» House Guests

One time on mushrooms...
The first time I ever tried magic mushrooms, I was at a friend's house. One of the side effects of the mushrooms, and the principal reason I no longer take them, was that I couldn't quite tell if I really had to take a piss or not. It bothered me to no end, thinking that the first time I met his flatmate, I might piss myself on the sofa. This basically resulted in me spending damn near the entire time I was tripping going up to the toilet, sitting there for a while until I was confident that I did not have to piss, heading back downstairs to the living room (no easy feat, with the steep narrow stair case his house had), and then promptly returning to the toilet within in five minutes. Just in case...

On one such voyage, I was sat on the bowl, when it occurred to me that something awesome might happen if I could fit my entire head all the way through the right leg of my jeans, while I still had them on. I set to it, and midway through my endeavour, I saw some motion out of the corner of my eye. Looking over, I saw the flatmate's girlfriend standing in the door I'd left wide open. Not knowing what else to do, I waved and said "Hello, I'm Ithy, who're you?" It was a strange way to meet someone. When I sobered up, I was embarrassed for a while, but I mostly find it amusing. Considering her boyfriend and my friend did shrooms rather often, I'm not surprised that she didn't seem phased, though. Guess she'd seen stupider things, although I can't remember having done anything worse.
(Thu 6th Jan 2011, 15:28, More)

» Caught!

In 7th or 8th grade
I was sitting in my French class. It was the last class of the day, and I was utterly bored. I hadn't eaten lunch that day, and was feeling rather worse for it, as well as it being much too hot and one of the last weeks of the school year. For some reason, my French teacher had all the windows closed anyway, which she soon regretted. Sitting in my corner of the room at my desk, I felt a little bit of a fart beginning to brew up in me. Thinking naught of it, I just let it slip out. Sadly for those in the class, it was one of the silent and deadly sorts. Absolutely vile. I was sitting there, trying to hold a straight face as more and more of my classmates smelled it and expressed their displeasure. Even the teach was looking around trying to figure out who it was.

I finally lost it when I heard the teacher in the next room down the hall ask who farted and threatened them with detention if they ever did one so bad again. As soon as I heard that through the open door, I started laughing like a loon and all my classmates instantly knew who'd done it.
(Sat 5th Jun 2010, 7:57, More)

» Bad Management

I can't work in restaurants anymore.
My first job was cleaning up the property for a restaurant that was a 10 minute walk from my house when I was about 14 or 15. It was all going nice for me, decent pay (off the books), plenty of hours, and anything I wanted off the menu for lunch totally free. All I had to do was lay down mulch, do some weeding, shovel snow in the winter and otherwise keep the property looking nice. I'd worked there for about a year when I moved house towards the end of the school year. I'd moved about 8.5 miles away from the restaurant, and didn't really fancy riding 8.5 miles to ask if he had work for me only to have to turn right back around.

So, every day, I ring the boss, "Hey, have you got anything you need me to come over and do for you?" He'd say,"Nope, nothing. Call back tomorrow and I'll see." Repeat Monday through Friday for about two weeks, until I call and ask on the third Monday if he has any work for me. His response? "Where the fuck have you been you stupid shit? I've had work piling up and you never showed up, so I got someone else to do it."

I was unemployed until the end of summer when I found temporary work at the Renaissance Faire. Not a bad job I thought. I just had to sell people useless crap whilst wearing an old timey costume and throwing any accent I could pull that sounds like it might be from the UK or Europe. I think any Brits that come to the States and see a Renn Faire might die of laughter, as my fellow Americans seemed to think everyone in 1600s England spoke with a heavy Cockney accent and made extensive use of rhyming slang, including the nobility. Anyway, my first year working there I broke three of my fingers on my left hand prior to the interview some months before the job began. I was much dismayed to see that they'd decided pushing a cart with wooden wheels full of ice around a muddy fairground was the best job for me.

Still, it was fun enough, and I got to see many drunk people do hilarious drunken things, so I signed on the next year as well when the time came round. I was put on my cart again and thought all was well again. I came in one day, and it was typically the busiest day of the season, with this year being no exception. As I'm getting ready with my cart expecting to make some nice tips, my boss comes over. Apparently four of the six or so people working in one of their food booths have called out today, including all three of the kitchen crew. She informed me this meant I got to be manager for a day. Even my power-hungry 16 year-old mind thought something was amiss, but I went over and started working nonetheless. Long story short, trying to have me do four peoples jobs at once with no training or history in any of them ended in me putting a knife through my thumb. Not totally through, it was a deep cut and the it started on one side of my thumb and damn near went all the way around. The cheap bitch also wouldn't let me leave to get stitches, since she didn't want her insurance rates going up. I wish I'd known then how illegal that was.

The one sentence summary: I've had a shit time working in the food industry.
(Thu 10th Jun 2010, 12:32, More)

» School Naughtiness

One more.
Most of the bad things I'd done in school were pretty mundane. Getting into a fight, sleeping in class, being caught smoking, etc. About a year after the events of my last post, I got in trouble for a rather odd one, though.

My school had 44 minute long class periods, so my teacher was a bit annoyed when I showed up to class 40 minutes late one day.
Ms. Ch: "Where's your note Ithy?"
"I don't have one miss."
Ms. Ch: "Well what happened? I'm going to have to talk with your last period teacher about this."
"I fell asleep in class, and everybody left without me waking up. I just woke up and came here as soon as I could."
Ms Ch: "Which class are you coming from Ithy?"
"Phys. Ed..."

After class she told me she would've have given me detentions for lying, but that it was the worst excuse she'd ever heard and she knew I would be able to tell a better lie. Since it'd had been too cold and wet to play outside, we'd been sent to the auxiliary gym to play dodge ball. I hadn't slept the night before, so when the opportunity arose, I had ducked off to the side and climbed up a stack of gymnastics mats, and fallen asleep up against the wall. As I as about 10 feet up and all the way back from the edge and nobody had seen me go up, when class ended nobody noticed me there and they all left.
(Wed 14th Sep 2011, 3:10, More)

» Overheard secrets

I kind of wish I hadn't.
My friend's brother, I guess I'll call him Pete*, is a bit of a special case. He's got Aspergers, and rather than any sort of Rain Man-esque skill, he's just very socially awkward and and does drugs with a single minded passion. With his condition, heavy pot smoking and acid use does little to help him make very good decisions, and he usually makes some hilariously bad ones on a regular basis.

One day, I was hanging out with a mutual friend, when he called up Pete and put him on speaker phone. After Pete and I had said hello, he went back to ignoring me, and later seemed genuinely surprised to learn that I had heard everything he had said. The conversation went like this:

"Hey, Pete, we were looking to hang out, what are you doing?"
"Nothing, but you know that thing I was talking about the other night, Fred?"
"Getting a hooker?"
"Yeah. I went on google, and typed in 'hot, sexy black escorts, in Craptown, New York,' and it worked. Now I know what sex feels like."
"Oh...I don't know what to say Pete, I guess how'd it go?"
"It was pretty good. First I went down on her, then we had sex when I was done."

I half wish I hadn't heard that one, funny as I found it. I don't know which is worse, though, going down on a hooker, or finding one on google.

*Names have been changed for obvious reasons.
(Sat 27th Aug 2011, 8:07, More)