Am I Being Punk'd?

Is this seriously happening to me right now? For real? Wait a sec, what day is today- is it April 1st? Should I SMILE because I'm on Candid Camera?
Am I being punk'd?

Have you ever been in a situation where, once you realize of the total absurdity of it, you stop and ask yourself- sometimes out loud - this question?  Getting "punk'd" became popular thanks to Ashton Kutcher and his show on MTV beginning in 2003. He would stage an elaborate prank on a superstar in an attempt to bring them back down a bit or, help them get over themselves; it was an Ashton-sponsored dose of humility. "Punk'd" was an amped-up version of Allen Funt's "Candid Camera" from back in the day. Both shows, with their video crews rolling as the prank unfolded, affected me enough to cause me small bouts of paranoia on more than a few occasions. There have been times that I was literally waiting for Ashton to come around the corner, shit-eating grin on his face. Pranks can be funny sometimes, but other times- not so much.

 Some of the best ones happened to me while I was working. I was in the delivery business and I was all over Cambridge (MA) - a very cool, eclectic and diverse city. "The People's Republic"...of millionaires and the homeless. I was punk'd on the very first day I reported for duty in Cambridge. I was escorted to my new route by a supervisor. I was given a map, my keys, and a ridiculous amount of mail. Supervisor leaves, and a clerk sidles up next to me. "Here. Go give this mail to the carrier upstairs on route 29." He hands me a large bundle and a warning of sorts, "Hey, just so you know, that carrier- he's a nasty, surly SOB. He hates women and he never showers so he stinks real bad.... but make sure you hand the mail directly to him, otherwise he won't take it out for you." Nervously, I head upstairs and open the door onto this enormous workroom floor. Totally unfamiliar with the layout, I ask a 'friendly-looking' carrier where route 29 is located. He growls at me, so I move on. Couple of cases down, I ask the next ONE- only to have FOUR of them turn around and stare at me. They don't know where Rt. 29 is, I'm told. I continue on, the sound of clapping and laughter erupting behind me, getting louder as I go. By now, my face is beet-red and I am 5 seconds away from a full-on panic attack. A 'sympathizer' takes my arm, tries to call off the troops, and leads me finally, to 29. He looks nothing like the way he was described, and now he's reluctant to turn around and face me. Apparently, he was expecting a greasy-haired, unshaven, toothless "wrecking ball" of a woman. Joke was on both of us, (those punks!) but he and I were 'buds' from that day on. A good prank, it was.

In another episode at work, it was Christmas Day. It was freezing out, in the low teens. I was forced in and I was miserable. The double-time pay was not consolation enough to me. The city was all but deserted and I was waiting in Central Square at a collection box for the 1PM pick-up. It was about quarter of, but I couldn't hit it early because "they" might be watching. Watching...always watching...
See, we were always told that at any moment, at any point during the day, The Inspectors could be watching us. From the cat-walks above, to the civilians on the the street, or even the guy working right next to you; Inspector- maybe. So, that's how I worked - as though I was being watched. I was not going to hit that box a minute sooner than 1300hours.
I'm waiting. A homeless woman approaches me and bangs on the window; I am, after all, sitting curbside (as in, the driver's seat is on the right). I recognize her, I've seen her around. I think her street name was "Trash-Ninja" or something like that. I roll down the window, and she's slurring "Merry Christmas" to me. "Same to you", I say. She brings her un-gloved frozen hands up and she has a bottle of Listerine. "Can you open this for me? My hands are too freezin' to get it, sweet thing like you, sweet thing like you, too freezin', too freezin' ", she keeps repeating. The slow tingling of paranoia starts crawling up my spine. If I open it, how is this going to affect me ethically, professionally, even legally? I start looking all around me, trusting no one, suspecting everyone. She starts getting angry, "Come on, sweet thing! What are you waiting for! Can't even give me a Christmas gift by helping me open this? You ain't so sweet, ain't so sweet..." She's making me nervous now because her anger is obvious. I decide that I will tell "them" that for safety's sake, I opened it to get her away from me. "Gimmie it!" I say. I open it, hand the bottle back to her - that, and my gloves. I hit the box, and high-tail it out of there feeling horrible about the whole thing.
Fast forward a couple of weeks. I go into work, grab my mail, my keys and head out to the truck. I UNLOCK the truck, throw my mail on the big tray beside me. I didn't have any large packages so there was no need to open up the back. I hop in and start it up. That's when I notice how bad it smells in there. We're supposed to 'inspect' our trucks each day before we hit the street. I didn't that day, naturally. I blew it off because the mail was heavy and well, I 'checked' it last night when I brought it back to the lot. I'm motoring out to my route, and by now the smell is overbearing; it's killing me. I take a curve a little faster than I should, trying to make the light, but there is no way I'm going to make it so I jam on the brakes. That is when I hear this head-banging thump in the back. And then, the loud moaning. I freak. I throw it in "Park" and I jump out of the truck right there in the intersection: Kendall Square. 8AM. This is not a good idea...
Mace in one hand, I throw open the back door with the other, and TRASH NINJA tumbles out. "Hi  sweething! I 'member your truck number with the 4-3 at the end. So freezin' last night!, so freezin'! ", she says, smiling innocently.
"HOLY SH** T-N!" I scream, "W-T-F are you doing in my truck?!? I can't believe this!!!" And then I shout, "AM I BEING PUNK'D?!?" Well, no, that's not true- Punk'd wasn't even on yet. I asked her, and everyone else around me, if  'I was on Candid Camera'? I seriously thought I was being set-up by either the actual show- or -by "them".
I ended up ordering her back in my truck. I knew where to bring her, and so I did. Then I finished my route, feeling bad for her, and horrified for me; how much trouble am I in? I went back to the office. Only after several weeks, and hearing nothing of the incident, did I feel any sense of relief. I ran into her again a few weeks later, walking down Mass Ave - she was wearing my gloves and an old Benneton sweater of mine that I had donated to Salvation Army. It got me wondering again.

More recently, I took my kids to McDonald's- the one with the nasty Playland. The kids knew not to even bother asking me about that. We got our food and- not surprising- a snack wrap or something was forgotten. Receipt in hand, I head back to the front. The line is heinous, and I'm ready to grab the first employee who walks by, when I notice a little boy standing up front waiting for something as well, a dollar bill in his hand. Nothing bothers me more: when kids are waiting at the counter and they are completely ignored by the staff. Sure enough, a cashier acknowledges me, looking right past the boy with his dollar. (Actually, it's more like - she can't escape the burning sensation on her skin which is being beamed directly at her from my eyes.)
"Help you?" she asks.
"Yes, but this little guy was here first, what do you need, buddy?" I ask him. I'm thinking ketchup, sweet & sour sauce, a straw, perhaps; and I'm also thinking how cute it is that he thinks these things cost money.
He looks away...so shy. I ask him again, "Do you need ketchup?"
He looks down and mumbles something I can't understand, but what clearly sounded like the word "socks".
And it is in this very moment, I start looking around for Ashton.
Cashier looks at me, "What did he say?" I'm sort of chuckling as I say, "I have no idea."
The 'audience' is getting bigger...
One more time..."what do you need?"
He yells now, "SOCKS!" I'm about to suggest to him that maybe he should ask his mother to come and help him (Where is she anyways? It's been like, 20 minutes already.) when McD girl says, "Oh, socks! Here you go. That'll be one dollar please." She reaches underneath the counter, comes up with some white ankle socks, golden arches logo and all, and he's off to Playland! Socks, at Mickey D's. Who knew?
She looks at me, "What did you need, now?" 
"Yeah, I need...A Super-Size Grimace T-Shirt."

Last one, and it comes from the "It-Can-Only-Happen-To-Me" files:
I just got a letter from my Atty's Office, telling me "that for all intents and purposes your divorce is currently legal and binding."  I read on, "Your divorce will be FINAL after "x" amount of days. Once this period is over, your divorce will become final ON OR ABOUT FEBRUARY 29th, 2011".

There is NO February 29th this year! It's not even a leap year!
.......This is so NOT funny, Ashton!