2004-10-22 - 12:42 p.m.
I was reading the always entertaining and insightful HRT at Chaostraffic, and he mentioned pranks…
It got me thinking about the pranks I’ve pulled over the years. I agree with HRT, pranks that prey on the defenseless or elderly are just mean.
However a well thought out prank is a thing of beauty.
I remember when I was a teenager working for a convenence store. It sucked, but it was better than flipping burgers and I could browse the nudie mags when things were slow.
There was another kid who worked there: Bob. Bob was a pain in the ass. He wasn’t a nerd or a geek.He wasn't a jock or a muscle head. Bob was just an annoying dork that thought he was some super hip, creative, funny guy. In reality, he was an idgit. (Rhymes with "Digit”)
I don’t know what an idgit is, but Dave, the other guy I worked with, called Bob that all the time and it never failed to crack me up.
Kind of like how the word “fucktard” makes me laugh today.
Everyone thought Bob was an idgit too. We may not have known exactly what an “idgit” was, but damn it, Bob was defiantly one.
It was 1984 and Bob had the Don Johnson wannabe look going on. Complete with 5:00 shadow and no socks. He wore his Sony walkman. He wore annoying thin ties. He had a feathered hair style. He wore cheap cologne to work. Often, he’d wear sunglasses while he worked. I bet somewhere today Bob is selling RV's.
Idgit. Idgit. Idgit.
Bob was the first one to complain about someone else, or rat you out to the supervisor if he found you reading the nudie mags. Bob really was a clueless pain in the ass.
Dave and I took great delight in screwing with Bob.
If Bob went to the bathroom, we’d move the 7’ high magazine rack in front of the bathroom door, trapping him in. We’d listen for hours to his muffled voice from behind the rack pleading to let him out.
Customers would comment to us that they could hear someone crying for help near the back of the store, behind the magazine rack.
Dave and I would stare blankly back at the customers. "You can hear someone from *behind* the rack? Mamm, that's a solid wall".
We’d stack the cigarettes in a certain way so that when he took a pack out from the overhead rack, a million other packs would come tumbling out, raining down around him.
By far the best was when we’d leave false work orders for him; usually we forged the president’s name on the bottom. Bob always loved these. He thought he was being singled out by the big man for a very special job:
Dear Bob
I’ve been contacted by the Hostess Baking Company. They’re having a promotion for all the stores in the North east district. They’re giving a $1000 cash prize to the store that displays their product the most creatively.
Please remove all Hostess Twinkies from their boxes and arrange them in the back aisle so that they spell out our store name. Use the Polaroid camera to photograph the results and mail them to me as quickly as possible.
IMPORTANT: Please note on the back of the photograph how many Twinkies were used and how long it took you.
Bob. I am counting on you. Please take care of this ASAP! You are the only one I trust to do this correctly.
Regards.
President of Mega Chain Store.
Bob was giddy with delight with his “special assignment” and spent the entire shift arranging Twinkies. He counted. He arranged. We acted jealous that the big boss never asked us to do special work. Bob really enjoyed the thought the we were jealous of him and started to ponitificate to us the sublte nuaices of snack food arranging and why he was specaily qualified for the job. We hung on his every word.
As the memo requested, we photographed Bob next to his fan-twinkie-tastic display.
Bob sent the Polaroid to the president of the company. Bob was very proud.
Now,the store manager also thought Bob was an idgit. And at that time, cheap labor was hard to come by. We also had the manager convinced that Bob was an alcoholic. Oh, he would seem fine, but he’d binge drink and do all sorts of crazy stuff. "But don’t worry, Dave and I would make sure everything was under control."
So the store manager was really never surprised to come in to work in the morning and find things like 200 Hostess Twinkies arranged to spell out the store’s name. As long as the store didn’t get robbed and the district supervisors stayed out of her hair, she was pretty cool.
However, a week later the district supervisor did come in. In a stern voice he called me and Dave into the back room. He showed us a Polaroid of Bob proudly standing next to 200 Twinkies that spelled out the store’s name. His arms stretched out wide. His face beaming in the special Bob the idgit way.
“I don’t know what the hell this is, but the president got this in the mail and is rip shit! I don’t know what the hell is going on in this store, but I do know you two have something to do with it.”
Dave and I took the polaroid from the District supervisors hand. "Sir, why does is say ""200 Twinkies, 3.5 hours. Good luck, Bob"" on the back?"
The District manager snatched the polaroid back from us and snarled.
You two think this store is just one big game. Don't you?"
The jig was up.
Or so we thought.
The district manager was trying to give us his meanest, bossiest, toughest look.
"I think it's some kind of performance art thing. Sir" I tried to say with straight face. "You know, like interpative dance, sir?"
Dave mubbled something about how he thought Bob was drinking again.
And when we thought we were going to get our butt reamed, Something strange happened.
The district Supervisor broke out laughing.
Seems that even District managers had a sense of humor.
Dave and I had to pay for the Twinkies, but we weren’t fired. We weren’t even reprimand. Actually it seems that the district manager had a new found respect for us.
Which came in handy when a few weeks later, when Bob received another “special assignment” from the big boss, this time he was awarded the “Smock of Achievement” to wear on all his shifts.
But that’s another story….
HEY LOOK! I GOT A COMMENTS BOARD!
don't be an idgit...leave me a note.
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