I’ve submitted several stories about my friends, family, and neighbors, and I’m thankful they’ve been published, but I’m hoping y’all won’t mind one more from my paternal grandmother. It’s my favorite of the many anecdotes she shared.

Dad’s family was an Air Force family, and they once got stationed in Tokyo and Okinawa in the 1950s for about four years. (They actually returned to the States right before the very first Godzilla film was released in theaters, but I digress.)

One day while in Tokyo, my grandfather had to speak with his commanding officer before some errands, so he left Grandma with their three kids in the car to wait.  

While they waited, the car started shaking. Grandma was afraid that meant an earthquake was building up and panicked since it was the first time she’d experienced one. But just as she was wondering if it was going to get worse, how to keep the children safe and calm, and if her husband would be all right…

…about forty sumo wrestlers went jogging by as part of their training.

Of all the things Grandma had thought might happen in Japan, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

I was mostly a witness to the first half of this story, and I was directly involved in the second half.

I’m on a cruise, and I come up to the pool. There’s a water volleyball game going on that looks like it’s in its final round. One guy in the pool (who I’ll call “Mr. D”) is a tall, large fellow who is being annoyingly abrasive. One of my friends who has been up here for the game fills me in that smack talk is allowed, but Mr. D has been overdoing it, and my friend and others around are talking about how done they are with how annoying he is.

Mr. D’s team wins, which he exults in, and the game is over. The host asks Mr. D to introduce himself for all the smack talk he did, which he does. 

Host: *On a microphone* “Allow me to introduce Mr. D, our champion trash-talker.”

There’s slight applause.

Host: “Now, that does it for our game. Stick around for our men’s sexy legs competition! We will need about ten men to compete and four ladies to be judges.”

With a little prodding, I volunteer to be a judge in this contest. I am led to the stage where I sit down on a chair and watch as the host rounds up men for this contest. 

Host: “We now have ten contestants for our competition, and we will no longer be taking volunteers. The show will begin in five minutes!”

The host and his assistant are rounding up the volunteers and prepping them for the competition. A minute later, Mr. D strides up to the host and starts chatting. I can’t hear what’s being said, but Mr. D is getting louder and more animated. Finally, the host returns to the stage.

Host: “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be starting our sexy legs competition shortly, and allow me to introduce our special guest who just got added to the roster, Mr. D!”

I inwardly groan as this guy struts up to the group of guys, ready for the competition. All the other volunteers look like they’re here for the fun, while Mr. D looks like he’s taking it entirely seriously.

The competition begins with the men crossing in front of the stage and pool, doing silly poses, and showing off their legs. It’s all in good fun, even though Mr. D reminds me of a rooster as he parades in front of the judges.

Then, in an interesting turn of events, the host turns to the audience, where a group of people has gathered near the stage to watch. The host walks up to a woman who’s at the front of the audience.

Host: “Well, ma’am, it looks like you’re enjoying this competition.”

Lady: “You bet!”

Host: “However, as great as these guys are, not all of them can make it to the next round. Which of our contestants do you think should not make it to the next round?”

Lady: *Without skipping a beat* “Mr. D!”

Host: “Mr. D? Why did you pick him?”

Lady: “Because this is the sexy legs competition.”

Thoroughly defeated, Mr. D took his cue and left, his walk definitely showing that he had felt this rejection. All of us judges burst out laughing and applauding, but we were also a little jealous that this random lady got to say what we all wanted to.

A husband-and-wife couple walks into our fast food place looking a little drunk.

Husband: “I had five margaritas! I think that’s too much! I want a mocha milkshake for dessert!”

Me: “We don’t have that here.”

Husband: “What kind of Arby’s is this?”

Me: “Sir, this is a Hardee’s.”

He completely blanks out with this new information. The wife thankfully takes over.

Wife: “Can you mix some chocolate and vanilla shake together? He’s too drunk to notice the difference.”

I am not directly involved in the circumstances of this story. I was later told about what happened by the store manager I was friends with.

A smaller chain discount store company that began in my hometown and had grown to over 100 regional stores looked to our hometown store as the anchor.

A psychology teacher in a nearby town high school wanted to let his class go through the emotional trauma of being caught shoplifting and arrested. The store manager and police were in on the event.

The manager and teacher stood in the parking lot near the school bus. The kids were told to steal small items like earrings or small toys that could be put in a pocket. They went into the store, and then they all came out to the bus and unpocketed themselves. No one had been caught. So, back in they were sent to take larger, more noticeable items. Out they all came to unload their goods. Still, no one was caught.

Finally, the teacher and manager shut the event down on the last attempt to get caught. One of the students came out of the store carrying a sixteen-foot extension ladder… and the assistant manager was holding the door for him.

Manager: “How did you not only get that out but get my assistant to hold the door?”

Student: “As I was heading for the door with the ladder, the assistant asked me where I was going with the store’s ladder and why. I told him I was servicing the air units on the roof and I’d forgotten to bring my own ladder. If I went back to the shop, I would get written up. I promised I would be very careful with the ladder.”

I was told that the company had very extensive training in every store after that fiasco.

Customer: “I’d like a [burger combo] meal, and the… uh… the…” *Mumbles*

He says the last item so quietly and softly that I don’t hear it.

Me: “Sorry, sir, what was that last item?”

Customer: *Loud whisper* “The salad. It’s not for me! It’s for my girlfriend!”

Me: “Of course, sir.”

Customer: “Can you like… hide the salad? I don’t want people to think I’m gay.”

Me: “Eating lettuce is homosexual?”

Customer: “Well, no, but… you know.”

Me: *Cocking head in confusion* “No, I really don’t.”

Customer: “It’s a kinda gay meal! It’s not like it’s a steak or a burger or something! Look, just double-bag it and keep it separate from my other stuff.” 

Me: “Okaaaay? Can I get a name for the order?”

Customer: “Brian.”

I take his order, but it’s my manager who puts it all together. (He’s one of those awesome managers who works the line with us). He also heard the entire conversation. 

Manager: “That’s one Pride Special Rainbow Salad for Brian! With extra pink radish!”

Brian is red but ignoring my manager.

Manager: “One Pride Special Rainbow Salad for Brian? No? Okay, well, it’ll sit here along with the burger and fries until it’s taken!”

After a good couple of minutes, Brian sheepishly ran up to the counter, grabbed the bags, and leaves. I think he was weighing up his options of complaining and causing a scene, or just getting his girlfriend her food as quickly as possible.