Friend: “I don’t understand why your cat’s nickname is Demon Kitten. She’s never been anything but sweet every time I see her.”
Me: “She is sweet. She’s also a crazy devil creature whose greatest joy in life is to sow destruction wherever she treads.”
Friend: “So, she’s a normal kitten.”
Me: “Yup, a perfectly normal kitten. Though she did decapitate an angel once.”
(She was so proud of herself for knocking that figurine off the shelf.)
(My stepsister volunteers to watch a group of younger kids from her church. The kids are playing tag in a field and my stepsister is running around with them when her foot lands in a hole she didn’t see and she rolls her ankle. It hurts so much that she can’t stand up, and she has to go to the hospital. Later, one of the five-year-olds from the playgroup is talking to her mother about the incident.)
Five-Year-Old: *mournful* “It’s my fault Miss [Stepsister] got hurt.”
Mother: “Why is that?”
Five-Year-Old: “I knew about the hole, but I didn’t tell her. It’s my fault.”
Mother: “Why didn’t you tell her?”
Five-Year-Old: “I wanted to see what would happen.”
(My stepsister treads much more carefully around that particular child now.)
(I am filling up my car at a gas station when a fairly disheveled man comes up and tries to open my passenger door. When I call out, he walks around, gets up really close to me, and tells me that he needs a ride. I am leery, given that he is twitching and quite a bit bigger than I am. The gas station attendant comes out and ends up shooing him away. Immediately afterward, a man standing at the next pump over pipes up.)
Man: “Wow. You’re a real jerk, aren’t you?”
Me: “What?”
Man: “That man has nothing, and you couldn’t even give him a ride.”
Me: “I didn’t see you offering to give him a ride, either.”
(He gave me a little glare before driving off past where the man was standing on the sidewalk. I did consider driving over to give the man a ride, but a police car pulled up and the officer got out and started talking to the man, so I left it at that.)
I am a traffic cop. One of my duties is catching litterbugs, and when I notice a can of soda being thrown out of a vehicle’s window, I immediately pull it over.
I prepare my anti-littering speech. When I look inside the vehicle, its occupants, seats, and dashboard are covered in soda. I decide this is an acceptable excuse… as long as they fetch the can.
The driver is very grateful.
(I’m squatted down looking at some books on a completely empty aisle at a particular store that has nothing over $1. It’s important to note that there is a box of stock next to the adjacent shelves so between the box and myself, we’re blocking the aisle should anyone try to go through. After a few minutes, I see someone out of the corner of my eye, but they’re about ten feet away so I assume they’re looking at the books, as well. After about two minutes, the following takes place:)
Old Woman: “You’re rude.”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
Old Woman: “You’re rude! I’m trying to get by and you’re blocking the aisle!”
Me: *way more polite than I should be* “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. If I had seen you trying to get by, I would have moved.”
Old Woman: “Bulls***!”
(I’m a little confused at this point because I’ve been nothing but polite to her.)
Me: “Believe what you want, but I would have moved if I saw you trying to get by.”
Old Woman: “You need to treat me with respect! I’m old enough to be your grandmother! You’re supposed to be respectful to your elders.”
Me: “And you need to show a little class.”
(I’m pretty sure she missed my last comment because, by that point, I had moved out of her way and she was looking at some toys, mumbling about how she thought children would like them. I chalked it up to a case of COLS — Crazy Old Lady Syndrome.)
