Claim Loss Of Memory, While You’re At It

, , , , , | Legal | August 20, 2018

(I was involved in the Blue Line Train fire about ten years ago. The train caught fire after leaving downtown Chicago because there was something wrong with the rails and it caused so much friction on the wheels, the train caught fire. I have decided to get a lawyer to represent me. I notice that two girls who were also on the train work for a law firm and mention — in the news story — that they are using their firm to represent them. When I read the story in the paper the next day, I decide to contact them to represent me, as well.)

Me: *sitting at home with friends* “I hired a personal injury attorney today to represent me in the Blue Line Fire.”

Friend: “Who did you hire?”

Me: “[Firm].”

Friend: “Why did you hire them?”

Me: “Because I don’t know any personal injury lawyers.”

Friend: “Yes, you do! ME!”

(Yes, I had completely forgotten what my friend did for a living. He eventually forgave me.)

The Judicial Blintz

, , , , , | Legal | August 19, 2018

(This takes place many years ago. My great-grandmother is in court to become a US citizen, when this happens.)

Judge: “What are the three branches of government?”

Great-Grandmother: “Executive, Legislative, and Jewish.”

Judge: “You’re Jewish?”

Great-Grandmother: “Yeah.”

Judge: “Do you know how to make blintzes?”

Great-Grandmother: “Yes, of course.”

Judge: “My wife tries to make them, but they always fall apart. What should she do differently?”

Great-Grandmother: *gives blintz-making advice that sadly has been lost to time*

Judge: “I’m approving your citizenship application. Congratulations.”

These Boots Were Made For Killing…

, , , , , | Legal | August 18, 2018

(I work in retail. Normally, I’m a cashier, but on this particular day my managers have assigned me to work the sales floor. The day starts off normally, and when it slows down, I make my way up to the front register to take a break. The head cashier sees me as I’m walking up, and I notice she looks slightly panicked.)

Coworker: *excited* “There are two city homicide detectives here.”

Me: “What?!”

Coworker: “Yeah, they’re in the manager’s office right now. They took a box of [Expensive Brand] boots in with them.”

Me: “Why?”

(One of my managers walks over and joins in on our conversation.)

Manager: “They found something.”

(My manager then told me that a week earlier, a family had entered our store and stolen a pair of high-priced fashion boots. They had taken off their old, worn boots, slipped on the new ones, and then put the old ones in the shoebox and left it on the shelf. Unfortunately, the old boots had bloodstains on them that had come from the victim of a homicide. The police had managed to track down the family, and one of them must have admitted to leaving the evidence shoes at our store. Those bloody boots had somehow managed to stay on our shelves, in the box, for nearly a week without anyone noticing. Even creepier, our store had surveillance footage of two other employees — and me — serving that family on the day of the theft, not knowing that we were talking to people who probably had intimate knowledge of a murder. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night.)

From A Private Booth To A Private Cell

, , , , | Legal | August 17, 2018

(I am the hostess and cashier at a Mexican restaurant. My station at the front is a completely separate room; I cannot see the dining area from the register. Every single staff member, from the owner down to the servers and cooks, is Hispanic. I’m the only Caucasian employee, but since I still have dark hair, dark eyes, and a fairly dark skin tone, people frequently mistake me for Hispanic, as well. A husband and wife walk in during a very busy Friday evening.)

Me: “Good evening! Welcome to [Restaurant]!”

Wife: “We want a booth, please.”

Me: “If a booth is available, that will be no problem.”

Wife: “Fine.”

(I seat the couple. Every booth is taken, so I put them at a table. I go back to the register, and within a few minutes have a long line of people cashing out. Eventually, the couple comes up to the register to pay.)

Me: “Hello! How was everything tonight?”

Wife: “AWFUL!”

Me: “I’m so sorry. What was the problem?”

Husband: “We asked for a booth and you put us at a table!”

Me: “Sir, there were no booths available when I sat y’all; it’s been very busy tonight and a lot of other people also wanted booths. It was just bad timing.”

Husband: “We saw people at booths get up and leave! You should have reseated us! You knew we wanted a booth, and now you’ve ruined our night out!”

Me: “I do apologize but, sir, I cannot see the dining area from here, nor what tables people get up from. If you want a booth that badly, you’d have a better chance at getting one if you came during a less busy time.”

Wife: *shouting at this point* “You b****! We should have expected this of some lazy f****** [Mexican racial slur]!”

(My patience and cheerful manner instantly vanish the moment the slur leaves her mouth. I can deal with swearing, but I have ZERO tolerance for racist crap like this.)

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t care how angry you are. You will not use that kind of language in this establishment!”

Husband: *also shouting* “How dare you speak to my wife like that?! We are God-fearing white folks! We’ll say anything we d*** well please about all you filthy [racial slur]s!” *gestures to me and to the couple of servers who came in to investigate the shouting* “You will give us our food for free right now, b****!”

(By this point I am shaking with rage but still trying to control myself.)

Me: “Sir, first of all, I am not Hispanic; I’m just as Caucasian as you are. But that still gives you no right to use racially abusive language towards anybody! If you think swearing and using racial slurs will get you free food, you are sadly mistaken!”

Husband: “No, you’re not! Don’t you f****** lie to me, you little s***! No respectable white girl hangs around these Mexican monkeys! You’re a f****** lying [racial slur] w****!”

Me: “Sir, after this behavior you are definitely not getting your meal for free. Please pay for your food and leave right now!”

(At this, the wife begins screaming unintelligibly, and the husband suddenly lunges at me, grabs my wrist and a handful of my hair, and attempts to physically haul me over the counter from behind the register, screaming profanities and slurs at me and the entire staff. The owner, who has walked in at this point, steps in with my the rest of the staff to pull the man off me. His wife is still screaming like a banshee and attempting to strike the employees pulling her husband off me. The owner eventually pries him loose and proceeds to inform him that once he and his wife have paid for their meal, they are banned from the restaurant. The couple is adamant that they won’t leave unless they get a free meal, which the owner refuses to do.)

Husband: “And what the f*** is some dirty [racial slur] going to do about it?!”

Voice: *from behind him* “Good evening.”

(The husband screamed and whirled around, fists flying, and VERY narrowly missed hitting the two cops who had just walked in the door and dodged him at the last second. One of the servers, it turned out, had called the police during the altercation. They ended up arresting the couple for assault and battery, and assaulting a police officer after the wife attacked the officers when she saw them putting her husband in handcuffs. All this because they got a table when they wanted a booth.)

Needs A “Change” In Tactics

, , , , | Legal | August 16, 2018

(My supervisor is telling a coworker and me about a high school student who was working in the store one holiday season. My supervisor was on one register, and the  student was on another when a man charged into the store and right up to her register.)

Man: “I want the money.”

Coworker: “Excuse me?”

Man: “I want you to open the register, and get me the money.”

Coworker: “Sir, I can’t open the register. I’ll need to get a manager to open it.” *she reaches for her radio and calls out, the whole time staring the man right in the eye* “MOD, MOD, there’s a man up at the front who’s demanding money out of the register.”

Manager: *over the radio* “What, like the change was miscounted and he wants it fixed?”

Coworker: *continuing to make eye contact with the man* “Oh, no. He’s trying to rob us.”

(As soon as my coworker oh-so-casually mentioned he was attempting to rob them, he ran out of the store as fast as he could. My supervisor was laughing too hard at the story to tell us if he was arrested or not for the haphazard robbery attempt.)

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