Three quick stories

Nothing real to post, but I have a few short stupid but amusing stories.

This first one is from an email I got this week.

From: Stacie Sent: Wednesday, June 14, 2006 3:00 PM Subject: Funny Observation Today, while washing my hands in the ladies room, a younger co-worker was struggling at the sink next to me. She kept waiving her hands under the faucet but was puzzled as to why the water would not flow. Frustrated, she looked over at me and inquired, "do any of these work?" I replied, "yes, turn the nob." She manually turned the faucet on and washed in silence. I've seen people struggle with turning on sinks with sensors, but never the reverse. I'm beginning to recognize gaps between mine and the next generation.

I know what you're thinking. Posting this puts me right there with that dumb shit columnist Smiley Anders. Insulting, but all too true.

	Pickles

Check out this bin of pickles at the Subway yesterday. And this was at 1:30 in the afternoon. Just to mess with the lady, I told her how to dress my sandwich like this,

"tomatoes, onion, and ... oh are you out of pickles?"

She thought I was serious, and gave my face a close examination to determine whether I was insane or just an imbecile. It gave me a good laugh, but I was the only one who thought it was funny.

	A plainish Turk's head knot.

I don't know what made me think of this story yesterday. It probably won't be a funny read, but I have nothing else to post, so what the hell.

Several years ago, I went to sailing school with my old man and Mrs. theskinnyonbenny. About half way through the week, we switched from a basic course to a more serious one, and we got a new instructor and a bigger boat to sail. The new guy was kind of a hard ass.

The big boat had a wheel, and they had tied a knot to one point on the arc of the wheel. The instructor told us that the Turk's head indicated the point on the wheel where the rudder was lined up straight.

I offered, "A Turk's head! That's not very politically correct."

"Well, that's what the knot is called," was my very serious reply. There was no hint of amusement there.

The only guy in our class was a 60-ish pilot named Chuck. Chuck was a boxer-shorts kind of guy, which I know because when he would take the wheel, the lay of his shorts would give the seated passengers a view right on up to his saggy old-man balls.

I wondered if I was the only one who noticed. One night, I threw out a casual, "Ol' Chuck ought to consider briefs while sailing."

"YES HE SHOULD!" replied my dad and the Mrs., in unison.