(I work as a delivery driver for a famous store that begins with W. My job is to deliver groceries to people via app. Most W workers are nice, some are weird though.)
Me: “Hello I’m here to pick up for [name].”
Worker: “Oh sure have that out in a bit.”
(I wait and then he comes.)
Worker: “Hi! For [name]?”
Me: “Yes.”
Worker: “Ok!” *suddenly mad* “Are you going to give me a problem??”
Me: “Uhhh no??”
Worker: “Cuz the last delivery driver screamed at me!! I’m a vet!!”
Me: “Uhhh well I’m not him.” *thinking * Just hurry up and load, I’m on a schedule!
Worker: “Good!” *loads*
(Everyone gets yelled at sometimes, even if you’re a vet buddy! Doesn’t give you exemption!)
(I’m a huge nerd and a devout fan of the BBC “Sherlock” series, but little I know that my husband is even worse than me.
Our 11 years old daughter has misplaced – again! – her phone after a sleepover at a friend’s, but we’re able to track its position via a family security app. What’s strange is that the location keeps changing as if the phone was on a moving vehicle. We follow the lead, anxious because the phone battery is on its last leg and the signal won’t last long. My husband drives around town while I frantically navigate him via the app, like John Watson in the first episode. At long last, after a series of dead ends and odd happenings, my daughter and her phone are reunited and we’re heading for home.)
[Husband]: “[Daughter], I really hope you’ve learned a lesson today.”
[Daughter]: “What?”
[Husband]: “That you see, but you don’t observe. That you fail to connect actions to their consequences…”
(I start to giggle as I figure out where this is heading.)
[Husband]: “…And now for the last time…”
[Me and husband, together]: “…IF YOU WANT TO KEEP THE PHONE, DON’T LOSE THE PHONE!”
(Few years back my friend and I were drinking in my apartment, he had served in the Armoured Brigade as a tank driver while I had served in another unit that uses the standard “moss green” beret of the Finnish Army while Armoured Brigade uses a black beret with a cuirassier helmet as the beret badge, we had both used the chance to buy our berets when we mustered out & my friend made a joke about the colour of mine, note that the beret badge used by the Armoured brigade resembles a certain male body part.)
Friend: “Your beret appears to be covered in mould” (common joke about the standard Army beret.)
Me: “Better to wear a mouldy beret than being seen with a d**k on your forehead.”
Friend: “F**k you!”
I’m working on a website for a real estate firm who have decided to branch out into financing to allow people to buy their own homes. The client tells me he’s been bankrupted eight times and is required by law to tell anyone he enters into a contract with involving money that he’s not allowed to run a business.
Me: “You’ll be offering mortgages to people to allow them to build their own homes, and you’re not allowed to be running a business?”
Client: “Yes, but I’ve told you. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
Me: “I’ll have to mention that on the website.”
Client: “Is that relevant?”
Me: “That’s relevant. I can’t begin to tell you how relevant that is right now.”
(This has been told to me by the protagonist of this story. It was a few years ago, during Summer, and he had gone to a beach bar. As he stood in line to get another drink after an uneventful first one, a very nicely-dressed girl approached him from behind, and started to quite clearly grope and poke his butt in a purposeful manner.)
Friend: *turning around with a confused face* “What are you doing? Is there something on my ass?”
(The girl kept wordlessly poking it, apparently in a stupor)
Friend: *chuckling nervously* “Look, I know I have a great backside and all, but can you stop?”
(Not even half a minute saying this, and another girl, one dressed as sharply as the groping one, but with inverted dress colors, rushed in.)
Second Girl: *distraught* “How could you do this to me [First Girl], how could you?” *snaps head towards my friend* “And how stupid do you have to be?”
Friend: *perplexed* “What?”
Second Girl: “She had an outfit perfectly matching mine, how in H*** did you miss that she was a lesbian?”
Friend: “I- what?”
First Girl: “But… nice ass…”
Second Girl: *scoffing* “Let’s go home, you’re clearly too drunk to tell the difference between woman ass and man ass, you cheating hoe.”
(My rather dumbfounded friend stared at them leaving. As it later turned out, those two girls were regulars, and that kind of theatrics happened on the regular in that bar, and her behaviour had gotten kicked out of the Arcigay, AKA the main Italian organizer of LGBT events. My friend joked that the crazy young lady was bitchy enough to cause her girlfriend to change her sexual orientation, but I honestly couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Hopefully she found a better partner.)
