Dwayne Perkins from Comedy Central & NBC's Funny Blog. Amusing Musings

So I was in my local post office picking up my held mail that, for some reason, wasn’t there because it was delivered.   I think my mail man deems himself an artist more than a person who provides a service.  He’s like the barber who won’t let you pick your own hair style.  Just sit in the chair and let them do their magic.  Although, I guess at that point of no longer following your wishes, they become hair stylists since barbers follow directions.  Sure, I said I would pick up my mail but my mail stylist was inspired to deliver it, a few days late.  I guess you can’t question inspiration.

While the guy helping me was in the back looking for my mail that wasn’t there, a person came in with a large envelope with 4 stamps on it.  Not wanting to wait in the long line, he handed the envelope to a clerk and said…

GUY SENDING LETTER:  Is there enough postage on this?

The clerk held the letter out in his hand, feeling the weight like you would two oranges that cost the same but you were inclined to get the one that weighed more.  Even if it weighed just a few ounces more.  And without putting the envelope on a scale the clerk said:

POST OFFICE CLERK:  You’re gonna need one more stamp.

Assuming that the clerk wasn’t being flippant, that’s an amazing ability to be able to tell  how much an envelope weighs to the nearest stamp count.  Seems this clerk may be able to tell face cards from number cards and go make a killing in poker games (Face cards have more ink on them thus weigh more)

I wonder if he’s married and does his ability to weigh things help or hurt him.

CLERK’S WIFE:  Do you think I’ve gained weight?

POST OFFICE CLERK:  Well, to send you first class it would take 27 more stamps than before…on the other hand to send you express would cost the same.  What do you mean you don’t wanna go out anymore?

Hot Chocolate Any One?

Quick Side Note:

My ebook, “Hot Chocolate for the Mind” is up on Amazon.  A collection of my funniest and most touching blogs.   Please buy my ebook at:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ATCKEFK

No Kindle, No Problem: Free Kindle Apps Here

http://amzn.to/nuQtcH

I hopped on a downtown R train in NYC. Well, I was actually on an M train that switched tracks and became an R train and then went out of service.  So technically I hopped on my second R train but, intentionally.  The whole car reeked of pooh.  Not like someone left a package but more like someone had sprayed the car with an aerosol can called “rankness.”

Some people jumped into the adjacent cars.  A surprising number of people stayed in that car.  Well, probably not surprising given the average New Yorkers smell threshold.  Of the people who stayed: some covered their noses, others slept, some seemed impervious to the whole thing.  One lady looked around for acknowledgement she needed someone to agree with her that this smell was present.  She held out a hand and looked around as if to say “It’s not just me right?!  It stinks in here right?!” Maybe she used to smell things that weren’t there as a child and can never again fully trust her olfactory system.  Note to self: Write outline for a movie called, “A Beautiful Nose.”

The woman found agreement in a couple standing near her.  The woman was clearly in pain.  The man was smiling ear to ear as he said, “I have a cold so I can’t smell anything.”  I thought to myself, “where’s your compassion buddy?”  Then I realized if he wasn’t smelling then he wasn’t breathing through his nose and if he wasn’t breathing through his nose then he was breathing through his mouth.  Call that instant Karma.  Whatever ills wafted through the air were going straight into his lungs unfiltered.  Let’s just hope that smell doesn’t affix itself to your tongue.

I only had to go one stop so I powered through. I just hope that smell doesn’t stay in my clothes.  Like the way cigarette smoke stays in your hair well after you’ve left a smoke filled room.  Or when you leave a soul food restaurant smelling of hammocks.  And your friends remind you that soul food restaurants have doggie bags and you didn’t have to smuggle gizzards out in your jacket pocket.  And then you vow to not sit close to the kitchen again even if it means sitting by the door and going into pre-hypothermia every time it opens.

Maybe I should go to a soul food restaurant to cancel out the subway train smell.

Hot Chocolate Any One?

Quick Side Note:

My ebook, “Hot Chocolate for the Mind” is up on Amazon.  A collection of my funniest and most touching blogs.   Please buy my ebook at:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ATCKEFK

No Kindle, No Problem: Free Kindle Apps Here

http://amzn.to/nuQtcH

Hey Friends,

Happy New Year! I want to thank you for your support over all these years. My years of writing funny blogs has lead to this moment:

The release of by new Ebook: Hot Chocolate for The Mind 
(A Collection of funny stories from Comedian Dwayne Perkins)

Please click on the link below and buy my ebook. It’s priced low but the laughs are mighty. It’s been my pleasure to provide you with the laughs over the years and now I ask you to buy this book and help my Kindle ebook ranking. The book is well put together and the cover page is bananas! (Notice, my face is in the spoon. A very awesome detail thought up by the cover designer, “Action” Dave Kessler.)

Buy Hot Chocolate For the Mind: 
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ATCKEFK

If you are a reader of my blogs, please leave a review at your leisure. Either way please click on the box on the first or second review that’s already on my Book’s page and click that the review was helpful.

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Link for Free Kindle App:
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I got off the plane in JFK and immediately went into Native New Yorker mode.  Now, perhaps I wasn’t fully awake or am in need of “New York” recalibration.  As I walked down the E train platform at the Jamaica-Sutphin station pulling my rollie carry-on behind me, a train pulled into the station and hoards of people going to JFK got off.  I needed to be near the front of the train when I got off so I was walking to the spot on that platform that mapped to the spot where the exit is on my departure platform.  Being near the right exit can shave off a full 30 seconds. New Yorkers treat time like rollover cell phone minutes. Always trying to trim time as if that time can be applied to anything other than tales of how quick you made the trip.

So instead of letting the wave of people leaving the station pass first I opted to roll upstream against the current of purpose driven travelers.  They were going to a flight,  I had just got off one.  No way I could match their intensity or urgency.  Still, upstream I went.  This was a move best left to someone who had been in New York longer than 5 minutes. It was like going into a game during crunch time without warming up.  They’re lathered up and limber.  I was stiff and about as alert as a deer in headlights.  With people standing waiting for a train and a parade of people exiting that left little room for me to go against the grain, rollie in tow.  The shoulder bumps were taken in stride by both sides.  That comes with the territory when your city is packed like a can of sardines. Rolling over someone’s foot however is not on the list of acceptable contact.  I got greedy and tried to fit into a space to small for me and my luggage.  That resulted in me rolling over a guy’s foot. I knew it could get ugly. I apologized profusely and while I tried to make amends, two things happened.

We both noticed that he was wearing nondescript sneakers or to be less diplomatic, rejects (aka bo-bos).  I could see in his face the pain from my bag going over his foot turn into relief that he was wearing a pair of sneakers he cared nothing about.  He was almost happy that his plan had worked.  Like he was saying “I told you so” to the ghost of getting dressed past. His plan had worked. His Jordans had lived to see another day because he opted not to make a fashion statement on the E train. Plus he saw that I saw. I knew his sneakers didn’t carry any prestige.  He was left only with the pain to complain about but a half empty carry-on can only hurt but so much.

If you’re going to rollover someone’s foot, it’s best that they be wearing bo-bos.  The second thing that happened?  He gave me the tourist pass. He could tell I was coming from the airport and may not be versed in the ways. I didn’t set the record straight.

When I merge onto the freeway in Los Angeles, I always yield to a car not as nice as mine.  After you my friend in the Chevy Nova.  But if a Bentley is vying for the spot I want, I gun it. Never go to war with someone who has nothing to lose or less to lose than you. Does this now make me a war strategist?