I was checking into a hotel once when a little old lady approached and asked what time we were leaving. She pointed out the window at a bus. I nodded, checked the departure time, and told her. She asked if I would be her driver. I told her I didn't think so, but I would be more than pleased to be her driver, and told her I hoped I saw her on the bus. She was all smiles when she left.
Checking into a hotel once, we asked the rate. They told us. We asked the government rate. They told us. It was worse. We asked what got the best rate. Turns out it was a truck driver. They asked what we did, we told them we were truck drivers. They said fine, what kind of truck do you drive? We said "belly dump." (We were flying a tanker, dropping mud). We got the discount. No further explaination required.
Now when people ask, they see the epaulets, they see the tie, the see what used to be my hair, combed and trimmed as much as I dare. I tell them I drive the bus in the parking lot. Never get asked twice.
However, if you're having trouble fending off that first question, "Are you a pilot?," I suggest one of the following openers to guide you in your conversation:
"No, ma'am, I'm not. But ever since I got put on the child sex offender list, I find this uniform helps keep the reporters off my back. Say, that's a nice daughter you have there. How old is she?"
"No, Sir. I just wear this snazzy set of threads cuz the chicks dig it. I like brunettes. Petite ones, like that one by your side. She's your wife? Cooool, if you dig me. Heeey, babe, I'm a pilot. What do you think about that?"
"No, sir. I'm wearing this uniform to cover up my leperosy. It helps me meet people who would otherwise turn away in disgust. May I shake your hand?"
"Pilot? Yes, sir. I'm here volunteering for the Salvation Army, taking the time to collect for Friends of Katrina. How about a big, hearty donation in the name of the Lord?"
"Pilot? Yes, I was, until those blood sucking leaches in management furloughed my ass. Now I roam hotels looking for people upon whom to feed until my unemployment kicks in. Will you be my friend?"
"Pilot, und zchekersplit zie doy? Nichen und farfegnugen lolipop, und est wilderspaden nogoot. Funda, kunda, wunda, ert, ert zie splat. Goobledegok, ein schwein trein spline ascot balderdash zie die. Unt, hile hitler!"
"Pilot, I whast ah piwlot, wot befwhore I gonean marie ie ied the bottle. In juhst twelfsh schteps I, ah, I can fly again. You wahnna go?"
"Well, sort of a pilot. I mean, I fly. Sometimes. At night. To visit my children. We go together, my children and I. My children of the night. We go, to suck the blood, I mean visit the fair people of this great city. In the night. We go. Yes. Has anyone ever told you, madam, that you have lovely veins in your neck? I thought so."
Those usually work for me, and you're welcome to try them. Or you could come up with your own. It's not as hard as you might think and then you can stop abusing little old ladies. Unless you like it...
Checking into a hotel once, we asked the rate. They told us. We asked the government rate. They told us. It was worse. We asked what got the best rate. Turns out it was a truck driver. They asked what we did, we told them we were truck drivers. They said fine, what kind of truck do you drive? We said "belly dump." (We were flying a tanker, dropping mud). We got the discount. No further explaination required.
Now when people ask, they see the epaulets, they see the tie, the see what used to be my hair, combed and trimmed as much as I dare. I tell them I drive the bus in the parking lot. Never get asked twice.
However, if you're having trouble fending off that first question, "Are you a pilot?," I suggest one of the following openers to guide you in your conversation:
"No, ma'am, I'm not. But ever since I got put on the child sex offender list, I find this uniform helps keep the reporters off my back. Say, that's a nice daughter you have there. How old is she?"
"No, Sir. I just wear this snazzy set of threads cuz the chicks dig it. I like brunettes. Petite ones, like that one by your side. She's your wife? Cooool, if you dig me. Heeey, babe, I'm a pilot. What do you think about that?"
"No, sir. I'm wearing this uniform to cover up my leperosy. It helps me meet people who would otherwise turn away in disgust. May I shake your hand?"
"Pilot? Yes, sir. I'm here volunteering for the Salvation Army, taking the time to collect for Friends of Katrina. How about a big, hearty donation in the name of the Lord?"
"Pilot? Yes, I was, until those blood sucking leaches in management furloughed my ass. Now I roam hotels looking for people upon whom to feed until my unemployment kicks in. Will you be my friend?"
"Pilot, und zchekersplit zie doy? Nichen und farfegnugen lolipop, und est wilderspaden nogoot. Funda, kunda, wunda, ert, ert zie splat. Goobledegok, ein schwein trein spline ascot balderdash zie die. Unt, hile hitler!"
"Pilot, I whast ah piwlot, wot befwhore I gonean marie ie ied the bottle. In juhst twelfsh schteps I, ah, I can fly again. You wahnna go?"
"Well, sort of a pilot. I mean, I fly. Sometimes. At night. To visit my children. We go together, my children and I. My children of the night. We go, to suck the blood, I mean visit the fair people of this great city. In the night. We go. Yes. Has anyone ever told you, madam, that you have lovely veins in your neck? I thought so."
Those usually work for me, and you're welcome to try them. Or you could come up with your own. It's not as hard as you might think and then you can stop abusing little old ladies. Unless you like it...
