Read Online Learn Me Gooder by John Pearson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Pearson
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Fred Bommerson
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: Playing for the wrong team
Hey dude,
OK, you are either a genius or the craziest fruitcake on the planet. It’s not enough that you worked the phrase “functional voiding disturbance” into conversation during your customer meeting yesterday, but you did it THREE TIMES???
The funniest part about that (or the saddest maybe) is that your clients just nodded their heads as if they knew what you were talking about. I guess it does sound like a legitimate semi-conductor malfunction. Still, I would have loved to have been there to see Larry’s and Philby’s reactions as you introduced the newest jargon into play.
Get your customers to start using that term in their correspondence with you, and drinks are on me next time we hang out.
One of my kids used a new term today, but I don’t think he was just being a smart-alec. I had a conversation with Kevin this morning that introduced me to the brand new word AND made me fearful of ever having children in this lifetime.
After finishing his problem of the day, Kevin (AKA Anferny) called me over to tell me that he had a football game coming up on Friday night. I made a little small talk with him, asking how he liked football and what position he played. He then told me that they were playing a team called the Dragons.
I said, “Oooh, they sound dangerous. What’s the name of YOUR team?”
He replied, “The Mancocks.”
While a circuit within my brain suddenly burst into flame and began to smoke, my mouth filled in as best it could. Trying to relate it to the unfortunately chosen South Carolina mascot, I asked, “Oh, is that a type of bird?”
Kevin responded, “No, it’s just a name my coach likes.”
“And has your coach registered with the proper authorities yet?” That’s what I might have asked if I didn’t have such tremendous self-control. Instead, I wittily responded, “Ahhhh.”
Later in the day, when I had a free moment during my planning period, I looked up “mancock” online. After skimming past forty or so entries for adult sites that might get me fired just for reading the web addresses, I finally found one that defined a mancock as “a type of birch bark container used to store rice in some villages.”
Poor fire-breathing, scaly Dragons… You don’t stand a chance against the wooden, grain-filled Mancocks.
I’ll admit, that word haunted me for the entire morning. But it was put out of my mind for a while by another incident right before lunch.
About fifteen minutes before picking the kids up from the gym, I walked up to the office to check my mailbox. As I passed the cafeteria, where all of the kindergarten kids were filing in to have their lunch, I heard a sudden wailing. In the space of one footstep, a mighty debate that Gollum himself would have been proud of raged inside my mind.
“Do I stop and render assistance?”
“No, it’s kindergarten, let them handle it. Don’t get involved.”
“Well, I’ve already glanced at the scene of the crime, I shouldn’t just keep walking.”
“You can always say you thought the screeching was coming from a rabid possum loose in the cafeteria.”
“Oh hey, it’s the little kid who sneezed/farted and blew himself down in the bathroom. I wonder why he continues to scream like somebody’s attached electrodes to his groin?”
In the end, I forced myself to respect the Good Samaritan Law (you can’t witness an accident and drive on past without checking on the situation), and I went over to see what was going on. A small crowd of kids was gathered around my tiny friend, who was writhing on the floor and showing no signs of lowering the volume on his shrieks. I zeroed in on the calmest looking kid, a boy who looked like he was annoyed that the lunch line had come to a halt, and I asked him to tell me what had happened. The boy pointed down at the kid on the ground and said, “He hit me.”
Yeah, that’s usually the response
From: Jack Woodson
Subject: Playing for the wrong team
Hey dude,
OK, you are either a genius or the craziest fruitcake on the planet. It’s not enough that you worked the phrase “functional voiding disturbance” into conversation during your customer meeting yesterday, but you did it THREE TIMES???
The funniest part about that (or the saddest maybe) is that your clients just nodded their heads as if they knew what you were talking about. I guess it does sound like a legitimate semi-conductor malfunction. Still, I would have loved to have been there to see Larry’s and Philby’s reactions as you introduced the newest jargon into play.
Get your customers to start using that term in their correspondence with you, and drinks are on me next time we hang out.
One of my kids used a new term today, but I don’t think he was just being a smart-alec. I had a conversation with Kevin this morning that introduced me to the brand new word AND made me fearful of ever having children in this lifetime.
After finishing his problem of the day, Kevin (AKA Anferny) called me over to tell me that he had a football game coming up on Friday night. I made a little small talk with him, asking how he liked football and what position he played. He then told me that they were playing a team called the Dragons.
I said, “Oooh, they sound dangerous. What’s the name of YOUR team?”
He replied, “The Mancocks.”
While a circuit within my brain suddenly burst into flame and began to smoke, my mouth filled in as best it could. Trying to relate it to the unfortunately chosen South Carolina mascot, I asked, “Oh, is that a type of bird?”
Kevin responded, “No, it’s just a name my coach likes.”
“And has your coach registered with the proper authorities yet?” That’s what I might have asked if I didn’t have such tremendous self-control. Instead, I wittily responded, “Ahhhh.”
Later in the day, when I had a free moment during my planning period, I looked up “mancock” online. After skimming past forty or so entries for adult sites that might get me fired just for reading the web addresses, I finally found one that defined a mancock as “a type of birch bark container used to store rice in some villages.”
Poor fire-breathing, scaly Dragons… You don’t stand a chance against the wooden, grain-filled Mancocks.
I’ll admit, that word haunted me for the entire morning. But it was put out of my mind for a while by another incident right before lunch.
About fifteen minutes before picking the kids up from the gym, I walked up to the office to check my mailbox. As I passed the cafeteria, where all of the kindergarten kids were filing in to have their lunch, I heard a sudden wailing. In the space of one footstep, a mighty debate that Gollum himself would have been proud of raged inside my mind.
“Do I stop and render assistance?”
“No, it’s kindergarten, let them handle it. Don’t get involved.”
“Well, I’ve already glanced at the scene of the crime, I shouldn’t just keep walking.”
“You can always say you thought the screeching was coming from a rabid possum loose in the cafeteria.”
“Oh hey, it’s the little kid who sneezed/farted and blew himself down in the bathroom. I wonder why he continues to scream like somebody’s attached electrodes to his groin?”
In the end, I forced myself to respect the Good Samaritan Law (you can’t witness an accident and drive on past without checking on the situation), and I went over to see what was going on. A small crowd of kids was gathered around my tiny friend, who was writhing on the floor and showing no signs of lowering the volume on his shrieks. I zeroed in on the calmest looking kid, a boy who looked like he was annoyed that the lunch line had come to a halt, and I asked him to tell me what had happened. The boy pointed down at the kid on the ground and said, “He hit me.”
Yeah, that’s usually the response
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