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He One Mojo Filter… Whatever That Means

, , , | Right | April 14, 2022

I work in a bookstore.

Customer: “I’m looking for books about the Beatles.”

I take him over and point out what we have. It turns out he just wants to spout off conspiracy theories about Paul McCartney being dead, etc. He just keeps talking and talking.

My manager sees what is happening and pages me to another part of the store.

Me: “Sorry, gotta go!”

Maybe If I’d Learned That Song I’d Be Better At Math

, , , , , , , , | Learning | April 11, 2022

This took place in 2001. I was nine years old and in third grade. We were just starting to learn multiplication and were learning the multiples of threes. My teacher warned us that from here on out, the multiplications were going to get harder and she didn’t want us to feel overwhelmed, so she came up with a song to help us remember the solutions to multiplying threes.

Teacher: “I am going to sing a song that’ll help you memorize all the multiples of three up to the number thirty. I sing this song every year to my students and I’ve had past students, including middle schoolers and even high schoolers, who come back to visit me tell me they remember this song. Are you ready?”

Us: “Yes!”

Teacher: “Three, six, nine, the monkey drank wine; twelve, fifteen, eighteen, we’re going skating; twenty-one, twenty-four, twenty-seven, we’re almost to heaven; thirty!”

Our class erupted in laughter at the silliness of the song, and we asked her to sing it again which she did.

Classmate #1: “Mrs. [Teacher], there’s no way we’re going to remember this when we get older. It’s too silly!”

Teacher: “You might say that now, but I’m telling you, I have students from many years ago come up to me and say one of their favorite memories was learning this song and they still use it to this day!”

Classmate #2: “Yeah, right!”

Fast forward to today. I just turned thirty and I taught my nine-year-old nephew, who is just starting to learn how to multiply, this song my teacher sang all those years ago. It might sound silly, but it turns out she was right when she said we would never forget that song!

Check Out The Cajones On This Team!

, , , , , , | Working | March 29, 2022

When I was in middle school, my church worship team was invited to perform a set at a downtown music festival. As expected, our leaders had to tell the organizers what instruments and equipment we had so the techs could properly hook us up.

Enter me, the percussionist. We already had a drummer on a kit, but I kept the beat and played whatever other instrument had to be played. Maracas? My job. Bongos? No problem. Slamming chains on an upside-down metal washbin? Loved it.

But my main instrument was the weird hippie stepchild of the percussion family: the cajon. It was basically a drum that you sat on to play. If not for the instrument company logo on the front, you’d think it was some sort of alternative-style chair. To play it, I had to sit with my legs apart, lean forward, and slap the panel for every beat. Weird as it was, it was a necessary component.

When we got to the festival, everyone else was getting hooked up. Absolutely no one was paying a shred of attention to me, but I was used to it and just trying to stay out of the way of everyone who had more finicky instruments and equipment.

While the announcers kept the crowd entertained, radio host style, we started filing out onstage. Everyone else set up, I carried my cajon onstage, put it down, and sat in preparation to play.

Cue an extremely flustered tech running onstage after me. Utterly confused as to why he was heading for me and not one of the guitarists or vocalists, I really didn’t say anything.

Tech: “You have a cajon? Nobody told me we had a cajon!”

He set up a mic where it would best pick up my cajon. That was the fastest I’ve ever seen anyone set up a microphone, even if he was muttering about how “Nobody told me there was a cajon!” the whole time.

Can You Feel It? (It’s Handcuffs)

, , , , , , | Related | February 10, 2022

My brother managed to pick up work at a racehorse training farm in New Zealand through a mate. This is his first visit back home, so Mum, Dad, and I all jump in Dad’s car and head over to the international airport to pick him up.

Mum and I are waiting inside the terminal while Dad does laps outside since parking fees are absolutely insane here if you’re not booking the car park for multiple days.

This is during the G20 Leaders’ Summit, so international airports are on higher alert than usual across the globe due to increased risk of terrorism threats. Even in Australia, where terrorism threats aren’t exactly the norm, the major airports aren’t messing around with their security protocols. We pass through the security checkpoints and go through the expected rigmarole of tests and questions without issue, find some seats, and settle in to wait for my brother’s flight to land.

Mum has found a new song she is into and starts bopping in her seat and humming the tune quietly, despite the song not actually playing from any of the speakers. I give her a strange side-eye, recognising the song as “Geronimo” by Sheppard. You know the one. “So say geronimo! Say geronimo! Say geronimo!” (You’re welcome.)

Then, she gets to the part where the chorus repeats, “Bombs away,” and she is no longer humming.

I’m now openly ogling her with a “WTF are you doing?!” look plastered across my face just as a security guard approaches doing his rounds. As he comes into hearing range, Mum switches over to, “Say geronimo!” and sings more softly. She watches the security guard as he passes, singing softly all the while, and once he’s past and out of range again, she picks up the volume and switches back to “bomb’s away”.

Me: “Mum! What are you doing?! You’re going to get us arrested!”

Mum: “[My Name], you do realise they probably have microphones all over the place, right? It’s the international airport, and the G20 is on; if it was an issue, we would already be detained.”

I open and close my mouth like a fish out of water for a few moments, trying to grasp the absurdity of this statement.

Me: “You realise that doesn’t make it any better, right?! If anything, it’s even more inappropriate!”

Mum: “Nah, I’m sure they know the difference between a serious discussion about an act of terrorism and a joke. Besides, it’s a good song.”

She then started singing again.

We didn’t get detained, my brother arrived on time, and we were able to leave without even so much as a suspicious glance from security staff. But seriously, time and place, Mum!

Gotta Get Down On… The Procedures

, , , , , | Working | December 28, 2021

I work on a dinner cruise ship as a deckhand. An overhead announcement comes on.

Cruise Manager: “All servers, text me the name of our current house wine and a work-appropriate song title. All bussers, text me whether coffee is included in a brunch ticket and a work-appropriate song title. All bartenders, text me a suggestion for a sweet signature cocktail and a work-appropriate song title. For every wrong answer, I will be inserting Rebecca Black’s Friday into the playlist.”

Five minutes later:

Overhead: “Friday, Friday…”