Funny stories that weren't funny at the time o_O

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I don't want to keep this thread all to myself, so I'm making it a general funny/ironic story thread for anyone to post in.

This is a story from my own childhood, when I was 9 (ten years ago! )

I was in year four in primary school, and I was the odd one out in the class, as you could imagine. Always picked last for games and sports, never being able to sit anywhere unless the teacher authorised it, because no one would let me sit next to them otherwise. The list goes on.

There was one particular game that was exceptionally popular in our class. It was called "Celebrity Heads" It consisted of having three students sit at the front of the class, facing away from the whiteboard, then others would write the names of famous people or characters, real or fictional, on the whiteboard behind their heads. They had to take it in turns asking "yes or no" questions that would give them clues as to whose name was written behind their heads. If they got a "yes" answer, they were allowed to ask another question, but if they got a "no" answer, it was the next person's turn. The game goes on until all three players have figured out what name is written behind them. Recognise it? A variation of this game was featured in the film Inglourious Basterds.

Throughout the school year, I had desperately wanted to play, because it meant an opportunity to show off my deductive abilities in front of the class, and to give everyone one less reason to pick on me. It would also make me one of everyone else, as I had a strong suspicion that everyone else had played at least once before I got the chance, and there were some that had already played five or six times that year, because they were popular. I didn't enjoy being one of the rest of the class who merely droned "yes" or "no" in response to the questions.

One day, when preparing to play the game, the unthinkable happened: the teacher selected me to play! I was gobsmacked, and I couldn't believe my luck. I eagerly approached the front of the class, and took my seat, the third one, as I was the last of the three to be picked, almost as an afterthought, in retrospect. I sat down, jubilant, and keenly observed the students whose turn it was to write the names on the whiteboard (I had never been chosen to do that, either). Nothing could stop me now.

Then it all went horribly wrong.

The three students were about to write the names, when the teacher abruptly said, "I think we'll make it a bit easier this time." I was heartbroken. It was like having a lollipop fall into a sandpit; it still exists, but it's covered in sand, and awful to eat without washing, and even then, the memory remains.

With that one statement she lashed me twice. The first lash was due to the fact that the game was going to be different for when I played it, as opposed to when everyone else had played it. I was most certainly the only one in the class who hadn't yet played the game, and the other two who were playing had certainly played before multiple times. I didn't want it to be different. I didn't want to be known as the one who won the game when it was different, because then I wouldn't be admired as much, because the game when I played wasn't identical to the one the cool kids played. The second lash was due to the fact that the difference was that it would be easier. If I guessed whose name was written behind my head in, say, five questions, equalling the record (whatever it may have been, I don't remember), then it would be nowhere near as impressive as the original record, the person having gotten the answer in five questions in the normal, "harder", version of the game.

So that sucked, but it was about to get worse.

The teacher said, "I think we'll make it a bit easier this time."
My heart and mind reacted, saying "No!" internally.
The teacher continued, "I think we'll just have famous sportspeople today."
This time, I actually called out, "No!"
Then my teacher, oblivious to my protest, continued by saying, "Yeah," which, in typical Australian fashion, sounded like a question, when in reality she was insisting beyond reproach.

I HATE sports. I've ALWAYS hated sports. I have never EVER been able to see the appeal in them, or the point, when it's a waste of energy for its own meaningless ends, NOR have I ever been able to fathom how I, or anyone else, could draw any enjoyment from them. I slumped in my seat, unable to believe what was happening.

The three students eagerly approached the whiteboard and wrote down a name behind each of us. Then the game began.

The first player asked the question, "Am I a basketballer?"
"No," the class responded.

The second player asked the question, "Am I a female?"
"Yes."
"Am I Kathy Freeman?"
"No."

Now it was my turn. Three questions had been asked so far. Having never played before, this meant that there were only three possible questions I could ask. I didn't know it then, but this is one of my many behavioural traits that has helped me in identifying myself as an individual with Asperger's Syndrome: using stock words or phrases in unfamiliar situations, as those have been previously used and accepted in that situation.

I pondered the three questions. The third one, asking a specific name, was out of the question, as I had no clues yet as to who it could be, and, in any case, had been used as a SECOND question by the other player, so that was out. Out of the remaining two, I opted for the sport question, rather than the gender question. The sport question would be less personal than the gender question, as asking a question such as "Am I male?", and getting a negative response, would trigger laughter and sneers at my expense, fuelled by my already-present lack of popularity.

So, I ventured forward, "Am I a soccer player?"
"No," the class responded.

I was slightly crestfallen, but I knew it was to be expected, as there are many sports in the world, and I would have been quite lucky to get it right on the first shot. But then I realised that that PARTICULAR sport would have garnered a negative response. The student who wrote the name on the whiteboard behind my head was an Aussie, with no direct ancestry to another country. In my school, and indeed in most schools throughout Australia, at this particular age, there was some form of rampant racism making the rounds. I'm Greek background, and have experienced being called a "wog" just like any other Greek or Middle Eastern background kid. The divide had led to certain other things being classified as belonging to one side or another, particularly sports. Soccer was unanimously deemed a "wog" sport, as the Aussie kids had "Aussie Rules Footy" to fall back on. Since an Aussie kid was writing the name for me, a Greek, to guess, he wasn't going to make it easy for me, was he? My unpopularity backed up my conclusion that I was foolish to ask if the person played soccer.

The game continued, and the same kinds of questions were being asked, and some different ones, some "yes" and some "no", but due to my unsatisfactory first attempt at the sport question, I suddenly felt driven to continue along the same track, and I was intent on getting a "yes" answer to an "Am I a _____ player?" question.

This, however, led to my ultimate downfall, as I ran down the list of sports in my mind, it took me fifteen negative responses before I finally got a "yes", on "Am I a swimmer?" By this time, the other two players had already guessed their names, and I was the last one, on display, on the spot, in the spotlight. Swimming is my least favourite sport of them all, of course.

Upon that "yes", my young racist mind though, "Trust the yobbo to give me a swimmer, the most successful sport for Australia worldwide." Keep in mind that I no longer have this same racist disposition. I have since grown out of it, as I see it as unnecessary and tiresome malice and unpleasantness.

That "yes", by the way, was particularly loud, as it was laced with impatience and exasperation on the part of the rest of the class.

But then I was stuck, I only knew one swimmer's name, and that was Michael Klim, because a news story had made a point of him having no hair anywhere on his body. It was when the news had mentioned something non-sport related (sort of) during the sport article did my attention wander towards it.

"Am I Michael Klim?"
"No."

Uh oh. I was screwed.

"I don't know any other swimmers."

Jeers and catcalls befell my ears. The teacher, in all her kindness (which set me up in the first place), told them to hush up, and promptly told me to stand up, turn around and see who it was. It was Ian Thorpe. This was 1999, the Sydney 2000 Olympics hadn't happened yet, so I had never heard his name before.

So there it was. Instead of

-Participating in the cool name-guessing game,
-Getting right answer after right answer,
-Showing off my intellect,
-Getting the answer in five questions or less,
-Gaining admiration from my peers,
-And becoming generally more accepted in the classroom,

I

-Was subjected to the boring sporting name-guessing torture round,
-Getting wrong answer after wrong answer,
-Showing of my ignorance in a subject I had no interest in and a subject I felt I was above,
-Not getting the answer at all, even after fifteen questions,
-Gaining scorn from my peers,
-And becoming generally more rejected and outcast in the classroom.

Thanks a lot, teacher.

It was horrifying and harmful at the time, but now I look back and laugh a laugh of bitter irony.

Good grief. Sounds like your class was filled with tossers and w*kers.

X| You were in one sucky situation there.

one story I have, since this thread is for shareing stories.

When I worked in the garage booth one night, a guy came along who wound up three, measly cents short of the fee. I simply wasn't going to pay a single cent for him, so he had to pay up. "Do you take credit cards or debit?" I said "No sorry sir. This machine is too old." He was starting to get stressed out, looking all over his wallet and car for three pennies. One person or two behind him were getting impatient, wandering what the hold up was. He said "The person at the hotel next door said it's paid for!. Can't I just bring it back later?!" I told him, as anyone. "Well, I need your liscence so I can fill out a paper so you can come back later."
Him "THIS IS BS! He told me this was paid for!"
Me "Someone at the hotel keeps telling people their validation works. I'm sorry, it doesn't."
Him "I just gave him the money!!"
Me "Well, that's not my problem is it?"
We argue a little. He was obviously getting ticked.
He mumbles, giveing me the liscence reluctantly. I take over 5 minutes to fill out the paper slip, and have him sign it, yes, for three #$% cents! The people behind him already looked annoyed enough for me to be able to tell. hahah.
He then signed and left. He returned the next day, laughed with my coworker, and paid 3 cents. No doubt, his money was refunded from the idiot next door.

My brother and I liked to invent things. One of the first things was a dalek, which wasn't that technically marvellous a creation... it was basically an upside down corrugated iron bin, with a toilet plunger attached to it, circles painted on it, and my brother in roller skates.

I pushed him from the top of our hill, and he rolled down it at speed crying, "exterminate..... AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" before bouncing off a milk truck.

The punishment wasn't at all funny...

We didn't learn though... within weeks we'd invented, first, a glider fashioned from waterproof ponchalls (is that how you spell it) bin bags, and bamboo bought from the garden section in Woollies, which, not surprisingly, fell to pieces when we jumped off crags in the Lake District when on holiday, then a submarine, fabricated from electrical masking tape, an inflatable dinghy, and a paddling pool, with my brother perched courageously within, backed up by a snorkel, while I did the count down from ten, before shoving him in on a shopping trolley.

To be fair, I did at least dive in and save him and when the whole thing went horribly wrong.

I think we were grounded for the rest of that year.

Well this really has nothing to do with sports. Sort of anyway. I was in grade school, don't remember what grade, and I was with my first girlfriend holding hands on the grass. Now I have to explain that it wasn't my idea about the girlfriend, it was mostly peer pressure and I hated holding hands. All I can remember is how sweaty my hand got and that it was very uncomfortable. So here I am in this situation because people in my class (little matchmakers I guess) thought we should 'go out' and hold hands and I think she wrote me a little note with one of those check boxes. Check here for yes or here for no. I think it was because I was the outcast and quiet and so was she. Draw your own conclusions about society's attempt to mold us to it's own ideals.

So back to the point, I am in this situation trying to find a way out without drawing even more attention to myself that I don't want to be in and out of nowhere, like a streak in the sky, this football just slams right into her face. I mean right in the face. I still remember the sound, like from an action movie or a fighting video game when you punch someone really hard. CRUNCH! Hehe.

Problem solved.

It makes me laugh now to no end.