“My father-in-law and I have this friendly banter going,” my friend, Stacey, explained over dinner the other night. “We like to bust each other’s chops.”
“Wait ’til she tells you about the latest,” her wife, Lauren, added. “My dad decided he wanted a new shed, and being the way he is, he had to get all of the measurements–”
“Like, all of the measurements, including the weight, so he’d know the impact on the grass,” Stacey said. “The whole nine.”
“Technically you need a permit,” Lauren explained.
“Hang on,” I replied. “You need a PERMIT to get a SHED? Just a regular SHED?”
“Yeah,” Stacey nodded. “But no one does it. Including her dad.”
“Wait for it,” Lauren smirked, raising her eyebrows.
“So,” Stacey grinned. “He got his ‘illegal’ shed a couple of weeks ago. And I decided I’d prepare a little letter from the county zoning office. It took me four hours.”
I stared between Stacey, Lauren, and this magical document, mouth agape.
“No,” I finally managed.
They explained that they had waited until an evening when they knew both of Lauren’s parents would be home. Lauren’s mom was in on the whole thing. On the chosen night, Lauren’s mom got up from watching the evening news and surreptitiously rang the doorbell, pretending someone was there. She returned to the living room, holding the letter out to her unsuspecting husband.
Needless to say, it was a slam dunk.
None of us could have ever predicted that only moments later I would need to recruit Stacey’s letter writing abilities for myself…
In the midst of discussing the many merits of Lasik eye surgery with my friends at the other end of the table, I leaned forward a couple of inches to take a sip of my drink.
“I’d do it again every year if I had t–”
Everyone turned and looked to see where the alarming *THUD* had come from. My eyes welled with tears.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” our waitress exclaimed while I tried to gather my bearings.
It took me several seconds to realize our waitress had snuck up, ninja style, on my right, to clear a very, very pointy plate. Our fates collided the moment I decided I was parched, leaning forward a few millimeters…
The corner of my right eye nailed the corner of the plate she had just lifted.
No one knew what to do. I didn’t have enough wits about me to explain that this was the only manner in which I ever got injured. Randomly. Freakishly. Embarrassingly. (I think it runs in the family. …All of the family.)
- Age 7: Broken crotch: Balance beam or playground torture device? Jury’s still out
- Age 15: Left butt cheek scar: Courtesy of a jagged bathtub faucet when I bent to get the soap
- Age 19: Right eyebrow scar: Eyebrow ring + glitter eyeshadow. ‘Nuff said
- Age 30: Left wrist scar: Pushing a tray of cookies too far into the oven
- Age 34: Sprained sesamoid (“Turf toe”): Too-small high heels and an over-caffeinated stride
This time, though, there was clearly someone else at fault. (And yes, the above list is but a mere smattering. You’ll just have to wait for my memoirs.)
Stacey immediately began drafting a letter to the restaurant from my “attorney.” While we awaited her final touches, I answered a text from my new blogger–unicorn-vegan retreat friend:
Any other freaky accidents happening out there? No? Just me? …Who are you? Where am I?
21 thoughts on “Would You Like Fries (and a concussion) With That?”
Ouch! Did you get a black eye? Complimentary dessert? Written apology?
Not only did none of those things happen, when I went to the bathroom, I overheard the waitress telling the entire bar staff about it. Can you believe she had a mocking tone? I mean, what on earth is so funny about nailing a woman in the head with a plate full of half eaten tater tots??? Certainly not blog material either, that’s for sure.
Hey Jules,Nice one,👌
Thanks, Rita! I almost enjoy the occasional embarrassing injury at this point. (Huh. Maybe I got hit harder than I thought…)
Oh! Take care
I am living for your continuing adventures! Your sunny insight will always override any mishap, so just “Go Jules, Go!”
Thank you, chick!!! I’m considering not leaving the house without a helmet.
Yee-ouch! Hope you’re okay now. (how many fingers am I holding up? Who’s the current president? …No, really, who is? I still can’t believe it…)
Any other freaky accidents happen? Only every single day of my freaking life.
So many things are giving me PTSD these days, including the last presidential election.
Have you considered bubble suits? Oh wait, is that an internet microphone? STORY TIME!
When I was in college, I had to take a heinous engineering-in-training test. Two days and a whole lot of pain. Did I study at all? Hellll no – I was a good student and dynamics sucks enough the first time you study it.
A month later, two of my roommates receive their “congrats, you passed!” letter. Where’s mine? Hmm. Must be lost in the mail!
A week goes by. I get home and there’s a letter for me. “We regret to inform that you have not met the minimum passing requirements…” I’m stunned. I DON’T FAIL TESTS. I have to do that ordeal AGAIN?! (Cut to me wandering the college house looking for sharp objects, sleeping pills, etc…)
My roommate Eric walks into my room, where I’m crumbling into a depressed state. “Hey, did you read the entire letter?” At the bottom, below all the official letter head and State of CA stamps, was one line: “Perhaps next time your roommates, who all successfully passed, can assist you with your studying.”
GOTCHA. Two more roommates and their dumb, grinning faces pop into the doorway. “Want to read the real letter?!” Apparently they’d stolen mine (saying that I passed the test), slit the bottom of the envelope, written a new one after finding various official government seals, and slipped it into the envelope, gluing the bottom with rubber cement. So. Devious.
Somehow, we are all still friends. This stands as the best (worst) prank anyone has ever pulled on me…and I suspect the shed letter wound up having juuust as much impact!
Hey, hey…gimme that microphone back! Whaddya mean this comment is way too lonnnnnnng…
This is slow-clap worthy. I really need to up my pranking game. Maybe I could start by writing a letter to my health insurer on behalf of my “primary care physician,” convincing them they need to reimburse me for my new bubble suit.
That’s a really good prank! And Dakota, that is awesome and I want to meet the masterminds behind that idea.
When I was in college one tech-something-major roommate pranked the other roommate by programming his computer so the tech roommate would have remote control from the other room. He’d randomly open porn and odd male-medical issue websites at inopportune times, like when friends and visiting parents were in the room, for weeks. Until finally one day it was a full-on-prank assault. He took it into the tech office (where tech-savvy roommate works), which obviously just made it worse, and if I remember correctly nobody told him until he was literally at Best Buy buying a new computer.
This was a major step up in prank sophistication from the time a prank-gone-awry resulted in flooding the entire dormitory floor.
Holy chipmunks, where did you guys go to school??? My only college prank was in discovering, many years later, the one on me. “Hey guess what? You’ll be in debt for 15 years and never use anything you’ve learned here!”
Clearly Shawna and I went to the School of Hard Knocks University, Pranks College. Although that 15 year debt thing sounds a bit more like flooding a dorm floor in terms of severity… (Definitely Googling “computer takeover hacks” tonight, btw)
I imagine you in the scene from Jaws with Richard Dreyfus, the captain, and the police chief showing off their scars. Right after the big shark scar is shown, you reveal the jagged butt cheek scar to the shocked gasps of all.
“I got this one bending over in the shower.”
That one is tough to beat.
I debated including such a jail cell-esque injury that occurred at such a tender age… Okay. I didn’t debate it at all. You caught me. I hope I can’t go to jail for lying.
I promise that I will not turn you in. Don’t cross me, though, because now I have something on you. 🙂
That letter is hilarious. My son wanted to prank his dad a few months ago, so he got me to help him draft a letter from the county sheriff’s department warning my husband about the dogs’ barking being in violation of a noise ordinance. Included a comment about how the neighbors planned to vote us out of the neighborhood, too. He just stood there when he read it all, “WTF?!”
Ahh, on days when I accidentally catch a glimpse of the news and begin to lose all faith in humanity, I’m going to remember this story, Erika.
hey Jules, I have nominated you for Blogger Recognition Award. Please check on The post Blogger Recognition Award appeared on Spreading Smiles – Rita. 🎉