The Mother Of All Crazy Mothers

, , , , , , | Related | September 17, 2018

(My mother has OCD and is a narcissist. Growing up in a house run by that joyous combination motivated me out the door and into my own apartment very quickly. However, I’m still very close with my dad, so I do invite him over when the mood strikes. And though I only invited him, I obviously meant to invite my mother, as well, so she happily waltzes in before him without bothering to check first. And given that I’m her son, obviously my apartment is hers to do with as she pleases. So, by the time she’s gone, everything has been moved around. I don’t notice this right away because my head doesn’t recover from the earfuls of, “How dare you try to keep this a secret from me!” that preceded all of this. Eventually, my girlfriend and I get serious enough to live together, and not too long after, my dad swings by to celebrate my birthday, complete with my mother to show him the way. Despite my numerous explanations meant to avert this, among my birthday gifts is a shouting match between that two women on the concept of “boundaries” and “respect” that I thought would have answered why my dad and I try to hide these meetings from her. But then my mother insists that I’m an idiot since my apartment is never organized. The morning after, I get the bonus of explaining how my mother’s mind works to my girlfriend as we try to figure out what my mother did. It starts in the kitchen.)

Girlfriend: *groans* “Your mom was in the fridge.”

Me: “Look for the ketchup and mustard. She might have thrown them out.”

Girlfriend: “Why?”

Me: “She doesn’t like them, so obviously they belong in the garbage.”

(Thankfully, she didn’t throw them out this time.)

Girlfriend: “Does she not like turkey breast, either?”

Me: “Right side of the deli bin.”

Girlfriend: “But that’s where she put the cheeses. Shouldn’t it be on the left with the meats?”

Me: “She doesn’t read the labels; she just looks at the contents through the bags. Turkey breast is white, so it’s a cheese.”

(She finds the turkey breast was right where I said it was.)

Girlfriend: “Why are the Golden Grahams mixed in with all the different Cheerios?”

Me: “The box is yellow; therefore, it’s regular Cheerios. The actual Cheerios go bad sooner, so they’re on the left.”

(And later on, while she’s in the bathroom doing her hair…)

Girlfriend: “Why is my birth control in the trash?”

Me: “Probably down the toilet.”

Girlfriend: “What?! Why?!”

Me: “She wants to be a grandmother.”

Girlfriend: “Did she throw away your condoms before?”

Me: “No, she just poked holes in them.”

(Thankfully, I caught that one before any damage was done.)

Girlfriend: “She’s never allowed over again!”

Me: “She wasn’t allowed over last night. If you can keep her out, I’m on board.”

(Years later, we’re still not having any luck getting rid of my mother non-violently. And despite that, for some reason, this has girl still decided to marry me.)

A Potentially Explosive Incident

, , , , , , | Legal | September 16, 2018

(My husband and I are keen novice birdwatchers. It is spring, and one Sunday we are driving from pond to pond in a quiet rural area, looking at ducks from the roadside. We finish up for the day and start to head home. After a few minutes of driving, we come to a bunch of odd-looking trash scattered across the gravel road. We quickly stop, but not before driving over some of the debris and a certain distance beyond. It seems to be a good number of white, sausage-like objects. Curious, we use our binoculars to get a better look. A cardboard box in the ditch has a brand name and slogan on it that make us think this just might be a bunch of explosives! Since we have been counting ducks all day — and this is far more interesting than ducks — we carefully count how many sausages we see, and make a note of the number along with our bird-watching notes. Since we have no cell phone, we go to a nearby farmhouse and explain the situation. The farmer agrees to call the RCMP and tell them about this, and we head for home. The next morning, my husband phones the RCMP, as he has a question about the incident.)

Husband: “Hi, I’m the guy that found those explosives yesterday.”

RCMP: “What explosives?”

Husband: “The ones by the road in [Rural Area]?”

(After some initial skepticism and confusion, the RCMP finds the likely source of the explosives, a local supplier that sells that brand. There was only one weekend shipment, but we were nowhere near where it was supposed to go. The explosives are recovered from the roadside… but only half the amount that we noted seeing. The missing explosives are found on the property of the farmer we spoke to, and on the property of one of his friends. After a long day spent talking on the phone with the RCMP, my husband finally decides to call the explosives company with his question:)

Husband: “So, about those explosives. I’m just wondering, because I think I might have driven over some of them… Modern explosives are pretty safe, right?”

Explosives Manager: “Well, yeah, they’re pretty safe, but I wouldn’t want to drive over them!”

(The crew driving the explosives truck was fired that morning, and the explosives company was later hit with a hefty fine.)


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A Signature Move From An Incompetent Person

, , , , , | Working | September 16, 2018

(The Vice President of our company has authorized me to send some biological samples to a microscopy lab, but she has apparently forgotten that she gave permission. This particular Vice President is one of those people who can never, ever be wrong.)

Vice President: *yelling* “You sent the samples to [other lab]? You can’t just do that! You’re never allowed to bring these samples offsite without my permission!”

Me: “But you gave me your permission.”

Vice President: “No, I didn’t! I never would have agreed to that! We have procedures here, and apparently you don’t feel like following them!”

(I walk out of her office and straight to my desk, where I pick up the Request Form that she signed the previous day to authorize me to bring the samples to [other lab]. I return to her office and place the form on her desk, assuming that I’m playing the trump card by showing her, indisputably, that she approved this transfer of samples. She’s quiet for a few moments while she stares at the Request Form, and I think I’ve won. But then:)

Vice President: *yelling again* “That’s not my signature!”

(And that’s why, at the company where I work, even getting everything in writing is insufficient.)

Very Bad Beer-havior

, , , | Right | September 16, 2018

(Over the summer I frequently work in my aunt’s restaurant and tavern in a small village, which has an idyllic beer garden facing the street. On this particular day, we’re rather full because there’s a 90th birthday celebration happening in said beer garden. A young man in his late teens or early twenties stops in front of the entrance and starts helping his grandmother out of the car. Two regulars look at this young man suspiciously. I keep my eye on them, since both have a history of feeling somewhat entitled as regulars; also, they appear to be a bit intoxicated. Note that those regulars are in their 40s or 50s.)

Regular #1: *mockingly* “Boy, what a shame that entrance is too small to drive through it with a car, right?”

Regular #2: “Hey, you! If you drive a bit closer, maybe your granny could slide out of the car right onto her seat.”

Regular #1: *laughs* “Yeah. Or I could cut out a part of fence so poor old granny does not have to walk those awful few meters.”

(The young man ignores them while he escorts his grandmother to the birthday party. Just when I think it’s over and the young man is going back to his car, he quickly grabs the regulars’ beer mugs and walks out of the beer garden. The regulars jump up in outrage and follow him, while he crosses the street at a fast pace, then back to the beer garden and around the property and back to their table, returning their mugs. A few minutes later the regulars arrive.)

Regular #1: *out of breath* “ARE YOU NUTS?!”

Regular #2: *also out of breath* “I SHOULD TEACH YOU SOME MANNERS, YOU—”

Regular #1: *having to sit down* “NEXT TIME I SEE YOU I’M GOING TO BEAT YOU BLACK AND BLUE!”

Young Man: *going to his car* “You seem a bit winded, gentlemen! Glad you’re not 89 years old. Have a nice day.”

(Those regulars demanded we should throw out the man’s grandmother. Luckily, my aunt had seen the incident and instead threw out the regulars for good for threatening someone in her establishment.)

Having A Frosty Reception

, , , , | Learning | September 16, 2018

(I am in primary school. My teacher tells us that we are watching the movie “Jack Frost” at Christmas. I am not that much of a fan of the 1998 movie, but for me it is a passable story. However, when our teacher sits us down to watch it, I notice it looks very different.)

Classmate #1: “Er, [Teacher], I think the beginning’s different.”

Teacher: “No, it’s normal. Just sit back and watch this.”

Classmate #2: *voice getting high-pitched* “Miss, please turn it off!”

(The narrator is talking about gory stuff, DEFINITELY unsuitable for ten-year-olds.)

Me: “[Teacher], this ISN’T Jack Frost!”

(The teacher holds up the video case.)

Teacher: *in a sarcastic tone* “Oh, silly me! I must have picked up the horror movie by mistake! Oh, well–” *pauses the video* “–maybe you should learn from my lesson — after all, this is a school environment — and actually read what’s on the back of a box before picking it up. But that’s enough. Let’s get back to watching it, shall we?”

(She made us watch it for another ten minutes. I counted by looking at the clock on the wall, before the bell rang for break. We couldn’t run out of there fast enough. Some of us were crying, and one of us spent the entire breaktime on the toilet. When our headmistress came in to talk to the teacher, she simply smiled sweetly and asked her to look around. The headmistress couldn’t find any trace of the video. Instead, she found the Jack Frost movie that I thought we were going to watch. She had just fast-forwarded to a part where there was a car crash and said that this scared us. She never carried out this sort of prank again, but I think she was angry that some of us had failed in our recent test by not reading all of the information on the sheet. We were all terrified of her for the rest of the year, but after that she didn’t act horrible once.)

 

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