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A Monster Of A Rewrite

, , , , , | Related | August 16, 2013

(I am about 11 years old, and am being home-schooled. I’m working on my spelling/vocabulary lesson, and have to write a short story using every word in the lesson. I write a story about a superhero who has the power to turn the villains and monsters good. I am proud of my story.)

Aunt: “Why does she make them all turn good?”

Me: “Because they were evil and hurting people.”

Aunt: “Well, it’s not right to make someone do something they don’t want to do. You should change it.”

Me: “How do you know they don’t want to be good?”

Aunt: “They’re monsters. Rewrite it.”

(I stop arguing, and change the ending drastically by making the superhero kill the monster. She doesn’t like this one either. She makes it clear that she wants it written one way.)

Aunt: “What is this?”

Me: “My alternate ending.”

Aunt: “Killing people is bad!”

Me: “They’re monsters, remember?”

Aunt: “That doesn’t change anything. Rewrite it!”

Me: “To what? You didn’t like the first one!”

Aunt: “Just change it!”

(By now, I am quite irked, and change the story once again to a more generic superhero story ending.)

Me: “Here.”

Aunt: “So she just sends him off?”

Me: “Yes.”

Aunt: “It’s better, but why did you choose this ending?”

Me: “Because you told me to.”

Aunt: “That’s not a good reason. Why don’t you write a new one?”

(I am more irked now, and refuse to write another ending.)

Me: “I’ve already written a new one!”

Aunt: “And I want you to write it over!”

Me: “Fine! How about the superhero goes and turns the monster into a good guy so she doesn’t have to keep fighting him? That way everyone is happy. And now the monster can live happily.”

Aunt: “No, he wouldn’t be happy. He would be forced to be something he’s not.”

Me: “Yes, he would. He is my monster in my story!”

Aunt: “You can’t act that way in the real world!”

Me: “How about we leave my story be, and not force it to change into something I don’t want it to be?”

Aunt: “Are you talking back to me?”

(I don’t want to get into trouble, so I just give in.)

Me: “I’m sorry. I’ll learn from this. I can’t make people do stuff or they’ll be unhappy.”

Aunt: “Good. Now go work on math.”

Me: “Okay, Aunt [name].”

(I went on to my math lesson. I never chose to write a story for my spelling lesson again, which was unfortunate, because I love writing. I learned more from writing a story than I did copying the words over and over in my book.)

They’d Like To Look At The Kid(nap) Menu

, , , , | Working | July 29, 2013

(I’m about three years old. My mom’s family is Middle Eastern, and they look it. My dad is white, and I take after him, although he’s not with us at the time. I have pale skin and red hair. My extended family and I are out for lunch. A waitress has just taken our orders.)

Waitress: “Y’all are a pretty big group. What brought you all together?”

Aunt: “We go to church as a family every Sunday.”

Waitress: “Well, isn’t that nice.”

(I’m playing with my brother.)

Waitress: *to me* “Do you like going out with your friend’s family?”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “Actually, that’s my daughter.”

Waitress: “Oh! You’re adopted! I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to make you feel different.”

Me: “I’m not adopted.”

Waitress: “Oh, I’m so sorry; you haven’t told her yet.”

Mom: “She’s not adopted.”

Waitress: “Of course she is! People like you can’t have a white baby!”

Mom: “It’s none of your business, but yes, she’s my daughter.”

Waitress: “It’s impossible for brown people to have white babies! You’re kidnapping her! You’re kidnapping a good, God-fearing white baby, and turning her Muslim! You’re lying about church; you took her to your mosque for a satanic ritual! You [racist slur]!”

(The waitress picks me up.)

Waitress: “I’ll protect you!”

(I scream and bite the waitress. The waitress reacts by slapping me.)

Mom: “You put down my daughter right now!”

(At this point, my whole family is standing, yelling at the waitress. The manager comes over.)

Manager: “What the h*** is going on here!?”

Mom: “She’s kidnapping my daughter!”

Waitress: “These [racist slur] are kidnapping a white baby!”

(I continue screaming as my mom pulls me away from the waitress.)

Manager: “I’m calling the police!”

(We try to leave at that point, but the manager has barred the doors.)

Uncle: “What the h*** is the matter with you? She’s her daughter!”

Mom: “I’m calling [Dad].”

(We wait for the police for fifteen minutes, while my mom talks to my dad on the phone. My lawyer aunt tries to reason with the manager, and my older cousins try to distract the little ones. Finally, the police arrive. They tell us to wait where we are, and question the manager and the waitress first. Then they come over.)

Officer: “I’m very sorry you were bothered by this. This is one of the most bogus, racist claims I’ve heard. But because the complaint was filed, I have to follow procedure. Sweetie, what’s your mother’s full name?”

Me: “It is [Full Name].”

Officer: “Ma’am, do you have any ID to prove this?”

(My mom shows her driver’s license. Next, the officer questions me about each family member. Afterwards…)

Officer: “Yeah, no three-year-old would know this much about someone else’s family, and we don’t have any Amber Alerts out matching her description, so you all are free to—”

(The officer’s partner comes over and whispers something to him.)

Officer: “Ah, I see. My partner was reviewing the security footage. The waitress slapped your daughter. You can press charges, if you’d like.”

Mom: “I would, very much.”

(As the waitress is handcuffed, my dad comes into the restaurant.)

Dad: “What the h*** happened?”

Me: “Daddy!”

(I runs up to him, and jump in his arms.)

Waitress: “You didn’t f****** tell me her dad was white!”

(Needless to say, we never went there again.)

Making Sweepingly Bad Statements

, , , , , | Working | July 17, 2013

(I’m the closing supervisor and have just verified someone has finished their bi-weekly training. The training covers customer service, which includes not telling a customer ‘no’ without verification.)

Coworker: “Welcome to [Store]; how can we help you?”

Customer: “I’m looking for sweeping compound, lea—”

Coworker: “We don’t carry sweeping compound. What would you use it for? Kitty litter works fine.”

Customer: “I don’t need oil dry; I need sweeping compound.”

Coworker: “We don’t sell stupid s***.”

Me: *to my customer* “I’m sorry about this.” *to my coworker* “Go clock out and leave.” *to my customer again* “Sir, I apologize for how you’ve been treated. I’ll assist you today to get your list complete and then give you a 20% discount. Sweeping compound is right this way.”

(My coworker stomps off and calls the manager to say I was arguing with him and tried to fire him. The manager comes over as I am personally checking out the customer.)

Manager: “[My Name], need to talk quick.”

Me: “Sure.” *to the customer* “Thank you, sir, for being tolerant of us, and I hope to see you back.”

Customer: “Absolutely! Everyone else has been great.” *to the manager* “You hire the nicest, smartest girls here. Your grump could learn from them.”

Coworker: *seeing the customer leaving* “See! I told you we don’t carry that stupid s***!”

Manager: “[My Name], never mind. [Coworker], give me your keys.”

Coworker: “Why? I didn’t do anything wrong!”


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Link, Nyu, And Sephiroth Walk Into A Bar…

, , | Right | July 15, 2013

(There’s an anime convention near to where I work. A bunch of con-goers come in while I’m on the front counter. They all are in costume.)

Me: “Great costumes, guys! You had a good day?”

(Link from Legend Of Zelda is the first to speak up.)

Link: “Yeah, it’s been amazing, thanks!”

(I spot one of their friends, a disabled girl, dressed as one of my favorite characters. I call out to her.)

Me: “Oh, wow! It’s Nyu! You look adorable! I think you win for best costume of the day!”

Link: “Thanks for that; no one has guessed correctly all day and she’s been pretty upset about it! I think you pretty much just made her day!”

Me: “My pleasure!”

(I turn to the girl.)

Me: “No one could guess your costume? Guess they don’t watch the cool shows, huh?”

(The girl smiles, and begins to answer, but she’s cut off by a random customer who’s come storming over towards us.)

Customer: “All right, that’s enough of that! I’M here now, so you can stop catering to that [disabled slur] and show me some respect!”

Me: “Sir! Please, there’s no need to be so harsh to another customer! If you do not tone it down a little, I will have to ask you to leave!”

Customer: “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Why the f*** should I tone it down?! SHE shouldn’t be here, and YOU should start showing me more respect, b****, or I’ll see what your manager has to say about this!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I was always taught that respect was earned, and that you must always respect others. Since you are unable to do this to me or this poor girl you have insulted, then I have no reason to show YOU any respect. Please leave.”

Customer: “WHAT THE F—”

(He cuts himself off as he suddenly finds himself surrounded by various different anime and game heroes, all complete with replica weapons.)

Sephiroth: “I believe the lady asked you to leave, so scram.”

(The guy all but ran out of the store. ‘Link’ pulled out an ocarina, and played a medley of various video game songs for me as a thank you. It made my night!)

The Puerile And The Frog

| Right | July 11, 2013

(I have a large collection of plants at my workplace, including a terrarium. I hear someone taking the lid off of it. When I look over, there are two customers rooting through it.)

Me: “Please don’t dig through that.”

Customer: “Huh?”

Me: “Don’t touch that. Those are all real plants, and that jar is glass. I don’t want it to break.”

Customer: “Is there a snake in there?”

Me: “…no.”

Customer: “D***! A frog?”

Me: “No. Just plants. Please put the lid back on.”

Customer: “There should be a frog. I wanted to let it loose in here!”