It’s Karen And Chad, Not Karen And Becky

, , , , | Related | September 1, 2020

I have an entitled parent story to share with you and it gives me no pleasure to say that the Karen in this story is my own mother. I have so many stories about her entitlement when I was growing up but this one is by far the most embarrassing for me. I hope you enjoy.

This happens in 2004 when I am fourteen. We’ve just moved to another country and are living in a small town of around 12,000 people. I should mention that my mother is extremely homophobic, and although there aren’t many gay people — that I know of — around town, there is one couple who doesn’t hide their relationship.

I am nothing like my mother, so although I grew up with her pushing her homophobia onto me, I’ve never shared her views on the topic. I’m actually bisexual, but at the time, I never told her because I knew what her reaction would be.

One afternoon, we go for lunch at a small cafe that serves meals. Apart from a fish and chip shop, it is the only place my choosing beggar mother ever goes to. We sit down and order our food, and while we are waiting, a gay couple comes in and sits at a table near the back. Out of the few known gay couples in the town, these two are the most out and proud of all of them — as they should be, without ridicule — much to my mother’s displeasure. She doesn’t notice them at first, but when she does, the poop storm hits the fan.

She doesn’t say anything at first. She just stares daggers at them, hoping that they will leave on their own. As unsettling as my mother is when she’s giving her infamous death glare, it has a lot less power over others than she thinks it does or should; imagine an angry and red face giving an “I’m going to murder you in your sleep” staring match.

The couple doesn’t even notice her and goes on to order and chat while they wait for their meals. There are no groping or makeout sessions going on, just two grown men sitting side by side, holding hands. No big deal, right? Wrong.

When the server comes to deliver our food, my mum takes the opportunity to say something.

Mum: “Um, excuse me. Can you ask those two to leave? Or at least sit them somewhere else. I don’t want to watch them and their disgusting behavior.”

Server: “They’re not doing anything wrong, ma’am. But there’s a table outside you can sit at if you would like to move.”

Mum: “No, I’m not moving. I’m not doing anything wrong, unlike them. Make those [slurs] move.”

Server: “Ma’am, if you are going to speak like that, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Mum: “What? What did I do?”

She is getting loud and I can tell that the couple can hear what is going on but are pretending not to hear her.

Server: “Ma’am, you have three options: stay here and be quiet, or I can put your food in takeaway containers for you and you can leave. I don’t think you’ll like option three.”

Mum: *Angry and defeated* “Fine, then. I’ll stay. But I’m never coming back here after this horrible service.”

We ate our food while I desperately wanted to leave or sink into my chair out of embarrassment. Mother Dearest was glaring at them the entire time, even though they’d turned their chairs so all we could see was the back of their heads. And much to the dismay of the staff there, Mum came back many other times after that.

A few weeks after this, I ran into the couple in town and apologized to them about my mother. I made sure they knew that I didn’t think the same way as her and they were fine about it. I lived in that town for about a year after this happened and went to live with my dad. My life was much better after I escaped her entitlement and Karen-ness, and I haven’t spoken to her in over seven years. The world is better without toxic people in it.

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Not What We Mean By “Racism Is A White People Problem”

, , | Right | September 1, 2020

I’m a black female working at a theater at my university while a play is going on about racism. An elderly couple walks up wanting a refund. On the back of the tickets, it says that all sales are final.

Patron Husband: “I want a refund; I didn’t enjoy the show.”

Me: “Unfortunately, sir, there are no refunds.” *Flips over the ticket*

Patron Husband: “No offense, but they have racism all wrong.”

I look at one of my ushers because I am confused.

Patron Husband: “Racism happened because of the lack of fathers and incarcerations in black people. I know because it happened to Irish people like me.”

Me: “Sir, racism happened because of systemic oppression from slavery and the unfair treatment of people of color, many who, like myself, have both parents in their lives.”

Patron Wife: “We just want our money back, and since you won’t give it to us, we’ll call your boss.”

I texted my boss, telling her what happened, and she told me there were still no refunds.

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There Goes The Neighborhood… Right Where It Needs To

, , , , , , , | Right | August 31, 2020

I am lucky enough to live in a relatively nice neighborhood with a culturally diverse population in a liberal part of the USA. Therefore, it is not too uncommon to see some houses proudly showing off some Black Lives Matter banners without ruffling too many feathers. My family decides that we want to be included, so my two children make one of our own and we put it up near our mailbox.

The next day, I happen to be doing some cleaning in the living room and spy that a middle-aged woman in a business suit has pulled up and is trying to remove the BLM sign from our property! I march right out.

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am, but what do you think you’re doing?!”

The woman jumps when she sees me, but then her stare becomes cold and her body language confrontational.

Woman: “You live here?”

Me: “Yes, and you’re stealing from my property.”

Woman: “Do you own this house?”

Me: “That’s irrelevant. Please put down that sign and leave, immediately.”

Woman: “You shouldn’t be putting up racist posters like this! It’s bad for the community!”

Me: “Whatever views my family wishes to express on our own property are our concern, not yours.”

Woman: “But you’re bringing down the neighborhood! This neighborhood used to be so nice and now it’s full of…”

I can see she’s struggling to finish her sentence without sounding like a racist. I let her stutter for a moment, hoping she comes to the conclusion that it’s impossible, but she’s committed!

Me: “Ma’am, please put down my sign, get back in your car, and—”

This is when I look into her car for the first time. Her back door is open and I can see no less than FIVE other BLM posters tossed back there! Then I look at the woman again, and it dawns on me; that business suit, that face, that Karen hairstyle… I have seen this woman’s realty ads plastered all over town!

Me: “Are… are you stealing BLM posters because you’re worried about how it will affect house prices?!”

Woman: “Well… they will! I won’t be able to get any respectable clientele if they think this town was full of racist thugs!”

Me: “Lady, I am a forty-five-year-old housewife in sweatpants. Do I look like a racist thug to you? Get off my property! I am going to be calling your bosses to let them know what you’re doing!”

Woman: “You can’t prove it!”

And with that, she kicked my BLM sign one more time for good measure and drove off. I stared long and hard at her car as it careened down the road — dangerously, I might add.

I re-entered my house, composed myself, finished the cleaning, and then settled down in front of my computer. I accessed the recording from the security camera on my front porch, found the footage of my altercation with the racist realtor, and emailed it to both the police and the realty company she works for, providing both her name and the license plate of her car.

Before the end of the day, I received an email back from the head honcho of the company informing me that her employment with them had been terminated immediately and that she had been arrested by the police for the destruction of private property.

I don’t expect everyone to share my political views, but it’s the first time they’ve been accused of bringing down the housing market!

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This story is part of our Best Of August 2020 roundup!

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Droll Gender Roles

, , , , , , | Related | August 28, 2020

Growing up, I had very long hair; however, I started cutting it short with shaved sides a few years ago. I’m having dinner with my dad and uncle one day when my uncle feels the need to comment on it. My uncle’s hair is buzzed short to about a quarter of an inch.

Uncle: “So, why did you cut your hair so short? It looks better long.”

Me: “Why did you cut your hair so short?”

Uncle: “It’s cooler and easy to maintain.”

Me: “I cut it short because it’s cooler and easier to maintain.”

Uncle: “Oh.”

I can’t help but notice that these sorts of comments only come from the older men around me. All the women and younger men who have seen my new style always say how much it suits me and that they can’t even picture me with long hair anymore. How droll.

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My, Aren’t We Feeling Entitled Today?, Part 2

, , , , , , | Right | August 26, 2020

Customer: “I’d like three chicken tenders and a half-pound of potato wedges.”

Me: “All righty.”

I pack the tenders into a Styrofoam tray and put a price tag on it. Then, I get another tray to put the wedges in.

Customer: “You can put them in the same box.”

Me: “No, actually, I can’t. They’re different prices.”

Customer: “But I don’t want to carry around two of these big things!”

Me: “Sorry, but these are the only containers we have right now, ma’am.”

Customer: “I don’t get why you can’t put them in the same box. There’s room in there!”

Me: “Because chicken tenders are $6.99 and potato wedges are $3.99. They have to be packaged separately unless you get the lunch combo.”

Customer: “So just put them both in there and charge $3.99 for the whole thing!”

Me: “I can’t do that.”

Customer: “Are you refusing to serve me?!

Me: “If I did what you asked, I’d be putting my job in trouble.”

Customer: “So what? I don’t care if you get fired. Your job is to do what the customer wants! And I want you to put those in the same box and use the cheap price!”

Me: “Well, if I get fired, then I have no means by which to do what the customer wants. Besides, if our company did that for everyone, we’d lose a lot of money.”

Customer: “Then don’t do it for everyone; just do it for me, you idiot! No one else matters, and they’re all going to be dead soon anyway!”

Me: “Uh… What?”

Customer: “Our Lord has chosen Donald Trump as his instrument of destruction, and the streets will run red with the blood of subhuman vermin and filth! As it should be! Then I won’t have to listen to this, ‘Oh, if I do it for you I have to do it for everyone’ s***!”

Me: “I’m going to have to get my manager.”

Customer: “Keep your s***ty food, you r****d! Have fun going out of business!”

My, Aren’t We Feeling Entitled Today?

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