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You Gonna Compensate Me When I Get Fired, Too?

, , , | Right | May 15, 2022

I worked in the leasing office of an apartment complex. A man came in and spoke with my coworker.

Man: “I’ll give you $100 if you can get me into an apartment today.

Coworker: “Sir, I can’t do that. There’s a waiting list several names long.”

When he didn’t get what he wanted, the man called the realty company which owned the place and accused us of discrimination.

Time To Catch Up On Candy Crush

, , | Right | May 14, 2022

I recently started working for a food delivery service. I make a delivery to some apartments. They have elevators to get to the top floor. I go in, press a button, and the door closes… almost all the way.

I am now stuck. I message the customer.

Me: “Hi, this is [My Name] with your [Delivery Service] order. I’m stuck in the elevator in your apartment building.”

He came down and tried to help. All in all, I was stuck for about forty-five minutes before we were able to pry the door open and I was free.

The customer tipped me an extra $60 for the hassle. I’m not a claustrophobic person, but it definitely ticked all the right boxes that day.

It Costs Nothing To Be Nice, Dude

, , , , , | Friendly | May 8, 2022

I live in an apartment building. I call the elevator to go up to my floor. Heading in before me is a girl around seven years old, and coming in right behind me is a rough-looking dude with a rottweiler dog. The moment the man enters the elevator, the little girl screams and frantically grabs my arm.

Me: “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Girl: *Stammering and near panic* “D-dog!”

The dog is well-behaved and just sits there patiently, so there is no real danger, but I have an irrational fear of spiders, so I get it. I place myself between the man with the dog and the girl and give her a reassuring smile

Me: “No dog here is going to hurt you. I’m right in between.”

Suddenly, the man speaks up rather aggressively.

Man: “Don’t do that! My dog ain’t bit anyone, ever, and you’re just encouraging her to be afraid of dogs!”

Me: “I’m just trying to not scare a little girl and to keep her comfortable, sir.” 

He mumbles something about bratty kids and exits the elevator on the third floor. I have to go up to the fifth and the girl on the seventh, so I’m left behind with her for a second.

Me: “Are you all right now?”

The girl nodded shyly but still seemed shaken. I got off and wished her a good day. I found out later that she was part of a refugee family that had just moved here from Syria. Her fear of dogs and aggressive men is now somewhat explained, and I hope she doesn’t run into the man again.

The Hamburg Baby Burglar

, , , , , , , | Legal | May 7, 2022

Back in 2011, we moved to Hamburg, Germany from The Netherlands. My German was basic at best, but I tried. One day, I was coming back from a jogging session and I saw a neighboring building on fire. It was nothing massive, but black smoke was coming out of a couple of kitchen windows on one of the stories.

In front of that building, I saw my neighbor: a young woman with her four-month-old daughter in a pram. The neighbor was completely in distress, obviously trying to reach someone on the phone without any luck. She was screaming into what I suppose was a voicemail:

Neighbor: “Pick up the d*** phone. Why don’t you answer me?!”

I approached her to see what was wrong and whether I could help. Apparently, one of the kitchens burning belonged to a friend of hers — the one she couldn’t reach. She was in complete panic, afraid that the friend was still inside. The street was starting to fill out with various emergency vehicles, being extremely loud. I offered to help her and she gave me her kid so that the baby wouldn’t be in all that noise. Mind you, I had been living there for just a couple of months and more than knowing we were neighbors could not be said about our relationship. 

I took the kid in the pram to a safer place and had to ask for permission to enter the street, as it was closed off by the police officers. I was wearing a bright neon pink shirt — the typical “don’t run me over” jogger outfit. The kind police lady let me pass after I told her I live in the building next door and advised me to go inside with the kid to avoid breathing in the fumes. In all the confusion, I didn’t tell the neighbor where I was going, and she didn’t tell me where to take the kid. We each assumed the other one knew. I’m sure you all already know where this is going.

I took the kid inside, into my apartment, as advised. She was tired, and as I rocked her in my arms, she fell asleep. I put her on the sofa and sat beside her, not knowing if the could turn and fall down. All of a sudden, I could hear helicopters flying over, quite low. My heart leaped; I was sure that the building on fire was in a very bad condition.

Suddenly, someone rang the doorbell. When I opened it, I saw two police officers standing in front of me. They looked at me, up and down, and asked if I had seen a baby girl, matching the description of the baby sleeping on my sofa. 

Me: “Yeah, she’s here, sleeping.”

Officer: “What? Wait… This was all a misunderstanding. What luck. Oh, dear, what luck! Could you pick her up and bring her along?”

Me: *Completely confused* “Sure.”

I picked up the still sleeping girl and, guided by the two police officers, stepped out of my apartment onto the street. What I saw scared the living daylights out of me. There was an entire corridor of the police force: a full K9-unit, motorbike police officers, police officers on horses, uncountable police cars, ambulances, etc.

Apparently, the neighbor — the little girl’s mother — finally reached her friend and, happy that the friend was okay (she wasn’t at home, but working, to begin with), she turned around to her kid… who was gone… and she had no recollection anymore to whom she had given the child. So, her first reaction was to go into full-blown panic mode and claim that someone had kidnapped her kid.

In a street full of emergency services due to a fire, it wasn’t difficult to organize a full search. And then, it hit me: those helicopters were looking for me!

All is well what ends well: we (me and my husband, who missed the whole ordeal due to work) went to visit the neighbors a couple of days later with some newborn presents, and we had coffee, cake, and a good laugh about everything. I even ended up babysitting on a couple of occasions.

And, ladies and gentlemen, that is how I ended up having a true story of how I, once upon a time, was Hamburg’s most wanted criminal, even if it was for a very short period of time.

Someone Had A Long Day

, , , , , , | Friendly | April 15, 2022

This story takes place when I first moved out entirely on my own. I’d lived with roommates previously, but this was my first apartment that was 100% truly JUST mine. I had been living there for about a week and was still in the unpacking process, but I had all the essentials up and running. That basically boiled down to TV, game consoles, Internet, and computer.

At around 9:30 pm, I was settling in for a nice night of quality PC gaming when I suddenly heard someone at my door. Keys jangled, the knob was turned, different keys jangled, and the knob turned again. Someone was thumping at the door, trying to force it open. I screwed my courage to the sticking post as it were and went over to the door.

Looking through the peephole, I saw a young lady trying desperately to get the door open. There was nobody else in the hall I could see, so I opened the door.

Me: “Um… Can I help you?”

The lady looked suddenly very alarmed.

Lady: “What are you doing in my apartment?!”

Me: “Er… I think you’re confused. This is my apartment. I moved in a week ago.”

Lady: “NO! This is my apartment! I’ve lived here for months!”

Me: “Are… you sure? Because I’ve been here for a week, and the last guy who rented this place only left because his work visa expired. So…”

She finally paused for a moment. She looked at me, then at the apartment number on the door, then back at me, and then back at the number. She sort of nudged her head and shoulder under my arm and looked into the apartment. She ever-so-slowly pulled back out into the hallway, looked at me, and looked back at the apartment number.

Lady: “Oh. This isn’t my apartment. Maybe that’s why my keys didn’t work.”

Me: “That.. makes sense. So… um… Did you need anything else?”

Lady: “This is building 300, isn’t it?”

Me: “No. This is 500. Thus the… you know.”

And I gestured at the apartment number on my door, which, of course, started with a five.

Lady: “Oh.”

And off she trotted, back to the stairs and outside — presumably. I never actually ended up seeing her again, and I did mention it to the landlord. Since I didn’t have a name, and only the vaguest of descriptions, there wasn’t anything they could actually do about it. I hope wherever you are, you figured out where you live!