Archive for the 'funny story' Category

Yoink! Stolen from the email archives of CS Lewis in honor of her Birthday

I spent this morning and early afternoon at our local DMV.   Since I have been meaning to become a legal citizen of this metropolis for some time now, I thought that I would take advantage of this free time so generously mandated by puppet company for which I work and change my Virginia license to a New York one. Also, I sort of had to renew it, because technically my license expired 8 months ago.   As is normally the case whenever I go to well populated areas, chaos ensued.

I rolled into the DMV at what I thought was on the early side, 9:30am.  Clearly the rest of Manhattan had the same idea, because when I got off of the elevator, the line just to get in line was wrapped around the waiting room.  In fact, it took a full five minutes just to step out of the elevator, as the end of the line had wound itself over to us.  We all took turns holding the door open and cursing the banner which hung over our heads, mocking us with its slogan, “Don’t stand IN LINE!  Visit us ON LINE!”

Finally I get off of the elevator and stand patiently in line to get in line.  To set the scene, basically there is a line to get into the door, and through the door there is another line, where you tell the trusty DMV employees your situation.  They direct you to another line, where you get your picture taken and hand over your necessary paperwork.  And then yes, there is yet another line, and this one is the doozy; this is the line where they give you a number and lure you with the false promise of actually getting your laminated license in your hot little hand.  You don’t. They mail it to you in 10-15 business days.  I waited 2 hours just to hear that. Oh, and to be accused of having a warrant out for my arrest.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.

And so I begin to wait.  My number, might you ask, was B308.  It did not bode well for me that they were on A60.  I notice a lady nearby who is having trouble with her written test.  She caught my eye and whispered, “Hey!  What do you do if your tires break down n’ shit?” I stared blankly at her, because I don’t know how a tire, per se, would break down.  So I asked her, “You mean, if it pops or something?”  At this point, the security guard notices our exchange and comes over.  I’m thinking in my head that I am going to DMV jail for aiding and abetting a cheater.  Turns out that he was a nice fellow and just wanted to clarify the question for her.  He ended up giving her the answer as well, thankfully allowing this clearly competent driver out on the streets.  Well done!  I wish I had a copy of that test, because I wondered on the way home what feasible multiple choice solutions there could have been to confuse her. A.) Keep driving?  B:) Paint your car?  C:) Go back in time to when you had a normal tire?  Anyway, her new nickname shall be Cheater McPumpkineater.

I’ll skip ahead through the next few hours, which I spent running up my cell phone bill by answering “Beetlejuice” whenever someone called.  I thought, perhaps, that after a second or two I could explain that I felt like Beetlejuice in that last scene of the movie when he is in the waiting room.  Unfortunately I confused my grandmother who, when hearing “Beetlejuice,” promptly said, “Oh, sorry, wrong number” and hung up the phone. That killed me.

Finally, the heavens opened up and B308 was called.  I ran over to the counter and handed over my paperwork and my passport. The employee entered in my info, asked me my middle name (it’s Susie*) and then began staring intently at the screen.  All of the sudden, she says dramatically to me, “You have a NDR!”  Now, I have no clue what an NDR is, but my stomach dropped as I thought about the unpaid parking tickets that are still sitting on my desk.  I also thought that perhaps my name ended up on some sort of watchdog list after the whole jewelry box/bomb fiasco, proving once again that I am persecuted for having impeccable taste.   She called over a fellow employee with a very professional, “Boo! Get yo’ ass ova’ here!”  Boo came over and began pounding on the Control key several times.  This highly technical maneuver revealed the following inflammatory information: C.S. Lewis has a warrant out for her arrest in Kentucky.

Now, I have been to Kentucky several times because I have family there, and to my recollection, I have never broken any law in my travels.  Sure, there was the time that I crashed my cousin’s dirt bike into the side of their barn after mowing down several rows of ripened corn.  But that was when I was eleven.  I have been a model citizen ever since then, at least in Kentucky.   So surely there had to be some sort of mistake that even the infallible Control key move might not catch.  We finally figured out that my middle name is “Susie,” and the other C.S.’s middle name is “Suzy.”  So C. Suzy Lewis of Kentucky is a badass.  I never did learn what poor CS II is wanted for, but hopefully she has learned that if you do the crime, you or someone else with relatively the same name as you will do the time.

As I waited for Boo and company to process my paperwork, I saw Cheater McPumpkineater next to me, arguing with the DMV clerk over what type of credit card they take.  Apparently at that counter, they could only take the Discover Card.  So she yells at the clerk, “Who in the hell only takes Discover?  Is that that crazy one with the bald headed guy?”  The clerk and myself were baffled at this question, until I realized that she must be talking about The Diners Club card, which used to be pitched by the late, great Telly Savalas*.  The reason I think this is funny is not because she was confused about the names. I mean, in her defense, they do both start with “D.”  I just find it hilarious that she is referencing a commercial that has to be at least fifteen years old.

So, 4 hours later, I headed out of the DMV.  And in 10-15 business days, I shall have a license of my very own that I will undoubtedly misplace soon.

* Not really, but you know, keeps the pseudonym working…

**Who loves ya’, baby?


joe b. turned back around and informed his father that yes, indeed, someone had called him a faggot

this is not my story, but i had to put it down, because it’s awesome.

a friend of mine, let’s call him joe b., was walking through madison square park a few weeks ago.   being a cool new york city day, he was wearing a jacket, tee and jeans.  whilst traversing the park and talking to his father on his cell phone, he noticed a large man on a nearby bench.

the man was hard not to notice because he was wearing a pink tank top and hot pants and had near a dozen squirrels in his lap (not a euphemism, he was feeding them).  joe b glanced at him and walked past.  from behind he heard: “faggot.”

his father, a cool thousand miles away, asks “did someone just call you a faggot?”

joe b. looked back at the hot-panted squirrel man who said “yeah, i’m talking to you, faggot.”


joe b. turned back around and informed his father that yes, indeed, someone had called him a faggot. 

and, scene.


totally not gay.

would i lie to you?

not about the important things, friends.

exhibit a:

yes, that’s my eye and earlobe in the corner.

please, no more applause.

uh, i’m not sure how to take that

i have had the grand distinction of being called “interesting” by both a neurologist and a psychiatrist. 

since both of these gentlemen are very learned, been practicing for decades, are unknown to each other and are essentially talking about my brain, i’m not so sure this is a good thing.

in addition to a dental cleaning and a dose of pain management, i had the pleasure of visiting a neurologist for the first time today.  being my second day of hat tricks of doctor’s visits this week, i was at least glad for the novelty. also novel was being scolded for two very contradictory behaviors at the same time by dr. cranium md, do. 

let me explain.  no, there is too much.  let me sum up.

as mouchany of you know, i bumped into a midnight-blue ford econoline e-350 back in high school and the encounter caused a myriad of pesky bodily injuries as well some hiccups in my spatial and visual perception, bouts of vertigo, wee moments of panic and occasional lapses in memory.  as i mentioned in previous entries, i began addressing the soft tissue damage and spinal irregularities a few years ago, hoping various methods of pain management would actually help heal my wounds of nearly two decades.

so, i also go to see a shrink to manage the panic and meds that go with it.  he took the usual history and suggested we meet semi-regularly both to monitor my medications as well as figure out if my vertigo causes my panic or my panic causes my vertigo, or if they are mere happy coincidences.  during some of these talks, he declared me “very interesting” and not in a condescending tone- impressive for a freudian.  he’s also often mentioned that it’s insane that i’ve never been to see a neurologist considering the nasty bump my head received upon impact with the pavement all those years ago. 

so, when i was last in dr. koala’s office (he really, really looks like a koala bear, and his name sounds an awful lot like that as well- onomatopoeia!  in reality.  awesome, no?), i mentioned that i was finally seeing a neurologist this week.  he said “apropos of…..?” 

apropos of you telling me the craziest thing about me is not having seen one in the last eighteen years, maybe.

anyhoo, i go today to see the brain doctor and he simultaneously sternly told me that he didn’t understand why i was seeing him while reprimanding me for not seeing him or one of his colleagues for the last two decades.  he kept telling me it didn’t make sense.  i tried explaining i was fourteen when i was in the accident, that no one would tell me anything because i was a minor and that since my mom has died and i have no reference for that time period.  i was too busy in the two years following my accident taking care of my mom to go. 

since then, how would i know?  no one gave me the manual or sent me the memo on what to do.  what i knew about brain injuries is that they’re permanent and since i have pills to keep the panic at bay, the perceptory spasms are momentary and the memory lapses are minor, what’s he gonna do about it anyway?

after he calmed down and examined me, he suggested a battery of tests because, as he put it, every once in a while you find out that panic attacks are actually small seizures and since my uncle pat had petit mal epilepsy, we might want to run some basics as a matter of course. 

so, i have some more appointments.  as he put it, if we find something, we’ll deal with it, if we don’t, i just have permanent brain damage from a traumatic injury. 

i’m still figuring out which of these is the best case scenario.

footnote: this is not a pity-me entry, it’s being put into the stable of my signature “funny stories” that both friends and strangers alike so completely dread. 


“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”


Upon common theatres, indeed, the applause of the audience is of more importance to the actors than their own approbation. But upon the stage of life, while conscience claps, let the world hiss! On the contrary if conscience disapproves, the loudest applauses of the world are of little value - john adams
May 2018
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from the man who taught me everything:

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”