One of my best friends as a kid was named Mike. We spent a million hours together, and got into some excellent trouble.
We set off a firecracker in the man’s room of Murphy’s Mart, for instance, and were man-handed by security. Murphy’s was a giant discount store, similar to K-Mart. We used to run wild through the place, and should’ve been banned for life. But somehow they allowed the endless shenanigans to continue.
On this particular day we went into the bathroom, with pockets full of firecrackers. I don’t think it was pre-planned, it was just a logical procession of events. One of us put a firecracker on the sink, with the fuse hanging over the edge, and the other one lit it. Then we power-walked toward the store exit, giggling in anticipation.
Yeah, we didn’t get far… That thing went off and it sounded like the entire front of the building exploded. I mean it was LOUD: impossibly loud. I knew we’d gone overboard with this one, but kept walking, hoping for the best. Holy shit!
I think we were trying to play it cool, and blend in with the shoppers. That’s why we didn’t run. But it didn’t work. Two security guards were immediately upon us, and they weren’t happy. They were actually shoving us around, and getting a little physical. We were about 14 at the time, and those guys REALLY wanted to kick our asses.
They herded us into an office, deep in the bowels of the operation. It was a part of the building I’d never seen before, which was kind of cool. Some woman said, “Are these the two that did it?” and shook her head in disapproval. She told us, in a scolding tone, that an old man had been in one of the stalls, and we nearly gave him a heart attack. Heh.
The guards made us sit in chairs, and wanted to know our names, and our parents’ phone numbers.
And Mike told them his name was Zippo Hartley. Where that came from, I do not know. I nearly swallowed my tongue. When one of them confirmed it by saying, “Zippo??” I was barely holding it together. But, of course, that ploy couldn’t be maintained, and our folks were informed.
The thing, though? They weren’t mad. Neither of us got into serious trouble because of it. I remember everyone laughing about the old man, and how we’d probably cured his constipation. Whew!
Oh, there are tons of stories involving Mike… Maybe I should do a standalone update?
One more quickie: There was a laundromat in our little town, that was a million degrees inside during the summer. So, they always had the front and back doors propped open. And about once a month Mike and I would ride our bikes all the way through the place. We’d enter through the front, slalom between the washers and folding tables, and exit through the back.
And the morbidly obese woman who worked there would completely lose her mind, which is why we did it. She’d screech and holler, and wave a broom at us. It never stopped being hilarious.
Mike was a really good baseball player, and pitched a no-hitter in college. He lives near Charlotte now, and whenever we get together, it all just starts up again… I have a lot of history with my particular Mike. But what about yours?
Please tell us your Mike stories in the comments.
And I’ll see you guys again next time.
Don’t know a Mike? How about a Susan? Or a Jimmy?
Related Posts
Sweet Sainted Mother of Harold Hecuba! It’s Been Way Too Long
Ever Been Bitten By A Spider? I Think I Was Last Week, And It Wasn’t Good
A Few Quick Things, vol. 62
We Made It! Christmas Is Behind Us For Another Year!
Leaving Home For The First Time: How’d It Go For You?
Pulled Over, Yet Again! Please Share Your Stories
There is no way I’m first. I read the update!
Mike is my stepdad’s name. He’s, um, a character. Long braided hair, Harley’s and alcohol, ‘by God’ this and that, looks like he is overdue with twins. He’s intense, for sure.
One of my best friends from my childhood is named Mike. The guy’s a monument to not paying any damn attention to “healthy living,” because he still looks pretty much the same as he did 40 years ago.
Also one of my other “Mike” friends is a girl. To be honest, I have a hard time remembering her real name, she’s just Mike. Every time someone refers to her and her husband (Frank & Mike), everyone thinks we’re talking about a gay couple.
Every Mike I’ve ever known has been a great guy. Even the name “Mike” makes me happy.
3 Mikes in grammar school. All nice kids.
Worked with numerous Mikes – all great guys.
My friend’s husband is Mike.
I do remember one in particular – Mike (sonova)Babich. Funny guy. Walked across the street to a Christmas tree lot and ripped off a Charlie Brown tree. Only problem was it snowed and his footsteps went right back to McDonalds. BUSTED. We all pitched in for the tree, the old tree man was given free food and coffee for the month of December and the old tree man and Mike actually became good friends. Lost touch with him for a number of years but someone told me his wife died at a very young age leaving Mike a single parent of 2 young kids.
Yeah, never knew a shitty Mike.
Mike is my husband, soulmate and best friend. We have been together for 19 years and married for 9. We are even more in love now, then 19 years ago. He makes me mad sometimes, as most husbands do, but never makes me sad. He says the funniest, most random things sometimes that make me laugh so hard I cry. For instance, I was drinking an orange soda, and he took a big swig of it, then whistled real loud. And said ” wow this orange soda really helps my whistling skills” I completely lost it and laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.
Add me to the pile of people who can’t think of a bad Mike I’ve met. Wonder if the same will hold true for everyone else?
My little brother is Mike. He got into RC airplanes as a kid and crashed everyone of them. Around the time he got out of high school, he decided he wanted to take flying lessons. He flies the real things much better than the models thank you baby Jesus.
When Mike received his license, he rushed home and woke me up and wanted to give me a ride. It was noon on a Sunday and I was hungover as was the norm back in my early twenties. A short bit later we arrive at the Neil Armstrong airport. We hop into an incredibly tiny Cessna 150 and he starts with his check list explaining himself along the way. All of a sudden he flings open the window and yells “CLEAR” which nearly caused my head to explode. But apparently it’s an FFA regulation to make sure no one is standing next to the propeller. He cranks the engine over and we taxi out to the runway, I caution him to the fact that I’m hungover and he better not try any funny stuff. At first we just flew straight and level with no stunts. Then he asks me if I’d like to do a stall, I tell him no but he proceeds to show me how it works. He pulls back on the yoke until the plane loses lift, the nose falls forward and you pick up speed and eventually level back out. It wasn’t bad almost like a little roller coaster. He then talks me into a turning stall, same thing only while you’re making a turn. Well hot shot Mike puts the plane in about a 60 degree bank turn pulls back and proceeds to put the plane upside down for a bit, it corrects itself by putting the nose pointed straight at the ground, we go from standing still to accelerating at a high rate he pulled it out and we landed safely. I was going to kill him right there but he assured me it was all part of the extensive training he received and he was in total control at all times. Only years later did he tell me, had I looked over at him a little earlier, I would have seen his face contorted in fear as he knew he had fucked up. Luckily the plane bailed him out.
Sorry for the long post.
I’m a little slow today but I just realized today is Wednesday and the name is Mike.
Camel: Mike Mike Mike Mike Mike GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS?
I’ve known several Mikes. Two come immediately to mind: One was a kid in elementary school who sounded like one of the “Car Talk” guys, and always talked about sex, even though he was around 9 or 10. He liked to rattle off all the slang terms he knew for various sexual anatomy, both male and female, as a badge of pride. “Now for vagina, ya got pussy, ya got twat, ya got snatch, beaver…” The other was a Mike I knew in my twenties who thought it was hilarious go into public men’s rooms and defecate in the urinals. Supposedly he did this at a shopping mall once and was caught in the act by a janitor, who proceeded to beat him up…
You might say he beat the shit out of him!
I know we are about the same age – but I don’t recall any security people in the Murphy’s Mart in Fairmont. We use to pull some stuff like that there also.
I have a couple uncle Mikes, one on moms side, one on dads side. Dads brother was “that uncle”….you know, the fun one who did stuff or let you do stuff your parents probably didnt like. Stand up guy tho. Moms brother Mike I don’t know very well, but I do know he rocks an awesome beard, and he drove 10 hours from Orlando to attend my wedding.
A few friends named Mike over the years, none of them stand out as having been horrible people.
My best friend since I was 13 (40 now) is Mike. I named my son after him. he is my sons Godfather & I am his son’s Godmother. I have about 20 friends named Mike. I could go into about a hundred funny stories about Mike’s but I will spare you.
My boyfriend is Mike. Well….Michael as he prefers. But a lot of our friends call him Mike as well as his work cronies. He is one of the best people I know for many reasons I don’t want to bore you with. He’s sexy, good looking, has a great sense of humor and would give you the shirt off his back. He supports me in my business venture and has more confidence in me than I do myself. Yeah….I’d say he’s a keeper. He’s my heart.
Oh and he also rocks a bad ass beard. In fact, people stop him thinking he’s Jase from Duck Dynasty.
At least once a day someone tells me I look like Sy. I’m guessing I’m a little older than your Mike.
Two Mikes come to mind. One is a friend from high school who is still a great friend. Drove to his house in Michigan last month for his oldest son’s graduation and had a great time visiting.
The second is my former boss and the dickhead of all dickheads. It was alway about him and he didn’t give a shit about the people who worked for him. Just typing this makes my blood boil. In then end he left to a new trading group that branched off of the mothership and moved to Houston. They were sold off to another company a year later and then they closed the shop and he was out of a job. Lost all his retirement with our original company which was quite a sum since he had been there for over 30 years.
Had a childhood friend named Mike, he and I were like brothers. Built treehouses from scavenged and pilfered materials,, rode our bikes everywhere, usual 80s kid stuff. He and I were both small kids, and we were getting tired of the local bully picking on us on the school bus. He was easily 3 or 4 years older than us, but had failed a few grades. One day he was fucking with us and we finally snapped. In a coordinated effort, I managed to sneak up behind the bully’s bus seat, put him in a choke hold and held on for dear life while Mike jumped into action and hammered the shit outta the bully’s face. He was red-faced, bleeding and crying when it was over, but he quit fucking with us. That is one of many stories. The bus driver was laughing because he knew what this kid had put us through. Try that these days, and your parents would probably end up in jail.
Wow, nicely done. Shades of Scut Farkas.
.
So Mike was a buddy in grad school and he and I were massive underachievers, saved only by the fact most of our projects were team-based. One rainy night after sufficient cheap beer, he decided to ride my moped around the block… Dressed in nothing but a Batman mask. The moped gave out and after a significant time lapse I found him walking it back home.
Now he’s a CEO making far, far far more than all of your readers combined.
So yeah. Nude moped rider. That’s my Mike.
Only 17 comments??? What gives??? Do we all live in New Jersey? My name is Mike and I work with no less than 12 Mikes in a company of maybe 150 people. And a lot of them are temps from our Chihuahua plant. We always joke that no meeting can start without a quorum of at least 4 Mikes. So of course a lot of my friends growing up and at work have all been named Mike. The stories are far too numerous to start on here – but one of my Mike friends was notorious for imbibing a bit and then mooning every car we passed on the way home. Somehow we managed to avoid law enforcement during these hijinks.
My ex-husband is named Mike. ’nuff said.
I are a Mike.
I had a close group of friends that contained 2 other mikes.
A few of the memorable stories.
Toilet papering our 8th grade teachers house, yard, trees, everything. Looked magnificent, like a movie set. The next morning it froze. The said teacher, charged us with vandalism, and had to go meet with the district attorney. He let us off Scott free and told us we had done the best roll job he has ever scene.
A strory I did myself. 3 possums set loose in a girls only dorm during sorority rush. I nearly died laughing at the drunk chicks chasing possums with brooms, mops and fish nets.
Last one. Driving a open exhaust 65 chevelle bracket racer through the underground parking deck if the mall. Full power burnouts and power runs.
Looks like I’m the only one with the shitty Mike and he is my uncle. All my life I loved him dearly until he systematically and methodically stole the family farm. The only thing I have of my Grandmothers is a ring and of my Grandfather an old old tape measure you manually roll up. Fuck Mike!!
OMG! I have *MY* grandfather’s old roll up tape measure . It’s a maroon-ish color with a metal crank. I love that thing simply because it was Grandpa’s.
I are a Mike. Not even gonna start with stories of my debauchery…
When I started at my current employer it was a company of maybe 75 people, eight of whom were Mikes. The only douchebag in the bunch was the Service Manager. He was always kind of an arrogant prick, but I didn’t work for him so it didn’t matter much. But after he was gone, I learned that he had been somehow getting clients to pay him personally for spare parts, rather than make a PO to the company.
One of the other Mikes was riding a bike to work when I started. I naively thought he must live very close, or maybe he was health-conscious. Of course, the real reason was that he had lost his license to a DWI. Later, at a trade show in Vegas, we lost track of him one night and found him the next morning, passed out under the privet bushes in front of the hotel. A couple of years after that, he was caught on video groping the daughter of a client. And I just accepted a LinkedIn request from him about an hour ago.
.
A boy named Mike played with my brother. He lived down the road. Eventually, he became very friendly toward me. Of course, in the eighth grade would I be overly-friendly with a shrimp who was a year younger even if he was super-nice and oh-so-cute. Now, I wish I could get in touch with him. But, he has probably been married four times and has ten kids by four women. I know sooo many men named Mike. But, this little mystery is the first time I have ever mentioned him aloud or in print.
I had a friend named Mike that lived on 18th street and had an awesome sister named Lori…….. Both were good friends of mine and natural athletes in any sport. I remember Mike riding his red Schwinn Apple Krate with no brakes down the insanely steep 17th street alley, as we blocked traffic, bouncing nearly out of control from the curbs and sidewalks in the way. Mike’s lucky day of many…..