I was in a hurry for a meeting and while I really saw you running for the elevator, I pretended not too, all the while pressing the close button.
Oh, and I’m sorry about the sub-prime mess. My bad.
I’m coming down with a cold, but it’s just starting so I think I’m probably still pretty contagious; but I’m still going to work tomorrow anyway, even though I have the sick leave.
Not something I did, but an interesting story apropos to the conversation nonetheless.
During Air Force boot camp, my two best friends in the world were God and one trainee we’ll call Jones. God and Jones seemed to enjoy each other’s company as well, although mostly for comedic reasons. We were at the Sabbath meal after the Jewish service at the Lutheran church (there were only about 5 people who showed up for Jewish services on any given week, so we didn’t have our own temple). For some reason, I had been on this kick of quoting Johnny Cash, so I turned to Jones and whispered, “I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.” He responded, without missing a beat, “Yeah, I killed a guy once.”
I laughed.
He didn’t.
:eek: :eek: :eek:
We won’t go into the details of the story that came out after that, except that apparently it was accidental, he wasn’t the only guilty party, and it was unsolved at the time. Last time I talked to him, though, was earlier this year when he said he was going to jail “soon” because he had “done something real bad”. He wouldn’t elaborate. I don’t know if it was that or something else; he was quite a character, to say the least.
I once threw a mall food court tray in the trash–you know, the ones you’re supposed to put on top of the trash can so they can wash them and use them for other customers. I was trying to impress my girlfriend with my spontaneity. I don’t feel an ounce of remorse; the food sucked, and furthermore, verily did I score.
At a mall in Tel-Aviv, I bought a six pack of beer and then went over to the electronics store to admire whatever new videogame was coming out at the time. I held my six-pack at a bit of an angle and three beers fell out of either side and broke on the floor. I bounced.
I didn’t feel bad about it once I started working retail and heard stories about worse things, like the customer who insisted that it wasn’t her dog who had shat on the floor. When her dog was the only one that had been in the store.
A while back at the gym, I had just finished a semi-intense work out and was dragging myself back to the locker room to get changed. I was worn out enough that I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings, and I lumbered through the locker room entrance just as someone else was about to come out. He stepped back to let me through and gave a little “pardon me,” while I may have mumbled something in return and continued straight ahead.
Rude of me, but minor, and I do make an effort to be polite when my head is more together. The only reason it sticks in my mind is that this was the other guy. I guess he’s just a lot more mellow in real life.
This past summer as I was pulling into a parking spot at a grocery store, I saw a woman push a cart into the cart rack. On the bottom of the cart was a 12 pack of Redhook Ale. As I watched, she got in her car and left. I grabbed the 12 pack and put it in my truck. When I came out of the store about 20 minutes later I saw the same woman driving through the parking lot looking at the carts. I could have said something when I walked by her but didn’t.
When I was about 15, I broke one of my mom’s prized butcher knives by throwing it. I thought knife throwing was very cool, and wanted to know how to do it.
And then, there was the thing with the coffee table. That one I blamed on the 30 lb cat.
Years ago, shortly after I graduated from college and was perpetually broke, I went to the mall with my mom so she could do some Christmas shopping. We stopped in a department store to look at all their Christmas ornaments and decorations.
I picked up a blown glass ornament of a Dr. Seuss character, and it slipped through my fingers and shattered. In the basket where all the other glass ornaments were kept.
At the time, I didn’t realize that stores have insurance to cover breakage. I thought if I reported it, I would be required to pay for the broken ornament, which was $20 I didn’t have. I was also too embarrassed about being broke to ask my mom for help. So, I tucked the remaining large piece in to hide the breakage and left it. It didn’t even occur to me at the time that I had created a very dangerous situation - broken glass scattered through a display bin.
Ten years on, it still bugs me. The department store has gone out of business, and it still bugs me.
I told my area manager about some dubious stuff a bunch of other managers were doing. And now the Managing director knows about it and everyone’s going nuts.
Sorry guys, I thought our boss would put a stop to it quietly without any fuss. If any of you do get sacked I promise to feel bad for atleast an hour.
On two separate occasions I’ve grazed the curling rock with my broom and not called a burn.
My roommate and I are friends with this guy. She really likes him and he really likes me.
Today my roommate and I were talking about the lack of sex in our lives when she told me, “You know, you should just sleep with [insert name of friend she likes here] because he would never tell you no.”
Even though it would hurt her if I did it and even though it would probably hurt him in the long run since he is more into me than I am into him I am considering it. I probably won’t do it, and even if I did I would be completely honest with them both about everything, but the fact that I am even thinking about it makes me feel like a bad person.
I think we can guess why, too. Asshole.
I took my ex’s e-mail address right after he dumped me, and signed him up for a whole bunch of mailing lists and spam sites and porn sites, with the intent of having him so overwhelmed with crap that he had to abandon his e-mail address for a new one. It felt so good.
Hey, I could have had his new girlfriend deported (she overstayed her student visa and was technically an illegal), so as far as I’m concerned, I took the high road on this one.
Someone I dislike at work got laid off a couple weeks ago. I feel happy about it.
Susan
When I was 8 I stuck a cherry bomb in my neighbor’s mailbox and blew up their mail. I could never look them in the face again.
The park district health club where I grew up had windows outside that looked down into the women’s locker room. They were about 10 feet off the ground but the bricks were stuck out enough that we could climb them and there were tall bushes that blocked anyone from noticing us. My friends and I spent a lot of summer nights spying on the ladies in there. It freaked me out the first time I saw grey pubic hair.
I provided the government with fake info about WMDs in Iraq because my friend bet me that no one would take it seriously.
To my freshman college roomate: I’m sorry I took a swig of your mouthwash and spit it back in the bottle just to be a bitch.
To that dumb frat boy that threw a stupid party: I’m sorry I stole half the balls from your pool table.
To my friends ex-boyfriend I hated: I’m sorry I stole all the remotes from your house. I’m also sorry I tried to steal a menorah but my friends stopped me.
To my Chicago neighbor/BFF: I’m sorry I punched you in the face at a lesbian bar and got us banned. I’m also sorry I systematically stole items from your apartment and left you ransom notes.
To my sister: I’m sorry I tell everyone you’re a bitch. I’m mostly sorry, though, that you’re a bitch.
I’m sorry I let the dogs out.
Instead of going out and finishing my German paper the old fashioned way, I twiddled the kerneling and character spacing. I’m a bad man.
If it makes you feel any better, I once rejected this one girl…
She was from San Diego (where I met her about a year after this happened), and at the time she was a freshman at a private college in a part of Maryland known for its particularly bad winter weather. Of course, as a Marylander in San Diego I can say that someone going from here to anywhere in Maryland is in for a nasty surprise once winter comes around, but it must’ve been really bad for her.
Well, her roomie practiced terrible hygiene, but tried valiantly to make up for it by covering herself in lots and lots of cheap body spray. So much that the room would practically become suffocating, and of course, she couldn’t open up the window since it was so damn cold out. So she took her revenge by pissing in the yellowest bottle of her roommate’s body spray she could find. The roomie kept right on spraying it on herself, which, I’m told, was much more satisfying to watch. :eek:
It was you! :mad:
Spring 1984. Sedro Woolley High School. The bathroom right by the student lounge was where all the Special Ed students went to the restroom. With a pretty well developed survival instinct, the kids all went to the bathroom at the same time. I walked by as the last of the dozen or so walked into the windowless room. I reached inside as the door was closing and switched off the lights.
I’m 40, and at night when the world is quiet, I can still hear them screaming.
I’m still scrubbing my karma over that one.
I’m not sure I’m ready to share all the details yet, but if Dani who came from Florida to live with her biological mother while going to college in Colorado is a Doper, the girl I dumped you for was a drugged up psycho, and nearly 20 years later I still feel like an ass for that whole thing.
I just laughed at yanceylebeef’s story. I felt guilty immediately.
I popped some little kid’s balloon in Pasadena last New Year’s Eve. I didn’t think he was gonna see me. He was just camping out for the next day’s Rose Parade. I stumbled out of a bar at 2 or 3 a.m., saw his shiny balloon, and decided its time had come.
My friends and I stiffed some poor Bennigan’s waitress once. We had a large party, and, frankly, the service was slow and a bit forgetful. In retrospect, she was probably just having an off day. Her mistakes weren’t that bad, we were just a bunch of cheap college assholes unwilling to give her the benefit of the doubt. I feel especially bad because in the space where you’re supposed to write in the tip amount, my friend just wrote a frownie face. That’s pretty insulting.