Category: Stories

A few years back I was a huge fan of dry ice bombs. My friends and I would go around putting them in all kinds of strange places just for fun. The first time we did it, for some strange reason , we went to the local duck pond to set them off. We packed in the dry ice and threw the bottle out in to the pond. When we threw it we threw it to a clear area, but the ducks quickly gathered around the bottle. I guess if people are throwing things in the water it is usually bread. The ducks were hanging out around the bottle and we were waiting for it to explode. It seemed to take 20 minutes but it eventually blew sending ducks flapping and quacking in all directions. I still wonder how many we killed or if they all survived the blast.

We then went on to try several more things. We buried bombs in playground sandboxes and watched as they exploded with a muffled sound and sent dirt flying into the air. We got some helium balloons and floated them over peoples houses. We exploded the contents of a port-a-potty all over its walls. We would leave them on peoples doorsteps in the middle of the night.

This was all done pre-9/11 and I would hate to know what kind of huge massive trouble you could get in doing this after 2001. We almost got caught a couple of times. Once we were using hydrochloric acid bombs at a park late at night. We buried a 3 liter bomb under the sand and waited for a really long time. It never went off so my friend Rambo pulled it out of the sand and it was huge. It looked like it would hold 6 liters of fluid now. Rambo decided to throw it down at the ground next to him. I thought he had gone insane and that he was going to be seriously injured. Somebody up there likes him though because when he threw it there was no explosion, but rather the bottle sprung a leak that sent it flying into the air spewing a mist of acid behind it. It disappeared above the level of the lights and it felt like it was in the air for a solid minute. It was really probably only up for 10 or 12 seconds which is still impressive. For that time my two friends and I were looking alertly upward waiting for the bottle to hit one of us on the head. It came down a few feet behind Rambo and we looked at the deformed bottle and laughed about Rambo’s death wish.

We decided to give a glass bottle a try. We put in all the stuff, closed the bottle and then took cover in my friends car. After another long unfruitful wait we decided to shoot my friends pellet gun at it. He went back by his trunk and was taking aim to shoot when I saw a police car driving up from the other side of the park. I yelled at him that the cops were coming and he threw his gun back in the trunk and jumped back in the car. The police turned on their lights and we didn’t even move an inch. They had us get out of the car one at a time. They had me put my hands behind my head and they grabbed my hands with a fistful of hair then asked if I had anything in my pockets. I told them about my pocket knife and was anticipating getting my face slammed into the ground as had happened before with police. They set me down in a row next to my friends. We were all pretty close to the glass bottle that hadn’t exploded yet. We began to hear a hissing noise from pressure being released and I was just praying that the bottle would not explode with the police right there. The hissing continued for a couple of minutes and then stopped. Inside the car I had 2 bottles full of acid that we hadn’t mixed yet and when the cops let us back in the car after everything there was only one bottle.

The other close call we had was when we vandalized someones house and left a couple of bombs on their doorstep. We drove away and waited for the bombs to go off. The first one went off but we never heard the second one. We drove away in a hurry. We passed by a while later and saw police cars and an ambulance out in front of the house. Our imaginations ran wild with thoughts of someone getting burned by acid or picking up the bomb and blowing off a finger. We later found out that nothing happened. We were very lucky and very stupid.

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More from my first job at a CD Warehouse:

In the store we had what we called the “Crap Bin”. It was our 99¢ bin. It was full of CD’s that were from really bad artists, CD’s that we had too many of, or ones that were just in bad condition. There was a lot of Hootie and the Blowfish, Snow, Green Day, Soul Asylum and other stuff like that. The crap bin just filled up, always waiting for that moment of exhilarating joy when someone would want to hear Colour Me Badd again.

Now as the crap bin continually accumulated more CD’s we needed to find a way to reduce the size of the crap bin. We thought of implementing a buy one get one 99 cent CD free promotion, and we tried improving the appearance of the bin and more prominently displaying them but nothing worked. The CD’s in that bin kept growing. One day John was inspired as he remembered the store across town that also buys CD’s. It was a store called Hastings and they had a relatively small collection of used CD’s. They didn’t generally offer as much money as we did for used CD’s. They were known for giving 3 dollars for the good stuff and we usually gave 5 bucks a pop for good material. John and my friend, Rob, who worked there too, loaded up about 30 CD’s and headed over to Hastings. Rob went up to the counter and John went inconspicuously over to the magazines and hid himself, as the Hastings management knew who he was. Rob went over to the counter and offered his stack of crappy CD’s to the girl at the counter. The girl instantly turned around and asked the manager for help. The manager began grilling Rob about the origin of so many CD’s that were from such a wide range of genres. Rob explained that he was very eclectic in his musical taste and that some of the CD’s were his sisters. After filling out an information form Rob looked around for John and saw him hiding his face behind a magazine. The girl told Rob that she could only give him 30 dollars for the entire stack of CD’s. They left with the satisfaction of getting 1 dollar for each of those CD’s from the 99 cent bin. Upon their return they relayed the whole story to me and we all laughed our heads off. I said that I wished I could have been there, John said, “Oh, you’ll get your turn.”

One week later we picked out another stack of about 30 CD’s and carefully positioned them in the stack so as to have the recognizable artists in strategic places. I walked into Hastings with my stack of CD’s and John came in a minute after me. I went to the counter to find one girl behind it and I looked around for a manager only to not find one in sight. I began commenting to the girl on how cool her job was and trying to make small talk. I had to fill out an information slip to make sure they could find me if it turned out that the CD’s were stolen. After I did that the girl handed me 60 bucks. I almost started laughing out loud. I kept my composure until I got outside and met John at his car. After that we just referred to our trips as “The Hastings Scandal”.

Isn’t it a real shame that no one will probably ever know the excitement of selling CD’s to a competitor?

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I have a strange relationship with Golden Corral. Strange, because I don’t really like the food but I do love going there. My world is always filled with people who have worked at Golden Corral. And I just have a great deal of odd memories dealing with GC. There are many things to remember and rules and guidelines to follow when deciding to dine at Golden Corral and I will share them with you.

All You Can Eat

One fine summer day, a couple of my friends and I decided that we wanted to actually go and eat “All You Can Eat” at a Golden Corral Buffet. We came in and decided to take it nice and slow. The first couple of hours went by fairly smoothly. Actually the whole day wasn’t too bad at all. We sat and talked about dumb stuff all day while going back for more “Technically Pizza” and “Aged Macaroni And Cheese”. We went through 3 shifts of servers, countless drink refills and probably 30 plates of food each. We did it just to be able to say that we had done it. As if the all day Corral-a-thon wasn’t enough value, there is a sweet trick to getting a steak dinner. If you are not staying for breakfast, lunch and dinner, then go at 3:40 in the afternoon. As you may have guessed, the steak is cooked starting at 4:00. You get the dinner food at the lunchtime prices.

You Are Never Alone In the Bathroom at Golden Corral

I was in a Golden Corral one day when I suddenly had to drop a deuce. As I got up to go, my friend told me, “You are never alone in the bathroom at Golden Corral.” I laughed at that and continued on my way. When I got in there, I saw a man washing his hands and thought, “Well I am not alone now, but he will leave soon.” I went into the stall and waited for the man to go as I felt it was going to be a noisy one, if you know what I am saying. He headed for the door and I thought I would soon be alone. As the door squeaked while closing, it suddenly stopped and made the opposite sound. “Wow, I am still not alone. Someone else is in here. That’s funny.” Then the door squeaked while 3 more people came in. I thought maybe the S.W.A.T. team was coming in to get me. I thought about waiting out the storm, when a couple more people came in. One of them went to the stall next to mine. He got comfy and then I heard one of the strangest things I have ever heard in my life. The man was relieving his extremely loud intestinal pressure while at the same time saying, “OoooooooaaaaaaaoooouuuuuuHHHhhhh”. I almost busted out laughing and would have if I hadn’t been so frightened by the fact that the plumbing was rattling. It felt like he was going on for a solid minute so I went ahead and and through my snap-pop firework under the cover of his daisy cutter bomb. You are never alone in the bathroom at Golden Corral. If you think you are, you can rest assured that there is a camera or a U.S. Senator hidden in there with you.

The Food Always Changes

Sometimes the macaroni and cheese actually tastes like macaroni with cheese. One time I even had some respectable “Technically Pizza”. The taste of the food can change drastically with each batch that is cooked. This is part of the magic and allure of Golden Corral. If you tried some mashed potatoes earlier and they tasted like pre-chewed french fries you may be surprised at the next batch that comes out. Tastes also change from location to location. If I have a burger from McDonalds in Florida and one in Seattle, they will both be equally nauseating, but at Golden Corral all past experiences must be thrown out and new levels of nausea can be reached.

Play With Your Food

Because the food is so unpredictable, you don’t have to feel guilty about starting a food fight with a bad round of side dishes. One of my friends let my brother and I in on a little magic trick that makes it appear that you are bouncing a dinner roll off of the floor and high into the air. One day while dining at the aforementioned establishment, we all took brownies from a tray that had apparently been baked using rubber cement. As I commented about the bouncy texture of the brownies, my brother began to do the bouncing trick. He did it a couple of times just for the amusement of those of us who were at our table. As he did it, I noticed that my brother now had the attention of the children at all the tables around us. I told him to keep it up. He began to really get some air up under those brownies and with a few more good throws, everyone in that section of Golden Corral was watching him bounce brownies and several people were laughing at the spectacle. Now how about that? Dinner and a show.

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Another story from my first job:

Another company policy was demonstrated with a sign on the wall. John had made the sign himself and placed it by the listening station. It said, “Here at CD Warehouse, if we catch you stealing, we will not prosecute to the full extent of the law. We will just beat the (tar) out of you.” I almost had to exercise that policy a couple of times.

The incident that stands out in my mind regarding the theft policy happened one evening as I was tending the store by myself. I was just waiting for the clock to strike nine, so that I could close and go home. It was about ten till when a guy walks in. He had a big leather jacket and jewelry on his face. You know the type; they have to dress really tough because they are just so cool. So this “cool guy” is the only person in the store and he starts perusing through the music. I have nothing to do so I just watched him. He would pick up a CD then pull it out of the case then put it back in, just to get me accustomed to his method of shopping. With just five minutes left I started giving him the evil eye hoping he would leave, by this time he had employed the old shoplifter’s tactic of not looking at me. If he can’t see me I can’t see him, right.

He pulled a CD out of the “M” section and in my mind I started thinking of what he might try to steal from that section. As I thought on that, my gaze drifted away for just a second and I looked back down to see him pull his hand out of his pocket while replacing a CD case with his other hand. I thought, “What could he be stealing? Is it Metallica, or Metal Church? Maybe it’s Mad Season.” That is if he was stealing at all. This kid had guts and he was pretty quick. He moved over to the “A” section and I thought, “Anthrax, Aerosmith or maybe Alice in Chains” At this point his back was turned to me so as to more easily hide any conspicuous activity.

At one minute to nine he turned for the door with a disappointed look, like we didn’t have what he wanted. As he got closer to the door I came out from behind the counter and headed for the door as well. He had reached the door and I was a few feet from him. He was going to turn out the door when he gave me the guiltiest look I’ve ever seen in my life. So I said, “Hey, ah, just go ahead and put those CD’s back.” But he didn’t. He acted like he didn’t hear me and walked out the door. So I ran out after him. The chase only lasted about five feet. I grabbed his jacket and was about to pull his wallet out by the chain he had on it, when he just quit. He almost went totally limp. I said, “Let’s see ‘em.” He handed me two CD’s and I just let go of him. I told him to never come back again. He was placed on our banned list.

As I was walking back inside I looked at the CD’s to find out what he had taken. Suddenly this wayward metal fan turned into a material girl. That’s right, he was stealing “Madonna” and “Paula Abdul”. I was baffled. Maybe he had a girlfriend that liked that stuff. I later found out that he did get away with one other CD or at least we found that we were missing the disc from a case when we were organizing CD’s later. To this day I am still troubled by the thought process of that individual. I closed up the store and went home, putting an end to that disturbing night.

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CD Warehouse stuff continued:

One day a man in cowboy boots and a hat was in the store. The whole time he was in the store he had a huge wad of tobacco in his lip. As he exited he reached in his mouth and dropped his tobacco in the entrance to the store. About three seconds later John saw the pile in the doorway and yelled out, but he was too late the man was already getting in his truck. So John ran out to the aisle and over to the “B” section of CD’s and pulled one of them out. By this time the truck had pulled out and started to drive away. John ran out the front door, jumping over the pile of chew, and threw the weapon he had so carefully chosen, at the truck. As the disc and case hurled through the air then crashed and exploded, John proceeded to tell the man what he thought of him. When John came back inside he said, “Stupid jerk.” He went back behind the counter and I asked him, “Why did you run out to the ‘B’ section to find a CD to throw?” He said, “I didn’t want to throw something good, and the first crappy artist that came to mind was Michael Bolton.” After that, John kept a collection of music at the register, mostly comprised of musicians like “Winger” or “Vanilla Ice”.

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I will continue with my focus on my old CD Warehouse job by telling the following story:

One afternoon, a man walked through the door, accompanied by two women. They went back and talked to my boss John. After a while they all came over to the front of the store where my friend and I were. The man and John seemed to be old friends. They talked about a wide range of things. Then John introduced us to the man. He said, “Hey guys, this is Rip and he works at the (local gentleman’s club). These girls work over there too.” John then walked over to the back wall with the man and one of the girls. The other girl stayed by my friend and myself to chat. She invited us to the club and tried to give us free passes to get in.

This episode cemented my decision to not ever go to any strip clubs. Those girls were so revolting that it drove any slight desire, which may have ever existed inside of me, away. They had high, thin, permed hair and all kinds of crazy makeup of varying colors in strange places on their faces. One of them had some seriously jacked-up teeth and the other one had no eye brows and had to paint some on. I imagined the horrible circus that would be watching those girls dance around and instantly tried to put my mind on less nauseating things. Questions soon arose in my mind. “Why would anyone want to watch anything like that? How are they still in business? Maybe they keep the lights really, really extremely low. Or maybe they have some seats and a stage about 50 yards away.” I submit that any young man whose first exposure to strippers was like mine, would not want to ever attend the strip bars. Needless to say, we rejected her free admission offer.

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When I was in high school I worked at a CD Warehouse with a friend of mine. Our boss was a man named John and he worked out a deal for CD Warehouse to sell concert tickets. The first concert we were to sell tickets for was Enrique Iglesias. This was back when Enrique was only popular amongst Hispanic people.

The first day that we had Enrique tickets was insane. Not since the Alamo, have so few Texans been surrounded by so many Mexicans. We started answering the phone, “Thanks for calling Enrique Warehouse.” The tickets were moving like hotcakes and the phone kept ringing with people who had questions about Enrique. Finally, on one call John picked up the phone and said, “Oh yeah, actually, Enrique is here right now, but only for the next five minutes. You better hurry.” My friend and I just started laughing. We laughed even harder when about four minutes later we got another rush of customers. We were inspired by John’s trick. After that day, when someone would sporadically come in for tickets, we would tell them that Enrique had placed a very special CD display on our counter for his new album, himself. They would get all giddy as they found out that Enrique had touched those very CD’s. They sold at the speed of light. We even had an autographed copy of Enrique’s newest album that was too valuable to John for him to sell it (It was John’s signature).

So, when I am denied entry at the pearly gates everyone will know why.

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