How Long Before I Use My Ejector Seat?
Co-worker: Thanks for driving me to work while my car's in the shop.
Me: No problem.
Co-worker: I wouldn't have asked if anyone else in the office had been available.
Co-worker: Don't get me wrong. You're a nice guy and all. It's just that sometimes I get a certain vibe from you. Like...
Me: Like what?
Co-worker: Oh, nothing. I shouldn't have said anything.
Me: No. You shouldn't have.
(I press the ejector seat button.)
* * *
Friend: Go faster, will you? The movie starts in ten minutes.
Me: I'm not going to get a speeding ticket.
Friend: Not going this slow, you're not.
Me: We'll get there in time.
Friend: If we miss the beginning, the whole movie is ruined.
(My finger creeps toward the ejector button.)
Friend: Also, I want to get some popcorn before we go in.
(Closer to the button...)
Friend: The light's turning yellow! Hit the gas!
* * *
Girlfriend: I saw what you were doing, you know.
Me: Saw me doing what?
Girlfriend: Flirting with the waitress.
Me: I wasn't.
Girlfriend: Why is your hand moving toward that button?
Me: What button?
Girlfriend: This one. I never noticed it before. What's it do?
Me: Let's find out.
* * *
Hitchhiker: Thanks for stopping.
Me: You're welcome. You look familiar.
Hitchhiker: So do you.
Me: I think you were my waitress the other night.
Hitchhiker: That's right!
(My finger creeps past the ejector seat button and presses a button on the stereo. A Barry White CD starts to play.)