Crappy Day

I drove cabs and used to be a talk-back radio host, so I can claim to have had some odd conversations in my time. One I had a couple of nights ago ‘up the club’ really made the grade though.

A nodding acquaintance came up to my table where I was doing the crossword, and the following exchange happened.

Guy:- Hey how are you?

Me:- ‘K, how’s yourself?

Guy:- Oh you know, I’ve had a crap day.

Me internally groaning:- Oh… what happened?

Guy:- I spent an hour and a half on public transport carrying a stool sample to the doctors and when I got there they told me I’d been called in to give blood sample, not a stool sample.

I really started to laugh at this point, because I genuinely thought that this was a lead in to a joke. I should reveal that I didn’t know this guy is a little mentally ill. He goes to the club with his attractive wife and they seem to get along with everyone, so I hadn’t twigged to any underlying problems. Back to the exchange.

Guy:- Nah nah, it’s not funny, having to do that….

Me intrigued with where this is going and looking for the punch line:- No of course not, there’s the problem with what to carry it in, how to load it and of course finding the shoes to match.

Guy, perplexed now at what the hell I’m talking about:- Well I just use a thing like a Chinese take-away container, what do you mean about the shoes?

Me, realising now that this aint a gag, he just wants to involve me:- Nah nothing nothing, I was just being silly.

He looks puzzled and a little upset because he thinks I’m making fun of him. He stands there with that look of puzzlement turning to anger. I reach into my bag of old gags and pull one out that I hope will defuse the situation.

Me:- I actually thought that you were telling me a variation of the “Man with a shoe box on a bus” joke.

Guy:- No, what’s that?

Me:- So this weird little guy gets on a bus holding a shoe box and sits down next a women, who becomes intrigued by him nursing this thing so carefully. She wants to know what he’s up to and asks, “So where’re you going?”

“To the optometrist.” He answers.

This does not satisfy her curiosity.

“To the optometrist hey, with such a large shoe box. I don’t get it.” She prods.

The little weird man silently lifts the lid to reveal the biggest turd the women has ever had the misfortune to see.

“Oh my God, why would you go to the optometrist with that?” She blurts out.

He answers, “Every time I do one of these, my eyes water.”

The guy likes the joke (he’s not well), seems satisfied with the explanation and goes back to his table without feeling the need to pick a fight. I put my dusty old bag of jokes back up on the mental shelf, and go back to my crossword. Life is returned to normal by the power of the bad gag.