(I am lining up at popular southern-style fried chicken chain to place our order when this exchange occurs:)

Staff: “I’m sorry, sir, but there will be a five-minute wait for Wicked Wings.”

Customer: “What?! Five minutes! Why the h*** would it take five minutes?!”

Staff: “We don’t keep a lot pre-cooked, so it’s always fresh for our valued customers like you, sir.”

Customer: “Well, I’m not waiting.”

Staff: “I can replace the wings with regular chicken pieces for you, sir.”

Customer: “NO! I want Wicked Wings.”

Staff: “So, there will be a five-minute wait on the wings, sir—”

Customer: “I’M NOT WAITING!”

Staff: “Like I said, I can substitute regular pieces for you.”

Customer: “NO! I WANT MY WINGS, BUT I DON’T WANT TO WAIT!”

Staff: “I… I don’t know what to tell you, sir. Either you wait for wings or accept a substitution. I can’t bend time.”

Customer: *turns almost purple from anger* “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?! GET ME YOUR MANAGER!”

(By this time everyone has had it with this idiot man-child, but it’s a little kid who speaks up. The kid behind me says to his mum:)

Kid: “You would smack my bum if I shouted like that, Mum.”

Mum: “Yes. Yes, I would.”

(That’s all it took for me. I laughed so much I snorted, and idiot man-child left without ordering his food. I let the kid and his mum go ahead of me because I still couldn’t compose myself to place an order. Well done, little kid. And idiot man-child, thank you for making me laugh harder than I have in a long time.)

(This takes place back in 80s before I am born. My mum is saying goodbye to her boyfriend at an airport. They are passionately kissing, with my mum straddled across his lap; they can barely take their hands off each other and they are being rather public about it. Eventually, they pull themselves apart and she goes to the check-in to get on the plane. In her defence, my mum has always had a wicked sense of humour.)

Air Hostess: *while at boarding gate* “Aw, saying goodbye to a loved one?”

Mum: “Yeah, that was my brother.”

Air Hostess: *literally jumps and stares at my mum in horror*

(Mum says she hopes one day that hostess realised she was joking.)

Related:
Oh, Brother!

(It’s the day after the Lunar New Year celebrations. I’m in the car with my mum and stepdad. We are all Caucasian.)

Me: “Happy Lunar New Year!”

Step-Dad: “What? You’re not Chinese, are you?”

Me: “Nah, I’m Chinese.”

Mum: “One in every three people is Chinese, you know, so it has to be [My Name].”

This story is part of the Lunar New Year roundup!

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(When I was little, I didn’t have that many toys. I always envied my friends when I went in their rooms and saw beds covered in plushies and teddy bears. I am at my mum’s friend’s house. They have two kids and a room FULL of toys. It is like heaven to six-year-old me.)

Me: “[Mum’s Friend], can I please play with the toys?”

(My mum shoots me the “don’t embarrass me” glare I have learned to recognise. I ignore it and put on my best puppy face.)

Mum’s Friend: “Of course you can! Go have fun.”

(I gleefully go play with the myriad of toys. I am being a bit rambunctious, and I can hear my mum grumbling her disapproval and her friend loudly brushing her off: “Oh, let her have some fun!” That is all the encouragement I need. After about half an hour, I spot the jackpot: a little red toy car — the kind big enough for kids to get in and ride — partially covered under a desk. Again, I scurry over to my mum’s friend:)

Me: “There’s a red car under the table in that room. Is it okay if I drive it a bit?”

Mum: “No. You need to sit down and behave.”

Mum’s Friend: “Oh, there’s no need to be so harsh, [Mum]. You only get to be a kid once! Of course you can play in the car, honey. Have fun!”

Mum: “No. She’s had enough fun. Other kids can sit quietly when their parents take them out; so can she. She’s being disrespectful to you in your house.”

Mum’s Friend: “Oh, stop it, [Mum]. I don’t mind her at all. It’s fine, sweetie. You can go play in the toy car.”

(I look between my angry mum and her smiling friend as they go back and forth a little more. Then my mum says this to me:)

Mum: “[My Name], if you go play on that toy car, you’re going to get a beating when you get home.”

(Perhaps contrary to her intentions, this ultimatum made it much easier for me to decide what to do. I could drive the little toy car and get a beating, or I could forego what might be my only opportunity ever to drive a little toy car — I was only going to get bigger as I got older, after all — and there was no guarantee I wouldn’t get a beating in the future, anyway, for other offenses. With this sound logic, it was not a difficult choice. I rode that little toy car around the house to my heart’s content, careful not to crash into anything. I did get a beating when I got home, and it was 100% worth it.)

(I have just finished up with a customer at the counter and am tidying up a few loose ends before heading back to my assigned task elsewhere in the store. I see a woman come into the store with a three- or four-year-old boy.)

Me: “Good morning! How are you? Is there anything I can help you with?”

Customer: “No, I’m fine, thanks. Just looking.”

(I finish my tidying and am just leaving the counter area when I hear the customer talking to the boy.)

Customer: “Okay, you sit there; the lady is just over there and she can keep an eye on you.”

(She’s positioned him in a spot that I have to crane my neck to see, right in line with the door. Even if I was able to stay at the counter, there’s no way I could see if he decided to take off outside, or worse. If another customer needed me out on the floor I’d have to leave, anyway.)

Me: “Excuse me, but you can’t leave him there. I can’t guarantee I will be able to stay at the counter.”

Customer: *to child* “Hmm… Looks like you are going to have to follow me around and be bored, seeing as the lady won’t let you stay here.”