Fake News Has Two Sides

, , , , , | Friendly | October 18, 2017

(I work for a national news network known for taking a more conservative stance on political issues. I’m riding the Metro home from work the day after President Trump’s inauguration, and am caught in all the “Women’s March” traffic. It’s so packed that I’m literally up against a wall with other people. They’re all very friendly and everyone is having a good time. At one stop, two seats open up behind me.)

Lady: *from the march* “You go ahead and take that seat.”

Me: “Oh, it’s okay; I’ve been sitting at work all day.”

Lady: “Oh, what do you do?”

Me: “I’m a news producer.” *at this point, I’m a little nervous to tell her where I work*

Lady: “At what outlet?”

Me: “Uhh… Don’t make me answer that.”

Lady: *in shock* “But you’re so nice!”

(Didn’t know I had to be a jerk to work at my news agency. Oh, well.)

Sick To One’s Engine

, , , , , | Friendly | October 18, 2017

(I am moving six hours away from home for grad school. This involves packing up my one-bedroom apartment and moving my furniture two hours away to a relative’s house for storage, plus getting rid of my car. I talk to my sister, who amazingly offers to come down and help and get her friend to drive the moving truck, after I told her I wasn’t sure I could do it. She, her friend, and my nieces, ages two and four, drive down to help. My car gets picked up shortly after they arrive by a guy with a flatbed truck. My nieces sit on my porch, fascinated, and very concerned about where my car is going. I try to explain by saying I don’t need the car anymore and that it’s very old and run-down, but I can tell they don’t quite get it. For backstory, my sister’s friend is a mechanic and drives large diesel trucks for a living, and the girls know this. Hours later, after everything is unpacked and in storage, I am playing with my two-year-old niece in the backyard. An ambulance drives by with its sirens on. My niece stops to watch.)

Niece: “Fire truck!”

Me: “That’s an ambulance, honey. It’s taking someone who is hurt or sick to the hospital.”

Niece: “Auntie’s car! Hospital!”

Me: “Right, you saw my car get hauled away this morning.”

Niece: “Hospital. Sick.”

Me: “Uh…”

(At this point, my sister’s friend walks over to us, having heard the conversation.)

Friend: “[Nieces] were very worried about your car. They kept asking me where it went. Finally, I had to tell them that the guy took it to the hospital because it was sick, so I could fix it, just so they stopped asking me the same question over and over!”

Me: “Well, you’re not wrong, except I’d classify it as terminal!”

Roommate And Chemicals Don’t Mix

, , , , , , , , , | Friendly | October 17, 2017

(I have been attending college and just moved into my first apartment. I am a slightly older student, and so I asked for an older roommate. I am there for one month, and my roommate proceeds to give me the cold shoulder the entire time. Finally, after three and a half weeks, he starts to warm up to me. One Thursday night, I invite my friends over to hang out. My roommate decides to join us, and they begin playing a drinking game. I do not drink, so I am drinking water. Everyone gets drunk pretty quickly.)

Friend #1: “I’m hungry. Do you have any snacks? Anything sweet?”

Me: “Yeah, there’s some ice cream in the fridge; help yourself!”

Friend #2: “I want some ice cream!”

Roommate: “You can’t have any ice cream; you’ll throw up. Don’t make me take care of you tonight.”

Friend #2: “I’ll be fine!”

Friend #1: “Yeah, she didn’t drink that much.”

Roommate: “Whatever, man…”

Me: *to my friend* “Hey, I might have something for your stomach…”

(As I try and ask if [Antacid] or [Motion Sickness Medicine] would work, my roommate loses his cool. He stands up in his seat and begins screaming at me at the top of his lungs from across the table.)

Roommate:What?! What are you talking about!? Chemicals?! She needs water!

(He jabs his finger in my face to emphasize his point. I am staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. I really don’t handle people screaming at me very well, especially drunk people, and tend to panic or cry.)

Friend #1 & #2: “Woah, you need to calm down.”

Roommate: “NO! SHE’S OFFERING YOU CHEMICALS! What was it you said!?” *I hadn’t named anything yet.* “SHE NEEDS TO DRINK WATER! YOU GOT THAT!? WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

(He storms off to his room, still screaming at the top of his lungs. As my friends try to talk him down, I shakily stand up and head off to my room. However, doing this seems to irritate my roommate more, and he becomes much louder.)

Friend #2: “You need to stop!”

Roommate: “NO! IF SHE WANTS TO BE IMMATURE, LET HER! I’M THE ONE BEING AN ADULT HERE!”

Me: *turns to look at my roommate* “Can I say something? I’m not leaving because you were wrong. I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking.” *at this point I really just want him to stop screaming* “I left because you’re screaming at me and it’s very rude.”

Roommate: “YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT RUDE!? I KNOW YOU WENT IN MY ROOM!”

Me: “What? I’ve never been in your room.”

Roommate: “WHY IS YOUR VOICE SHAKING?! IF YOU DIDN’T DO IT, WHY THE F*** IS YOUR VOICE SHAKING?!”

Me: “I—”

Roommate: “WHY IS YOUR VOICE SHAKING?!”

Me: “B-because my heart is pounding? You’re screaming at me.”

Roommate: “I’M TRYING TO BE AN ADULT HERE. THIS IS TOO IMMATURE FOR ME. ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR!? I DON’T DEAL WITH LIARS!”

(Then he stormed out of the apartment, stomping so loudly that the floor to our third-floor apartment shook. After this, I was scared of this man and proceeded to go home. I spent the next week quickly moving my stuff out of the apartment and commuting to school, which took two whole hours, one way. I came to find out that he submitted a complaint to the front office within the first day of me living there. It made things very ironic and incredibly creepy when I returned to the apartment at the end of the week and found that not only had he stolen some of my personal belongings from the common area, he had also dug through my personal trash for things to keep. I will be filing a police report tomorrow morning. Guilty conscious much?)

Mama And Papa New Guinea

, , , , , | Friendly | October 17, 2017

(My friend lives alone in Canada and I live in the US. We spend all of our free time online chatting. She has recently purchased a baby poofy guinea pig as a pet, since her apartment building won’t allow cats or dogs. She has raised guinea pigs before, so she knows what to do. After a couple months, my friend sadly messages me.)

Friend: “I think my guinea pig is dying.”

Me: “Oh, no!”

Friend: “Yeah. She doesn’t move around at all anymore and hasn’t really eaten the past couple of days. I’ll message you later; I’m going for a walk.”

(My friend goes for a walk and then comes home, texting me.)

Friend: “Well, I think my guinea pig is doing better!”

Me: “Really? Awesome!”

Friend: “Yeah! She threw up a couple hairballs and now seems to have more energy.”

Friend: “Oh, God! The hairballs are breathing! It’s babies! She’s having babies! What do I do?!”

Me: “Aww! Let nature take over. She’ll know what to do.”

Friend: “I don’t know how to take care of babies!”

Me: “Relax!”

Friend: “BUT SHE WAS A BABY WHEN I GOT HER! HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?!”

(We discovered later that guinea pigs mate at a very young age if not separated quickly; the store had not separated them quickly enough!)

Kid Earns A High Five

, , , , | Friendly | October 16, 2017

(The young son of one of our regulars is the cutest thing. He goes up to my coworker with a pack of cards that we give away for free, as a promotion for a game his dad plays, and he says, in his tiny voice:)

Kid: “Is it okay I took this? It says ‘thirteen plus.’ I’m five.”

Coworker: “That’s okay; we won’t tell.”

(We both had a good laugh at his seriousness. Ah, the logic of a five-year-old.)

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