My brother-in-law is a haughty jerk with no sense of humor. He purposefully surrounds himself with people who he feels are “lesser” than him in both looks and education to make himself feel superior. If you do something better than him, he throws a hissy fit. If you do anything silly or fun, he throws a hissy fit. If you are not 100% literal, he throws a hissy fit.

My husband invites him and their sister to my family’s cabin for the long weekend on the condition that they drive themselves there. The only reason his brother is invited is that he lives with my sister-in-law, and I want her and her new dog to enjoy the cabin. I give my husband some pretty detailed instructions on how to get there that I have provided friends.

These instructions have screenshots of landmarks and mile markers and road numbers in addition to some “fluff” which is basically, “You will know you have gone too far if…” along with people along the way who can help them get back on track. I have had several friends use these instructions, and they have had no problem getting there and even got a kick out of them.

It is important to note that I tell my husband NOT to give these instructions to his brother when I send them his way. It is just so he can answer questions that their sister may have. It will become apparent why in a minute.

Husband: “So, [Brother-In-Law] wants to know what is with all the ‘fluff’ in the instructions you gave him?”

Me: “I didn’t give him any instructions, but what is his problem?”

Husband: “He just thinks they aren’t very detailed instructions and more like someone’s creative writing project.”

Me: “Yeah, well, he has no sense of humor or love of literature.”

Husband: “I mean, what is with the comment, ‘If you go too far, congratulations; you just hit the North gate and avoided that fun ride’?”

Me: *Getting annoyed* “Why doesn’t he just MapQuest the address and go down the North road to figure it out for himself? Like the instructions say two bullets above, the road in that direction is very rocky, and he won’t have a key to get in, but hey! He can walk the rest of the way if he doesn’t like them.”

Husband: “I get that, but he also doesn’t understand why you included [Family Friend] as a point of contact.”

Me: “Because the instructions on [Family Friend] having Internet access to call if you go too far down [Road] isn’t clear enough?”

Husband: “Fine, but what about…”

Me: “I am going to stop you right there. I don’t care what he thinks of the instructions.”

Husband: “But he needs to know how to get there, and this is just confusing him!”

Me: *Becoming amused* “No, that jackal does not need to know where to go. He is just going to have [Sister] drive the entire thing while he sits there playing on his Switch. All I care about is her knowing where to go, and I have faith in her being able to follow basic instructions.”

Husband: “But he should still know to help her navigate!”

Me: “Isn’t this the same man who had a tantrum because I had the audacity to send him a picture of an old recipe that said a ‘pinch of salt’ because they weren’t exact measurements? Because ‘how was he supposed to know what a pinch of salt meant’?”

(Aside: A “pinch” is an eighth of a teaspoon. It takes two seconds to Google it.)

Husband: “But…”

Me: “Face it. He whines about everything. He cannot take any help without complaining about the most mundane things. He once insisted I made up the word ‘blanching’ because he had never heard of it before. And if he does have a valid concern? Rather than ask meaningful questions or look it up, his first instinct is to blame the other person for not being clearer, like when I instructed him to brown each side of a chicken breast for six to seven minutes, because it could only be one or the other. And according to Food Wars, cooking is an exact science! He once berated me for not measuring out six cups of water for mac and cheese. I have had to try to teach him to cook so many times that I no longer care if instructions make sense to him because I understand that he just likes to be difficult. I care that they make sense to the lady driving. Do the instructions make sense to your sister?”

Husband: “Yes…”

Me: “Does [Sister] have any questions on how to get there?”

Husband: “No.”

Me: “Good. Then f*** what [Brother-In-Law] thinks.”

Not surprisingly, their sister got there just fine with no help from Mr. Your Instructions Are Garbage who just played “Animal Farm” on his Switch for the entire three-hour drive.

I live in a small Arizona town. For years, we’ve had a small pizza joint, and as long-time customers, we have come to know the owner, the only waitress and manager, and the cook. The owner pretty much gives the manager free rein to run the place as she sees fit while he helps the cook in the kitchen.

While we’re eating dinner there one night, a couple of winter visitors (snowbirds) come in and order a pizza. They loudly complain about everything: the food, the lighting, the temperature of the room, and I’m pretty sure even about a weed growing in the crack in the parking lot.

They’re making everyone miserable, and the manager has heard enough. She comes out and snatches up their half-eaten pizza.

Manager/Waitress: “GET OUT”!

Snowbird: “You can’t do that!”

Manager/Waitress: “I just did. GET OUT!”

Snowbird: “I’m not paying for that pizza, and I’ll tell all my friends and it will ruin your business!”

Manager/Waitress: “I don’t want your money, and we do just fine the rest of the year when you’re not here. NOW GET OUT!”

Snowbird: “I want to speak to the manager!”

Manager/Waitress: “I am the manager and I said GET OUT!”

Snowbird: “Then I’ll speak to the owner!”

Manager/Waitress: “Fine, I’ll get my daddy, but first… YOU GET OUT!”

After the couple leaves, the owner comes out of the kitchen. His face is beet red and tears are streaming down his cheeks as he struggles to talk while laughing.

Owner: “That was the funniest thing I’ve heard in years!”

As an apology to us locals, he gave us all a 50% discount for having to endure that insufferable couple during our meal.

You gotta love small-town business.

Related:
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 9
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 8
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 7
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 6
A Hot Slice Of Justice, Part 5

I come from a pretty well-off family. I grew up with not one but three college funds (one from my parents and one from each set of grandparents), traveled abroad, received a new car at sixteen, etc. Both my parents have multiple Bachelor’s degrees and are very good with money. I understand that I am very privileged and am grateful for the opportunities it has allowed me.

On the flip side, my husband comes from a family where spare money was often spent on smoking and gambling, and they value traveling less. They aren’t poor by any means, and they are very sweet people, but they never saved much for their children’s future or were interested in fostering outside interests of their children. As such, when my husband and I started dating, he was thrown into the deep end of experiencing others’ cultures; lamb sounded “gross” and he had never experienced common activities like camping.

Fortunately, he has adapted well and is much more open to trying new things now. Unfortunately, his brother seems to believe that, by default, he is also entitled to my family’s assets and resources.

It’s Labor Day weekend, and we are at my grandparents’ cabin. My husband and I have paid for all the food for the long weekend, and everything else is essentially “free” thanks to it being off the grid with the exception of the Internet. 

The first thing [Brother-In-Law] does upon arrival is complain about how long and hard the drive was on him, seeming oblivious to the fact that the three-hour drive turned into a three-and-a-half-hour drive because he decided to stop for coffee and fast food. Never mind, he had his sister drive the entire time. Whatever. I ignore him the best I can.

Two days in, after helping with none of the cooking and leaving messes everywhere in his wake, [Brother-In-Law] starts talking about how much fun he is having and how he hopes to own his own cabin one day, but he isn’t sure he wants one “here” (in a small, private, tight-knit community in the middle of two national forests). 

I mostly ignore him when it comes to his fantasy world of owning a cabin. No need to point out that he cannot change a tire or that even getting a plumber out here is $600 to just show up. He certainly doesn’t need to be reminded that he cannot do basic maintenance and that an hour ago, he was shocked when I started picking up kindling for the slash piles. The fact that he made his sister get a “bug” (it was a wood chip) out of his own dog’s mouth is enough of a deterrent.

He then says something that makes me have to resist the urge to kick him. 

Brother-In-Law: “I really like that this is a tradition of us coming up here on Labor Day. It was really fun last year when we did this.”

Me: *Blinking in confusion* “I came up alone last year, my dude. I have videos because it was just me and the dogs. [Husband] was busy then.”

Brother-In-Law: “No. I am pretty sure we were here.”

Sister-In-Law: “Last time we were here, [Dog #1] was just a puppy.”

Me: “And we didn’t have [Dog #2]. Remember?”

Brother-In-Law: “Huh. I could’ve sworn that we were here last year, as well. It must’ve been the year before.”

[Dog #2] is three years old.

Me: “Try five years ago. I remember because [Husband] had just moved down with me and it was the year you graduated.”

Husband: “That’s right.”

[Brother-In-Law] gets a very sour look on his face. The last time we were all up together, he actually tried to break us up. Why? Well, his last girlfriend had dumped his sorry butt, and he was mad his brother was moving in with his long-term girlfriend. Because he is vindictive like that.

Brother-In-Law: “Well, at any rate, this will be a fun tradition. I cannot wait for next year. We can invite [His Poor Roommate]!”

I end up literally biting my tongue so as not to blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. My husband says it a bit more kindly than I ever could.

Me: *Thinking* “We are not giving you a free vacation every year, s***head.”

Husband: “Yeah… We will not be doing this every year. It is a lot of work for [My Name].”

After that, [Sister-In-Law] changed the subject, and surprisingly, [Brother-In-Law] was a bit more humble and thanked me for cooking — even if he did absolutely nothing to help, including the one thing I asked them to do when they left (strip the beds), and I still had to pick up after him. And, of course, as he was walking out the door the next day, he complained about the drive home. 

We will be sure to do this in five years, a**hat.

Our sign shop is only open Monday through Friday until 5:00 pm. We aren’t open on the weekends. (Thank God.) Most customers understand when we tell them this and that, depending on when they come in, rush fees may apply.

One Friday afternoon, a customer and his wife come in, and we discuss a sign for their store at a nearby mall. Mall signage is a bit strict, and you have to have a sign. We need the owners of the mall to approve the sign before we can fabricate and install it. The whole process takes several weeks at least from start to finish, so it’s a long process.

Client: “We have a store in the mall, and we need a sign.”

Me: “All right. Our estimator is out, but let me write down the information and jot down your contact information, and I will give it to him when he gets back Monday. We can schedule a site visit then for him to come take a look.”

Client: “No. We want it installed by tomorrow. Can you do it?”

Me: *Dumbfounded* “Uh… no? This isn’t something that—”

Client: *Interrupting* “But it’s just simple letters, right? Your guys can go over tonight and just put it up! We open tomorrow, so we want the signage up before then.”

Me: *Even more dumbfounded* “Sir, even if we could, that’s impossible.”

Client: “I want it to say this and in this color. What sizes do you have in stock? How much is it going to be to install overnight?”

Me: “Sir, I can’t just give you a price, as there are so many variances with something like this. Also, we need mall approval first.”

Client: “The mall already approved us to get a sign. When will you be there?”

This goes on for several minutes. His wife also pipes in a bit during this conversation, but it’s just to ask the same things as her husband. My coworker comes by and chats as well, trying to explain. There must be some disconnect since they both have thick accents, but I start to get a bit ticked.

Me: “Sir, everything here is custom-made. It’s not like we have stock here in person ready to pull and install same-day. It doesn’t work like that for this kind of signage.”

FYI: Our signage is illuminated Pan Channel Letters.

Me: “It’s a process that requires us to get mall approval on the sign directly before we can even make anything. The whole process takes several weeks at least.”

Client And His Wife: “Ooooooh. Okay. How soon can you get it done?”

Me: “I am not sure, but let me get your information, and we can get this process started Monday.”

I finally got their information and gave it to our estimator to do a site visit. They never went through with us.

My wife is in the hospital on Monday and Tuesday. She tells me they have sent a prescription to our local pharmacy, so I pick it up Wednesday morning before 9:00 am. (It isn’t time-sensitive.)

On Thursday, around noon, I get a text saying [Wife]’s prescription is ready.

Wife: *Confused* “I guess it’s possible they put in the antibiotic too, just in case.”

On Friday morning, I go back to the pharmacy.

Pharmacy Assistant: “That prescription was already picked up.”

Me: “Why did you send me this text, then?” 

Pharmacy Assistant: “You must have picked it up after our cutoff.”

So, apparently, if I don’t pick up a prescription before they open for the day, they will send me a reminder the following day.