The Twilight Sparkle In Their Eyes

, , , , , | Right | September 25, 2020

I’m in line at a sandwich shop ordering a meatball sub.

Customer: *Behind me* “Excuse me.”

I turn around to see a woman in her early fifties wearing lots of jewelry.

Customer: “Is that a My Little Pony on your shirt?”

Me: “Yeah, you a fan?”

Customer: “No! That show is evil and you are a degenerate!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “That show ruined my son! Now he has dyed his hair in rainbow colors and he buys toys for little girls and goes to these awful conventions with smelly people that do the same thing!”

Tears begin to run down her face. People in the store are turning to look.

Me: “Ma’am, maybe you shouldn’t be so judgmental of me or your son. It’s just a show that a lot of people happen to like, a show that teaches about the value of friendship and acceptance. Perhaps you could stand to learn a lesson or two from it yourself.”

Customer: “No! My son had such a promising future and now he’s admitted to me that he is a homosexual! It’s all that d*** show’s fault! People like you ruined my son!”

She reaches out to slap me, but I quickly deflect the blow.

Me: “Ma’am, please don’t touch me. I train regularly in Krav Maga.”

The woman grabs her forearm where her arm had met mine.

Customer: “Help! This degenerate struck me for standing up for my beliefs!”

She looks, wild-eyed, at the small girl behind the counter, who has watched the whole thing without saying a word.

Customer: “You! Call for your manager and have this society-destroying pariah thrown out of here! He assaulted me!”

Manager: “I am the manager. And I just saw that whole thing. It’s you who had better leave. I won’t have you assaulting people in my place of business for wearing shirts that express their values.”

The woman stomps out in a huff without ordering any food. People sitting at the tables and in line begin to clap for me and the manager.

Manager: “Sorry about that. And hey, the sub’s on us. Because nobody messes with Twilight Sparkle.”

She reached over the glass to give me a high-five, even after I insisted on paying for my lunch. And wouldn’t you know it? Her phone number was written on the napkin she put in my bag.

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Kirk Gleason At Ooober Would Never Stand For This

, , , , , , , | Working | September 25, 2020

I work with home-bound dementia patients. Due to health concerns with riding public transportation during the health crisis, my agency is paying for workers to take car services to work. I have used one particular app-based service with no problem… until one Friday.

I get the car and he picks me up just fine. We turn the corner and come to a two-lane street with a stoplight on red. There are two cars in front of us.

The minute the light turns green, the driver zooms into the opposite lane and passes the two cars! He clips the front car while doing so. He does this so fast — like zero to one hundred mph — that it takes me a good minute to realize he’s stopped the car on the next street and the clipped driver, a woman, has pulled up behind him, gotten out, and is now yelling at him.

Once I can move, I grab my stuff and get out of the car, hitting the “CANCEL” button on the app. The driver, meanwhile, is arguing with the woman, saying there is no scratch or mark on her car. She demands his information and he refuses, speaking very condescendingly and insisting there has been no accident. He sees me and asks that I get back in the car.

I respond, “H*** no! You almost f****** killed me!”

Seeing me, the woman comes over and asks if she can get his information on the app. The driver continues to tell her that there is nothing wrong and implores me to get back into the car. She takes a picture of him and his license plate and asks once more for his insurance. He gets in the car and drives off.

The woman is a nurse and has to get to an emergency pickup shift, and I, of course, have to go relieve another worker who is with a client. We exchange information and I tell her I will fill out the accident form on the app. We part ways to our jobs.

I do get a response from the app, saying someone will contact me about filling out a report, but then I hear nothing for almost an entire week. Finally, I have to call up the support line and remind them we have his license plate before they send me the insurance contact number. I pass it on to the woman and let her know to contact me for anything, as I’ve saved all the texts and files with screenshots.

The worst part is, when I checked to make sure I had the driver’s name right, he was still driving even though I had filled out a report on him!

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Maybe You’re Only Allowed To Wear Wonder Woman?

, , , , | Right | September 25, 2020

I work at a large retail store in a small town, so I don’t often get a lot said to me that surprise me. My friend has come in to buy something and ends up talking to me. An elderly woman walks up to us.

Me: “Hello, ma’am, can I help you?”

Customer: *Points to my friend* “Why is she wearing a [Superhero] shirt? That’s for men.

Friend: “Because I read [Superhero]’s comics, and I like him.”

Customer: “But you’re a woman! I demand you go change your shirt to something more suitable!”

My friend and I exchange a confused look.

Customer: *Looks to me* “Well? Can’t you have her removed until she changes her shirt?”

Me: *Surprised* “Um… no, ma’am, I can’t. If we could do that, we would have a lot of teenage girls removed every day for dressing inappropriately.”

Customer: “But she is dressed inappropriately!”

Friend: “I’m in a T-shirt and jeans. If you want to complain about someone being dressed ‘inappropriately,’ I think you should turn your attention to that group of girls over there showing off their cleavage.”

The customer gets mad and storms off.

Me: “What the h*** was that?”

Friend: *Shrugs* “Beats me.”

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Unable To Sound Your Complaint

, , , , , | Right | September 25, 2020

It is about an hour before a music festival starts. The festival is showcasing electronic music, and the musicians are all warming up and performing sound checks. An older woman comes up to where we are queueing.

Woman: “Excuse me, can you please tell them to turn the sound down?”

Security: “Sorry?”

Woman: “The bass is too loud. Can you please turn it down?”

Security: “Ma’am, I’m just working security.”

Woman: “Well, who do you report to? The sound is too loud!”

I try my hand at an explanation.

Me: “Ma’am, it’s a music festival. I don’t think you’ll have much luck.”

Woman: “I don’t care! It’s too bloody loud!”

I quickly — and wisely — give up, but she carries on. She storms over to the ticket office. I can’t hear the exchange, but next thing I know, she draws away from the window with a wireless bank card reader in her hand.

Woman: “You can have it back when you turn the noise down! It’s too loud!”

A man steps out of the ticket office.

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am—”

Woman: *Firmly but not loudly* “It’s too loud!”

Ticket Seller: “—if you’ll just hand me my property back—”

Woman: “It’s too loud!”

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am, I will call the cops—”

Woman: “Do it! Call them! They’ll turn the sound down! It’s too f****** loud! I am in [Public Place] and the bass is too loud!”

This festival is indeed in said public place, but it’s been known about and licensed for some months and publicised across the entire country.

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am, can you please—”

Woman: “It’s too loud!”

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am, I—”

Woman: “You can have this back when you turn the sound down! It’s too loud!”

The ticket seller makes a grab for the machine, but she pulls it out of his reach. He remains calm, as does the security guard.

Ticket Seller: “Ma’am—”

Woman: “It’s too loud! The bass is too loud!”

Fortunately, a policeman shows up in his car. The woman goes over, machine still in hand, and knocks on the policeman’s window. The ticket seller follows her. Again, I can’t hear this exchange, but shortly after, the policeman steps out of his car and walks around to the quarrelling pair. She keeps repeating her phrase, “It’s too loud!”, but the policeman eventually gets the card reader back to the ticket booth and leads the woman away.

Me: *To others in line* “Well. This could be an interesting day.”

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Making An Offer No One Could Refuse

, , , , | Working | September 25, 2020

Around fifteen years ago, I am traveling around India with a friend of mine from graduate school. He is Japanese and I’m a white male from the US. It is the last call at the bar, and it is time to head back to our hotel. We summon a taxi and are on our way.

I am a little nervous because the ride is taking longer than I anticipated; something about the driver seems shady. My suspicions are confirmed when, halfway through the trip, the driver asks if we want to meet some girls.

Prostitution is not a slap-on-the-wrist crime in India. But since we are foreigners staying at a very fancy hotel — the kind with security out front — he knows we have money. Also, at the time, Japanese tourists have a reputation for being inexperienced travelers and for not being able to hold their liquor.

I tell the driver no thanks. The driver won’t take a no from me as a final answer, so he directs his question to my friend, who just laughs. The driver asks him again.

Friend: “What?”

He looks confused.

Me: “[Friend], say no.” 

Driver: *Loudly* “Do you want to meet girls?”

Friend: “I don’t understand!”

Me: “[Friend], say no!”

Driver: *Yelling* “Do. You. Want. To. F***. Some. B****es?”

There is a pause.

Friend: “Ohhhhhh! No, thanks!”

He laughs.

The rest of the very circuitous trip is spent in silence. I am on edge, but my friend just seems drunk.

When we get to the hotel, the driver announces the price, which is at least twice what it should be. I am about to go ballistic on the driver when my friend holds up one finger, indicating for me to stop, and speaks, dead sober and with a smile on his face. 

Friend: “You have a choice. You can either take [two-thirds of what the fare should be] and go away, or I’m going to go speak to the police officers over there by the front door, and I will tell them exactly what you offered us.”

The driver took what my friend offered.

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