Thursday, August 22, 2013

A BS story or three

Someone asked me about the biggest Bravo Sierra story I have ever told a woman regarding what I did for a living.

I was out having a beer with a single guy once and he was busy yakking with some babe. on the other side of him. When he got up to pee she asked me what I did for a living.

I told her I worked for the Federal department of highways putting shoes in the breakdown lane.

She looked perplexed.

"Ever see one shoe in the breakdown lane? One single shoe?" I asked. She replied that she had.

"Then for the next thirty or forty miles you wonder where the other shoe is, right?" I asked. She said that from time to time she had wondered where the other shoe was.

"I put those shoes there for the PennDOT," I explained. "They do that to keep drivers alert and it saves a number of lives every year because it wakes people up."

"Really?" she asked.

"Absolutely," I assured her.

Another time I was sitting at a table at the same joint with the same guy with another babe he was in the process of grabbing by the hair and dragging back to his cave. She asked me what I did for a living.

I told her I was an investigator for the Federal Department of Permanent Records. She looked perplexed.

"Didn't you ever hear that something would go on your permanent record?" I asked.

"They told that to you when you were little to make you behave yourself," she said.

"Don't believe that. There really is a Department of Permanent records," I said. 

"Really?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," I replied in my Joe Friday voice. "Most people have one."

"Do I?" she asked.

"We can find out fast enough," I said.

"Could you find out for me?" she asked.

"Be glad to," I said, dialing my kid sister on my cell phone. My kid sister is as sharp as a tack and pretty damned quick.

"Snip, Agent Piccolo," I said into the phone. Run a check for me." 

I turned to the woman and asked her name, she gave it to me and I repeated it into the phone. Then I asked for her social security number and did the same thing. Then I waited a minute or so.

"No record, huh? Better start one," I said. "Thanks, Snip. Later." with that I hung up.

The woman was speechless for several seconds. Then she went into a panic. She was upset, of course that Big Brother now had her number. She started to get upset with me and I simply downed my drink and left the pair of them alone.

Later I heard my friend scored with her after he told her I owed him a favor and could make her new record disappear.

I once had a woman sit mext to me a few years ago and ask me about men. I suppose she thought I was like her father or something. She was young enough to be my daughter.

She wanted to know what guys talked about when they were out drinking.

I looked around like a Mafioso getting ready to bump someone off, lowered my voice and spoke quietly.

"Young single men talk about women, middle aged married ones talk about their kids and old men talk about their prostates," I said. Then I looked around again to make sure nobody heard me.

"Really? She asked.

'That's about it," I said.

"I thought thay talked about sports," she said.

I looked around again. "That's only when their wives are within earshot," I said, softly.

Hook, line and sinker.

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