QUESTION # 640: BABYSITTERS BLOGGING CLUB

Dear Useless Men,

My sister likes me to babysit her three kids. They are hooligans though. She doesn't know that I lock them all in separate closets and blog till she gets back. This has been working just fine but now one of the brats has been learning how to speak and might actually begin to complain. How can I shut them up?

Auntie Dearest

Dearest Auntie,

Whew! Finally! An easy one for the Intern! I was so afraid the Trademarked Advice Randomizer was going to spit out another one of those "how do I shave the middle of my back without cutting myself?" or "where's the best place to buy hypo-allergenic duct tape?" type questions. Seriously. I know the thing is supposed to be "random", but I swear it picks all the freak questions and sends them to me. I may have to stop feeding the hamster on the wheel and see if that clears things up...

But, as I said, your question is an easy one. Being the oldest of seven children, I've had plenty of experience "taking care" of kids and making sure they didn't talk later.

In my day, it was all about timing and bribery. You can do almost anything to a kid as long as you become their best friend five minutes before their parents return.

You can hold them down and threaten to spit in their face. You can make them clean your room. You can lock them outside in sub-zero temperatures. Pretty much anything, really, as long as you turn it around in those last five minutes by letting them play with something they covet.

For my brothers, it was my GI Joes. They weren't allowed to look at my GI Joes, let alone touch them! So, whenever I needed to make them forget a couple hours worth of abuse, I'd invite them to play. And... voila! No tattling and no repercussions for me!

Thanks to the advances of technology, there's an even easier course of action for you. It's called a Furby. Yeah, it is quite possibly the most annoying little toy to be mass-produced in China, but it has an almost hypnotic lure for little kids. And therein lies the key to your imminent problem.

Just buy a Furby and let the one who's learning to speak play with it while he's in the closet. I guarantee that, within the course of a week, that kid's speech development will not only be halted, he'll have picked up a completely unintelligible language that will have his parents scratching their heads and looking for the number of a good speech therapist.

He'll be so unable to communicate (except with the beloved Furby) that you'll be able to blog to your heart's content without a worry in the world!

And, hey... If all else fails, you can do what our babysitter does: Put 'em to work answering disturbing questions from total strangers!

Sincerely,
Useless Intern


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QUESTION # 637: LATE SHIFT IS CHILD'S PLAY

Dear Useless Men,

I'm beginning the night shift at work today. Any good advice for adjusting from day shift to night shift?

Sleepless in Ontario

Dear Sleepless In Ontario,

Aaaahhh, Night Shifts. Oh, how I could wax nostalgic about the times spent in the wee hours of night in my childhood. My Dad would take my brother and I to work with him on the overnight shift at the plastics plant where he was a shipper/receiver. A shipper/receiver of plastics. Or, as he'd have us call him, Boss.

In the small shipping (and receiving) office, we'd start the night off with the free coffee (or hot chocolate) (or lemon tea) dispensed from the cafeteria coffee machine. You just hit the button of your preference and in 30 seconds you had a warm beverage! It even added sugar and milk! Cool for coffee. Not cool for Lemon tea.

My Dad would get the rundown from the afternoon Boss while I ogled the Sunshine Girl pin-up from the local Sun hanging on the bulletin board. These were different times back then. Great for an impressionable youth like myself, but not so for my political correctness.

For the first hour my brother and I would just hang in the office while my Dad ventured off on the fork lift to places unknown. Sometimes we'd step out to the industrial scale beside the office and weigh ourselves. I didn't know at the time that the company offset the scale to accommodate the 40 lb skids. For years I thought I was a 50 lb weakling.

When Dad returned from the places of fearsome dangers, (we weren't allowed to leave the warehouse), the fun stuff began. He would get my brother and I to stack the order slips in order of priority delivery and whoever finished first got a head start on the forklift races.

Ooooh, the Forklift Races. The first race consisted of us pulling stock off shelves and placing it in an open area in order of its position in the truck. My brother usually won these on account he had more geography schooling.

My Dad, who didn't want me to get discouraged, would often give me bonus time for the next race: unloading and reloading the trucks. Oh, how Dad would get nervous as we double stacked the skids, but we never let him down by hitting the roof or sides of the truck. We were good.

Not having learned how to ride a bike yet, I was at a disadvantage some with the forklifts. However, the final challenge was where I would shine. The filing of the companies yellow slips from the orders! While pulling the stock and loading the truck, we had to be sure to rip out the yellow copies.

My brother often chose speed over completeness, and would more often then not have to climb through the truck and retrieve a forgotten slip. This meant loads of extra time for me!

Oh, the fun we had every Friday and Saturday night. In the mornings, my Dad would let us treat him to breakfast, and after all the fun he let us have at his work, it was the least we could do! I still remember him bragging to his buddies about how he got his kids to do his work ... which didn't sound right. I always thought it strange how he called our play, “work.” But he was proud of how quickly we caught on to the job.

Actually, I never really thought about it. I think he was getting us to do HIS work! I'll have to ask Dad about this.

Now, come to think of it, my job at the lumberyard was essentially shipping and receiving. Don't get me wrong. I've always enjoyed that job best! But jeepers, I think my Dad was breaking child labour laws.

Oh sure, our fun had your standard half hour lunch break and 2 fifteen minute breaks. But now, upon long reflection, I feel used!

Listen closely Sleepless! I can't tell you how to adjust, but if you take you kids for special "Daddy weekend time" then you won't have to worry about it.

Promise me this though: don't make the kids buy you breakfast in the morning. That was low, Dad.

That was low.

Sincerely,
One Useless Brother


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QUESTION # 536: LOVING COFFEE LIKE A BROTHER

Dear Useless Men,

My brother laughs at my choice of coffee. I like flavoured beans like french vanilla and cream caramel and others which are really smooth and mellow and smell great. Anyway, he laughs and says my coffee sucks. Not very nice of him. I don't discourage him from drinking his battery acid blend of coffee.

What is a good comeback I can give him next time he ridicules my coffee?

Signed
The Sister of Bitter Coffee Man

Dear Sister of Bitter Coffee Man,

This little problem is not about coffee. No coffee drinker would put down another coffee no matter how wussie it is. Real coffee drinkers stick together.

Unless they are drinking decaffeinated, then go to town on them.

Your brother is simply trying to reach out to you in the only way boys know how. They make fun. He is pouring out his soul like a steaming cup-o-joe, and he's hoping you'll take a sip. Sounds creepy? You're right, but that's boys for you.

If I were to give you a snappy comeback, and I have a few doozies, it will only cause your brother to withdraw and leave you alone. He may even start respecting you, not only as his sister, but as a person. Like one of the guys.

You don't want that. Trust me.

He'll start hanging out with you all the time, trying to ignite your farts, arm wrestling you for the last burger, and getting you to be his wing man while he hits on your friends. Generally, he’ll be annoying, but not the acceptable annoyance of the mean brother. We're talking more of that annoying "friend" that just won't leave you alone, or take the hint when you change your phone number, or move without telling them.

By not using the superb zinger that I have created for just such an occasion as this, you will be strengthening your sibling relationship. By simply responding with a "Thank you, I appreciate you're opinion" and a "You're right, my coffee is wussy" you'll just infuriate him more.

And isn't that what family is all about?

Sincerely,
One Useless Brother


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