The Bad Kind Of Bar Crawl

| Working | July 22, 2015

(I am a member of a guild, and as such I can’t enjoy adult beverages while on duty. After a very long day I’m finally done with my work at around 6:10, and in search of a pint of golden goodness. I walk to the first pub.)

Me: “Can I get a [beer]?”

Wench: “Oh, sorry, I just closed down. The [second pub] should still be open though!”

(I hustle over to the second pub at 6:15.)

Me: “Are you still open?”

Wench: “Just cleaning up, sorry. The [third pub] might still have their taps up!”

(I run to the third pub at 6:20.)

Me: “You guys closed?”

Wench: “Yeah, but the [fourth pub] is closest to front gate, so they’re open the latest.”

Me: “Thanks!”

(I sprint to the fourth pub at 6:25, where the barmaid is leaning on the tip box, watching a street show.)

Wench: “What can I get for you?”

Me: “You’re my favorite! I’ll have a [beer].”

Wench: “Oh, sorry. Only soda left.”

Me: “Oh.”

Wench: “Yeah, we can’t serve alcohol after 6:15.”

Me: “I came from the other side of the faire, and every pub I went to said the next along [road] should be open.”

Wench: “Yeah, they say that so you’ll leave quicker.”

Me: “It worked. I’ll have a [soda] please.”

(The kicker? If I had taken a different path, I could have been from the first pub to the fourth within three minutes.)

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Making Humor Disappear

| Related | October 12, 2013

(I am at the local renaissance fair with my sister and her husband. We are watching a magic show.)

Magician: “For my next trick I will be using a prop. I have here a box with two holes.”

Me: “So do I.”

Sister: *face-palm*

Everyone Around Me: *hysterical laughter*

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Ye Olde Fool

| Right | August 30, 2013

(I am breastfeeding my three-month-old baby quietly in a corner of a medieval festival. I am a participant. In front of me is a display of medieval stuff that I make. A tourist is passing by, and sniffs.)

Tourist: “Like they did that in the middle ages!”

Me: “Do you mean the breastfeeding? Of course they did; how else would they feed their baby?”

Tourist: “If you knew a bit about history, you would know that they hired other women to feed the baby.”

Me: “It is true that high-born ladies hired nurse maids to feed their baby and look after them, but how do you think these hired women fed the baby?”

Tourist: “With a bottle of cow’s milk of course! Jeez!”

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Love’s Precious Moments

| Romantic | January 9, 2013

(My boyfriend and I have just returned from a Renaissance Festival. We are both huge geeks and immensely proud of it. When we get back, I get down on one knee, and take out a black ring box.)

Boyfriend: “Uh…” *stares blankly*

Me: “It’s not what you think.”

Boyfriend: “O…kay…”

Me: *opens ring box* “Will you…” *tears up* “Will you take this ring to Mordor, and throw it into the fires of Mount Doom?”

(He cracks up hysterically. I had won a Lord of the Rings replica of the One Ring at the Faire.)

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Sound And Fury, Signifying Policing

| Right | August 22, 2012

(I volunteer at a rather unusual renaissance faire that showcases a number of home-built medieval weapons for competition. Prizes are awarded for authenticity, construction, and most importantly, use. My job at this point is to keep guests from wandering into anywhere dangerous. Currently, I’m stationed at the edge of a crossbow and arquebus live-fire zone.)

Guest #1: “What’s going on here?”

Me: “Stay back, please. This is the crossbow and arquebus live fire zone. The contestants are going to be shooting homemade weapons in the next few minutes.”

Guest #1: “At people?”

Me: “No sir, at targets. These are real weapons that shoot real arrows and bullets.”

Guest #1: “That sounds awesome! I’m going to stick around for that.”

Guest #2: *overhearing us talk* “Do they let visitors shoot?”

Me: “No sir, sorry. The weapons are extremely dangerous and all our participants are licensed and trained.”

Guest #1: “Aw man, I hunt all the time. Can’t I?”

Guest #2: “I’m also experienced with firearms.”

Me: “Sorry guys, no one’s allowed in without a competitor badge. What you can do is talk to the competitors after the event about getting a guests pass. They’re allowed to bring people with them, and I know they’ve invited people they’ve met at shows in the past who’ve demonstrated interest. But the show’s about to start, so I recommend trying to get some good seats.”

(The show begins, and many of the competitors are wearing period dress. When the arquebus presentation begins, my supervisor calls out the codeword for missing weapon on the radio. Before I can even start to call the police, there’s a sudden explosion, and a man awkwardly wearing a page’s shirt and a plate helmet falls over backwards. He removes his helmet, revealing Guest #1’s face. Before he can get far, Guest #2 tackles him.)

Guest #1: *to Guest #2* “Hey! You can’t do that! You don’t even work here!”

Guest #2: “The lady said you need a badge to enter the field. Well, buddy, I’ve got one of those!”

(Sure enough, Guest #2 did have a badge—a police badge!)

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