“Shut Up!”… Good One

, , , , , | | Friendly | July 4, 2019

(My friend — a rather tattooed and pierced young woman — and I have stopped to pick up some food on our way home from shopping. We’ve ordered and are sitting patiently waiting for our order to be called out. Both members of staff are in the back making our food. The door opens and a schoolgirl walks in, wearing her school uniform half unbuttoned, her hair in a beehive tied with a leopard-print scarf, and a “Monroe” piercing.)

Schoolgirl: “Hey! How much is a steak burger? Hello! Hello! How much is a steak burger?! I want a steak burger!”

(One staff member comes to the counter to take her order. She seems satisfied until she spots me and my friend. At this point, about five of her friends have come in, as well, despite the fact that only one of them is ordering anything.)

Schoolgirl: “Oh, my God! You seem them tattoos! They’re nasty. That skank is going to regret those when she gets old. What is she wearing? She’s got some big-a** chunky boots on. Look at that thing in her ear! It looks like a snail.”

(My friend is wearing a pretty big ear stretcher. She’s sitting there, trying not to take any notice, but the girl just won’t let up.)

Schoolgirl: “Eww. She looks like Shrek! She looks like a devil! God hates people like her! I should slap her across the face with a Bible! Jack the Ripper would come back from the dead and kill you! He likes girls like you! You’re f****** trash! Do you live in a trailer?”

(I’m fuming by this point. It’s taking everything I can not to get up and slap her around the face. I’m not a violent person by any stretch, but I can see how much it’s getting to my friend. The girl then decides to start on me. I’m average looking. I’m wearing plain clothes and glasses and I have long, red hair.)

Schoolgirl: “Yeah, look at that other one! She’s got glasses like Velma. She looks like she’s from Scooby-Doo! Oi, you want a Scooby Snack? Where’s Shaggy? Is he your boyfriend? Where’s Fred? Bet he’s your boyfriend! She’s ginger like Daphne, innit?”

Me: “Why don’t you shut up and keep your opinions to yourself?”

Schoolgirl: “Oh, my God! She even sounds like Velma! Why don’t you shut up?!”

Me: “I’m not the one who walked in and started throwing my pathetic opinions around!”

Schoolgirl: “Shut up!”

Me: “No, you shut your foul little mouth. I’m not the one still in school who can find nothing better to do than drag all of my friends into one fried chicken shop to buy a single burger and harass anyone that looks slightly different from me. Your insults are juvenile and pathetic. And if you want to talk about poor appearances, then perhaps you should rethink that disgusting beehive of yours and take that piercing out of your fat mouth.”

(We collected our food and left whilst the girl was still screaming at me to “shut up.”)

Time To Scoot!

, , , , | | Working | July 3, 2019

(Earlier last year, I was struck by a car while in a crosswalk. I came out of it none the worse for wear, though I managed to break my leg, leaving me in a cast for close to three months while various parts of the bone and tendons finally healed. I managed to get around pretty well on crutches, but sometimes this would get tiring when I’d go shopping. This little incident happens at one of the local grocery stores. Heading in with my friend to pick up some needed things around the house, I take one of those mobility scooters and place my crutches where I can get to them. With that done, I head into the store to do the shopping. I’ve put five or six things in the basket when I am approached by a young clerk and a woman.)

Clerk: “You’re going to have to get out of the chair.”

Me: “Uh… Why?”

Clerk: “That’s for people who are disabled; this lady needs it.”

Me: “Then she can get one out front. I can’t exactly walk.”

Clerk: “I don’t care.”

(He starts moving my stuff into a buggy and reaches for my crutches.)

Me: *almost in tears* “I can’t walk, mate. I’m in a cast.”

Clerk: “You need to get out.”

(The woman has this smug look on her face the whole time, even as I manhandle my cast over and struggle up onto the crutches. I am in tears by this point. Leaving the cart where it is, I hobble up front, passing my friend on the way. He sees me upset and “walking,” so he wants to know what’s going on. I tell him we need to see the manager right then and there, but won’t explain. The manager comes out of his office, sees me upset, and quickly helps me into a chair, wanting to know what’s wrong and if he needs to call EMT services or something for me. I explain to him why I’m upset, what happened, and how I can’t shop there any longer. To put it simply, he is LIVID. He quickly calls the clerk up front and says:)

Manager: “I want your side of this. Now, let me get this straight. Did you eject this customer, who obviously has a broken leg, from a mobility cart so someone else could ride it?”

Clerk: “It’s a fa—“

Manager: “I want a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.”

Clerk: “But… fine. Yeah. So what? He can walk.”

Manager: “Walk? Oh, you mean hobble around in pain? Yeah, I suppose he can do that. You’re going to be walking, too. You’re fired. Now gather your crap, and I don’t want to ever see you in my store again. Got it?”

(The clerk muttered something and sulked out. The manager asked where I’d left my buggy, and if I could identify the woman that took the cart. I did the best I could on both counts. He told me to just rest in the chair with my foot up while he would make things right. His store wasn’t about to be remembered for such behavior. About fifteen minutes later, he returned, everything in the cart bagged, and told us to take it as compensation for the trouble. He even helped me out to the car. As we left, I noticed the woman sulking outside, complaining that she was disabled, and how dare they bar her from using the mobility carts. I still shop there regularly, and the manager makes it a point to always ask how I’m doing and if there’s anything I need. I’ve also seen the lady there twice, and both times she is staring rather forlornly at the carts. A sign above them reads, “The management reserves the right to remove you from these carts if it is determined you are NOT eligible for them.”)

So THAT’S Why There Are So Many Nazis Lately!

, , , , , | | Right | July 3, 2019

(I am working the customer service area of a large grocery store — the small booth that sells smokes and lotto tickets. A customer walks up and I start to check him out.)

Customer: “You aren’t charging me for the bag.”

Me: “Yeah, I am.”

Customer: “No, seriously, you aren’t charging me for a bag.”

(It’s a five-cent charge that some places in Ontario have banned and some still use.)

Customer: “It’s a scam, you know; the price is built into the cost of the groceries. So, you are scamming us.”

(I smile and now while he’s going on about this.)

Customer: “So, as I said, it’s a scam. You are scamming me.”

Me: “I just do as I’m told, sir.”

Customer: “That’s what the Nazis said.”

(I stood there flabbergasted for a moment, but later had a few laughs with my coworkers about being called a Nazi. “Wage-slave” might have been a better term. My wife was right POed when I got home and told her about it.)

Out Of Control Over Controlled Substances

, , , , , , | | Working | July 1, 2019

(I’m 15 and doing compulsory work experience at a supermarket near my house. The school organised the placement for me, as I was off school due to appendicitis. I’ve been diagnosed with ADHD since I was twelve; I take a dose of medication in the morning, and a tiny dose around lunchtime. The manager — who has made it very clear that she doesn’t like me — sees me taking the half-tablet during my lunch break. She storms over and grabs the pill bottle from me and starts reading the label…)

Manager: *after reading the “controlled drug” warning on the bottle* “I’m calling the police, and your school.”

Me: *dumbfounded* “What?”

Manager: “You’re taking illegal drugs. Where’d you even get this from?”

Me: “It’s not illegal with a prescription, and my neurologist prescribed it to me for ADHD.”

Manager: “You don’t have ADHD. You’re just saying that.”

Me: *getting over this crap* “You know what? I don’t care. I have my school ID with my picture and my name on it, and that’s proof enough that the bottle’s mine, and that I’m taking it by prescription.”

(My thinking is that I don’t care if she calls the school as they have my meds on record, and if she calls the police I can give them the number to my neurologist’s rooms.)

Manager: *smugly* “Well, then, I will. Even if these are your pills, you should know not to carry this many around with you at once.” *there’s only half a tablet left in the bottle*

(She called my school first and they explained everything to her, so the police weren’t called, thankfully. But my school sent me an email saying not to go back in to the work experience. How could someone be stupid enough to not even read that my NAME was on the bottle? I guess she just really didn’t like me for some reason.)

So Much For Forgiveness And Grace…

, , , , , , , | | Related | June 28, 2019

In 1992, a few months before getting married, my ex-husband wanted me to meet his parents. He did not visit them very often and when I met them, I understood why. He had told me that his mom was a former nun and his dad was a former monk. They were pretty religious people but his mother was a bit over-religious.

We invited them for dinner and when they got to our place, the first thing his mother told me was, “You are both going straight to Hell because you are living in sin!” That set the tone for the rest of this awkward evening. I think that she must have told me at least ten times that night that life is a valley of tears, that I should go confess my sins, and that Jesus died for my sins. His dad barely spoke, only saying yes or no to a few questions.

When we mentioned our upcoming wedding that was supposed to be a civil ceremony at the courthouse — my fiancé and I did not believe in religion — that did not sit well with his mom and she told us, (well, she screamed), “It will not be a real wedding because it’s not a religious one and you will still be living in sin!”

After that evening, my future ex-husband decided it would be best if they did not come to our wedding because he feared that his mother would cause a scene in front of our guests… and I did not even try to make him change his mind!  

I later learned that his Bible-thumper holy Mary of a mother was kicked out of the convent because she was caught, multiple times, having sex with another nun! She had an affair with her husband’s boss and got pregnant by him. Her husband knew because they had stopped having sex years before for religious reasons! His two older brothers had told him the stories and his dad, the one he knew as his dad, confirmed it!

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