Ice Cream Can Never Fail

, , , , | Romantic | September 21, 2017

(My partner picks me up from university, with their sister in tow. We take their sister to the local pizza place to pick up her takeaway order, and while she’s inside my partner turns to me.)

Partner: *slightly evasive* “Hey, I need to run some things up if that’s okay.”

Me: “Yeah, sure.” *beat* “Wait, what? I heard, ‘I need to run some things…’ and my brain just filled in, ‘…by you,’ I guess, so I answered okay, but what?”

Partner: *flustered* “Pick some things up. Run and pick some things up. Yeah. After we drop off [Sister]? I just wanted to make sure you’re feeling up to it, since I know you had a long day.”

Me: “Oh! Yeah, that’s fine.”

(Their sister returns, and we drop her off. I mention to her that, as I assume, we’re going to go do some quick grocery shopping. While we’re in the driveway, I turn to my partner and ask:)

Me: “So, what things did you need to pick up?”

Partner: *exclaiming loudly* “[My Favorite Ice Cream Place]!”

Me: “Um, what?”

Partner: *hiding face in hands* “I was going to surprise you by taking you to [Ice Cream Place], because you were so sad last time we tried to go and they were closed. But I’m really bad at lying.”

Me: “Oh no! That’s so sweet of you, though. Thank you!”

Partner: “I was going to be so cool, just driving along, and eventually you were going to ask me where we were going, and I was going to say [Ice Cream Place]! But then you asked immediately and I didn’t have an answer prepared. I failed at being romantic!”

(I didn’t actually feel like I could stomach ice cream right then, anyway, so we did go to the grocery store after all, and picked up some dessert for another night. Next time, I’ll try not to be so nosy!)

Raising A Monster Versus Monster Parenting

, , , , | Right | September 21, 2017

(Around the holidays, the tension is really high for people to get their prescriptions on time before going on vacation, so the pharmacy area is packed with close to forty people. I overhear this exchange as I’m ringing up a customer with an especially rude son.)

Me: “That will be $4.50, please.”

Customer: *digs in her purse for her wallet*

Customer’s Son: “Geez, stupid b****. Can’t you hurry up!? I want to go home, now!”

(A lady a few people back snaps her head towards him with a face that is the essence of “Oh, HELL no!”)

Customer’s Son: “God, Mom. Every time we go somewhere, it takes you for-f***ing-ever!”

(The lady a few people back is now breathing very loudly through her nose.)

Customer: “Sweetie, if you wait a minute, we can go get you a burger.”

Customer’s Son: “You bet like hell you are.” *points finger in her face* “You owe me big, woman. I could have been home hours ago out of this s*** heap with you. I’m bored out of my f***ing skull.”

(The lady a few people back is now looking anywhere but at the teenager, shaking her head violently, tapping the side of her purse, and muttering, “Mm-mm, mm-mmmm,” to herself.)

Customer: “Okay, look, honey. We’re done.”

Customer’s Son: “ABOUT D*** TIME, B****!”

(The customer and her son just pass around the corner, when the lady a few people back suddenly swings around, grabs both her teenage sons with one hand, and starts hitting them both with her purse.)

Lady: “DON’T.” *smack* “YOU.” *smack* “EVER.” *smack* “TALK.” *smack* “TO.” *smack* “ME.” *smack* “LIKE.” *smack* “THAT!” *smack*

(Some people are staring open-mouthed, others are cheering her on, but I am face-down on the counter, laughing hysterically. When it is the lady’s turn, I am still choking down tears.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”

Lady: “You’re laughing, but I’ll do the same to you if I ever hear you talking like that.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. You’re a great woman.”

Lady: “That’s because I was taught how to respect my parents.”

(Faith in humanity restored. Thank you, purse lady!)

Nugget Is Actually A Good Name For A Stuffed Animal

, , , , | Related | September 21, 2017

(One Sunday morning, my son wakes up and tells me about his dream.)

Son: “I dreamed I was eating chicken nuggets, and when I woke up I was chewing [Stuffed Animal].”

The Data Is Unable To Enter Their Brain

, , , , , | Working | September 21, 2017

(I’m between jobs, so I’ve applied to a temping agency that supplies data-entry personnel to offices. They go through my CV with me and tell me they’ll get back to me within a week to see what’s available. After not hearing from them for a fortnight, I go back to find out what’s going on.)

Recruiter: “Yes, we still have your details. It’s just hard to find you anything since you don’t have any office experience.”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Recruiter: “No, you don’t.”

Me: “Didn’t we go through this? I’ve been working in offices for over two years now. The bulk of the work I was doing was in compiling and checking spreadsheets. Not to mention, I got plenty of experience with all the relevant systems at university, and even in school.”

Recruiter: “But ‘data entry’ was never your job description, was it?”

Me: “Well… no.”

Recruiter: “Then none of it counts. You have no experience.”

Me: *as I leave* “It’s data entry. Everyone has experience.”

The Grass Might Be Greener If They Had Smarter Friends

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 21, 2017

(A friend has been telling us about his trip back to where he was born.)

Friend: “That sounds so sweet. It makes me think of that song, Green, Green Grass of Home.” *starts singing the first verse* “It’s such a lovely song.”

Me: “But that song is about an execution.”

Friend: “Where did you hear that from? No, it’s not; it’s a lovely song. I’ve been singing it for years.”

Me: “Try singing the last verse.”

Friend: *singing* “Then I awake and look around me,

At four grey walls that surround me,

And I realize, yes, I was only dreaming,

For there’s a guard and there’s a sad old padre,

Arm in arm, we’ll walk at daybreak,

Again I touch the green, green grass of home.”

*stops singing*  “What’s wrong with that?”

Me: *internally face-palming* “Four grey walls are a prison cell. A guard and a padre?”

Friend: “That could be anything.”

Me: “Okay, what about the last line?”

Friend: “He’s lying under the old oak tree.”

Me: “They lay him under the grass by the old oak tree.”

Friend: “Holy s***; why didn’t I notice that? I was going to sing this song at the old folks home next week.”

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