Posts Tagged Funny
It's always bothered me how my mother and grandmother are treated in retail establishments because of their accents. As a result, I've always been the one to have to "take it up with the manager" or "write a letter" when injustice happens. Combine this with the fact that I'm a writer and sort of an ass, and it makes for interesting letters written on contact forms. So....enjoy.
Dear Dollar Tree, Inc.,
Let me tell you a story.
A story about $1 glowsticks.
Back in March, I was planning a non-profit event that required the purchase of large number of non-toxic glowsticks. As I stood in the middle of the isle, baffled by your sea of chemiluminescent of assorted plastic tubes, a kindly store clerk asked me if I needed assistance. What I needed help with was some simple mathematical forecasting. Probably not the best thing to ask from a retail clerk wearing a Spiderman band-aid to cover her eyebrow ring (thus drawing more attention to the eyebrow ring) but I give everyone a shot. And it really was a cool band-aid.
My equation was this:
My quarterly events with $0 cover charge...
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When I was 13, I promised myself that I would live in a big city so I could sit in a cafe, read a book, and people-watch. There was just something so romantic and "sophisticated" about that dream, compared to reading a book in a dim, crumbling shanty with an overprotective mother and grandmother doting over my angsty teenage self.
Not wanting to forget the dreams of my youth, I took time today to find my own little corner of heaven at the Starbucks on 20th & Market in Philadelphia. As I was about to relish my overly decadent soy-based coffee drink (which the old-world Hungarian in me could only truly enjoy because of a trusty half-off coupon), I placed my copy of "Strangers in Paradise" down to take a good look at the beauty that is my Philadelphia. At that exact moment, some guy in a business suit vomited his entire lunch onto the tree next to me. Whatever he ate sure was...orange. My 13-year old self was not expecting that.
“Okay, class, we’re going to have a little contest,” said Ms. Hart, my elementary school art teacher. “We’re going to vote on who looks the MOST like Mona Lisa! Whoever wants to be in the contest, raise your hand.”
A gaggle of girls started to giggle and raise their hands. I sunk into my seat.
She pointed around the room, “Okay, you, and you, and you, aaaaaand…” She looked directly at me. “Why don’t you join the group, Stephanie?”
I went from pasty pale to beat red as I stood in front of the class for “evaluation”.
“Hmm, hmm, hmm, let’s cast a vote. So, here’s what’s going to happen – I’m going to paint a picture of Mona Lisa, and you get to stick your head through it.”
One of the girls got a shocked look on her face, likely due to the social implications of sticking one’s head through a painting. “I think Stephanie should do it – she looks the most like Mona Lisa.”
“Uh, yeah,” said the other girl, “Besides, she’s the only white girl in the whole class.” A few people snickered.
Of course, everyone agreed, and I was selected.
“Alright, do you...
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March 19, 2011, 9:25 p.m. Less than 20 minutes after the
No Moon incident.
My phone rings. It's Ilka.
"You know, I vas tinking....is today Matt's burstday?"
"Yes."
"You should half told me before! Vhat are you guys doink? You at a bar?"
"No. We're just playing board games and video games."
"Who's playing?"
"Like half a dozen close friends...a friend who is in from LA...and the neighbors I told you about."
"Who,
Benino?"
"NO, not Benino!!!"
"Vhy don't you invite him over?"
"Mom, I told you before, I can't talk right now!!!"
"Oh, ok, den can I talk to Matt and vish him a happy burstday?"
I looked over and Matt was merrily playing Mario Kart GameCube. "Um, I don't know if Matt is available..."
"Yeah, I'll talk to her," he replied, "blue shelling" an unsuspecting Birdo before tossing his controller in my general direction. "Here, take over for me." I immediately drove off a cliff.
Matt gave me the stink eye from across the room for ruining his perfect score. "Hi, Ilka....yes, thank you. What? Oh. Okay. Yeah. No problem. Okay. Okay. Okay. No problem. Yes. Okay. I understand. I promise....
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I was about six-years old when my older cousins, Erin and Irina, brought me outside to inspect the “show chicken” cages. A lot of people have a tough time wrapping their brains around the fact that chickens can be kept as pets, let alone the fact that they can be judged on their beauty, but the 4-H Fair has been doing it for about 100 years. Each summer, my entire family attended the Somerset County 4-H fair, where my aunt and cousins brought these chickens to compete for ribbons, trophies, and prizes. These chickens were a source of pride for my family, and my aunt's prized possessions.
Irina opened the coop and an array of birds started to flutter and panic. She handed me a bird with a tiny black face and a giant mane of white feathers.
“Hold onto Silkie tight," Irina said. "We have to be very careful because the area is known for herons and hawks that like to swoop down and grab the birds.”
“It’s true – mom was so mad last month because a raccoon picked the lock and got half of ‘em,” said Erin.
Irina rolled her...
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It's always bothered me how my mother and grandmother are treated in retail establishments because of their accents. As a result, I've always been the one to have to "take it up with the manager" or "write a letter" when injustice happens. Combine this with the fact that I'm a writer and sort of an ass, and it makes for interesting letters written on contact forms. So....enjoy. 
