DJ Hobo In The House!

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2019

(My friend and I are eating lunch outside. I am sitting leaning against a concrete pillar while he sits opposite me against a wall. I am just about done when I hear snippets of a strange, rambling voice behind me.)

Voice: “Yeah, I’m… money… fo dis… real man… yeah…”

(I look at my friend who is watching whatever is going on with a look that is equal parts bafflement and horror. I piece together the incoherent blather and his face and come to the conclusion that a confused, homeless person has somehow snuck onto our campus and is currently harassing students for money. Not wanting to deal with that hassle, I quickly finish my food and stand up so that we can head indoors, pointedly not turning around, to avoid making eye contact.)

Friend: *immediately once we were indoors* “Did you see that?!”

Me: “I heard it. I figured it was some crazed, homeless guy bothering students.”

Friend: “What? No! It was that blond chick trying to rap!”

(I turn around and see a blond girl that neither of us knows, but she is hard to ignore, as she loudly speaks like a “gangsta.” She is in the middle of a small group of people bobbing back and forth with her hand to her mouth as if holding a microphone.)

Me: “Good God, her free-styling was so awful I assumed it was a half-drunk hobo seeking pocket change from teenagers.”

This Caller Has Been Band

, , , , , | Working | March 6, 2019

I am in my university’s marching band and am in the middle of an indoor practice. There are close to four hundred of us in the band so it can get pretty loud.

I have my phone out on my music stand and notice that an unfamiliar number, similar to ones that have been telemarketers in the past, is calling me in the middle of a song.

During a rest, I hit the answer button, and then go back to playing my part. After a few seconds on the line, the telemarketer hangs up.

Singalongs Make Everything Better

, , , , , , | Hopeless | March 1, 2019

During one of my summer breaks while attending college, I take a job as a summer camp counselor. Part of our weekly program involves performing a short play near the end of the week, and I volunteer to be one of the main characters. All goes well until I catch a bad cold. All the coughing I end up doing hurts my throat and makes my voice sound gravelly. I thankfully am not assigned a group of kids that week, but I don’t have anyone to replace me in the play. I rest my voice up as best I can, and even find a funny in-character reason to explain the way I sound. It works, right up until I have to sing a small solo. When I try to sing, absolutely no sound comes out of my mouth. I start to panic a bit, but the other counselors are quick to pick up on what is happening.

Every counselor in the audience knows this song, because of how much they’ve seen the play. So, when my voice fails me, the song only gets a couple bars in before the counselors all start singing my part for me! They don’t hesitate to cover the other bits of singing my character does, either. I swear it’s something straight out of a feel-good high school movie! Ten years later, and thinking about it still makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Feedback Is Not Music To Your Ears

, , , | Right | February 22, 2019

(I work at a popular CD store. The music we play over the speakers is limited to a list sent weekly to us from the head office, and usually involves a collection of recently-released albums and compilation albums. We don’t have a choice over what plays further than picking between said albums throughout the day. On this particular day, we’re playing an upbeat album of recent top-40 pop hits. It’s a very popular album and I regularly hear customers singing along in the aisles. However, my coworker asks me to speak to a man who insists he wants to give negative feedback on the music playing in the store.)

Me: “Hi there. My coworker tells me you wanted to give some feedback on our in-store playlist?”

Customer: “Yes, it’s too loud.”

Me: “My apologies, sir, we have to have it to a certain volume for it to be heard from the front of the store.”

Customer: “I just don’t understand why you have to play it at all. You know, it’s disturbing. Customers aren’t going to want to stay and browse with this racket playing.”

Me: “Well, unfortunately, we don’t get much of a say over what we get to play in the store, but I’m always happy to pass on feedback and any requests about other kinds of music that our customers would like to hear. Is there a particular genre or even an artist that you could recommend?”

Customer: “No! You don’t understand. It’s the music that’s the problem! You shouldn’t play any music at all!”

(At this I’m stunned silent and glance across at my coworker, who is trying his hardest to hold back his laughter.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, we have to play something. We’re a music store.”

Customer: “I’m giving you my feedback as a regular, paying customer!”

Me: “And I appreciate that, sir, but I’m trying to explain to you that—“

Customer: “I’M TRYING TO GIVE YOU MY FEEDBACK. If you don’t want to listen to it, then I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

(And with that he turned around and left… and lo and behold, he was back the following week because, as it turns out, all the other music retailers in the area play music, as well, and none of them are willing to not play music in their stores, either. Surprising, I know!)

Let’s Make Beautiful Puns Together

, , , , , | Friendly | February 21, 2019

(I’m at rehearsal for my college’s jazz band. It’s toward the end of rehearsal and we are about two-thirds of the way through sight-reading our last piece of music for the night. Suddenly the bassist stops playing. Once the director notices, he cuts us off.)

Director: “What’s up, [Bassist]?”

Bassist: “I don’t have the last page.”

Director: “What?”

Bassist: “I don’t have the final page of the music.”

Director: “Hmm…”

Bassist: “I’ll try to get by without it; could you give me some of the chords?”

(I usually stand next to the bassist. There’s an extension cord laying on the ground by my feet, so I pick it up and hand it to him.)

Me: “Here’s a cord.”

(The entire band begins to groan at my terrible pun, but the bassist just stares at me with a confused look on his face.)

Bassist: “Okay?

(We start getting ready to play again, and then, right as the director is about to count us off…)

Bassist: “Ohhh! I did not get that until just now.”

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