It’s About The Journey, Dad

, , , , , | Related | June 20, 2020

This happens when my daughters are very young — around seven and five. My husband and I just took a road trip from Winnipeg, Manitoba to see my parents in British Columbia.

During our trip home, we intend to stop for the night in Edmonton, Alberta, but we get a flat tire. Luckily, we are able to make it to a garage with no problems, but by the time the tire is replaced, it is late afternoon.

Husband: “The way I see it, we have two choices. We can keep driving to Edmonton, but we won’t get there until around 9:00 pm.”

Me: “Yuck. That would be okay if it was just you and me, but the girls will be exhausted and cranky.”

Husband: “Yeah, I agree. That leaves us with option #2: stop somewhere else. Jasper isn’t that far away.”

Me: “Huh. I’ve never been to Jasper. It’s a bit expensive, though, isn’t it?”

Husband: “So I’ve heard, but that’s our best bet.”

Me: “Option #2 it is. I’ll phone the hotel in Edmonton and cancel our reservation.”

So, we head for Jasper. We are a bit concerned that we won’t be able to find a place to stay, but after only a couple of tries, we find a nice hotel. It is indeed a bit more pricey than the Edmonton hotel would have been in, but not by much. Jasper itself is beautiful; it’s surrounded by mountains and the town is charming. We have a lovely dinner in a cozy restaurant, and then we turn in for the night, happy and comfortable.

The following day, I phone my parents to let them know how our drive home is going, and I tell them of our little adventure.

Dad: What?! You stayed in Jasper?! Are you nuts? That’s a tourist trap! They charge you an arm and a leg! Why didn’t you drive to Edmonton?”

Me: “I told you, Dad. The kids would’ve been miserable, and so would we.”

Dad: “Oh, for Pete’s sake. They would have survived.”

Me: “Jasper wasn’t even that expensive, and we had a really nice time.”

Dad: *Sarcastically* “Well, good to know that you’re made of money.”

I gave up at that point. I should have remembered that when my parents and I took road trips when I was a kid, Dad was the “drive for as long as possible until your passengers are in tears from discomfort and boredom and then stay in the very cheapest motel you can find” type.

To this day, my family and I reminisce about that evening in Jasper. It was one of the highlights of our vacation.

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Music Lovers Come In All Kinds

, , , , , | Working | June 19, 2020

I am an African Canadian working at a local full-service gas station chain. We only have a small office big enough for one employee and a couple of soft drink coolers, all located on the gas pump island. It is summer and gas prices are up so business is slow.

A couple of my friends have pulled their car up near the pumps but left room for customers and they are playing some reggae on the stereo.

While I am fueling up a customer, I see another approaching on foot: an extremely pale caucasian in his mid-twenties with a shaved head wearing torn shorts and a [Heavy Metal Band] T-Shirt. I try to get the attention of my friends to turn the music down but they don’t hear me.  

While I finish fueling the car, he gets some pop from the cooler and waits. I notice that he has started tapping his foot not impatiently but with our music.

Me: “You like this music?”

Customer: “H*** yeah, [Reggae Artist playing at the moment]! Hooah!”

He put his bag with his pop back in the cooler to keep it cold and hung around chilling with us for about ten minutes. I learned that day not to jump to conclusions about customers.

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A Sign This Will Not Go Well

, , , , | Right | June 17, 2020

I work for a postal retail outlet. A young boy needs an adult to sign for a parcel, as is the rule. I politely ask if he has a guardian who can sign for him, and he comes back with a very irate grandmother.

Grandmother: “Excuse me. We are picking up the parcel and he is going to sign for it!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow kids to sign for anything; you need to be eighteen or older.”

Grandmother: “There is no age when it comes to signing for parcels. I know this. Every post office knows this!”

Me: “That simply can’t be true; I was told you need to be of age by my training.”

Grandmother: “No, that’s not right at all. I know for a fact that any age can sign for a parcel.”

Me: “I’m telling you, ma’am, the post office told me directly that you need to be an adult to sign for a parcel and unless you sign for him, I can’t release it to him.”

Grandmother: “I’m telling you you’re wrong. I can’t believe this. You’re telling me he can’t get his own parcels?”

Me: “If it requires a signature, I am not allowed to let him sign for it himself; he needs a guardian’s signature.”

Grandmother: “Fine. I will be calling the post office about this. I will sign this time, but I will be complaining about this.”

She signs for the parcel, finally.

Me: “Thank you kindly. Have a great night.”

Grandmother: “Whatever.”

Gran stomped off in a huff with the parcel and child in tow after my polite retort to her attitude.

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Please Notice What I’m Saying

, , , , | Working | June 16, 2020

I have just gotten a call for a new job, which I have been looking for. However, training starts in less than a week, and having just received this call, I only have about five days until I start my new job. I write up my notice of resignation to my current employer and bring it in the following morning. I do feel bad about not being able to give a proper two weeks of notice, but training starts soon and the next training group is in a future of “nobody knows.”

Me: *Handing in the letter* “Hi. I’m here to hand in my letter of resignation. I do apologize but it’s not a full two weeks of notice. I was given very short notice myself.”

Manager: “Wait, what do you mean?”

Me: “Well, unfortunately, I was given the call just last night and my first day will be Tuesday, so Monday will be my last day here.”

Manager: “You need to give at least two weeks of notice though.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but like I said, I don’t have a full two weeks of notice to give. I’m just trying to give as much notice as I can.”

Manager: “Yeah, but how am I supposed to handle the situation with nobody else to close?”

I am one of three people in my workplace that know how to close, one of them being my manager; however, she works at another place during night so she never actually closes.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t have the ability to give a proper two weeks of notice.”

Manager: “Well, how about working Tuesday?”

Me: “I can’t. Monday is my last day here. I can’t let this job opportunity slip past me.”

Manager: “That’s why you’re supposed to give two weeks of notice!”

Me: “I already explained that I literally cannot do that. I just received the call and handed you the first chance I got. I got caught off guard, but I can’t start any other day due to the fact that that’s when training starts.”

Manager: “You agreed to give two weeks of notice when you eventually leave, though.”

Me: “I planned to, but I already have explained why I literally cannot. I’m willing to help through my last days here, but Monday will be my last day, as my new job starts Tuesday. I’m sorry.”

Manager: *Pause* “Fine.” *Huffs off*

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An Absolut Bigot

, , , , | Right | June 15, 2020

I work in a theatre, and sometimes I work at the bar instead of ushering. I’ve just made a Caesar for a patron. A Caesar has clamato juice and a shot of vodka, and it is rimmed with celery salt. A minute later, he storms back, drink in hand. Also, keep in mind that I’m Asian.

Patron: “You put water in my Caesar!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Patron: “There’s no vodka in this! I don’t taste any alcohol! You must have put in water instead of vodka! I want another one!”

Me: *Pause* “Um, all right, that’ll be another $8, sir.”

Patron: “No! On the house! You screwed up my Caesar with water! I demand a free replacement!”

Me: “Sir, you saw me make the drink. It’s Absolut vodka.”

I show him the bottle.

Me: “I’m certain it’s not water in there.”

Patron: “Then you must refill your bottles with water! I didn’t taste the alcohol! Are you really that cheap of an Asian that you would refill vodka bottles with water to not buy vodka?! Make me another one!”

At this point, the one-minute call has been made.

Me: “Sir, you only have a minute left to get to your seat. I’m sorry you weren’t satisfied with your drink. Would you like to preorder for intermission, instead?”

Patron: “No! You cheap b*****ds will just rip me off again! Especially since you’re Asian!”

He stormed off.

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