A Hot Slice Of Injustice

, , , | Friendly | March 18, 2018

(My friend has invited me to an anime convention, partly for fun, and partly to make friends with their friends. I’ll admit that I’m a very socially anxious person, but friends of my friend must be good people, right? At lunch time, I notice that the pizza slices are all under $2. We’re five people, and $10 to $20 would be easy with my budget, so I offer to pay for the pizza. Everyone gets two slices. My friend’s friends all walk past the ice cream fridge, where they are selling these tiny tubs of ice cream for $4 each. They all get one and say:)

Them: “You’re paying, right?”

Me: “Um, for the pizza…”

Them: “Great!”

(They told the cashier I was paying for all of it. I don’t hang out with those people anymore.)

No One Insults Quite Like The French, Part 2

, , , , , | Friendly | March 17, 2018

(I am a Canadian on a tour of a plantation house in Louisiana. There is a man on the tour who keeps interrupting the guide with questions that are actually designed to show off his knowledge. The guide just gets a rousing story going and the man cuts him off, ruining the pace and throwing off the guide. Four rooms in, and this interrupter will not stop. Even his wife is uncomfortable with his actions.)

Guide: *low, under his breath, in French* “Oh, my God. Shut up.”

(I gasp, and he looks at me with an expression that says he’s even more shocked than I am.)

Guide: “Oh. Oh! You’re Canadian!’

(He knows this because he asked where everyone was from at the beginning of the tour.)

Me: *in French* “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

(No one else knew what was going on for this tiny exchange, so we continued — the interrupter still showing off as best he could — but there was some French thrown in for me after some of the halting stories were done.)

No One Insults Quite Like The French

Patience Is A Virtue And She Is Not Virtuous

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 16, 2018

It’s a cold, rainy day and I’ve run out of a few necessities so I make a trip to a nearby retailer. Luck is with me because I find a parking spot that is very close, right next to the handicapped parking.

I go in, grab what I need, and hustle back out. I put my bags in the back floorboard, then climb into the back seat so that I can take off my toddler’s rain jacket without getting the backseat wet.

As I’m trying to convince my son to put down his plush toy long enough for me to take off his jacket, a car pulls up directly behind my car and puts on their blinker. I wave at the woman, letting her know that I saw her, then return to the task at hand. After removing his jacket, I strap him in and give his plush back.

When I get out to get in the driver’s seat, I realize that she has pulled up far enough that she’s boxed me in. I gesture for her to back up. Then I get into the driver’s seat, start up the car, and look in the mirror to find the woman hasn’t backed up.

I turn around, and again I gesture for her to back up. She keeps glaring and honks again, then gestures for me to back out. I shake my head because there’s not enough room.

Realizing she’s not going to move, I take a cereal bar out of my purse and pass it to my toddler to keep him happy, and then I start playing a game on my phone.

I sit there for another ten minutes that are interspersed with the woman honking, and quite possibly swearing, before she speeds around to find another spot.

Life Is Stranger Than Fiction-Writers

, , , , | Friendly | March 16, 2018

(I’m at a retreat, in the cafeteria, eating lunch at a table with a dozen people I’ve only met today. Eventually, our conversation comes around to me, and they ask me where I’m from and what I do for a living. I explain I’m in college, majoring in creative writing with a fiction concentration, and that I’m from [City #1] but living in [City #2] for school. A few people at the table want to know what living in either place is like, so a lot of their questions revolve around that. When it’s time to go to our afternoon lecture, our group breaks up. I’m on the way out the door when I pass someone who was at my table.)

Group Member: “Where are you from, exactly?”

Me: *surprised to be asked, especially after talking to him about it for at least five minutes* “[City #1], although I’m living in [City #2] for school.”

Group Member: “Wait… You weren’t just saying that? I thought you made that up.”

Me: “What? No. Why would you think that?”

Group Member: “Well, you’re a fiction writer.”

Me: “…”

No Rest Even In The Restroom

, , , , , | Friendly | March 15, 2018

(I’m an 18-year-old female. I go to a party at the house of some friends. It’s a very family-friendly party. There are people of all ages there including lots of kids. There is no alcohol, but there is lots of good food. When I arrive, I warmly greet various friends, including a man much older than me. We’re not close friends, but we do know each other from previous encounters. He makes small talk with me as we both move through the house. I’m in a good mood, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere of the party, and smiling as we talk. I’m headed for a hallway with a bathroom, and I assume he’s heading for the nearby kitchen, where the biggest crowd of people are helping themselves to food. But as I start to enter the bathroom, he’s right on my heels.)

Me: “Oh, were you going in here? I’m sorry.”

(I step back away from the door.)

Man: “No, I’m going in there with you.”

Me: *taken aback* “Um, why?”

Man: “In case you needed help.”

(I am flabbergasted for a moment, and then creeped out, and then angry.)

Me: “I don’t need help peeing, thanks.”

Man: “Are you sure?”

Me: *feeling really angry now* “Yeah. I’m sure.”

(I closed the door with me inside the bathroom and him outside it. I locked the door. If you’re ever in a situation where an old man mistakes your friendly demeanor for flirting, don’t do what I did: lock yourself alone in a bathroom until you calm down and then spend the rest of the party avoiding that old man without telling anyone what happened. Thankfully, he seemed to be embarrassed and avoided me as much as I did him for the rest of the party. Looking back, years later with more life experience, I know now how lucky I was that day, and that I should have immediately gone looking for the hosts of the party for help.)

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