Guy Giving You Trouble? Just Bounce

, , , , | Friendly | September 20, 2018

(I have my own personal Cheers-type bar that I’ve been going to for so long that my friends and I know everyone from the bouncer to the owners, and almost everyone in between. My girlfriends and I love going there because they have great drinks and a great atmosphere, and we know we’ll be safe. We’re having a Girls’ Night Out one night, all of us sitting in a horseshoe-shaped booth with me at one end and the rest of my friends scrunched in close so we can hear each other better, when some guy saunters up, drags a chair over from another table, spins it, and straddles it next to me.)

Guy: *grinning* “Heeeeyyyy, ladies.”

(My girlfriends tend to be a bit more shy, my best friend having social anxiety, so they look to me.)

Me: *smiling, trying to be polite* “Hey, we’re kind of having a girls’ night here and, ah, sorry but you don’t qualify, so if you could give us some space, please?”

Guy: *still grinning* “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll stick around.”

Me: *now annoyed and letting him see it* “It’s actually not fine, because I’ve asked you to leave and you’re still here.”

Guy: *STILL with that stupid grin* “Nah, nah, it’s fine. You don’t want me to leave.”

Me: *glaring, voice hard* “Yes, we do, now f*** off.”

Guy: “Nah, you don’t want me to leave.”

(My friends are all nervous and I’m pissed, but this creep is effectively blocking me into the booth. Fortunately, I have the bouncer’s phone number, so I shoot him a quick text letting him know there’s a situation. From where we’re sitting I can see him at the door, and I watch him check his phone and look around for me. When I catch his eye, he points at the guy, who’s still blathering on about who knows what, and I nod. The bouncer pockets his phone and walks over. I should note that the bouncer is rather large, broad-shouldered, and kind of looks like a pirate with his impressive goatee, multiple piercings, and intricate tattoos. He’ll never start a fight, but he will ALWAYS end one. He walks up behind the guy and casually places one very large hand on his shoulder and leans on it. The guy immediately goes silent and stares up at him.)

Bouncer: *very calm* “I believe these ladies asked you to leave. You were just about to, weren’t you?”

Guy: *nervous and squeaking a little* “Yes.”

Bouncer: *still calm* “And you’re going to leave them alone?” *the guy just nods quickly* “Good. Then we don’t have a problem.”

(The bouncer slowly leans back with a smile and the guy scurries off.)

Bouncer: “You okay, girls? He didn’t lay a hand on any of you, or get near your drinks?”

(We assure him that we’re fine and thank him for his assistance.)

Bouncer: “All right, well, you let me know if he or anyone else gives you any trouble, okay? Enjoy your night.”

(He gave me a hug and went back to the door, and my friends and I enjoyed our girls’ night in peace. I love that bar!)

Yes, It Was Two Years Of Tough Labor

, , , , , | Friendly | September 20, 2018

I’m a mom of two boys. They are fourteen and sixteen, respectively, and almost exactly the same height. They both tower over me. While there is a family resemblance, one looks like me, and the other like my husband.

We are picking up a few things at the store. A woman approaches my cart and comments about how tall and handsome they are, then follows up with, “Are they twins?” Startled, I look at my boys and try not to laugh. I respond that they are not twins, but before I can say anything else, she cuts me off with, “Are you sure?”

Leave The Parenting To Your Coworkers

, , , , , | Friendly | September 19, 2018

(I am in my mid-twenties, working at a bookstore with another woman who is a few years older and has five kids. We become friends. She invites me and a few other coworkers to her son’s third birthday party. I don’t have any children of my own, but I have a lot of little cousins, and I love buying them presents, so I buy some fun toys and get extra batteries. I wrap everything up and go to the party and have a nice time. When it’s time for the gifts, all the kids help their little brother tear into them, and they’re all books, except for mine. The kids all go nuts, ripping apart the boxes, putting in the batteries and pushing all the buttons that make the toys move, beep, light up, etc. I’m really glad they’re having such a good time with the things I picked out, but when I go to leave, my coworker takes me aside, frowning a bit.)

Coworker: “I guess I forgot to tell you; we only wanted [Son] to get books this year for his birthday.”

Me: “Oh, no, you didn’t tell me that.”

Coworker: “Well, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your gifts, but I really didn’t want them to have toys like that. They’ll fight over them.”

Me: *at a loss* “Oh, well, I’m sorry? I’m sure they’ll get tired of them in a few days; you know how kids are.”

Coworker: “Yes, but I wanted him to just get books.”

Me: *a little irritated now* “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. You didn’t tell me not to buy toys, so I assumed that toys would be an acceptable gift for a three-year-old.”

Coworker: “You need to tell them they can’t have them and take them away.”

Me: “Excuse me? You want me to take away the toys I gave a three-year-old boy for his birthday?”

Coworker: “Yes.”

Me: “Forget it. No way.”

Coworker: “They’re going to fight over them!”

Me: “And if I take them away, they’re going to cry! I’m not making a bunch of little kids cry because you failed to tell me you didn’t want me to buy toys!”

Coworker: “You work at a bookstore! I just assumed you knew.”

Me: “Well, I didn’t. Since you also work in a bookstore, I figured your kids probably had plenty of books. If you’d told me, I would have bought books. If you don’t want them to have the toys, you can take them away.”

(I left, furious and feeling bad for those poor little kids. The next time she needed a ride home from work — she lived over forty minutes away from where I did, but I used to give her rides all the time to help her out, since I knew all about her financial difficulties — I told her I couldn’t, and we barely spoke again until I quit a few months later.)

Padding Out This Story

, , , , , | Friendly | September 18, 2018

(I’m a man, and my female friend from California is visiting me in Maryland for the weekend before her next semester of college starts. We’re going to tour DC with my girlfriend. Her first morning after her flight, we’ve woken up, and I come out of the shower to find her still sitting on my futon.)

Friend: “Um… Hey. Can I ask you a stupid question?”

Me: “Sure.”

Friend: “…”

Me: “Go on.”

Friend: *chuckles* “Do you have any pads?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid I don’t have much of a need to stock feminine hygiene products. Did you forget to pack some?”

Friend: *sheepishly* “Yes.”

Me: “There is a supermarket nearby; I’d be happy to walk down and buy some.”

Friend: “No, no, I don’t want to have to make you do that.”

Me: “Well… [Girlfriend] should be here in about an hour; I can ask her to bring some.”

(She agrees, and I text my girlfriend about the problem. She finds the situation amusing and agrees to bring some pads for my friend. Unfortunately, my girlfriend is delayed, but my friend insists that she doesn’t want to burden me with a five-minute walk to the store, so she sits on my bed watching a movie in her PJs for two hours until my girlfriend arrives. I introduce them to each other.)

Girlfriend: *fishes a selection of pads out of her purse* “Um… Here?”

Friend: *hugs her* “Yes! You’re a lifesaver!”

Me: “No, she’s a pantysaver.”

A Three-Time Picture-Perfect Karma

, , , , | Friendly | September 18, 2018

(I’m driving my daughter and a friend to an amusement park. It’s August, the highway is full of people driving to and from holidays, and there are also major road-works going on. We come to a fork that I know well. It’s being refurbished, and the speed limits decrease accordingly. Because I’m taking the left bend, I stay on what would be the fast lane, even though the limit is now 60 on all lanes. A driver appears behind my car, flashing his headlights, but I can’t change lanes to let him overtake, nor can I accelerate. He guns up the engine and overtakes me on the right side, giving me the stink-eye and mouthing bad words as he passes by. A few kilometres later, there’s a queue caused by yet more road-work. Cars are driving bumper to bumper, and I happen to side up with the guy who overtook me. He has both windows down, so I wave at him.)

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry that I wouldn’t go past 60… It’s because there are three speed cameras in that spot. Have a nice holiday!”

(I then rolled up my windows and watched him stew until the exit.)

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