Family Isn’t Quite Dripping With Consideration

, , , , , , | Related | August 16, 2018

(This story happens during a one-month holiday in Vietnam, where we are staying with my mum’s side of the family. I’m about twelve, and skinny as a twig, despite having a bottomless pit for a stomach. My mum has become convinced that something is medically wrong with me. After seeking some medical advice, she brings home an IV drip that is somehow supposed to bring me to a healthy weight. To this day, I have no idea where she got it from. I don’t know if she went to an actual doctor, or some kind of alternative, “holistic” medical practitioner, but she makes me lie down and get fed by the IV drip for several hours. I’m very uncomfortable throughout this whole ordeal, but finally it’s over and I think that’s the end of it. Cut to the next week:)

Mum: “Okay, time for you to lie down again. You need some more of the medicine.”

Me: “What? I’m not doing it again! Last time was awful!”

Mum: “If you don’t get the medicine, you’re not going to get better!”

Me: “What’s even in that thing? Do you even know?”

Mum: “It’s just nutrients; it’s good for you! Stop being a baby and lie down!”

Me: “How many more times do I have to do this?”

Mum: “Just this one time, and that’s it!”

Me: “You said that last time!”

(At this point, my entire family decides to get involved. My uncle and my nanna side with my mum and try to convince me to move from the bedframe I’m sitting on to the big bed where the IV drip is. My mum is being as vague and contradicting as ever, which does nothing to allay my suspicions. I don’t know how much my dad knows what is going on, but maybe — I’m hoping, anyway — he is okay with it all because he knows that the contents of the drip are harmless. In any event, he ultimately gets very flustered with the argument that’s becoming more and more heated, so he comes up and grabs my arm.)

Dad: “Come on, [My Name]. It’ll be fine and it won’t take long.”

Me: “I don’t want to!” *struggles and falls*

(I fall off the bedframe and somehow land VERY awkwardly, with my left arm hitting the floor first. As I get up, I immediately feel a pain in that arm.)

Me: *holding my arm* “Something’s wrong. It hurts.”

Uncle: “Now you’re just being a baby. Quit whining and get on the bed.”

Me: “My arm hurts!”

Dad: “Okay, enough. She really doesn’t want to do it; she doesn’t have to.”

(There is some protest from my family, but my dad will hear no more of it and they finally leave me alone. An hour or so later, the pain in my arm has not subsided; if anything, it’s gotten worse.)

Me: “Dad, I think something’s really wrong with my arm. It’s still hurting. I think it might be broken.”

(My primary school bully broke my other arm once before in grade four, so I know what a broken arm feels like.)

Dad: “Are you sure?”

Me: “It really hurts.”

Uncle: “She’s just wanting attention and trying to make us all feel bad for earlier. If it was really broken, she’d be crying.”

Me: *angrily* “I’m not lying. It actually really hurts!”

(My dad looks worried, and there is another short argument between my family, but ultimately we all pile in a car and drive to a nearby hospital. The entire trip, my uncle rolls his eyes about it being a waste of time, and says I’m just being manipulative, but my dad believes me, and even my mum is worried enough that she wants to make sure. We get to the x-ray room and I get my x-ray done.)

Me: *explaining to the x-ray technician* “…so, my dad tried to pull me up off the bed, and I ended up falling off and landing on my arm. I think it might be broken.”

Uncle: *scoffing* “She’s just trying to give us all a scare. It’s all for attention—”

Technician: *interrupting him* “Well, according to these x-rays, you have a break in your upper arm, right here. See?” *points to x-ray*

Me: *glaring daggers at uncle*

Uncle: *shuts up*

(My entire family is very quiet on the ride home. My uncle in particular makes a point of avoiding eye contact with me. My dad quietly apologises to me once we get home, and I tell him it wasn’t his fault.)

Mum: *muttering* “Well, maybe if you had just accepted the IV drip, your bones wouldn’t be so weak, and none of this would have happened, anyway.”

Me: *incredulous stare*

(For the remainder of the holiday my arm was in a cast, but I never had to endure the IV drip a second time, for which I was grateful. Said IV drip was never mentioned again; it was removed as quickly as it appeared, and what “nutrients” it contained, and from whence it had come, remain a mystery to this day.)

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Questioning The Validity Of His Professionalism

, , , , | Working | August 16, 2018

(This story takes place when we still use paper train tickets. My mother has gone shopping in the city and is taking the train back to our hometown. The ticket inspector, a young-looking guy, enters the train compartment.)

Inspector: *to my mother* “Ticket, please.”

Mother: *fishes her ticket out of her handbag* “Sure, here you go!”

Inspector: *takes it and inspects it* “Ma’am? This is not a valid ticket.”

Mother: “What?! Oh, sorry, I must have given you an old one. Just a minute, please.”

(My mother proceeds to dig further into her handbag, rummaging through receipts, but finds no ticket. She empties the bag’s contents onto her lap, but still no ticket.)

Inspector: *with a stern voice* “Do you even have a valid ticket, ma’am?”

Mother: *starting to panic at this point* “Oh, I am so sorry. I really bought one! I don’t know where I put it; maybe it fell out of my bag? Oh, no!”

(My mother is thinking, “I am going to get a fine! He probably hears excuses like this every day! What if he doesn’t believe me?”)

Inspector: “Maybe you put it in one of your shopping bags? Or in your wallet?”

(He keeps standing there while my mom goes rummaging through her shopping bags. Other passengers are looking and snickering while my mom still frantically searches for her ticket. Meanwhile, the train enters our hometown station.)

Mother: *desperately* “I can’t find it! And I have to get out at this station!”

(The inspector gives her a suspicious look, and then gives back the ticket he is still holding.)

Inspector: *smiles* “Just kidding. It was a valid ticket.” *walks away*

Mother: *speechless*

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It’s As Easy As ABC, Don’t Hit Me

, , , , , | Friendly | August 16, 2018

(I’m round a friends house with a few others and we are watching a documentary about Michael Jackson. They’ve just mentioned how his dad was abusive to the family. Not long after when they’re showing them singing this happens:)

Friend #1: “You can’t beat the Jackson 5.”

Friend #2: “Apparently their dad can.”

(We all looked at [Friend #2] in shock.)

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Make Bad Your Escape

, , , | Right | August 16, 2018

(We have fire exit doors in the electronics department that lead to the garden center. The garden center is fenced in and has several gates to get out. All of them but the one across from the electronics fire doors are used for loading heavy products into customer’s cars. The ones across from electronics are a fire door, as well. All of a sudden, a piercing, screeching alarm rings through my department. It can be heard across the store. I’m the only one there at the moment, since my coworker is on break; she should be back any second.)

Me: *on phone with service desk* “Anyone know what’s going on?”

Service Desk: “Hang on; let me figure it out! Looks like it’s a water pump? They should turn off the alarms soon.”

(I go back to stocking. A few customers scream at me to “turn that thing off!” Only the store manager has access to disable the fire alarms. The store manager comes over to my fire doors and disables them. However, the alarm is still going on. Suddenly, a garden center employee flags us down; the fire gate is open. The managers are trying to handle it, so I go back to my department, and asset protection has me check to see if anything was stolen. Nothing. A garden center cashier approaches me.)

Coworker: “So, it turns out that the customer who I was checking out didn’t want to wait for me to unlock a gate to help him load his mulch and decided to use the fire exit and do it himself.”

(The alarms were finally turned off about 15 minutes after he told me. They got the customer’s license plate and he was on camera.)

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Someone Rescue Me From These Dumb Customers

, , , , , | Right | August 15, 2018

(I work ocean rescue in Florida, and we wear neon green shirts with red writing all over them loudly stating that we are OCEAN RESCUE, and listing where we are located, etc. I am visiting my friend in Chicago and while shopping at a store, I am wearing the aforementioned brightly-coloured shirt. A very obnoxious woman comes up and hits me with her cart.)

Lady: “Do you work here?”

(I didn’t think someone could be so blind and stupid because the uniform for that store is a black and blue shirt.)


Me: *finally figuring out she’s serious* “No—”

(She shoves her cart into me again, so angrily I grab the cart and say:)

Me: “Lady! You must be the dumb one! What part of ‘OCEAN RESCUE’ means that I work here? And if you hit me with your cart again, I will find someone who works here and file charges against you!”

(The lady grumbled to herself, and an associate finally walked over and asked if something was wrong. I relayed the entire story to her, and she asked if she could do anything for me. I told her thank you but no, I would just be on my way. It still bewilders me how stupid and unaware people are.)

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