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<channel>
<title>SagaByte / barfly / All</title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com</link>
<description>SagaByte rss feeds</description>
<pubDate>Wed, 28 May 2008 23:07:47 -0400</pubDate>
<language>en</language>
<item>
<title><![CDATA[What The Smell]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/what-the-smell/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/what-the-smell/</comments>
<pubDate>Wed, 28 May 2008 23:07:47 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/what-the-smell/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[The bar that I worked in for fifteen years belonged to one brother while his other two brothers worked for him. The older brother was responsible and helped me do the ordering and scheduling while the other brother was useless. You could always count on him being drunk by the end of his shift (and sometimes before). Unfortunately, he was not very good at it. He would usually pass out where he was sitting and still be there in the morning when we came in to open.One night, the older brother came into to close the bar and found the younger brother already passed out. This younger brother had the worse smelling feet in the world. It smelled as if something had climbed into his shoes and died. The older brother was collecting all the money from the night to lock it in the safe. This safe was built in the 1920s, so it was one of those huge, heavy ones with a dial combination that usually took several attempts to open. The older brother got a brainstorm and removed the younger brother's shoes. He placed them in the safe right on top of the money bag.When the owner and I arrived the next morning, the younger brother was still asleep while the other one was cleaning (he often remained in the morning to talk to the owner). When we entered the kitchen where the safe was located, we smelled something terrible. We began checking the refrigerators and coolers, thinking that some of the food had went bad. We searched for about a half hour and could not find the source of the stench. It was almost time for the bar to open, so the owner opened up the safe. It was like a green, stinky fog rolled out of it. There sat the younger brother's shoes, right in the middle. By this time, the older brother is rolling laughing, watching us about pass out from the smell. We managed to get the shoes out of the safe and threw them on the back patio.The one thing that even the older brother didn't consider was the fact that the stench would attach itself to the money. I spent the whole day dealing with money that smelled like a decomposing animal. I thought that I would never get that smell off my hands. I think that the memory of that smell will remain with me for the rest of my life.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
</item>

<item>
<title><![CDATA[Forgot Name]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/forgot-name/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/forgot-name/</comments>
<pubDate>Mon, 26 May 2008 23:15:03 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/forgot-name/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[I grew up in a house with four sisters. As in most families, there was one that I was close to and another one that I never really got along with. Even now, though I am in my mid forties and she just turned fifty, we do not talk very often. It is not that I don't like her. We just don't seem to have anything in common. This became apparent when she became injured a few years ago.This particular woman has been married five times. Due to the distance between us, there are a few of her husbands that I have never even met. When she was married to husband number three (or was it four), I got a telephone call saying that there had been a freak accident. Her father-in-law had been mowing the grass and an old butter knife had shot out of the mower and stuck into her temple. The local hospital had sent her to a bigger hospital that was about two hours away. My mother called and asked me to call the hospital to check on her progress so that we could all drive up there.It took me about twenty minutes to get through to the trauma unit. The nurse asked for the patient's name. I froze. I realized that I didn't know my sister's last name! I didn't want to come across as a total idiot, so I made up a story that my sister had just eloped and that I didn't know her husband's last name. Then the nurse asked for any other names that my sister had went by so they could possibly cross match their records and locate her information. I knew right then that the gig was up.I began to list all her married names (at least the ones that I knew). Then it dawned on me to give them her maiden name. Since this was also my maiden name, I knew that I could get that one right. Sure enough, they found her and told me that she was going to be fine.Since that day, I have made it a point to talk to my sister enough so that at least I know her last name.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Duct Tape Fun]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/duct-tape-fun/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/duct-tape-fun/</comments>
<pubDate>Sun, 25 May 2008 21:00:25 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/duct-tape-fun/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Once a year, the bar that I worked in would close so that the employees and regulars (who had all been friends for years) would go to a charity event that involved a weekend camping trip. A group of about sixty of us would take off (mostly on motorcycles) and travel to a wooded area about an hour away. The charity event was hosted by the local chapter of a motorcycle club and there were bands playing all weekend as well as a lot of drinking. We would arrive early in the morning, set up the tents, and the party would begin.One member of our group who I will call Phil was normally a beer drinker when he was in the bar. This annual camping trip brought out the whiskey drinker in him, and it was not pretty. He would argue with everyone and eventually end up in a physical fight with other men in our group. One particular weekend, we had been playing combat volleyball, a more aggressive version of a regular volleyball game. Believe it or not, one of the guys sprained his ankle during play. We helped him get back to the campsite and Phil showed up. He had been arguing with the injured man earlier in the day and chose this particular moment to physically go after him. Luckily, this event also had regular security guards who broke up the fight and had Phil walk away from the campsite for awhile. A few hours (and a few drinks) later, Phil returned to the campsite and began fighting again. It didn't last long as he finally just passed out. We were planning to walk up to the band area and knew that we couldn't leave Phil alone in case he woke up and caused more trouble, so  a few of the guys got a good idea. They took duct tape out of their saddle bags, propped Phil against a tree, and proceeded to bind him to it. We all then left the campsite as Phil continued to snooze against the tree.Several hours later, we could hear Phil yelling for help. My friend and I snuck over (so he wouldn't catch a glimpse of us) just in time to see him yelling at some passing security guards. &quot;Let me go!&quot; he yelled. Unfortunately for him, these were two of the same security guards that had dealt with him earlier. The one looked at him and replied, &quot;Oh, no! We remember you. You can just stay right where you are.&quot; The guards continued on their way and Phil stayed tied up to the tree for the rest of the afternoon until the whiskey had worn off. We didn't hear a peep out of Phil for the rest of the weekend.<br/><br/>4 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[the ride home]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/the-ride-home/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/the-ride-home/</comments>
<pubDate>Sat, 24 May 2008 22:42:23 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/the-ride-home/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[A few years ago, I was in a serious car accident and I had broken my neck and all of the bones in my pelvic region. After about three month in the hospital stay, my parents had decided that I was going to stay at their house until I was well enough to take care of myself at home.They showed up to pick me up from the hospital. My father had severe arthritis in his neck and often wore a cloth neck collar to remind him not to turn his head to quickly. He had used this collar for several years, so we didn't even notice him wearing it anymore. My parents managed to load me in the front seat of the car with my father while my mother and my two younger sisters rode in the back.The trip took about two and a half hours and we began to notice strange looks from the drivers who were coming towards us. This went on for a few miles until my dad decided to stop a truck stop to get something to eat. A truck driver who had passed us earlier had turned around. He approached us in the parking lot, laughing. When we asked what was so funny, he pointed at my father and me. Here we stood, both of us wearing neck braces! To top it off, my parent's car had a huge dent on the hood. The truck driver said that when he came towards us, he thought that we looked like either we had just been in a crash or that we were an accident waiting to happen. No wonder everyone that was approaching my parent's car looked scared to death!Needless to say, my father removed his &quot;neck brace&quot; for the rest of the trip home.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Lamaze Coach]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/lamaze-coach-1/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/lamaze-coach-1/</comments>
<pubDate>Fri, 23 May 2008 22:45:09 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/lamaze-coach-1/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[When I gave birth to my son a few years ago, my husband was working out of town for several weeks. He was scheduled to be home at the time of birth but due to the fact that babies are notorious for not arriving when they are supposed to, my sister offered to stand in when we got to the labor room. She was a state-licensed nursing assistant, so I thought that she was qualified. Boy was I wrong!My husband made it home on a Monday. I woke up Wednesday morning to find that my water had broken. We called our families and headed for the hospital. My husband was a nervous wreck, so my sister agreed to stay with me in shifts. She had made a point to tell all the nurses that she was a certified nurse's assistant and assured them that she knew exactly what to do. I had already decided to have drugs during my labor since I had natural labor with my first child and still felt the pain to this day.After about an hour in labor, the doctor came in to inform me that it was time to get my epidural. He explained that they were going to place two thin wires into my back that they could then use as a passage for the drugs. I sat on the edge of the table and clung to my sister, as she watched the procedure over my shoulder. All of a sudden, she fell over and hit the floor. I slid off the table and landed right on top of her. Here we were in a small pileup on the labor room floor. I began laughing so hard that the nurses could barely get me back on the table. Because I was in labor, when I began laughing, I ended up urinating on myself as well as my sister. Meanwhile, the nurses were administering smelling salts to my sister, who was covered in my urine. When they finally revived her, I asked her what had happened. She said that blood started to shoot out of my back. Well, duh! I asked her what she thought was going to happen when they stuck the wires in my back. She then explained that she worked in a nursing home, so seeing blood was not part of the job. It was a fine time to tell me that now.Needless to say, my husband's break time was finished. He remained with me until our son was born. And I decided that I would never ask my sister to help me give birth again.<br/><br/>3 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Cat and Water]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/cat-and-water/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/cat-and-water/</comments>
<pubDate>Thu, 22 May 2008 20:06:41 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/cat-and-water/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Years ago, my girlfriend and I decided to rent a small house together. It was located across the street from the bar where I worked. She was only working part-time and had to borrow part of her share of the deposit from another friend of ours. The only stipulation that he had was that she take possession of one of the kittens that his cat had just had. She came home with the blackest, most annoying cat that I have ever seen.I am not a cat person. I think that they are the worst pet that you can have. After all, you can't train them and they just do what they want to. I would never intentionally hurt a cat, but I don't want one around me either. So needless to say, I was not thrilled to have one of these creatures in my new home.As usually happens when an animal senses that you don't like it, this black cat immediately attached itself to me. It would crawl in my bed in the middle of the night and try to curl up around my neck to sleep. It would follow me everywhere I went. I started to think that this was a demon cat. While most cats hate water, our little &quot;darling&quot; would constantly climb in the shower or bathtub when I was taking a bath. She then got to the point that she would climb into the tub when I began to fill it so that she would be waiting for me. So anytime that I started running water for a bath I had to make sure to close the bathroom door to make sure that I didn't find the cat taking a swim in it.One Saturday morning I woke up and was running late for work. I started to run a quick bath and closed the door, not realizing that the door knob was turned into the lock position. As I went to go back in, the door was locked with the water running. My roommate and her boyfriend were at the bar eating breakfast. I grabbed a robe and had to walk across a crowded intersection and go into a busy bar in my pajamas and bare feet to get her boyfriend so that he could get the door opened before the water flooded the bathroom. He ran right over and we got in just as the water reached the top of the bathtub. I began to scold the cat, but when she gave me one of those &quot;So&quot; looks, I knew I was wasting my breath. We had that cat until I moved out about a year later. My roommate had it for several more years until one night it slipped out through an open window. We have never seen it since. I can't help but hope that it is making someone else's life miserable.<br/><br/>1 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Bacon of Love]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/bacon-of-love/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/bacon-of-love/</comments>
<pubDate>Wed, 21 May 2008 18:07:25 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/bacon-of-love/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[I worked in a bar for fifteen years that was run by three brothers. One was the owner while the middle brother ran the night shift. The younger brother usually worked the night shift, and was usually drunk by closing time. We had a pretty good lunch crowd during the day, so in the afternoon I would prepare the as much of the food as I could for the next day's menu. Once a week, we served BLT sandwiches. So the owner would have me fry up about ten pounds of bacon the day before so that all we had to do is reheat it. This went well in the beginning until the younger brother began to work nights. The first week that he worked, we came in the next morning to find that most of the bacon was gone. When we questioned him about it, he swore that he never ate any of the bar food when he was there alone after the bar closed. Nothing more was said until the next week, when the bacon disappeared again. We also began to keep an eye on the other prepared food as well, and we were missing some every night. The younger brother still denied any knowledge of the missing items and the &quot;bacon bandit&quot; became a running joke in the bar. We drew up homemade wanted posters of a pig wearing a bandana, offering a one dollar reward to the person who could catch this elusive thief.This &quot;bacon bandit&quot; was finally apprehended a few months later. The owner and I entered the bar one morning to find the younger brother asleep in a bar stool. His head was lying in a plate of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and gravy. He was snoring, blowing bubbles in the gravy every time he exhaled. I picked his head up and let it drop again. The food flew every where yet he still didn't wake up. When he finally did lift his head several hours later, he had a piece of incriminating roast beef stuck to the side of his face. The infamous &quot;bacon bandit&quot; had been captured. So you begin to notice food missing from your refrigerator and you kids and spouse deny any knowledge of it, you may have your own &quot;bacon bandit&quot; to chase down.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Anti Drinking and Driving]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/anti-drinking-and-driving/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/anti-drinking-and-driving/</comments>
<pubDate>Mon, 19 May 2008 21:55:04 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/anti-drinking-and-driving/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Years ago, I worked in a local bar and rented a small house across the street from it. So it was common for anyone who had drank too much to sleep at my house instead of taking the risk of driving home. While most of my friends gratefully accepted this option, others were a little more stubborn.One of my closest friends who I will call Leo was a motorcycle rider. He had a beautiful older-model Harley Davidson, one of the kinds that had a jump start on it. This particular night, Leo had stopped in the bar to drink one. A whole group of friends walked in and the shots of whiskey began to fly. By closing time, Leo could barely walk, let alone ride. I offered him my couch and he refused. As he was talking to some other people, I slipped out the door and turned off his gas tank. When he decided to head home, Leo came out and climbed onto his motorcycle. He began to jump start it. He jumped and jumped. Watching him sweat and pant as he tried to start his motorcycle almost made me feel sorry for him. After a lot of attempts, he finally agreed to stay at my house. He pushed the motorcycle to the house and parked it on the front sidewalk. He barely made it into the house and passed out on my floor, next to a bunch of my daughter's stuffed animals.The next morning, I woke up to find my friend still lying on the floor. Here was this 6' 3&quot; biker with a large stuffed monkey in his arms. Sometime during the night, he must have reached up and grabbed it. After taking several incriminating pictures, I snuck outside and turned his gas back on.When he woke up several hours later, I joked with him about the monkey (although he didn't find out about the pictures until much later). Surprisingly, his motorcycle started immediately. To this day, I don't think that he knows that I let him about kill himself trying to jump start a bike that I knew wouldn't start. He would probably thank me if he did.<br/><br/>1 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Burning Ring of Fire]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/burning-ring-of-fire/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/burning-ring-of-fire/</comments>
<pubDate>Sun, 18 May 2008 22:26:19 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/burning-ring-of-fire/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Men and fire are never a good idea. Add alcohol to the mix and it is surprising that the burn ward at the hospitals is not bursting at the seams. The one place where men, fire, and alcohol consumption is a common mixture is while you are camping.My husband is obsessed with building fires when we are camping. He will build a fire that is big enough to light New York City even if it is 90 degrees out. He is not satisfied with just starting a fire with twigs and paper. He has to use some kind of flammable liquid that causes an immediate burst of flames that can singe your eyebrows off if you are standing too close to it.One weekend when we were camping, my husband decided to build a fire late in the afternoon. It was only 80 degrees out so he must have thought that we would need a fire to keep warm (yeah, right). He had also been drinking most of the day. So I quickly removed our five year old son from ground zero, or what most people call a fire ring. My husband had forgotten to bring anything to use to put kerosene on the fire so he decided to use a plastic drinking cup. As he tossed the kerosene on the fire, the flames quickly followed the path of the kerosene and began to come right at him. He began running in circles, but the flame kept following. He didn't realize that while he was running around like a crazy person, he was spilling the kerosene out of the glass, leading the fire right towards him. I ran up and knocked the glass out of his hand. The flames quickly burned themselves out. My husband, who was sweating and gasping for air, sat in a lawn chair to gather his wits.For the rest of the weekend, I was in charge of building the fire. I let him look at it, but he was grounded from even stoking the logs. It is better to be safe than sorry.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Dangers of Playing With Fire]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/dangers-of-playing-with-fire/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/dangers-of-playing-with-fire/</comments>
<pubDate>Sat, 17 May 2008 22:07:57 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/dangers-of-playing-with-fire/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[What is it about men and fire They are drawn to it like a moth to a flame, or should I say a man to a flame. Camping seems to be the ideal time for these men to show off their ability to build fire, although the results are not always what they expected.My husband and I were camping on the Fourth of July with several friends of ours. One of these couples has an RV, so everyone gathered at their campsite. We were staying in a locally-owned quarry and the owners were selling raffle tickets to win camping items as prizes. The RV owner's wife had invited her brother to come out to watch the fireworks. This man who I will call Joe was not saying a word. His sister explained that he had been in a car accident and had his jaw wired shut. So he was just sitting there watching everyone else.Once the park began giving out prizes, my husband and our best friend both won white gas lanterns and a can of gas to go with them. These two idiots had been drinking for most of the day, so why they thought that this was a good time to try to light their lanterns is beyond me.First, these two grown men attempted to fill their lanterns by pouring gas from the can into a small hole. Of course, the gas went all over the place. The rest of us quickly backed away from the area. Needless to say, as soon as they hit the lanterns with an open flame, the whole area caught fire. The lamps, the top of the picnic table, and even a little of the grass was burning. Luckily, there was not very much gas, so the flames quickly burned themselves out.I suddenly heard an unfamiliar voice behind me say &quot;Thank God those idiots don't have much gas!' I turned around to see Joe smiling at me. Even the guy who couldn't talk had felt that the stupidity of the situation needed to be remarked upon.The women quickly confiscated the lanterns and the gas cans and these were not returned until the end of the weekend. That was enough fireworks for one day.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Cooking Problem]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/cooking-problem/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/cooking-problem/</comments>
<pubDate>Fri, 16 May 2008 21:46:40 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/cooking-problem/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[Several years ago, I rented a small house that I shared with my girlfriend. It was located right across the street from the bar where I worked and where my roommate frequented. One day, she stopped in after work about three o'clock in the afternoon to have a drink. She told me that she had to go over to the house to stuff manicotti shells for her boyfriend, who was coming to dinner around seven. A group of our friends came in and the drinks started flowing. By six o'clock, my roommate could barely walk, let alone cook. I told her that I would fix dinner when I got home at six thirty, but she insisted that she could do it. I knew that this was not going to end well.She went on home. I followed about a half hour later. As I walked in the door, her cat came up to me. There, in the middle of his head, was a huge glob of spaghetti sauce. When I walked in the kitchen, there sat my roommate, on the floor with the pan of cooked shells in her lap. She was attempting to squeeze the ricotta mixture into them (at least I think that was what she was doing). I could see that she had already totally destroyed several of them. I managed to talk her into going in to take a bath while I finished the cooking. I managed to salvage the shells that were left and placed them in the oven to bake. I then began to clean the house.I don't know how she had done it, but there was spaghetti sauce everywhere. I expected it in the kitchen, but it was also in the living room and both bedrooms. Even our plants had spaghetti sauce all over them. I then realized that her stupid cat had proceeded to drag this sauce all over the house. So I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to capture the animal so I could clean it up. Then I began to clean the house at breakneck speed. I finished everything about five minutes before her boyfriend was to be there.By the time her boyfriend showed up, supper was cooked and the house was clean. He took one look at her in her drunken condition, became angry and left. I was ready to kill her.Needless to say, she never pulled that stunt again.<br/><br/>3 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Dating Two Guys]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/dating-two-guys/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/dating-two-guys/</comments>
<pubDate>Thu, 15 May 2008 20:34:09 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/dating-two-guys/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[A few years ago, I shared a small house that was located right across the street from the bar where I worked. My roommate was a friend who only worked part-time, so we had agreed that I would pay two-thirds of the bills and she would take care of the utilities as well as the groceries and laundry.My roommate was a little wild in those days and was dating two men at the same time. They knew about each other and it became an ongoing competition to see who would end up with her. These men would leave notes on her car as well as small gifts, such as flowers and jewelry on the seat. On any given day, she would find these notes and tokens four or five times a day. One day after work, my roommate had stopped into the bar while she was doing laundry. She was complaining that she had found seven notes on her car in the last seven hours. &quot;If I find one more note on my car, somebody is going to get hurt,&quot; she said as she walked out to return to the laundry mat to switch the clothes from the washer to the dryer.While she was gone, I took a piece of plain white paper and wrote &quot;Have a nice day&quot; in it. I then had everyone that is in the bar sign their names to it, which added up to about twenty signatures. There were three doors leading out of the bar, so I waited by the side door until I saw her pull in. As she walked around the building to enter the front door, I ran out the side door and stuck our note under her windshield wiper. I slipped back inside without her ever knowing that I had left.We sat there and talked for about a half hour until it was time for her to leave to retrieve the clothes from the laundry mat. As she exited by way of the front door, everyone ran to the side door so that they could all see her reaction.Her first reaction was to hit and kick her car. We could tell that she was cussing to herself as she snatched the note up. When she opened it, her mouth dropped open. She then glanced back at the bar to see a bunch of faces laughing at her. She also laughed, made a specific hand gesture, and climbed in her car. She never complained about notes being left on her car again.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<item>
<title><![CDATA[Daughter Care]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/daughter-care/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/daughter-care/</comments>
<pubDate>Wed, 14 May 2008 19:11:21 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/daughter-care/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[When you're little and you get hurt, the first place you go to make it all better is to your mother. In our family, you don't. My mother is a wonderful, caring person but let's just say that she is not the most coordinated person on the planet.Growing up, I had four sisters and we were all close in age. So at any given time one of us had some kind of injury, either a broken arm or a leg. As we grew up, the injuries began to get more serious. About eight years ago, I was in a bad automobile wreck. I broke my neck and all the bones in my pelvic region. After three months in the hospital, my parents decided that I should stay with them until I was healed enough to return home. That was a mistake! My parents live in a small village in Northwest Ohio that has one stop light, two stores, and a diner. The streets are the old-fashioned style that has a huge slant and the extra high curbs that cause your car door to fly open and get stuck on the curb.  My first week there, my father decided to drive us downtown to eat lunch at the local diner. I was wearing a neck brace and was hobbling around on a pair of crutches. We got out of the car, went into the diner, and lunch was fine. When we were leaving, I stood beside the car waiting for everyone else to enter. Once the others are in the car, here comes Mom. She opens the passenger driver's door, which because of the slant flies open and knocks me right off my crutches. There I sit, sprawled on the street while my mother, who is five feet tall and weighs 100 lbs. soaking wet, is trying to loosen the car door which has got my leg pinned underneath.  This is impossible because of the extra weight in the car with everyone else being inside. Instead of yelling at my father to get out of the car to help, she struggles with the door for about two minutes. In the meantime, I am starting to lose feeling in my leg. I can't scream for help myself due to the damage to my vocal chords. Finally, my father, who is 6' 4&quot; tall and has been in the car arguing with my two younger sisters, figures out that something is wrong. He gets out of the car and asks my mom why she didn't ask him for help. My mom just stood there as Dad lifted the whole car door with one hand and pulled me out with the other. I just thank God that my dad was there.No major damage was done, but I would be leery of my mother taking care of me again. My other sisters have not quite learned this lesson. Last week, my mom dumped my sister out of her wheel chair (she has a broken leg) and tumbled over it herself. A sprained shoulder later, my mother has finally given up any dreams of entering the nursing profession, a blessing for the entire medical community.<br/><br/>2 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<title><![CDATA[Car For Sale Flyer]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/car-for-sale-flyer/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/car-for-sale-flyer/</comments>
<pubDate>Wed, 14 May 2008 00:44:58 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/car-for-sale-flyer/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[When I was younger, I worked in a bar for fifteen years. This bar was what most people would call a dive, with old wooden floors that had cigarette butts stomped out on them. It was located in the same neighborhood where many of the employees and the regulars grew up in. I personally grew up three blocks from the place. So we were all good friends and had been so for almost twenty years. One of my oldest and dearest friends was this guy who I will call Jack who lived about six blocks away. He had a rule that he would never drive home once he had drank more than three beers. He would leave his car and walk home, although at least once a week he would &quot;order a pizza.&quot; The pizza place across the street was owned by another bar customer who also grew up with all of us. Jack would order a pizza and ask for it to be delivered to his house. He would wait about ten minutes and then walk over to the pizza shop. When the delivery driver was ready to leave with his pizza, he would just climb in the car with him and both he and the pizza would be delivered to his house.To begin with, Jack would just leave his car overnight and pick it up the next day. Then the bar started to have Karaoke on Thursday nights. Jack began coming in for a drink on Thursday nights as well, and would leave his car until Friday. He would come to pick up his car in Friday afternoons, and would run into to the pay day crowd and begin drinking again. The car would end up sitting parked again. Saturday the same thing would happen. So most weekends, Jack's car would sit outside the bar from Thursday until Sunday.This went on for several weeks. Finally, I was at the store picking up supplies for the bar and noticed those little black For Sale signs sitting by the counter. I waited for Thursday night and sure enough, here came Jack. He left his car that night as well as Friday night. When I opened the bar Saturday morning, I wrote down his phone number on the For Sale sign and placed it in the window of his car. I then just sat back and waited for the fun to begin. It didn't take more than two hours for Jack to call the bar. &quot;Hey, does someone have my car for sale I've had about ten phone calls in the last hour making offers on it,&quot; he said, asking if I had anything to do with it. I said, &quot;I put it up for sale. As often as it sits here, I figured that you had no use for it.&quot; He laughed and just told me if anyone stopped in asking about it that I should take the best offer I could get. Jack eventually did sell the car later on and didn't even give me my cut. If that is not selfish, I don't know what is.<br/><br/>1 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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<title><![CDATA[50th Birthday Prank]]></title>
<link>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/50th-birthday-prank/</link>
<comments>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/50th-birthday-prank/</comments>
<pubDate>Mon, 12 May 2008 20:51:48 -0400</pubDate>
<dc:creator>barfly</dc:creator>
<category>SagaByte</category>
<guid>http://www.sagabyte.com/SagaByte/50th-birthday-prank/</guid>
<description><![CDATA[I worked in a family-owned bar for fifteen years. The oldest of three brothers owned the establishment while the other two brothers worked there. The middle brother who I will call Charlie was a real trickster. He was always playing tricks on the employees and regular customers. His birthday was the only time that he got his just desserts.Charlie was old enough to be my father and could be quite cantankerous and childish at times. The first year that I worked there, I decided to give him an appropriate gift. My stepchildren were always getting junk mail that included membership forms for various kid clubs. I took about ten of these different forms and filled in Charlie's name and home address, spending the money to sign him up as a six year old. Since most of these clubs last until a child is twelve, I knew that this was one birthday gift that would keep on giving.The first year Charlie received a Teenage Mutant Turtle fake sword and mask, which I immediately made him put on. Seeing this fifty year old man with shoulder-length grayish hair and a grizzly beard wearing a Teenage Turtle getup is a sight that you will not soon forget. He also received a coupon for a free hamburger and cookie from a hamburger chain and an invitation to have a birthday party at the restaurant for him and ten of his little friends. I could picture Charlie and a bunch of older men going there and asking for their hamburgers and cookies. In the following years, Charlie received a number of other fun items, such as Mickey Mouse ears and a Batman Power belt. He also received tons of offers from other children's clubs. While he always complained when these items arrived, he was always a good enough sport to put them on. So if you want to purchase a birthday gift to make someone feel younger, a Teenage Mutant Turtle sword and mask may be ideal.<br/><br/>3 Vote(s) ]]></description>
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