I used to be in the beer industry (selling to supermarkets) and I’d get
“you can just load that pallet into my truck” every day.
Now I’m in the elevator industry and about once a week I get
“I bet that has its ups and downs.”
When I worked at a ski shop setting up snowboard rentals I’d ask how they wanted their stance, regular or goofy, so I could set the bindings up. At least 3 times a week, for the 6 months a year we did rentals, for the 4 years I worked there, I heard from dads “well he rides regular, but he’s pretty goofy hahaha.” By the end of my time there I never even bothered with a fake chuckle anymore, I just didn’t have it in me.
Selling lottery tickets.
I’m like what numbers would you like?
Everyone be like “the winning ones”.
Mail carrier here.
“You can keep the bills !” hur hur hur
I’m obligated to ask those visiting my work place if they have any weapons to declare.
“These guns!” flex
As a church musician, I’ve heard things like:
“How does it feel to have the largest organ in town?”
WARNING – Don’t use puns with Kleptomaniacs. They take things literally.
A guy goes to a psychiatrist. The guy is wearing nothing but Saran Wrap.
The psychiatrist says to him, “I can clearly see you’re nuts.”
Quality control at a mirror factory is a job I could see myself doing.
I saw a dwarf climbing down the wall of a prison.
He looked in my direction and sneered at me.
“Well!” I thought. “That’s a little condescending.”
1 to change the lightbulb, 9 to build the libraries.
“I’m crammed into a burrow so small that my knees are up around my ears and the boom mike keeps slamming into my head, inhaling the potent scent of toffee-apple brandy and trying to drink a talking mouse under the table. But is it really the boom mike that’s making my head pound? I know for sure that my camera man doesn’t usually have two heads. I have to face facts. The mouse is winning.
Yesterday, I thought I knew what to expect from Narnia: good solid English cooking spiced up with the odd unusual ingredient, and good solid English people spiced up with the odd faun. And centaur. And talking animal. I’d longed to visit Narnia when I was a kid, but every time the notoriously capricious entry requirements, such as the bizarre and arbitrary lifetime limit on visits, relaxed the slightest bit, it would get invaded, get conquered, get re-conquered by the original rulers, or get hit by some natural disaster. The “Hundred-Year Winter” put the kibosh on the one time my parents even considered it.
When, by some bureaucratic miracle, my crew and I were permitted entry, I wondered if I was too old and jaded for Narnia. Maybe I’d been too old and jaded by the time I was twelve. Narnia is supposed to a land of clean living and old-fashioned values, where men are men and women are women and you have to go to Calormen to find anything more spicy than mulled wine. Not my kind of place at all, really.”
Fan fiction at archiveofourown.org