My ex and I (before we were married) were traveling to Maine and were somewhere between hither and yon. We were on a freeway and I suggested we should get gas, but no, he didn’t want to stop yet. Pretty soon, the car was nearly empty and he was annoyed because we need gas. Now.
So we took the first exit to a charming little artist-community type town, full of fascinating pottery shops and galleries and studios, and not a gas station in sight. Finally we stopped at a feedmill and I asked the local farmer for directions, which unfortunately turned out to include “…and go about oh, seveneight mile up thataway.” My then-fiance is getting grouchy now–we’re out of gas and have to go seveneight mile to get some and it’s 12:30 and he’s starving and it’s beginning to look like it might be somehow MY fault.
We drove seveneight mile up thataway, with him questioning my directions the entire time. Near the eight mile mark, he says, “Well, it’s almost ONE O’CLOCK and we’re out of gas and starving I hope you’re HAPPY.”
No problem, I tell him, I see the Joe’s Gas sign just over the hill, thank God! Saved!
And we top the hill and pull into an empty lot where Joe has placed a big ol’ sign:
Closed 11:230 to 3:00
My finace was not amused but I was hysterical.
Still cracks me up.
Many years ago, a friend and I went to a retail chain store in a nearby town. We had taken her parents car (with their permission. Neither of us had a car – I was fresh out of high school and she was in her senior year) and parked just a few spots away from the front door of the store and went in to do some shopping.
When we came out, we were chatting away to each other and got into the car. She’s got the key in the ignition and trying to turn over the engine, but it’s not working and she’s starting to panic that something has happened to the car while we had it. Meanwhile, I notice there’s a bag on the seat between us that I didn’t recall being there before.
We both realized in the same instant that we were IN THE WRONG CAR!
It was the same make, model, color, and parked in the same exact spot as our car – just the other side of the parking aisle we were in!
We jumped out of the car and, as we were walking across to our car, noticed some people had just come out of the store were looking at us. It turned out to be the owners of that car! We were somewhat embarrassed, but it was an honest and obvious mistake and was actually pretty funny.
That reminds me of something that happened to me that is kind of more weird than sit-com-y:
My dad and I were at a thrift store and as we were walking towards my car there’s some guy there peeling off my “Mystery Spot” bumper sticker. I walk up and go “er…can I help you?” He stares at me, turns and stares at the car (a green Honda Civic) and goes “Oh!” Then walked over to his blue Accord and drove away.
We cracked up about that the whole way home.
When I got my first cell phone, I also inherited somebody’s old phone number. I took many calls at first saying that “Jane no longer has this number.”
One girl didn’t seem to understand and kept calling. She sounded cute and I asked her on a date.
Knowing nothing about her except her voice from four or five 30 second phone calls, we decided to meet.
It was one of the worst dates of my life.
I’m Seinfeld, okay?
I live on my own. I have friends randomly drop in on me, they eat my food and talk to me about stuff that doesn’t matter. I snark at them. They go home. I go on a date. It doesn’t work out for some frivolous reason. Lather, rinse, repeat. Also, I don’t get bottled water…
Boss 1 sent me to his mother-in-laws house in Boss 2’s truck to deliver a package. As I pull into the driveway, I drop the package on the floor. I bend over to pick it up, realize the truck is still moving and look over the dash to see her car sitting in my way. With just enough time to hit the brake pedal, I stab the gas pedal and rearend her car in her own driveway with her son-in-law’s business partner’s truck. As I’m outside the truck and looking over what I just did, the woman asks if I tore up anything. She happened to be standing in front of her car while I did all of this. Luckily, there was no damage to either, but my face was red. I blame it on the fact that the truck was an automatic and I’m used to standards. A vehicle is supposed to sit still when you stop it!
My Grandpa Bob died last Fall. My grandmother was deeply aggrieved, but seemed to be holding up pretty well.
The day of the viewing, a handful of relatives stood in the hall. ‘‘Before, you guys go in to the viewing room,’’ said Grandma, ‘‘Let me go in there alone and make sure everything is just so.’’
Relatives stood patiently outside while Grandma went into the viewing room.
Suddenly, Grandma’s voice sounds from within: ‘‘Bob?’’
Relatives look at one another uneasily.
Again, more insistent: ‘‘Bob.’’ This is not a mournful wailing, but rather an attempt to get someone’s attention. ''BOB! Are you in there?!"
My Aunt and Mother exchange horrified glances and bolt into the room.
The funeral director’s name is Bob
That’s gold, Jerry. Gold!
Really, hysterical.
A friend and I rented the Menard’s truck to do some moving. Neither of us had done this before and hadn’t seen them before. So, we leave Menard’s and go out to the parking lot, heading in the vague direction we were pointed to for the truck. We see a big moving truck, probably a fifteen or eighteen footer, that’s white with nothing on the sides and go and get inside it. And that’s when I see the purple purse on the floorboard and the keys in the ignition. I look around, look at my friend, and say I think we are in the wrong truck! As we look up, they parked perpendicular in the parking lot taking up several spots, and see a pick up completely painted with Menard’s logos and advertising the cost a little ways down! No one saw us but we tell the tale.
Twenty years ago, I was at a restaurant with my parents and I went to use the restroom. I’m a guy and I went into the men’s room. As I’m washing my hands before leaving, a guy opens the restroom door. He gets it mostly open but sees me and stops. He slowly looks at the sign on the door, to confirm it’s the men’s room, looks back at me and then comes in. I don’t think I look like a girl!
That’s all I can think of at the moment.
Great thread! Thanks!
Introducing my new Wife to friends over lunch. My girl paid our way. Someone commented about how lucky I was to have such a generous Wife.
She piped up “Oh, we share everything, he just treated at PetSmart.”
I had just purchased a whole bunch of dog and cat food for our critters before lunch.
I ran around to four or five stores today, buying things I have needed for a while, but not enough to make a special trip. As I was in the checkout line of the last store, I realized that
My. Fly. Was. Completely. Open.
I’ve had a teacher tell me I passed a test while snorting and laughing. Then I noticed that my flies were undone and my white shirt was sticking out.
Another time, I went to the cinema one year after finishing secondary school with a bunch of friends I hadn’t seen in ages. I doubled up about five minutes into the show, then ten minutes in vacated the area and spent about twenty on the toilet. I didn’t offer any explanation, but I now know that it was the fluorescent green panir I ate the day before. Luckily the hour long bus ride back only had a ten minute interruption at the very first stop because some guy wanted to bring his dog on, then threatened to racially abuse the bus driver and threaten to kill him, before penultimately sitting next to me and asking whether I minded him sitting next to me with the dog (it’s not very comfortable sitting next to anyone with diarrhoea and I had a sneaking suspicion I stunk). I acquiesced quietly but the police interrupted the bus taking off. I spent the remainder of the journey clenching my bag with a book and a snack in it, both of which were pulp when I got home. I got off the bus a stop early to try and use the restroom at a gas station, but the owners refused.
Co-worker standing in front of my desk, talking to a customer. I watch as the back door to the office, about 100 feet down the long corridor, quietly opens and the customer walks in, talking on his cell phone. The agent’s back is to the door and he doesn’t see it.
I watch as the customer slowly creeps up while the agent is talking to him…slowly…slowly. I am stiffling my giggles. Finally, the customer reaches out and grabs the agent’s shoulder.
Agent jumps a mile. Everyone in the office cracks up.
Back in the days of land-lines, I lived in a rather thin-walled apartment. One autumn afternoon (must have been, because my allergies were kicking up), I sneezed just as the phone rang. When I picked it up, the next-door neighbor said, “Gesundheit.”
Hilarious!
I currently live in a thin-walled apartment and my computer is right next to the wall; as is the neighbors from what I can tell. One late night I don’t know if he dozed off or was drunk or what but from what I heard he CLEARLY fell out of his chair and made the loudest thud.
I said (loudly) “YOU OK, MAN?” and he said “YEAH.” LOL
Oh, another one. (I guess it’s sit-com-y).
My Wife and I were in Vegas. We had been looking up at this huge swing thing that we had signed up to ride. Now I’m a pretty big guy, and am just the right height to put my chin on top of my Wife’s head.
So, not really looking down, I put my chin on her head and my hands on her shoulders. Then I noticed a rather scared looking gentleman staring at me. Next to him stood my Wife.
Good thing you didn’t cop a feel.
I did a thread like this, all the way back in 2003, so here’s my entry:
*It was the sixth grade and I was your regular… well, “geek” was the word that came to mind, but “unknown” was more like it as I was as bored with the geek circles as I was with the popular kids, the stoners, etc… by the time I got into high school, my apathy had increased to the point where I participated in zero extra-curricular activities, went to zero sporting events, danced at zero dances, etc. And if you think that is something, in Georgia back then, high school lasted for five years instead of the normal 3 or 4 - imagine going to high school for five years and not having a single thing listed by your name in the yearbook during your senior year. In short: I just didn’t want to be bothered.
Unfortunately there was a guy by the name of… Michael, iirc. Mike was one of those insufferable bastards we all knew in school - the bully who impressed his friends with his fists and his mouth, particularly against the quiet, geeky types. Luckily I was able to avoid him for the first 2 quarters (um, 1.5 semesters?) of school, but a showdown was brewing and it came in March.
Now, I’m a lover and not a fighter ( 
) but I have been in a few schoolyard scrapes before… but that was no help as Mike was a fighter, a fighter who had the sense to wait a few seconds expertly sizing up his opponent before going in for the kill.* So when the time and date was set, I gotta tell you I was scared shiiteless. Backing down was an option; going home by a different route was too an option… after all, a few other kids had done so w/o getting beat up by Mike. Why not I? Why should I get my ass pounded? Yeah, he’ll go back to harassing me, but is that so bad?
Yes, oh yeah, that would be a hundred times worse than an ass-beating. Regardless of what happened, I at least was going to show up - I wasn’t going to be like Brian Hambrick, who didn’t show up for his fight and became the meekest guy in school after that, the kid that even the losers picked on - a state that existed for the next 6 years and likely into college. Fvck that!
So I got to the fight, on the corner of Midvale and Cliffchest, and Mike was already there. We took off our jackets as the other kids stood back, forming the circle, and putting up our fists, the fight started.
Ow! ****! Damn, that hurt! Mike came out a little strong and a lot cocky, hitting me on the shoulder and the ear. I countered with a couple of jabs, one of which connected a bit because Mike backed off a little for a couple of seconds. The kids were yelling at the both of us of course, but I have no idea who’s (if any) side the crowd was on… usually they just want to see a good fight.
As Mike backed off, the look in his eye made it clear all of a sudden: If this doesn’t end soon, I’m going to get seriously hurt. Hoping to get one good shot in, I looked over Mike’s shoulder as he came in, pointed behind him and yelled
“LOOK!!!”
Whereupon the dumb sunofa***** actually looked behind him, allowing me to land the most perfect of rights smack into his jaw - the greatest punch I have ever thrown. Sadly it wasn’t my punch that knocked him out, it was his head hitting the pavement… but he was knocked out cold: I had beaten the bully!
Mike got up after a few minutes, groggy as all hell, and had to get one or two of his friends to help him home. Me, I just walked on home with my one friend, Chris Forsyth, talking about Star Wars and stuff.
I was never picked on again for the rest of my school days. Oh, I had people I had issues with, and one or two more fights, but it wasn’t the same, you know?
As seen through my sixth-grade eyes.
The thing that made the above “sitcomy” was the fact that the “Look!”-and-point-behind idea was one that I got from a Happy Days episode where Potsie (Ralph? Opie Cunningham?) was going to fight a bully and he used the same trick. Unfortunately for Potsie/Ralph/Opie, all they ended up doing was grabbing the bully’s leather jacket, but it worked perfectly for me.
Another sitcom moment… this thread has 158 responses… my original had 1. 
Oooh - I just thought of one (inspired by the parent-hating-your-spouse thread).
My parents were none too pleased when I married Typo Knig. He was a wise-ass, he was of a different religious background, he was in grad school, he was of a different religious background, I was rushing into things (having dated him for 6 years, that one was stretching it a bit…), it would never last…
But we kept communication, if a bit distantly. We spent our first Christmas at their house (Typo being Jewish, at least we didn’t have families arguing over who got us for the holiday). Parents were stiff and polite but at least didn’t do anything overt.
As we were driving away at the end of the visit… we hear a sudden TICKING start in the back of the car. Just like any sit-com / cartoon bomb was about to go off.
It was a windup microwave turntable they’d given us.