Hips Don’t Lie, And They’re Telling Me She’s A B****

, , , , | Friendly | March 14, 2019

(I have bad hips due to working too hard as a mail deliverer, meaning I had to quit my job and can only take desk jobs now. My bad hips are worst in winter, but in summer I can be lucky and have less pain. I take the tram home and it’s rush hour. A woman and I both enter the tram at the same time via different doors and reach a single empty chair. I reach it slightly before her. Since my hips are being nice to me, I decide to stand for a while and offer this seat to the sweet old lady before me.)

Me: “Feel free to take this seat, ma’am.”

Lady: “You’d better! I was here first!”

Me: *ticked off* “Well, pardon me for offering you this seat, ma’am!”

(The old lady huffs while she sits down and I take a standing spot. And what do you know, my hips start acting up and the pain slowly increases with time. Meanwhile, the old lady keeps on staring at me, giving me a stink eye. After a few stops, a seat finally empties and I can take that seat. A few stops after that, the old lady leaves, but not before stopping at my seat.)

Lady: “Well, are you sitting nicely now, at your own little seat?!”

Me: “Ma’am, this is saying more about you than it does about me.”

Lady: “Yes, it does! It says you are a rude little b****! You must be very proud of yourself!”

(She leaves the tram in a huff.)

Other Woman: “What was that all about?!”

Me: “Oh, I offered my seat to her and she told me off.”

Other Woman: “Pwah! She’s lucky she even had a chair! If she was this rude to me, I would have taken that chair and let her stand. Would’ve probably taught her some humility!”

The Golden Rule

, , , , , | Friendly | March 14, 2019

(I have had platinum blonde hair for all of my childhood and right into my mid-late 20s. In this story, I am sixteen and my friend is fourteen. We are travelling to school on the bus one morning.)

Friend: *randomly* “You know, your hair isn’t blonde. It’s too pale.”

Me: “Okay, if you say so. What colour is it, then?”

Friend: “I don’t know, but it isn’t blonde.”

Me: “Well, if it isn’t blonde, what is it? Is it black?”

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Is it red?

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Is it brunette?”

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Are you saying you think my hair is white?”

Friend: “No, it’s not that pale.”

Me: “So, it must be blonde.”

Friend: “No! I told you! It’s too pale!”

Me: “Soooo, what colour is it, then?”

Friend: “I. Don’t. Know. It’s just too pale to be blonde.”

Me: *smirking* “Okay, whatever.”

(I didn’t bother arguing with her anymore since I was familiar with her intransigent nature. However, being only a mere teenager, I did have a giggle with mutual friends about her claim later on.)

Not Up-Lifting Examples Of Humanity

, , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2019

One summer I fell over quite badly, resulting in a severely sprained ankle. For about two months I was on crutches, with my lower left leg encased in a solid, bulky, black boot for support and protection. I had physio appointments at the city centre hospital, after which I usually went to the food court in the shopping centre on my way home.

This shopping centre has two main levels with stairs, escalators, and lifts between them both. The food court is on the first floor, overlooking an entertainment and display area on the ground floor. I couldn’t handle stairs at that time, for obvious reasons, and I was wary of trying to go up the escalators on crutches, as well. This meant I had to use the lifts, an experience I usually try to avoid.

One time, I went to the lift nearest the entrance where I came into the shopping centre. I was tired and wanted to sit down, and I knew there were seats near the lift upstairs. There were about half a dozen parents with pushchairs waiting to use a lift that can carry four at a time, so I knew I’d have to wait. The first group went up, and while waiting for it to come back down another pair of pushchair-wielding mothers joined us.

When the lift opened again, these new arrivals physically pushed me out of the way in order to get in the lift first. “Mothers before cripples,” one announced, with the other rebutting, “She’s probably faking it, anyway.” The lift was gone before I could get back up off the floor.

On another post-physio visit, I decided to use the lift nearer the food court. Like the other lift, it can hold four pushchairs with accompanying adults. There was only one pushchair waiting when I limped over. The lift arrived, disgorged its occupants, and the man with the pushchair got in and immediately turned the pushchair sideways across the entrance. He was completely blocking it, preventing me from getting in the lift myself. He didn’t explain himself or say anything; he just blocked me from getting into the lift so he could have it to himself.

After those two incidents, I started coming into the centre via the street entrance of one of the shops, and using their lifts to get up to the first floor instead of hoping that the centre lifts would be usable first time.

DJ Hobo In The House!

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2019

(My friend and I are eating lunch outside. I am sitting leaning against a concrete pillar while he sits opposite me against a wall. I am just about done when I hear snippets of a strange, rambling voice behind me.)

Voice: “Yeah, I’m… money… fo dis… real man… yeah…”

(I look at my friend who is watching whatever is going on with a look that is equal parts bafflement and horror. I piece together the incoherent blather and his face and come to the conclusion that a confused, homeless person has somehow snuck onto our campus and is currently harassing students for money. Not wanting to deal with that hassle, I quickly finish my food and stand up so that we can head indoors, pointedly not turning around, to avoid making eye contact.)

Friend: *immediately once we were indoors* “Did you see that?!”

Me: “I heard it. I figured it was some crazed, homeless guy bothering students.”

Friend: “What? No! It was that blond chick trying to rap!”

(I turn around and see a blond girl that neither of us knows, but she is hard to ignore, as she loudly speaks like a “gangsta.” She is in the middle of a small group of people bobbing back and forth with her hand to her mouth as if holding a microphone.)

Me: “Good God, her free-styling was so awful I assumed it was a half-drunk hobo seeking pocket change from teenagers.”

Her Argument Won’t Have A Leg To Stand On

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2019

I’m taking the bus home. You can meet some… interesting… people on public transportation. This older woman gets in and starts yelling at a man sitting in a disabled seat the moment she sees him.

The man stares at her for a minute, seemingly bored, and then nonchalantly raises his pant leg to reveal a prosthetic. The woman’s expression is priceless. She stutters an apology and then sits far in the back.

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