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Sterling Archer’s Day Off

, , , , , | Related | May 11, 2021

I’m an imagery analyst for a government-funded agency, which is a polite way of saying I’m a spy for the CIA.

One day, my dad calls me and says that there is a family emergency, so I rush home from work.

Dad: “Your younger brother’s phone got stolen at school. Can you find it?”

First off, it’s an ancient phone model. It’s worthless. Second, my brother has three phones — hand-me-downs from the rest of the family — so losing one is no biggie.

Me: “You kidding me?”

Dad: “No. You’re a spy. You’re supposed to be good at tracking things down, so I want you to go use your fancy government surveillance gizmos, find me that phone, and send the perp who did this to your torture rooms.”

Let’s ignore everything else he said. My brother is TEN. I ain’t torturing no schoolmates of his.

Me: “Can’t you find it by yourself?”

Dad: “Nope. Already searched the school for it. It’s not there. Now go do your job.”

In short, he’s too lazy. I curse under my breath in Cantonese. One hour later, I plop the phone down on the table.

Dad: *To my brother* “See?! I told you that your brother could do it! Good thing he’s a spy, eh?”

Brother: “Cool! How did you do it?”

Dad: “He’s a spy! He’s got access to all of the government surveillance gizmos and s***.”

Me: “No, I didn’t use that.”

Dad: “Oh, then what? Did you go to the school and find out who stole it and then gave him the old one-two?”

Me: “No. I used the [Phone Finder] app to find the d*** phone. It was on the soccer field. He forgot to bring it home.”

Word of advice, kids: don’t become a spy. James Bond lied about how exciting it is, and everyone that knows you’re one thinks you’re either their personal sniffer dog or hitman.

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So Much For Hope!

, , , , , | Friendly | May 11, 2021

I am in a very dark mood one day when someone knocks at my front door. When I open it, two young women are standing there, one holding a Bible and the other various pamphlets.

I’m not religious but I don’t object to other people having or professing religious beliefs, and ordinarily, I wouldn’t mind having a chat with two very pretty ladies, but today is the exception. They start their spiel.

Visitors: “Could I ask you what you think of the state the world is in today?”

Me: “Frankly, I think the sooner the human race wipes itself out, the better.”

Visitors: “…”

They tried to continue but, somehow, their hearts just didn’t seem to be in it anymore.

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, , , , | Right | May 11, 2021

I was a farmers’ market vendor for a few years. Our market made a point of selling local, home-grown produce. 

One customer came in asking for avocados, which are, of course, tropical and not grown here in western Idaho. I don’t know if he didn’t understand “local produce” or “climate zones,” but he was miffed that none of us sold avocados!

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Bullies Are Just The Worst

, , , , , | Learning | May 11, 2021

I am not social in school. One boy, in particular, seems to take great pleasure in pushing me to the point of tears before leaving me alone with my anger. I tell my parents about this boy, they ask the school to intervene, and the school sends us to a group called “peer counselors.” Each counsel session has two school-aged counselors and one teacher. I’m nine, [Boy] is eleven, and we’re both in fourth grade.

Peer Counselor #1: “We are here today to find out why [My Name] feels targeted by [Boy].”

Boy: “She likes it.”

Me: “I don’t.”

Boy: *Poking me* “It’s just for fun!”

I duck out of his reach, batting his hand away.

Me: “Stop!”

Boy: “She hit me! See?”

Peer Counselor #1: “[Boy], please keep your hands to yourself. [My Name], don’t hit.”

Peer Counselor #2: “[My Name], why do you think [Boy] is picking on you?”

Me: “I don’t know. He’s mean.”

Peer Counselor #2: “Let’s try to not use words like that. Let’s try being more constructive and less destructive.”

Boy: “[My Name] doesn’t have friends. I’m just trying to give her the attention she wants.”

Me: “I don’t want attention.”

Boy: “Then why did you go tattling to your mommy and daddy like a widdle baby?

He makes mocking crying motions by his eyes. I feel the tears coming and shake my head.

Boy: “See? She’s a baby!”

Peer Counselor #2: “[Boy], we don’t call people babies.”

Peer Counselor #1: “Clearly, [My Name] does not like the attention you’re giving her. Don’t you think you should stop?”

Boy: “No. No one else even talks to her.”

He reaches over and pulls my hair so hard my head jerks sideways.

Me: “Stop!”

I start crying.

Teacher: “Okay, [Boy]. That’s enough. Get up.”

Boy: “What?”

Teacher: “Get up. Now.”

She stands beside him, not touching him.

Boy: “You can’t make me.”

Teacher: “Get. Up.”

[Boy] smiles smugly, crossing his arms.

Boy: “No.”

Teacher: “Okay.”

She grabs him by the arm and drags him out of the room. He protests as they go down the hall toward the principal’s office.

Boy: “Hey! Let go! You can’t touch me!”

My mom came and picked me up from school that day. A few days later, when I returned to school, I heard that [Boy] had been expelled. My “tattling” had given other kids the courage to come forward, sharing experiences from stealing lunch money to physical intimidation. The principal and other staff members felt that expulsion was the best move for everyone. I don’t know what happened to [Boy] or where he went after he was expelled.

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They Make Decaf, You Know

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: Uncle_blazer71 | May 11, 2021

I work as a barista at a local coffee shop. We have a regular who is the WORST. She is the type of lady who complains about food/drinks just to try to con us out of free stuff. For example, she’ll order a sandwich with four extra pickle spears and get irate when we try to charge her extra for them. She always has an issue with EVERYTHING she orders.

[Regular] comes in every day and orders the same drink: a large mocha latte. I take her order every day and make her drink every day.

One fateful — incredibly busy — morning, she comes in, orders her usual, and sits down. There is a line of maybe fifteen people and I have one other coworker behind the bar with me. I make [Regular]’s drink as quickly as possible, take it to her, and go back in the weeds.

A few minutes later, I see [Regular] hovering toward the front of the line and I know today is gonna be the day.

Me: “[Regular], everything okay?”

Regular: “No, this tastes too strong today. How many espresso shots are in it?”

Me: “Sorry about that, large lattes always have three shots.”

Regular: *Looking mortified* “OH, NO! I ordered this with only two shots. I’m going to need you to remake this.”

Me: “[Regular], I’ve been taking your order every day for six months. You’ve never once asked for only two shots. I can remake it for you, but you’ll have to pay for it.”

Regular: “Well, my doctor said I can’t have this much caffeine. I only wanted two shots and I demand you make this right! And I will not be paying for it.”

I am super sympathetic to people with special health concerns and requests. Of course, I would never want to serve anyone anything that would make them sick. But I know [Regular], and I know she’s full of s***.

Me: “So, your doctor said two shots of espresso is fine?”

Regular: “Exactly.”

I grab her cup from her, take it over to the sink — in plain view of her and the growing line of customers — and proceed to dump exactly one-third of her latte down the drain. Then, I put the lid back on and hand it back.

Me: “Should be safe to drink now. Have a good one!”

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