Back in the early days (when I still had a job and dinosaurs walked the earth), laptops were few and far between. Only the most senior managers and people who could suck up the senior managers had possession of laptops. Why, I cannot answer as they were generally two finger typists who probably thought a serial port was somewhere you plugged in your breakfast.
But anyways, one of the senior managers, was bragging about how fantastic her new laptop was. How she could cart it around with her. Work on any desk in the office. Even take it how or work on it during her many flight interstate. She made a big deal over how the other senior managers would probably use theirs only as door stops but as the HEAD OF IT she would know exactly how to use one.
One day, after she had unpacked the thing, plugged it in and was typing away on it during one of our many, many, many, many meetings, continually stating that her productivity was so much better than ours due her laptop-ishness, the meeting finally draws to a close.
Unplugging HER laptop-of-power she packed it away carefully into the carry bag and proceeded to unplug and windup the power lead. With a final flourish as she hoiked the carry bag on to her should and gave a whirl towards the door, the laptop came flying out of the UNZIPPED carry bag and hit the door.
We never saw he using that particular laptop again, and for some reason went back to using a standard desktop.
Watermelons. They are big and heavy and when there are three of the them, much too much for a small old lady to schlep out from the grocers to the car. So engaging her favorite carry-boy, he started to lug the paper bag filled with three watermelons out to the little old lady's car. As they approached the curb, it was becoming more and more apparent that a single paper bag was not going to hold three watermelons. As they approached the car, the bag finally gave up the ghost, left this mortal coil and went titsup. Watermelons spilled from the bag like so many bowling balls on pennant night, rolling their way across the car park, one coming to rest against her tyre, another under the car and the third rolling its way out onto the street, where the passing truck driver took (apparent) great delight in swerving, just in time, to smash that watermelon to a million pieces of pulp and seed. No, I wasn't that carry-boy, just someone who stood in the street and applauded.
Those dang mobile (cell) phones. Wherever you go those ubiquitous little suckers with their flashing lights and annoying ring tones assault your aural and visual senses. Thank god they don't come with a smell tone otherwise our olfactory nerves would be dead by now. So waiting at the tram stop, you can hear the business-executive-type, yelling into his phone, making his way across a busy intersection heading straight for the tram. A few quick steps and he inconveniently and completely fails to avoid the tram tracks, stumbling over one of them. His phone makes giant cartwheels in the air, falling to a timely and much applauded death under the wheels of the tram as the Number 1 down Swanston street pulls away.
Pizza. They' not too hot to handle, but the large and bulky box can be too much for the harassed man, complete with nagging wife and whinging children, crossing the parking lot. A few short stumbles later and the pizza box lies flat on the road, unblemished and completely free of distress. The pizza however, took it upon itself to take flight from the box in mid-air, landing (of course), face-down in the middle of the car-park. Much screaming (from the kids) and yelling (from the wife) and the poor guy, makes his way back into the pizza shop to order another one. This time without the addition of car park gravel.
Friction can be a powerful thing. When something is stationary it takes a lot of force to get it moving. When it's a bed frame, on the back of a ute, going around the corner, un-tethered and unsecured, not all that much force is needed apparently to make it fly from the back of the ute like a newborn baby bird trying to take wing. And it flew about as well. Straight into the cars parked along side the road. Ahhh. Rope. Knew we brought it for some reason.
Children, they're a pain in the arse if they're yours and worse if they're someone else's. Take two kids, eating ice-cream cones on a hot summer day on the Gold Coast. One kid takes large bites, finishing his in a matter of minutes. The other, taking smaller bites, relishing the teasing he will give his sister when hers is all finished and he is still slurping that wonderful, creamy ice. Watching his face as he turns to her, pokes out his tongue and takes a large lick, just to see the expression on her face, as his ice-cream takes a tumble from the top of his cone, like a high diver at the Olympics, does a double somersault with a pike and splashes to the ground. The judges look up and award a 10. The boy breaks into tears.