customer.

After some searching, the agent came back with, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ve looked up every airport code in the country and can’t find a Hippopotamus anywhere.”

The customer retorted, “Oh don’t be silly. Everyone knows where it is. Check your map!”

The agent scoured a map of the state of New York and finally offered, “You don’t mean Buffalo, do you?”

She replied, “That’s it! I knew it was a big animal!”

Hippopotamus, New York

I Have A Tip For You

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

I have to say in my own defense here that I am usually a very good tipper. In restaurants or taxis or whatever, if the service is good, and it usually is, then I have no qualms about rewarding the person who has taken pride in their work and done a good job.

I just wish the world did likewise and rewarded those who did a good job instead of falling over themselves to reward those who don’t and who don’t even want a job to begin with.

But when the service is bad or the person has a bit of an attitude problem, then I don’t tip. Well actually yes I do, but I make the tip so small and derogatory that the message gets through.

In fact, I’ll make that a different sort of tip for anyone reading this blog, if you are in a restaurant or wherever and the service has been bad, pay the bill, without a gratuity if you’re paying by credit card, and leave just a penny on the table for the server. They’ll get the message better than leaving them nothing and so will their colleagues who you will usually see smirking in the background. Oh, and don’t go back to the restaurant, they don’t deserve your custom if they employ people like that.

Fortunately, I haven’t had to resort to that kind of thing very often. I remember though, one time myself and a friend were in the airport in Sanford in Florida. We had a while to wait for our flight which had been delayed and to pass the time we decided to go to one of the restaurants for a beer or coffee and maybe a sandwich. It was a particularly hot day and we decided to sit close to a ceiling fan. It was very comfortable.

Although it was beside the other tables it must have been a place reserved for larger meals than a snack and the waitress paced back and forth, knowing we were ready to order, but deliberately ignoring us. Neither of us were the least bit annoyed, in fact watching her antics helped to pass the time. I’m afraid our comments on her attitude and even her appearance were none to complimentary. She hadn’t been blessed with good looks, nor, from her attitude towards us, much of a brain or a personality either.

There was no one else in the place which should have been a bit of a clue for us. But we persevered. Eventually she came over to our table, took out her notepad and stood there without saying a word. We just ordered a couple of beers which were delivered to the table again without a word and without a smile.

We took our time over those and when it was time to board the airplane we asked for the bill. We left the exact amount plus one penny for the great service. It was all in change, mainly nickels and dimes and pennies. As we were going out the door we stopped and watched as she went over to the table to collect and count the money. We could see her counting it, and then counting it again, and then a third time.

Finally the literal penny in the palm of her hand the metaphorical penny in her head dropped too. She didn’t hope we had good day, in fact the look on her face said just the opposite. But, you know, it didn’t matter, we’d already had one at her expense, literally.

Then there was another time when my generosity was curtailed, this time it was in New York. I had arrived at JFK from Heathrow, and, suitably tired after first the flight and then the long and humorless ordeal that is US Immigration since 9/11. I was eager to get to my hotel.

I got the first available airport taxi. The driver was a New Yorker, from Queens. An authority on everything, you know the type. So there I was stretched out in the back of the cab listening to this guy give me a lesson on all things New York. It was unnecessary because I was a frequent visitor to the City and knew Manhattan reasonable well, but I listened to him anyway and answered when appropriate, which wasn’t that often because he liked the sound of his own voice.

When we got to the hotel, nice place on West 44^th Street, he stopped the cab and I reached into my pocket for some money. The fare was $20, so I reached him a $20 dollar bill. As I was turning the bunch of bills over to get to the $5’s for the tip, the cab driver proceeded to give me a lesson on life in New York.

“It’s customary to give a tip,” he said in that harsh grinding New York accent. “In fact it’s expected!”

“Is it?,” I answered innocently. “Would $5 be okay?”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” he reluctantly replied.

“Well then,” I went on, “Here’s your tip, if you’d given me time I’d have gladly given you the $5 and maybe more, but because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut, here’s a dollar. Maybe you’ll give your customers the benefit of doubt the next time.”

In truth I doubted if he would. Needless to say he wasn’t pleased, but neither was I.

So I think the moral of this post is, reward good work generously, but do not be afraid not to reward incompetence, bad service or people who expect something for nothing. They’re literally not worth it.

 

 

Lost In Transit

“Fight Against Stupidity And Bureaucracy”

 

 

I wrote a little while ago about Tommy who got lost in the fog in a field beside his own house, and about Thomas Nutall the worst explorer in the world. Well, sense of direction, or the lack thereof, has come up many times in my journeys.

I used to travel on business with a guy called “Bill”. Bill was a nice man, old-school, good manners, fairly prim and proper I suppose you would say. He was in his seventies when I got to know him and worked along with him.

He should have been retired from business but he had a wife who sounded a lot better from a considerable distance and luckily she was not unhappy about getting rid of him for a while – as often as possible as it turns out!

Anyway, domestic bliss aside, Bill made frequent plane trips which obviously meant using airports.

Getting him on to a plane usually wasn’t so bad, although if he stopped to buy something or talk to somebody and you walked on without him, he would always be the last man on to the plane.

But the real fun was when Bill got off the plane. Even on short trips, where the gin and tonics hadn’t been flowing in his direction.

Actually, I’ll come back to that in a moment – I’d forgotten about this until I started to write this blog post.

Bill even got lost once inside the airplane itself. I mean actually inside the airplane! Can you believe it?

He had got up, I presume to go to the bathroom – no, hang on, I absolutely refuse to call what they have on airplanes a “bathroom”; for a start there’s no “bath”, and for another thing there’s no “room” either; it’s a “toilet”, and a small one at that, okay! And for another thing why are they always so small, whether you are on a huge 747 Jumbo jet (I haven’t yet been on one of those Airbus monsters) or a piddly small 737, the toilets are still the same size. All for the sake of being able to offer a couple of extra seats to keep more passengers total discomfort. End rant. Sorry about that, back to today’s blog.

As I was saying, he had got up, I presume to go to the bathroom. There had been a queue at the toilet closest to where Bill was sitting, so he wandered to another one on the far side, and at the back, of the plane (it was 747, small toilets but a big plane!)

But when he opened the door and walked out he didn’t know where he was! I mean, he knew where he was, he knew he was on a plane, but he didn’t know where his seat was and he couldn’t remember the number. And his routine was to put boarding passes, tickets and other paperwork neatly away in his carry on bag before take-off, so he had nothing to refer to.

He had a walk round first class and was gently ushered out of it by a polite, but firm, flight attendant, before he managed to make his way up the stairs. He inspected business class but saw nothing familiar. Then he spent the next twenty minutes walking up and down the wrong aisle looking for his seat in coach.

I watched what was going on. But I didn’t help him out. And I kept my head down so that he wouldn’t see me. We were sitting together and I didn’t want to give him a clue as to where to look. It was too funny and I was enjoying it, much better that whatever film they were showing at the time. And I knew there was a limit to where he could go.

After a good half hour he showed up.

“You were away for a while,” I said when he got back.

“I didn’t feel too well,” he told me. “And I went to ask one of the flight attendants for some water and an aspirin.”

“Oh?” I answered. “I though maybe you’d got lost or something.”

“No, no, nothing like that.”

I just left it, he’d already given me enough entertainment. He went to sleep and that was it until we landed.

 

Which is actually what I started to say in the first place. Bill was just a normal bloke when the airplane doors opened and everyone started to funnel out into the terminal. It was when he got out into the open that the fun started.

For some strange reason Bill invariably took off like a bullet. And always in the completely wrong direction. If he was going for a connecting flight he headed for baggage claim and the exit. If he was at his journey’s end he headed for connecting flights. And all at top speed.

The first few times I tried to run after him, but it was hard work, he had a remarkable turn of speed for an older man. After that I just let him run wherever he thought he was going. Once he even walked from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1 at Heathrow airport, and back again, and that is quite a distance despite what the airport brochures tell you. It was perhaps fortunate that he didn’t get on the underground train and end up in the middle of London somewhere.

By the way, when an airport brochure says “close” reckon on at least half a mile or more, and if have lots of luggage that’s a long way.

Remarkably though, he always turned up – eventually. He never said what had happened or where he had been. And I never asked, so I don’t know.

I’m certain that made two of us!

 

 

Have you had similar experiences? Send them along. Let the world know what is happening before it is too late.