Parenting Should Be Mightier Than The Sword

, , , , , | Right | October 30, 2017

(We supply recreational and reenactment weaponry. Most of it is foam of varying density, as well as nylon and rattan for martial arts. We can provide metal weaponry with proof of permit. It’s Saturday and technically we’re not open. There’s even a gate that’s meant to be closed, but I’m on site cleaning up and must have accidentally left it unlocked. The front door opens and in walks a man with two children under the age of ten.)

Me: “Hi there. Uh… We’re technically closed to the public today. Did you book an appointment?”

(The two children immediately rush in and start picking things up and trying to stab each other, squealing each time they do.)

Customer: “Oh, I was just at the rec centre down the street with the kids, and a friend told me this store was here, so we thought we’d have a look.”

Me: “Well, I suppose you’re here already.”

(I spend the next twenty minutes explaining the different types and brands, including two ranges specifically meant for children, while the kids run around picking everything up, screaming about how it’s not real, and then throwing it on the floor.)

Customer: “And what if I wanted some metal swords?”

Me: “We can get those for you. We don’t keep them on site, because kids come into the showroom regularly and it would be a hazard, considering they’re prone to picking things up and swinging them about. But we can get them in. You do, of course, need to provide us with your license or proof of permit and make an appointment so we can ensure minors aren’t present, and we need to make sure you have the proper safety gear at home.”

Child #1: “But I want one now!”

Customer: “And what if I want to get some for the kids?”

Me: “Then I would refuse to sell to you, because they’re clearly underage and can’t legally have one.”

Customer: “Yeah, but look at them; they really want some!”

(At this point one of the children is on the ground, howling in protest and being stabbed in the chest repeatedly by the other.)

Me: “Yeah, no. Absolutely not.”

Customer: “So, what am I doing here letting you waste my time for?”

Me: “I have no idea, sir. As I said when you came in, we’re meant to be closed today.”

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Not Even Going To Dance Around This Subject

, , , , , , , | Learning | October 30, 2017

(I am 16 and dance 50 hours a week, as well as being an honor student. I have four students to whom I am teaching solos. All consistently second place or better at competitions, sometimes getting first place out of their whole age group. I decide to open up a fifth slot for a student, because I figure I can manage another one. The mother of my first soloist has helped me recruit students, and because of being my first and helping me find students, I only charge her $15 an hour, compared to the other parents I charge $25. The mom accidentally lets it slip to a new recruit’s mom about her special price, and the following happens at the next tryout:)

Student’s Mom: “I heard you’re taking on another student.”

Me: *smiling* “That’s correct; despite my busy schedule I’ve decided I can take on another student.”

Student’s Mom: “Perfect. So [First Mom] said you will only charge me $15 an hour, correct?”

Me: *heart sinks to my stomach* “No, I actually charge $25 an hour.”

Student’s Mom: “Then why would she tell me $15?!”

Me: “I have been teaching her daughter for four years. She was my first soloist, and that is what I charged when I first started.”

Student’s Mom: “So, why does she get to keep that price!?”

Me: “Because she helped me get started.”

Student’s Mom: “That isn’t fair. You are what, 16? What makes you qualified to get $25 a hour?!”

Me: “Regardless of my age, ma’am, my dances win. Most teachers with a resume like mine are charging $50 an hour. I only charge $25 because I am younger.”

Student’s Mom: “But why do you get to charge that!?”

Me: “Ma’am, I am a busy person. I dance 50 hours a week myself, and I am an honor student, and my choreography wins. I have four other people who are interested in that slot and are fine with paying the $25. I am trying them out this weekend to find out if I can work with their student and them. So far, I can’t work with you, so your daughter is not worth my time.”

Student’s Mom: “Excuse me, young lady?!”

Me: “Ma’am. If my price is so outrageous, why are you still here trying to get me to teach your daughter?”

Student’s Mom: “Because your choreography wins!”

Me: “Exactly! I can charge $25 because my choreography is wanted. Now, $25 is my final price.”

Student’s Mom: “Fine. When can my daughter start?”

Me: “Never.”

Student’s Mom:What?!

Me: “I don’t work with divas, and if you’re like this, I can’t imagine how your daughter must be. Get out!”

(She left, muttering something under her breath about me being a b**** and arrogant and many other things. I found a student the next week who received choreography that won, and she ended up staying with me for two years. I don’t teach divas. I still won’t do so.)

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People Who Have To Say They Are Fancy Aren’t

, , , , | Right | October 29, 2017

(I go to a popular coffee chain about once a week that has different sizing than the conventional small, medium, and large. I always order a “tall” drink but can never bring myself to say “tall,” because I think it is rather unnecessary. I always just say “small” when I order, since they mean the same thing. The baristas know what I mean and never say anything about it. However, one day, another customer who is behind me in line has a problem with it.)

Me: “Can I please have a small [drink]?”

Barista: “Sure. Name, plea—”

Customer: *practically screaming* It’s ‘tall,’ not ‘small!’ Order it right!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I come here because it is fancier than other coffee places, and you need to order it right or it’s not fancy! You’re ruining it for me. IT’S ‘TALL’, NOT ‘SMALL!’ SAY IT RIGHT or GET OUT!”

(Both the barista and I are in shock, but I just do what the customer is asking because she is scaring me with her tone.)

Me: “Uh, okay. Can I have a tall [drink]?”

Barista: “Uh, yeah, sure. Uh, name, please?”

(I gave her my name and paid, and as I headed over to the waiting area I heard the other customer muttering under her breath about “trash coming into her fancy coffee shop.” When the barista handed me my drink she gave me an apologetic look. Still not sure why the customer cared so much, as calling the drink something different won’t change how it tastes.)

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Drowning In Incompetence

, , , , , , , , , | Working | October 29, 2017

(My family lives just around the corner from the community pool and normally I take my siblings, who are 11 and 12, every day during the summer. Today I’ve hurt my ankle, so Mom decides they’re old enough to go on their own. We get this call about an hour after.)

Mom: “Who’s calling?”

Me: *looks over at the phone* “The pool is… What happened?”

Mom: *answers it and suddenly screams* “WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE NEARLY DROWNED 30 MINUTES AGO?!”

Me: “WHAT?!”

(Mom and I drive to the pool, and when we arrive, my brother runs up to me, crying.)

Me: “Woah, woah! What happened, bub?”

Mom: “What happened?! Why is he crying?!”

Sister: “He can tell you.” *points at lifeguard*

Lifeguard: “Why me!?”


Sister: “[Brother] started drowning, and they refused to help him because they thought he was playing.”

Lifeguard: “He was only playing! He’s f****** r*****ed, anyway!”

Mom: *gets right in his face* “HE’S AUTISTIC!”

Me: “What else?”

Sister: “So, I jumped in, tried to pull him out, but he forced me under and apparently that made them jump in for him. The other one just watched.”

Lifeguard: “It’s not our job!”

Mom: “So, what is she up there for, to look pretty!?”

(They apparently decided to ignore my brother, who is severely autistic and was drowning, then kept him out of the water, with some water in his lungs, with no towel or anything, for 30 minutes before they called us. They didn’t call the hospital, get an ambulance, or give medical treatment. Mom was so upset that when we went to the ER, she had a moment and said to get the lungs out of his water. The lifeguard stayed on, even after we complained. We never went back.)

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A Total Balls-Up

, , , , , , , , | Friendly | October 29, 2017

(I am an usher at a sports arena. During a game, two teenage girls with signs saying it is their first game catch a ball. A few seconds later, two kids run down from seats five rows behind the girls and ask them for the ball. When the two girls refuse, their section turns on them.)

Man: “Give the kids the ball! They’re kids! What’s it to you?”

Girl #1: “It’s our first game! We caught the ball; we want it!”

Women: “Gosh, you girls are b****es!”

Girl #2: “What the h*** is wrong with you people? If we won the lottery and two kids demanded our winnings would we be forced to give them to them? We caught this ball fairly! What the f***?!”

(A man in the row behind them ripped the ball out of their hands and gave it to the kids, who ran back to their mom. Their mom smirked at the teenagers and patted her kids on the head. Now, I have been in this arena for seven years and, as such, have the respect of my manager and staff. During intermission, my manager came over to check in on me and I told him what happened. My manager’s sister is a supervisor in guest service, and with some strings pulled, she got them two balls and vouchers for hotdogs, and moved them out of their area as their section was still angry with them. Obviously, it was not the same as getting the ball the girls had caught, but they still got balls out of it.)

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