My Three Ex’s

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It all began a few years ago while waiting in a long queue at the ANZ Bank.

A well-dressed employee would come up to us randomly and thank us for our patience.

I’d say, at the flick of a switch, “I’m a patient man. Just ask my three ex-wives”.

I don’t know where that came from but he chuckled and I chuckled. It was a good line.

Then one day there was a bit of a queue at the library — a glitch in the system or something — and I thought as a spot of entertainment I’d add to the line. I had it all worked out.

I ended up with a relatively new staff member, a sour-faced woman who I’d only met once before, but I wasn’t going to be put off. It was my time.

“Thanks for your patience,” she said blankly’

“That’s okay,” I said. I think she knew what was coming. “I’m a patient man. Just ask my three ex-wives” then I added the new bit, “But you don’t want to listen to them, They’re biased.”

Then she looked me in the face. “Don’t you think, “ she said, “if all three said it independently, there may be some truth in it? You should go away and have a ponder”.

She saw to my request and I went off to have a ponder, unsure who was having who on.”

Two Men Go Into a Change Room

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There’s only one change room in the store.

I don’t check to see if it’s empty.

“Sorry”, I say to the guy who is trying on some clothes. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, do you mind?”

“That’s okay”, he says. “There’s room for two”.

I quietly disrobe and try on the gear.

Perfect fit!

“I’m good”, I say, changing hastily back.

So off I go to the counter, pay for my purchases which the assistant neatly puts in a bag, and head down the mall to  meet my mate for coffee. .

It is only when I sit down that I realize I’m wearing the other dude’s clothes.

Soap

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She had just come from the clinic from seeing the care nurse and seemed a little flustered.

Everything okay? he asked.

There was a medical student there. I said to the nurse I didn’t mind. He was neat, presentable, well spoken and was totally okay except for the fact he kept adjusting his crotch.

Perhaps he was just glad to see you.

That isn’t even remotely funny. Not these days.

Sorry, he said. I’ll be back in a minute.

Where are you going?

To the bathroom. To wash my mouth out with soap.

Waiting for the Apocalypse

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I am lying in bed waiting for the Apocalypse.

It is due fifteen minutes after midday.

We have been told these things before.

What do they know?

It is sunny outside though clouds are building.

There’s a piffle of a breeze rustling the bush outside my window though I notice it is picking up.

Could there be something in it?

Damn. There’s someone on the phone.

It’s Emily from my insurance company calling from interstate about a failed payment.

I question some details.

Just bear with me a moment, she says, as she scurries off to her superiors.

Don’t be long, I say. The Apocalypse is near.

Pardon?

The Apocalypse’

I’ll put you on hold, she says.

Dogs whine, doors clatter, the sky darkens.

Just then ADT Security phones.

What is wrong with you people? Don’t you know the Apocalypse is nigh?

Silence.

I go out to the verge, bring in the bins, look around. The winds have dropped.

All quiet on the western front.

Gus, the Jack Russel next door, barks at my presence.

It’s okay, buddy. It’s only me. And anyway it’s been postponed.

What has? it barks.

The Apocalypse.

Again?

Yes, again.

What the %$%&#.

Calm your farm, buddy.  We get to live another day.

I go inside, wait for the next alert.

 

The Factory

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The factory’s closed, he said.

Closed? As in Closed Down?

No, the security guy chuckled. Closed for repairs, renovations.

I understood.

I had been going there for years, churning out my poetry, those little dispatches from the frontiers of perception. Lately however the software had stopped working, the hardware was getting cranky too.

Someone had noticed.

When will it be re-opened? I asked.

Soon, he said. We’ve got people working on it. You work here or something?

You could say that. Guess I need a break too just as much as the machines. Thanks anyway.

He watched me go as I trudged down the street. I gave him a little wave just before I turned the corner.

 

A Way Out

 

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I was worried about whether the passageway would take too long to dry as visitors were coming later so the cleaner suggested opening the back door to let the breeze in.

– Good idea, I said, as I went back into my study and left him to it.

It was then I could hear him struggling, groaning.

– What’s wrong? I said.

–  Darn door won’t open.

I went to have a look. He was putting his whole weight into it — and he’s a big man — and still not getting a result.

– Here, I said, demonstrating. There’s a trick to it. You pull the handle up not push it down.

– Well, I never, he said. I didn’t know they still made doors like this. It should be in a door museum.

– It’s an IQ test, I smiled. I wouldn’t worry though. It took me two days to work it out and I live here.

We both chuckled. You’ve got to give people a way out.

 

 

No One Saw it Coming

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No one saw it coming. Least of all me. I was happily ensconced in a book when it EXPLODED. Such was its force that it blew the toupee off the man in front of me and propelled the stationary bus in which we were sitting two metres forward. The sneezer himself, a dread locked man in a canary yellow suit,  whooshed around the aisle of the bus startling passengers until suitably deflated he flopped beside me flatulent as a whoopee cushion.