After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to Target.
Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunate, my wife is like most women - she loves to browse.
Yesterday my dear wife received the following letter from the local Target store management:
Dear Mrs. Harris,
Over the past six months, your husband has caused quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behavior and have been forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against your husband, Mr. Harris, are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras:
February 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.
February 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, "Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away." This caused the employee to leave her assigned station and receive a reprimand from her Supervisor that in turn resulted with a union grievance, causing management to lose time and costing the company money.
March 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&Ms on layaway.
April 14: Moved a "CAUTION - WET FLOOR" sign to a carpeted area.
April 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told the children shoppers he'd let them get in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department, to which twenty children obliged.
May 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, "Why can't you people just leave me alone?" Paramedics were called.
June 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.
July 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the "Mission Impossible" theme.
July 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled "PICK ME! PICK ME!"
And last, but not least:
August 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile, and then yelled very loudly, "Hey! There's no toilet paper in here." One of our clerks passed out.
An old Irish man is lying in bed, very ill. His son is sitting at his bedside, expecting the end to come at any moment. The old man looks up at the boy and says, "Son, it's time for you to get me a Protestant minister."
The son is astounded. "But, Dad!" he protests, "You've been a good Catholic all you life! You're delirious. It's a priest ye be wanting now, not a minister."
The old man looks up at him and says, "Son, please. It's me last request. Get a minister for me!"
"But, Dad," cries the son, "Ye raised me a good Catholic. You've been a good Catholic all your life. Ye don't want a minister at a time like this!"
The old man manages to croak out the words, "Son, if you respect me and love me as a father, you'll go out and get me a Protestant minister right now."
The son relents and goes out and gets the minister. They come back to the house, and the minister goes upstairs and converts him. As the minister is leaving the house, he passes Father O'Malley coming quickly through the door. The minister stares solemnly into the eyes of the priest. "I'm afraid you're too late, Father," he says. "He's a Protestant now."
Father O'Malley rushes up the steps and bursts into the old man's room.
"Pat! Pat! Why did ye do it?" he cries. "You were such a good Catholic! We went to St. Mary's together! You were there when I performed my first mass! Why in the world would ye do such a thing like this?"
"Well," the old man says as he looks up at his dear friend. "I figured if somebody had to go, it was better one of “them” than one of “us”."