, , , , , ,

By Tardsie

They’re Not Always This Easy To Spot.


The Hotel Quickie

AmericInn, Aberdeen, SD. Monday, 03.26.12 11:59 AM CST (Cretin Standard Time)

Tardsie calls the Front Desk.

T: Hi. This is room 204, I’m running about ten minutes late. Do you think I could get a late checkout?

FD: Well…what are we talking about here? Like 12:15?

T: I just need about ten minutes…but yeah, 12:15 would be great.

FD: Because checkout is at noon.

T: Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m calling.

Time Is Relative In The Land That Time Forgot.



A few months ago I applied for a job as a sales-rep/customer liaison with a company with which I had previously had some dealings. It was a part-time thing, working the phones from home. Because of my skill set and my previous dealings with the company, I was pretty sure I’d earn an interview. I liked the company, and was interested in working for them in some capacity, but wasn’t sure if I wanted to sacrifice my evenings.

So when the president of the company called me (it’s a small outfit) for an interview, I didn’t really feel I had anything at stake, and had never been so relaxed in an interview. Although I make it a point in any interview to impress the person to whom I’m speaking (it’s an interview, after all), I try to present a pretty honest–if selective–picture of myself, and never so much as in this interview. I was candid, unguarded and, I thought, fairly plain-spoken.

Toward the end of the interview, the president offered me a rather left-handed compliment. I was initially pleased when he complimented me on my “authoritative voice,” polished manner of speech and extensive vocabulary. But then, as he transitioned to the next point said, “But I guess you can talk normal when you want to.”

I didn’t get the job.

It’s Not An Affectation, Folks–We Just Talk That Way.


It’s A Long Drive To Tipperary

A few years ago, I was at Rite Aid picking up a few essentials for a trip. As he rung me up, the clerk asked where I was going.

“Ireland,” I told him.

“That’s cool,” he said, then asked, “So are you gonna fly there or drive?”

Unsure if he was joking, I was too stunned for a moment to answer. When I was finally able to speak, all I could muster were the words “Drive to Ireland?”

“Yeah,” he said sagely, answering his own question, “Ireland is too far to drive.”

If You Think Drunk Drivers Are Dangerous, Just Wait ‘Till You Visit A Land With No Sober Drivers.