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Mind Your Own Bus-iness

, , , , , | Right | December 5, 2022

When I joined the company I currently work for back in 2009, I was located in a store an hour and a half away from my hometown by bus. This story takes place on the bus coming home. My friend and I had been working a long day in the store — ten hours each — and we got on the 20:30 bus home. Around twenty minutes into the journey, a young man boarded and stood and talked to the driver, who he seemed to know well. 

This didn’t bother any of the passengers already on board until we got to the next town over. There, a couple in their late sixties boarded and sat down on the lower deck. (We have double-decker buses in the UK.) About five minutes after they boarded, I could hear them moaning about the young man talking with the driver. They then started to loudly make their opinion on the matter known to anyone within earshot. 

It went on and on and on, constant complaining and crowing about how the young man should behave like a proper passenger. No one else was bothered by it at all. Eventually, we arrived at the main bus station in the town before my home town. The older couple began to get off, but not before they berated the driver for a solid ten minutes.

At this point, the rest of us were tired and just wanted to get home. I was about to stand up and say something when a middle-aged man stood up and walked over to them.

Man: “Look. We are all tired and stressed after a long day at work. Leave these men alone and p*** off before I shove my umbrella somewhere.”

The older couple looked at him and then got off the bus to cheers from the other passengers.

Sounds Like A Lot Of People Are About To Go Into Overtime

, , , , , , | Working | CREDIT: Young-Grandpa | December 5, 2022

This took place in the 1990s when a T1 (1.5 Mbps data connection) would run you over $500 a month, and only the phone company and a few very large, data-centric companies would even dream of having a T3 (43 Mbps).

I was working for one of those telephone companies in the central office where we provisioned and trouble-shot those very lucrative services. There were four people in my department, making it one of the larger such offices in the state.

One day, [Tech #1] was on vacation, [Tech #2] was out of the office for some other reason, and [Tech #3] called in sick. I was alone for eight hours with the workload of four technicians. Well, as a good employee, I prioritized and got all the trouble tickets done and all of the most urgent new services installed. Everything due that day was done. But in the process, I missed my two fifteen-minute breaks and worked through lunch.

My supervisor came down at the end of the day to congratulate me on my good work, and he watched me fill out my timesheet for nine hours. He started to get a little panicky.

Supervisor: “I can’t approve overtime. I’ll get in trouble.”

Me: “I just spent nine hours doing the work of four people. That’s thirty-two hours’ worth of work.”

Supervisor: “But it wasn’t approved.”

Me: “What can we do, then? I worked it; I need to get paid.”

Supervisor: “You could leave an hour early on Friday.”

Me: “Okay.”

Come Friday, I decided to take full advantage and only take a half-hour lunch so I could leave at 3:30 instead of 4:00. Well, guess what? [Tech #1] and [Tech #3] had not returned, so it was just two of us. [Tech #2] disappeared at 1:30 or so. I found out later she was interviewing for a management position.

At 3:00, I got paged for a ticket on one of those very expensive T3s that was “down hard.” I was to join a conference bridge to assist in troubleshooting. I joined the call. Then, at 3:25:

Me: “Sorry, I have to drop off. I’m not approved for any overtime. The night shift person will be here in a half hour to help.”

I dropped off, knowing the night person on duty had never worked on a T3 before.

I hadn’t even reached my car when the pager started blowing up.

Pager: “Overtime is approved; please stay on.”

But I had already clocked out, so I just smiled and got into my car. I drove home and took my wife out for a long overdue date night.

Fills You With Warm Fuzzies (And Cold Stickies)

, , , , , , | Romantic | December 5, 2022

When we were first married, my husband worked the night shift, so he would get home while I was asleep. One night, I happened to be dreaming as he climbed into bed. For some reason, I dreamed that he was rubbing melted ice cream and dryer lint on his face.

From my perspective, I was watching him do something very strange and told him to clean his face.

From his perspective, he climbed into bed after a long shift at work, next to his loving wife, who sleepily turned to him and said:

Me: “I hate your face. It’s covered in garbage.”

If You Don’t Want To Be Treated Like A Child…

, , , | Right | December 5, 2022

For the past several years, I’ve worked in our public library’s computer lab. Most of my job consists of helping patrons print and doing some basic troubleshooting. It’s not very busy these days, but our management tries to schedule two people on the desk at all times to cover breaks and keep wait times down.

An older man is standing by our payment kiosk. He hasn’t asked for help, but it sounds like he’s struggling, so I head over to see what I can do. I see him about to insert his library card into the bill collector and, afraid he’s about to lose his card and potentially damage the machine, I hurry to intervene.

Me: “Oh, no, no, no! Not like that! Here, let me—”

Patron: “I AM NOT A TODDLER! Don’t you dare talk to me like one!”

I’m struck dumb with shock. This explosion came out of nowhere from what I can tell. All I can do is mutely point to where he needs to put his card to proceed and return to the desk once he’s got his prints. My coworker gives me a wide-eyed look and we nod to each other, a silent agreement that that was kind of crazy.

For a time, it’s peaceful, but before long, it sounds like the man is struggling again, this time resorting to muttered curses under his breath. Steeling myself, I go over to the man once more. This time, he’s sitting at a computer, so I stand opposite of him with a table between us. He refuses to look at me at first.

Me: “Sir, do you need any—”

Patron: “What I need is to not be treated like a child! I’m a grown man and will be respected as one!”

Me:Speaking of which, the language you have been using is inappropriate and needs to stop. We are here to help you, sir, and if you don’t want help from me personally, that’s fine and I understand. My coworker is here and she can help you, or we can contact a manager if that’s what you’d prefer. But we cannot help you if you don’t ask us for it. Do we have an understanding?”

The man had deflated somewhat, but he muttered petulantly about not cursing, and when I informed him that the desk was not at all far from where we were and we could hear him, he fell silent.

I returned to the desk and quietly offered an apology to my coworker for putting her on the spot like that. Thankfully, she said she understood and agreed that it was probably the right call.

Sure enough, the patron came to my coworker and asked for her help before leaving. I was helping someone else at the time, so I don’t know how the exchange went, but it was certainly much quieter, and my coworker reported that he was much more polite with her.

As If The Kid Gives One Single Baby Poop What Color He Wears

, , , , , | Related | CREDIT: Character-Ad-6728 | December 5, 2022

In November of last year, I gave birth to our first baby. It’s the first in my family and the sixth in my husband’s family. All six kids are boys, and my mother-in-law has got some sick baby girl rabies.

From the moment we made the announcement, [Mother-In-Law] convinced herself that I was pregnant with a girl.

Me: “[Mother-In-Law], as soon as we know the baby’s gender, you will be the first one to know.”

We told her it was a boy; she still was convinced it was a girl. She told the whole side of the family it was a girl. I corrected her, but she told them I was just annoyed because I wanted a boy first. I wanted a healthy baby; I didn’t give a d*** about the sex. She also told them we were naming the girl after her mom, which we would never do because my husband hates his grandma.

When the baby shower gifts started to come, I noticed a lot of things that weren’t on the registry, and embroidered things with [Grandma]’s name. And it didn’t matter that we’d told them the baby’s gender and name and made clear that we were not lying about the gender. Everyone believed [Mother-In-Law].

Well, the baby was born. And imagine the surprise… It was a boy, just LIKE WE HAD BEEN TELLING EVERYONE. The problem (for them) was that now the baby had plenty of “girly” clothes, pink onesies, etc., and we dressed our baby with them, especially for video calls with [Husband]’s family and for pictures for them.

After one Saturday call, [Mother-In-Law] called us to scream at us.

Mother-In-Law: “You’re making the elders uncomfortable, not sticking to a masculine color scheme with the baby clothes! You need to stop this childishness. I just thought your belly shape was more like a girl than a boy.”

Me: “We are not changing [Baby]’s clothes. Just wait until the dresses fit; he will look adorable.