My Best White Elephant Gift Exchange Idea

 Essays, Holidays, Humor, Jobs, Memory Mondays, Work  No Responses »
Dec 172012
 

Cheesy Head­shot

Sev­eral years ago, when I worked for the insur­ance com­pany, we would engage in a white ele­phant gift exchange at our Christ­mas, hol­i­day, win­ter sol­stice potluck.

Basi­cally, every­one brings a wrapped present, and one per­son begins by choos­ing one pack­age to unwrap.  The next par­tic­i­pant may choose to steal an unwrapped gift or open another wrapped pack­age.  This con­tin­ues until the play comes back to the first par­tic­i­pant, who can choose to steal a gift or keep the one he has.

The pre­vi­ous year, the hot items were a gen­tly used enema kit and a  pair of rab­bit fur-lined hand­cuffs.  For the life of me, I can’t remem­ber who ended up with the enema, but our quite, prim, proper, psy­chol­o­gist strate­gi­cally played the game to ensure she got the handcuffs.

I decided that I wanted to bring some­thing mem­o­rable the next year, but couldn’t think of a sin­gle idea.  When I woke up on the morn­ing of the potluck, and idea came to me.  I took a cheesy head­shot of myself with my dig­i­tal cam­era and then, using Pho­to­shop, wrote “To my #1 fan.  Love, Jef” on it and stuck it in a nice frame.  My gift went down a storm; how­ever, that year the pop­u­lar item ended up being a pair of gen­tly used spurs.  I guess it’s no sur­prise who ended up with them?  No, not me–our quiet, prim, and proper psy­chol­o­gist. I always won­dered what she did with those hand­cuffs and the spurs.

What’s the odd­est white ele­phant exchange gift you’ve ever given or received?

Why the Road to Hell Stops Here

 Books, Bookstore, East Atlanta Village, Essays, Humor, Jobs, Memory Mondays, Technology  No Responses »
Oct 152012
 

As I was pulling the clear­ance cart into the book­store the other evening, a young man, who appeared to be home­less, asked if he could have a mass mar­ket mys­tery. It was only a dol­lar, and the kid appeared to be car­ry­ing every­thing he owned in a back­pack, so I gave it to him. I fig­ured maybe it might bring some relief from the hard­ships of life on the street. One of the other busi­ness own­ers saw me, and he told me later, “You did a good deed tonight.”

““Care­ful,” I warned. “You know that no good deed goes unpunished.”

““Okay, but you’re inten­tion was good.”

““Hello, you know what they say about the road to hell being paved with good intentions.”

“”@#%*, dude, can’t you take a compliment?”

A few days later, the same kid came into the book­store with his–are you ready for this–Kindle. Yes, the elec­tronic e-reader sold by Ama­zon. “Do you mind if I plug my Kin­dle in and recharge it in here?”

There have been very few times in my life when I have been speech­less, but I knew I needed to think before I responded.

First, I just gave this kid a book.

Sec­ond, it’s no secret that inde­pen­dent book­stores have been chal­lenged by the grow­ing pop­u­lar­ity of e-readers, and Ama­zon in par­tic­u­lar, so you’ve got to be either really gutsy to walk into a book­store and ask that ques­tion or ignorant.

Third, he doesn’t have a home, but he has @#%& e-reader! If you have no money and you’re ask­ing peo­ple to give you books, how do you buy books to down­load to your Kin­dle. Granted, he could have been read­ing free books that are in pub­lic domain, except I saw the title of the New York Times Best­seller that he was reading.

I looked into my heart and searched for all the Jesus I had in me. I don’t like say­ing no. I like help­ing peo­ple. How­ever, what mes­sage does it send when I let peo­ple recharge their e-readers in my inde­pen­dent book­store. Fur­ther­more, I need to sell books to pay for the elec­tric­ity to charge e-readers, let alone the books that I give away to home­less peo­ple whom I assume have not Kin­dle. Ulti­mately, the Jesus I had in me that the road to hell needed to stop here, so I said, “No, you can­not recharge your Kin­dle in our bookstore.”

As the kid turned around and headed for the door, he said, “I didn’t think you would, @#%*.”

How to Be a Woman's Best Friend

 Friends, Humor, Jobs, Memory Mondays, Porn, Relationships, Self-Help, Sex, Women's Interest, Work  No Responses »
Sep 242012
 

We were at a prayer meet­ing when my friend Trixie asked me, “Tell me what you know about Astroglide.”

After being friends for 24 years, this type of thing doesn’t phase me.  “You mean the per­sonal lubricant?”

“I pre­fer the term love lotion, but, yes.”

“I don’t use Astroglide, myself, so I can’t speak as a fan,” I said.  “But you just apply, put the pieces together, and hold on tight.”

“Well, it works pretty good the first time, but …”  Trixie moved closer and whis­pered, “If you decide to have sec­ond go at it, well, it’s kind of gunky.”

““I’m not famil­iar with that tech­ni­cal term.”

““Sticky would be a good syn­onym, but not sticky in a good way.”

We were plan­ning to meet for cof­fee and dessert the next after­noon, so I sug­gested that we visit one of the adult nov­elty stores and sam­ple their wares.

Undaunted, Trixie and I vis­ited Love Shack with our inno­cent friend Midge (a recov­er­ing Pen­te­costal) in tow.  As we entered the store and i saw rack upon rack of rab­bit fur-lined hand­cuffs, cat-o-nine-tails, naughty nurse out­fits, dil­dos, nudie mag­a­zines sold in a bar­gain three-pack, and porn DVDs, a sense of deja vu came over me.

Over the years,  I have accom­pa­nied many a female friend to adult nov­elty stores to pur­chase some­thing they were too embar­rassed to buy on their own.  One co-worker, Kristie, had begun dat­ing a man after her divorce the year before.   While at the copy machine, she con­fided in me.  “When Steve and I are … you know … um … I can’t seem to … you know …”

““Orgasm?” I asked.

““SHH!” She stole a quick look behind her to ensure we were alone.  “Yes.  I just can’t seem to relax.”

“Is Steve pres­sur­ing you in some way?”  I pic­tured him hunched over Kristie, scream­ing, “SAY MY NAME!  SAY MY NAME!”  I knew I would cer­tainly find that distracting.

““No, the prob­lem is The Com­mit­tee,” Kristie said.

““Who’s The Com­mit­tee?  And why are there other peo­ple around when you’re hav­ing sex?”

““No, The Com­mit­tee is in my head.  It’s the voices of all the peo­ple I’ve known my life who judge me in my mind, like my mom, my child­hood piano teacher, and the Art Direc­tor for the Victoria’s Secret cat­a­log.  They say things like, ‘That’s dirty!’ ‘When you’re bent over like that, you look fat!’ and ‘Those keys aren’t clean!’”

I con­sid­ered how to word my response as I pro­grammed the copier to sta­ple my doc­u­ments, which seemed oddly appro­pri­ate.  “Does The Com­mit­tee dis­tract you when you’re hav­ing qual­ity time with yourself?”

Kristie gave me a blank look.

““You know, like when you’re tak­ing a long, hot bath.”

Kristie blinked at me.

I sighed.  “Can you mas­tur­bate with­out interruption?”

Kristie turned red.  “I don’t know.  I’ve never tried.”

Just then the alarm went off on the copier to clear a paper jam.

““Kristie, it may help if you prac­tice a bit on your own.  Then when you’re with Steve, you will prob­a­bly feel more comfortable.”

““Can you help me?”

““Um, I don’t think I–”

Kristie grabbed me by my shirt and shook me.  “My future chil­dren are depend­ing upon you!”

At lunchtime, Kristie and I drove to Insur­rec­tion, a adult nov­elty shop near our office.  As we mar­veled at all of her options for vibra­tors, I recalled how my fam­ily received a mail order cat­a­log that had var­i­ous house­hold crap you could live with­out but made your life bet­ter, like door­knob cov­ers and such.  It also fea­tured some­thing called a mar­i­tal aid, which showed a woman, eyes closed, with her cheek pressed ador­ingly next to a vibra­tor in a taste­ful earth tone.  (Hey, it was the ‘70s.)

““What’s a mar­i­tal aid?” I asked my mom.

She stopped stir­ring the Ham­burger Helper.   “It helps women relax.”

““Can women only relax in their bras?”

““What are you talk­ing about?”

““Well, this woman pic­tured in the cat­a­log is relax­ing with her mar­i­tal aid in her bra.”

““It means that women should do their relax­ing in the pri­vacy of their bedrooms.”

““Oh.”  I turned the page.  “Do men relax, too?”

““Yes, but they don’t need mar­i­tal aids.”

““Why not?”

““Go tell your father that din­ner is ready.”

Look­ing back at that moment, it was some­what dis­con­cert­ing that the world has basi­cally been a smutty place all along, but I was too obliv­i­ous to know. Why all the secrecy?  Why not just break it down for kids and tell them mommy requires bat­ter­ies and daddy just needs his right hand.

““Which one do you think I should choose?” Kristie asked.

““I would prob­a­bly steer away from any­thing that has a pull-start or the words ‘anal intruder’ on the pack­age,” I said.  “What about this?”  I handed her some­thing that resem­bled a small nuclear mis­sile in bright purple.

““What do I do with it?”

““Turn it on and see how it feels.”

Her eyes grew wide.

““I don’t mean take it for a test ride,” I said.  “Just turn it on and … hold it against your­self some­where above the waist.”

Kristie switched it on and jumped when it buzzed.  Gin­gerly, she put it against the back of her neck.  “Ooh, that does feel nice.”  The vibra­tions from the Gal Pal made her sound like Belinda Carlisle.

““I think we have a win­ner,” I said.

Later, as we drove back to the office, Kristie said, “Thank you for going with me to buy a Gal Pal.  I never would have been able to do it with­out you.”

““Kristie, you didn’t need me to help you buy an over­priced piece of battery-operated plastic.”

““No, but you lis­tened to me and didn’t judge me and you were there for me.  That’s what makes you a good friend  I wish all men knew how to be a good friend to a woman.”

I thought about that as I stood there assist­ing Trixie sam­ple per­sonal lubri­cants.  “This one says it will achieve a sen­sa­tional tex­ture at exactly the 29th stroke,” Trixie said.  “I won­der how they test that …”

I glanced at the tube.  “That’s mas­tur­ba­tion cream–not per­sonal lubricant.”

““Trixie turned the tube over and read the label.  “Huh … I guess that’s why it read ‘Jack off respon­si­bly’ on the back.”

““Check out this lip gloss I found,” Midge chirped.

Trixie and I both turned and read the pack­age and said in uni­son, “It’s not for the lips you’re think­ing of.”

Midge turned red.

Trixie finally decided on a water-based per­sonal lubri­cant after deter­min­ing that the silicone-based lube resulted in gunk­i­ness.  As she paid for her pur­chase, I leaned against the counter and sighed.  I thought, I’m for­ever going to be known as the trusted male friend who helps women buy vibra­tors and love lotion.  Could there be any­thing sadder?

Then an odd man entered the store and approached the counter with a used vibra­tor.  The clerk eyed the Anal Intruder on the counter and bit his lip as he picked it up to exam­ine it.  I smiled.  There were worse things.

You Can Do It All, But It's Going to Drive You Crazy

 Blogging, Bookstore, Essays, Fitness, Humor, Jobs, Memory Mondays, Self-Help, Time-Management, Writing  2 Responses »
Aug 272012
 

The other morn­ing I woke up face-down on the liv­ing room car­pet, my fin­gers still poised over the key­board of my lap­top. I had fallen asleep writ­ing the night before. I seemed to recall think­ing, I’m just going to rest my eyes for a sec­ond until I fig­ure out what Stephen does next. Sadly, there was no alco­hol involved; I was just try­ing to work 36 hours of tasks into a 24 hour day again.

Over break­fast, I told Jeff that I had fallen asleep in the liv­ing room floor.

““Oh, I won­dered about that.”

““You saw me?”

““I got up in the mid­dle of the night to use the bath­room and I checked on you,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you were just think­ing or not. I fig­ured if you were still there in the same posi­tion in the morn­ing, I’d trace your body in chalk and call the police.”

““I think I’m try­ing to pack too much into one day.” I pulled out a piece of paper and scrib­bled on it.

““What are you writing?”

““I’m jot­ting down all the things I want to do every day and try­ing to fig­ure out what things I can elim­i­nate. I’m just going to focus on the most impor­tant ones.”

““What’s the first thing you scratched off your list.”

““Sleep,” I said. “Do you know how much more I can get done in a day if I didn’t have lie on my back with my mouth open?”

““Peo­ple go crazy when they don’t sleep.”

““Do you mean eccen­tric crazy? Or insti­tu­tion­al­ized crazy?” I asked.

Jeff frowned at me.

““Maybe I can just quit sleep­ing until I need to be sedated with a tran­quil­izer dart.”

““When was the last time that you slept with­out pass­ing out from exhaustion?”

I blinked. “I didn’t real­ize there was any other way to go to sleep.”

““Most peo­ple lie down in their beds, close their eyes, and wait for sleep to come.”

““Well, that’s never going to work, because I’m just going to be think­ing about all the things that I could get done while I’m wait­ing to fall asleep, and that’s going to make me anx­ious, which will keep from falling asleep.”

““You’re hope­less,” he said.

““No, I’m a writer with two jobs who’s try­ing exer­cise, eat healthy, keep up with laun­dry, and occa­sion­ally see his friends.”

““Just imag­ine if you had kids, too.”

““Look, I don’t care if a Chi­nese baby fol­lowed me home, I’m not going to feed it. Any extra time I have left is going toward my word count. Just imag­ine how much more I could write every day if I didn’t have to eat.”

““Maybe I could eat for you and help you out,” Jeff said. “Are you going to fin­ish that cin­na­mon roll.”

I pointed my fork at him. “Not so fast, buddy.”

““Maybe you could try get­ting up an hour ear­lier to write,” he suggested.

““What if I could teach myself to jog while I sleep?” I said. “I mean, I’m just lying there in bed, surely I could exer­cise. In fact, if I could keep it up the entire four hours I slept, just imag­ine how skinny I could be.”

““Per­haps you could hook up an IV before bed and do away with eat­ing solid foods entirely.”

““That’s not a bad idea. Where could I buy hos­pi­tal supplies?”

““I was being sar­donic,” he said.

I would have responded with some­thing equally sar­cas­tic, but I had passed out again, face-down in my cin­na­mon roll.

Administrative Assistant Accidentally Files Emaciated Boss

 Humor, Jobs, News of the Weird, Parody, Tall Tale Tuesdays, Work  No Responses »
Jul 172012
 

Tammy Hol­comb, 24, an admin­is­tra­tive assis­tant at Beauty Spot Enter­prises, called 911 after she real­ized that she had acci­den­tally filed her boss, Ali­son Turk, 32, while she was fil­ing paperwork.

Turk had recently been on an “Lick Her?  I Hardly Know Her Diet!” where fol­low­ers eat noth­ing but the calo­ries they con­sume from lick­ing envelopes.  Over the course of a two weeks, Turk had man­aged to lose the equiv­a­lent weight of a Chris­t­ian Children’s Fund poster child.

““Since she was eat­ing so lit­tle, Ali­son was very tired,” Hol­comb said.  “She’d often pass out wher­ever she was at the office, and because she had become so thin, I once almost sent her with our daily sales report, via Fed Ex, to to head office in Poughkeepsie.”

Turk said that she had just fin­ished fil­ing her monthly sales expense reports for her sales rep­re­sen­ta­tives when she noticed that Turk was miss­ing.  “I fig­ured that she must have passed out on my stack of expense reports while I was alpha­bet­iz­ing them, and then I just filed her away.”

Con­cerned that Turk would asphyx­i­ate before Hol­comb pulled all of the files she had worked with today, author­i­ties requested vol­un­teers from the Tippy-Tappy Tem­po­raries, who were able to find Turk under the “K’s.”  She is cur­rently under obser­va­tion at the local hos­pi­tal, but seems to have suf­fered only injuries from a two-hole punch to the head.

When asked what prompted Turk to under­take such an extreme diet, Hol­comb con­fessed that her boss was prepar­ing to audi­tion for the real­ity TV show The Bach­e­lor with Flat Stan­ley.  “As a result of Flat Stanley’s own two-dimensional con­di­tion, he is only inter­ested in really skinny girls, and Ali­son felt like her bio­log­i­cal alarm clock was going off and the only other avail­able men were either too crazy to repro­duce or gay.  Per­son­ally, I would have set­tled on being a chunky les­bian or old maid, but that’s just me.”

Top Ten Tips of What Not to Do When Applying for a Job

 Humor, Jobs, Parody, Self-Help, Top Ten Thursdays, Work  2 Responses »
Jun 072012
 

As a Human Resources pro­fes­sional, I find job seek­ers make some of the same mis­takes again and again in their quest to find a job. Here are ten sug­ges­tions of things to avoid when sub­mit­ting your resume:

01. Make sure you send your resume from a pro­fes­sional e-mail address. (When I receive a resume from KristyIsAFucntionalAlcoholic@yahoo.com, it raises a red flag.)

02. Check your resume for typos.  (When you leave the “F” out of shift man­ager, it really makes a dif­fer­ence in what you communicate.)

03. Con­sider the file name for the resume you attach to your e-mail to a recruiter.  (When a hir­ing exec­u­tive receives a doc­u­ment enti­tled RESUMEFORMYEVILTWIN.DOC, she’s prob­a­bly going to hit the DELETE button.)

04. Think about match­ing your resume to the posi­tion you’re apply­ing for.  (When Human Resources adver­tises for a butcher and receives your resume that lists an objec­tive to find a posi­tion as a Sous-Chef in a veg­e­tar­ian bistro, it wastes everyone’s time.)

05. Make sure your cre­den­tials meet the qual­i­fi­ca­tions for the job.  (Think about it:  If you’re apply­ing for a job as a preschool teacher and your degree is from the Bar­tend­ing Acad­emy of Texas, you’re prob­a­bly not a good fit for the employer–unless their cur­ricu­lum requires teach­ing four year olds how to make a dirty martini.)

06. Refrain from fax­ing and e-mailing your resume repeat­edly.  (No mat­ter whether you’re look­ing for a boyfriend/girlfriend or search­ing for a job, des­per­a­tion still stinks.  If you’re going to spam Human Resources with your resume, you may as well break into the Human Resources Manager’s house and book a rab­bit on her stove.)

07. Avoid send­ing snap­shots of your­self.  (Unless you’re apply­ing for a posi­tion as a lin­gerie model, please do not send glamor shots of you pos­ing with pets or rid­ing a mechan­i­cal bull.  Human Resources could get their kicks upload­ing them to www.HotorNot.com.)

08. If you call to can­cel an inter­view, be care­ful what you post on your social media accounts.  (Human Resources does not look kindly upon job can­di­dates who can­not make an inter­view because they went buck wild at the club last and went home with a hot­tie last night who has impaired their abil­ity to walk today and tweet about it.)

09. Con­sider how hon­est you should be when speak­ing with a recruiter.  (If you’re apply­ing for a man­ager of a pet store and casu­ally admit that you hate pets, you’re prob­a­bly not going to get the job.  The out­come is bad for job seeker, but good for recruiter and animals.)

10. Don’t state that you have skills that you don’t actu­ally have.  (If you tell a prospec­tive employer that you have expe­ri­ence wrestling alli­ga­tors, chances are that you’re even­tu­ally going to have to go one-on-one with a large, hun­gry rep­tile.  Be sure and ver­ify how long the wait­ing period is for the life insur­ance policy.)

Woman Smacks Co-Worker with Salmon for Snacking on Goldfish at His Desk

 Animals, Humor, Jobs, News of the Weird, Parody, Pop Culture, Tall Tale Tuesdays, Work  2 Responses »
Mar 202012
 

Marcy Miller, 28, a busi­ness ana­lyst for Acme Wid­gets assaulted her co-worker, Bran­don Parker, 34, also a busi­ness ana­lyst last week.  Parker was taken to Park­land Hos­pi­tal in Dal­las to have his jaw re-alligned from injuries received from the fish, which was still frozen.

Miller told police offi­cers that she struck Parker with the salmon because his habit of swal­low­ing live goldfish–not the Pep­peridge Farm variety–at his desk got on her nerves.  “It was so dis­tract­ing to hear those slurp­ing sounds all-day long,” Miller said.  “After a gold­fish flew over the cubi­cle wall and landed on my report I started to hear lit­tle fish screams, so while I was pick­ing up a sub at the Kroger deli, I saw the salmon and decided to act for all the lit­tle gold­fish he had swallowed.”

Parker, who had no idea that his snack habits both­ered his co-worker, said that he devel­oped a taste for gold­fish while in col­lege.  “One of my frat broth­ers men­tioned that dudes used to swal­low live gold­fish back in his grandfather’s col­lege days, so we decided to try it.  It takes some get­ting used to, but if you throw your head back and drop them straight down your throat, you can eat them with­out much flap­ping around.”

Colleen Fos­ter, 52, the Human Resources Direc­tor, said that Acme Wid­gets does not have a com­pany pol­icy about con­sum­ing live ani­mals in the work­place, but will con­sider this for the next revi­sion of the employee hand­book.  In the mean­time, Miller and Parker’s super­vi­sor plans to move one of them to the other side of the department.

Parker said that he didn’t plan to press charges against Miller or Wid­gets, but men­tioned that he would con­sider suing the com­pany if pol­icy was changed to pro­hibit the swal­low­ing of live gold­fish at the office.  “Dude, they’re high pro­tein and you can buy them at Wal-Mart for ten gold­fish for a dollar.”

Top Ten Types of North American Ladies of the Night

 Creativitiy, Humor, Jobs, Parody, Pop Culture, Sex, Top Ten Thursdays, Word Up Wednesdays, Work  2 Responses »
Feb 232012
 

If you’ve ever seen the musi­cal Gypsy, you’ll recall that when Gypsy Rose Lee decides to enter the bur­lesque indus­try, her fel­low strip­pers advised her that she had to have a gim­mick.  For some rea­son, my friend Joan and I were dis­cussing how the word “ho” seemed friend­lier than pros­ti­tute and was much more fun to say, which led to the dis­cus­sion of what type of gim­micks were avail­able in one were to become a sex worker.  Here are some exam­ples that we came up, with no dis­re­spect to the ladies (and some­times men) of the night:

01. Glo-Ho — A radioac­tive floozy.  Jill chas­tised her­self for not mov­ing far­ther away from the nuclear power plant, how­ever, she enjoyed danc­ing at the gay club, where the boys would use her as a human glow stick.

02. Sew Ho — A bimbo who makes her own clothes.  Faye was thrilled when she real­ized that she could charge twice as much if she could take up an inseam on a pair of slacks while she lay there.

03.  Dough Ho — A pros­ti­tute who also bakes.  Tina and her pip­ing bag were famous in the tri-state area–and she could knead like nobody’s business.

04. Row Ho — A tramp who likes to work in a canoes.  Marge said her clients liked to end their ses­sion with a good paddling.

05. Flow Ho — A sex worker who is also a hemo­phil­iac.  Candy was very pop­u­lar with the men with a tourni­quet fetish.

06. Blo-Ho — A whore who also works with aquatic mam­mals.  Pam’s clients gave her high marks for her tech­nique and friendly per­son­al­ity, but it unset­tled them to look up and find the whale watch­ing them.

07. Ho-Ho — Sex work­ers who are also Siamese twins.  Kerry and Terry were savvy busi­ness­women:  They dou­bled their fee and adver­tised a two-for-one special.

08. Mow-Ho — A pros­ti­tute who also land­scapes.  Ann’s clients thought she was God’s gift to men; she did them and their lawns.

09. Tof-Ho — A vegan hooker.  Gretchen’s clients appre­ci­ated that she didn’t reek of meat, but instead exuded a fra­grance of jas­mine rice and soy milk.

10. No-Ho — A sex worker who refuses a client ser­vice.  Once Roz real­ized that there were men who were only attracted to women who said no, her job no longer felt like work at all.

11. Po-Ho — A whore who is also a police offi­cer.  Suzanne’s clients loved the way she ser­viced them, then busted her­self for her crime.

Top Ten New Career Opportunities for Downsized Elves

 Holidays, Humor, Jobs, Parents, Parody, Pop Culture, Top Ten Thursdays, Work  1 Response »
Dec 222011
 

Even Santa Claus has not escaped the clutches of the reces­sion.  After being forced to lay off some of his elves.  Here are ten new career oppor­tu­ni­ties for redun­dant elves.

01. Insti­gate a hos­tile takeover of the Kee­bler Company

02. Join the cho­rus line in a trav­el­ing musi­cal adap­ta­tion of Lord of the Rings, Hoop-La La La La

03. File room clerk spe­cial­iz­ing in the bot­tom drawers

04. Pro­fes­sional wie­nie dog wrestler

05. Ear model

06. Star in elf fetish films

07. Vul­can impersonator

08. Ladies’ adult nov­elty item plan­ner  (Hey, toys are toys!)

09. Can­dys­tripers at children’s hospital

10. Sue David Sedaris for defama­tion of char­ac­ter in his “Santa Land Diaries”

Top Ten Best Lines to Sell a Book to a Customer

 Bookstore, Humor, Jobs, Parody, Pop Culture, Retail, Top Ten Thursdays, Work  9 Responses »
Oct 202011
 

Work­ing in an inde­pen­dent book­store, I’m asked daily about how e-readers have affected the sell­ing of phys­i­cal books. They are often shocked when I tell them many peo­ple still buy books. How­ever, you just have to know what to say when you inter­act with them.

01. OMG–that book makes you look soo skinny.
02. You know, if you’re stranded in your car dur­ing a bliz­zard, you can eat a book.
03. When you turn the book this way, I think I can see the face of Jesus. If you don’t buy that book, I’m def­i­nitely sell­ing it on eBay!
04. When you hold that book up to your face, I don’t even notice that you’re bald.
05. If you’ve ever expe­ri­enced a paper cut, you know that a deftly wielded book can eas­ily decap­i­tate a zom­bie in one fell swoop.
06. All the kids are read­ing books these days. E-readers are soo five min­utes ago.
07. Books are loaded with fiber!
08. I bet you can’t even read. Oh yeah? Prove it!
09. Most peo­ple assume that other peo­ple just buy e-readers to dis­creetly read porn in pub­lic.
10. What woman wouldn’t drag her­self across a cof­fee shop on all fours to reach a straight man read­ing Jane Austen?

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