![]() |
|
Home Base A starting point, and place for threads don't seem to belong anywhere else |
|
Thread Tools | Display Modes |
![]() |
#1 |
Guest
Posts: n/a
|
Hello Cellar
Situation:
I am performing a contracted service for a client at their residence. The family includes mom, dad, 9 year old boy, twin 4 year old boys. Upper, upper middle-class family and development. Details: To fully understand the comedic value of the following you need to know that I am a big, bald, extensively illustrated individual although I am actually gentle as a pup, my appearance can be intimidating, especially to rich white catholic suburbanites like these particular clients. My practice when I first meet with prospective clients is to wear a long sleeved shirt, and a ball cap, both garments bearing the logo and name of my company. This is something that is required because most people are very judgmental based on appearance. However when I show up to perform the work I dress in regular work clothes like a t-shirt and jeans. If these people only knew that the guy more likely to rip them off is their accountant or lawyer. Scene: The work is being performed primarily in the garage. however, I need to access the panel box which is located in the mudroom off of the kitchen. I knock on the door and I am greeted by one of the 4 year old boys who invites me in then proceeds to announce to his parents at full volume who are apparently in another room. "Mommy, The devil is in the house" The mother runs into the kitchen. "Shhh, he's not the devil why would you say such a thing" "I am sorry..." before she can finish the boy cuts her off. "You said that to daddy mommy, you said thanks a lot for hiring the devil to work at our house" Her cheeks are blushing as she stammers her words. Obviously mortified by embarrassment. "Don't be silly now! This man is not the devil! What did you need? How can..." Now I cut her off before she can finish. "Oh yes I am, the boy is right Ma'am. I am most definitely the devil, Satan, the prince of darkness. But you (as I patted the lad on the head while his mother stared at me horrified) can call me Bubba > its short for Beelzebub> my Christian name" The father who is witnessing the scene 20 feet away while standing behind the breakfast nook in the kitchen begins laughing loudly like a barroom rolling laughter. The wife who now has a face that is red as a tomato throws a death stare at him and stamps away grabbing hold of the little boys arm. "I WANT HIM OUT OF HERE NOW!" I make friends wherever I go. MickGinny. Last edited by MickGinny; 12-22-2004 at 04:08 PM. |
![]() |
Currently Active Users Viewing This Thread: 1 (0 members and 1 guests) | |
|
|