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Unfiltered Story #249186

, , , | Unfiltered | December 8, 2021

One day, during a free period in the middle of the day, I decided to draw. On this occasion, I chose to involve my classmates. Once I was done and put it in my open binder with the rest of my artwork, one of my friends noticed my recreation of the class, and started calling people over to see. It was acceptable to walk around the room during a free period, as long as we could be civil and relatively quiet, so we quickly had the whole class huddled around me. Most of the class enjoyed what I had drawn. One student, however…

Student: “Are you f***ing kidding me? Why would you draw me like that?”

Me: “I needed to fill out the class. That’s all.”

Student: “That’s bull**** is what it is! Give me that!”

He then proceeds to take, not the lone drawing, but my entire binder. Besides the drawing in question, that binder contained my notebooks for all of my classes, a field trip permission slip for the next class, a check I had to give an administrator so I could take the AP Chemistry test, my not-so-well hidden MtG deck (and the cards are forbidden on school grounds, with certain teachers willing to tear them up), and some drawings I hadn’t emptied out at home yet. In reference to that last one, I was also a shy kid in high school, so my only friends were the students I was partnered with on a project and forced to communicate with. I also lacked any romantic courage. The majority of those drawings were of the girl I had a huge crush on since that was the most I could hope for. None of them were lewd or in anyway inappropriate – I think the worst one being when I attempted to recreate the jump shot she made during P.E. when the air lifted her shirt to show her waist – but the sheer abundance of them would have made my feelings clear and likely would have come off as creepy.

Me: “Drop it! That’s my school stuff!”

Student: “Let’s let the teachers see the art you so proud of!”

Me: “Fine! Just give me the damn binder!”

This back and forth continued for a while; thankfully, the teacher assigned to watch us stepped out briefly. When I finally got fed up, I punched him. He stumbled back and dropped my binder. I managed to scoop it up and push it away before this turned into a full-on fight. It didn’t last too long, since the teacher next door heard my class react to my first punch and started to walk us both to the principal. When I mentioned my binder was relevant, we walked back and I got it. Under cover of zipping the binder, I fished out my cards. As I stood up, I put my hand on my friend’s desk, and slid my cards into his lap, arching my eyebrows to tell him to watch them. We then continued our trek to the principal’s office, where he asked first the other student what happened.

Student: “He punched me first, just because I was going to show the teacher the offensive drawing he made of me.”

Principal: “Is this true.”

Me: “Somewhat.”

Principal: “‘Somewhat’?”

Me: “I did punch him first, but the reason is he took my whole binder, not the one drawing. And if you look through it, you’ll see why that bothered me.”

Thankfully, he brushed most of the drawings aside quickly. He skimmed all of my notebooks, and then found the check and permission slip. He agreed it was wrong for me to punch him, but it was wrong and unnecessary to take my whole binder. We both had a week’s detention. Thankfully, I was still allowed to go on the trip.

And for clarity: In the drawing, all of my classmates were drawn with the clothes and hairstyles of various characters from the cartoon Recess. The offensive part? I drew him as Randall; for the uninitiated, Randall was a snitch.

As If Pregnancy Wasn’t Stressful Enough!

, , , , , , , , | Friendly | May 20, 2020

After a job contract is up, we’re moving back home from Honolulu to Seattle. My husband is wrapping up the last bit of work in Hawaii while I fly home with our two-and-eight-ninths kids. That is, I’m a couple of days away from being thirty-six weeks pregnant, nearing the end of the time airlines and obstetricians like pregnant women flying. I’m very excited to get back home.

But it seems like everything is working against it. Part of the highway is closed to film an episode of Hawaii 5-0. The line to check in is way longer than anticipated. And there’s a line to check that we’re not exporting exotic flora. And there’s a huge line for security. At the end of this line, I accidentally leave a carry-on bag, not realizing until I’m halfway to the gate, so I have to go back. And of course, my husband was unable to get a gate escort pass, so he can’t help.

I end up running as fast as an eight-month-pregnant woman can, pushing my two-year-old in a stroller laden with carry-on bags, dragging my four-year-old, both kids crying, my glasses slipping down my nose from sweat; it’s hot in Hawaii, and our trek includes an outdoor walkway. 

Fortunately, the plane crew knows we’ve checked in and a flight attendant is holding the door for us; they close it as soon as we’re through.

Out of breath and flushed, we make it to our seats, where the flight attendant and the passenger in the last of the four-seat middle row kindly help us stow our carry-ons and fold up the stroller. I notice the passenger’s eyes get big as he sees my obvious pregnancy bump.

“Don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I still have a month to go, and my older two weren’t early. I have no labor symptoms, even after running through the airport, and I really, really want to get back to the mainland. If I start labor, I’m crossing my legs until it’s too late to turn back.” His relief is palpable!

We make it back with no new passengers arriving, and a flight attendant even helps me from our arrival gate to baggage claim where my parents meet us. I get her name and let her supervisor know.

My youngest is born three weeks later, well after my husband has rejoined us.

Thanks A Lot, Ridley Scott

, , , , , , , | Friendly | May 15, 2020

I live on the bottom floor of an apartment. Our units aren’t bad, but there can be some bleed-through, especially with heavy things like heavy stomping and footsteps, shifting things around, etc. I’ve been here a few months and I’ve mostly gotten used to the various things that come from the apartments above me.

The apartment above me has been vacant for a while, and we just got new tenants, so they’ve been moving in over the last couple of days. Again, I’ve mostly been ignoring them. But the other day, I was folding laundry and watching a movie in my living room.

I was watching Alien, a movie I’ve seen many times and haven’t been really scared of since the first time I saw it. However, I will acknowledge that I will occasionally jump at certain points, if I’ve tuned the movie out for any reason. 

I was watching the movie and I had tuned it out as I folded my laundry. In timing that I’m guessing rarely happens in real life, the movie was coming up to the scene with Dallas running into the Xenomorph in the ducts… right as the new people dropped something fairly heavy pretty much right above my head.

I will admit that I screamed and dropped the laundry I was holding. Then, I laughed at myself when I realized what had happened.


This story is part of the Aliens roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

23 Hilarious Stories That Boldly Go Where No One Has Been Before

 

Read the next Aliens roundup story!

Read the Aliens roundup!

Gate Agent’s Kindness Is Out To Lunch… Or Supper?

, , , , , | Working | April 9, 2020

(My mom and I have a flight home to Canada scheduled to depart shortly before noon. Since we need to navigate public transit to get there and don’t want to risk making ourselves late, we wake up in the morning, pack, and head straight to the airport without eating breakfast. Once we are checked in and through security, we decide to find our gate so we know where we need to be. It turns out it’s down a long hallway, far away from all the shops and restaurants, but this is the reason we checked before relaxing, to be aware of this. Both at the check-in desk and when purchasing our tickets, we are informed that there will be one meal served on the nine-hour flight and we need to purchase in advance to guarantee availability, but we will have the option to buy it on the plane. It’s about an hour before takeoff and half an hour until scheduled boarding, but knowing it’s a bit of a trek back to the restaurants, I approach the gate agent before we leave to find breakfast.)

Me: “Excuse me, I was just wondering if you know if the meal served on board will be lunch or dinner.”

Gate Agent: “You’d need to purchase that in advance to guarantee we have them for you. Did you prepay for your meal?”

Me: “No, but we were told we could purchase them onboard if we changed our minds.”

Gate Agent: “We will have some meals available for purchase with credit card, but once those are gone, they’re gone.”

Me: “Okay, but do you know if they’ll be serving around lunchtime or around dinnertime? I ask because we haven’t eaten breakfast yet and want to know if it’s worth us running to get some now or if we’d have to wait until supper if we didn’t?”

Gate Agent: “You’ll have to talk to the in-flight crew about that. But now, you need to come in and prepare to board, because we’re going to start boarding soon.”

(She gestures to a small area behind the desk, separated from the rest of the terminal by a few glass panes, with only chairs in it where a few dozen people are already seated.)

Me: “But the plane isn’t scheduled to leave for almost an hour. We’re just trying to find out how long we’d have to wait if we decide not to go get food now because we haven’t eaten yet.

Gate Agent: “Like I said, you’d have to talk to the in-flight crew about that. But if you leave now and we’re ready to go and you’re not back, we won’t wait for you.”

Me: “I’m not asking you to wait; boarding isn’t even scheduled to start for half an hour.”

Gate Agent: “But we will have to close the doors. If you’re not back and we have everyone accounted for, even if it’s before our scheduled time, we have to close the doors; we can’t wait for you.”

(My mom just nudged me and said we were going to get food. Like I’m sure most people could say, my mom is the first person to tell me I need to check my tone when I don’t think I’m being unreasonable, but even she couldn’t understand why the agent was being so rude to me because she thought my tone was perfectly polite the entire time. She also pointed out the biggest flaw in the agent’s logic, that if we weren’t back, obviously not everyone would be accounted for.

We got breakfast and food to take on the plane and made it back in plenty of time. Lucky we did, because the flight attendants — who were lovely — didn’t serve the meal until almost supper time. When we got to the next airport, I was held up for hours in customs and we had to be put on a later connecting flight, so my mom used the time to write an email to corporate complaining about an issue with delays she had had on the way to London and about the unreasonable gate agent in London.

She didn’t mention the customs thing because she understood, but for some reason they wrote her a long email back a week later explaining how sometimes customs chooses to do secondary inspection and it can take time and the airline has no control over it. She just left it, though, because they addressed her issue in a separate email and said they have no influence over gate agents in other countries, even if they are wearing the Canadian airline’s uniform.)

Fandom Gone Rogue

| Friendly | January 16, 2017

(This is a conversation between Friend #1, who is a Trekkie, and my husband and me, in the movie theater before ‘Rogue One’ begins…)

Friend #1: “Okay there are Trekkies, Browncoats, Whovians… What do you call Star Wars fans… Nerfherders?”

Husband: “Until you have a television serial and a bunch of rabid fans takes over the dorm TV room on a weekly basis and piss people off, you don’t get a named fandom.”

Friend #1: “Yeah, but how do they refer to themselves even?”

Me: *waves hand while looking intently at [Friend #1]* “Our fandom does not NEED a label. Move along.”