Typical Men Problems

, , , , , | Right | October 2, 2020

A regular and her five-year-old daughter walk in. The mother explains to me that her daughter wants a book to give to her brother, who is nineteen. The daughter walks up to me.

Daughter: “I want a book about men.”

Me: *Utterly perplexed* “I’m sorry?”

Daughter: *Insistently* “I want a book about men!”

Mother: “Do you mean you want a book with men in it?”

The daughter can’t figure out what to say next, so she just looks at me expectantly. The mother and I are completely confused. We try to figure out what the daughter is saying, and the girl only gets more frustrated that we don’t understand.

Mother: “Wait, do you mean you want a book with a picture of a man on the cover?”

Daughter: *Beaming* “Yeah! A book about men!”

I am pointing at the display rack for books on sale, many of which have men on the cover.

Me: “Why don’t you try looking over there?”

Daughter: “That’s it!”

She ran off. After she and her daughter picked out a book — a biography about a survivor on the Titanic — the mother explained to me that her son had a bookshelf full of biographies, many of which had their subjects on the cover.

At one point, her daughter must have noticed the pattern on her brother’s bookshelf! A few weeks later, the regular returned and mentioned to me that her son enjoyed the gift, though it was the last thing he had been expecting.

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Speaking Is Hampered

, , , , | Right | October 1, 2020

Caller: “Hi, I am calling for my free hamper.”

Me: “I am sorry, ma’am, but you have the wrong number; this is a speaker company.”

Caller: “Well, let me speak to you about my free hamper.”

Me: “We are not that kind of speaker company.”

Caller: “Why not? I want my free hamper!”

My boss comes over.

Boss: “Ma’am, I understand you are looking for a free hamper.”

Caller: “Yes, sir, I am.”

Boss: “We ran out of hampers, ma’am; I am sorry.”

Caller: “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?!”

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The Twilight Sparkle In Their Eyes

, , , , , | Right | September 25, 2020

I’m in line at a sandwich shop ordering a meatball sub.

Customer: *Behind me* “Excuse me.”

I turn around to see a woman in her early fifties wearing lots of jewelry.

Customer: “Is that a My Little Pony on your shirt?”

Me: “Yeah, you a fan?”

Customer: “No! That show is evil and you are a degenerate!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “That show ruined my son! Now he has dyed his hair in rainbow colors and he buys toys for little girls and goes to these awful conventions with smelly people that do the same thing!”

Tears begin to run down her face. People in the store are turning to look.

Me: “Ma’am, maybe you shouldn’t be so judgmental of me or your son. It’s just a show that a lot of people happen to like, a show that teaches about the value of friendship and acceptance. Perhaps you could stand to learn a lesson or two from it yourself.”

Customer: “No! My son had such a promising future and now he’s admitted to me that he is a homosexual! It’s all that d*** show’s fault! People like you ruined my son!”

She reaches out to slap me, but I quickly deflect the blow.

Me: “Ma’am, please don’t touch me. I train regularly in Krav Maga.”

The woman grabs her forearm where her arm had met mine.

Customer: “Help! This degenerate struck me for standing up for my beliefs!”

She looks, wild-eyed, at the small girl behind the counter, who has watched the whole thing without saying a word.

Customer: “You! Call for your manager and have this society-destroying pariah thrown out of here! He assaulted me!”

Manager: “I am the manager. And I just saw that whole thing. It’s you who had better leave. I won’t have you assaulting people in my place of business for wearing shirts that express their values.”

The woman stomps out in a huff without ordering any food. People sitting at the tables and in line begin to clap for me and the manager.

Manager: “Sorry about that. And hey, the sub’s on us. Because nobody messes with Twilight Sparkle.”

She reached over the glass to give me a high-five, even after I insisted on paying for my lunch. And wouldn’t you know it? Her phone number was written on the napkin she put in my bag.

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Thankfully Not A Uniform Response To The Uniform

, , , , , , , | Right | September 1, 2020

Among the passengers traveling on my flight are several uniformed members of the military. The gate agents have already called for people who need extra time to board the plane, but no one else has been allowed on yet, including the first-class passengers.

Gate Agent: “At this time, we would like to invite our customers traveling in uniform to board through the priority lane.”

A passenger who is clearly not a member of the military shoves his way into the priority lane.

Gate Agent: “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t called for your cabin yet. If you’ll just step to the side for one moment—”

Passenger #1: “This is bulls***! I bought this ticket first-class so I could be the first one on, and you’re letting this economy class scum on before me!”

Gate Agent: “Sir, they are members of our country’s armed services; we just want to—”

Passenger #1: “And look at those big, honking bags they’re carrying. How are the rest of us supposed to put anything in the overhead bins?!”

A well-dressed older passenger steps forward.

Passenger #2: “Listen up, because I’m only going to say this once. These are the men and women who are fighting day and night to defend our country. They’re carrying those large bags because they are traveling to attend basic training. After that, they are going to spend several months in Afghanistan, risking their lives to protect other Americans — including jerks like you. When was the last time you voluntarily put your life on the line?”

He turns to the gate agent.

Passenger #2: “I have a first-class ticket. Could you please switch me to the economy cabin and give my seat to one of these soldiers?”

Soldier: “Sir, that’s very kind of you, but really—”

Passenger #2: “No.”

He offers a perfect military salute.

Passenger #2: “I was in the army in Vietnam. I know the sacrifices you all are making. Thank you for your service, and God bless you and your families.”

The nasty passenger walked off in a huff but didn’t say a word for the rest of the flight. The gate agents gave the nice gentleman’s seat to one of the soldiers and offered vacant first-class seats to some of the others. To that amazing guest: you restored my faith in humanity when I thought I just might lose it. And I thank you for your own service to our nation.

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Location, Location… (You Can’t Have Three)

, , , , , | Working | August 31, 2020

I am working at a company that decides to shut down our office on the west coast of the USA and move anybody who wants to go to the Boston area. My wife and I are interested, so they make arrangements to fly us out to look for housing. They also get us in touch with a relocation agent that is supposed to help us find housing. The agent sends us a form, which we fill out, that indicates that we are looking for a HOUSE — not an apartment, condo, etc. Also, we note that we need at least three rooms.

This happens when we arrive in the Boston area and the agent picks us up to go look at housing.

Agent: “I’ve looked through all the information you sent me, and I have some great places lined up to go see. Let’s go find you a place to live!”

Wife & Me: “Great, we’re really excited!”

We arrive at the first place, and it’s a college dorm that has been converted to apartments. It’s probably the furthest thing away from a house that you could describe.

Me: “This is an apartment.”

Agent: “Yes.”

Me: “We filled out that we wanted to look at houses, not apartments.”

Agent: “I know, but I know this place is really great, and I thought I would show it to you just in case.”

She walks us around the place and shows us a couple of the super-small dorm-room-type apartments. Most are single rooms; some have two rooms. After looking around a short time:

Me: “I think we are done looking here; it’s not what we are looking for. Let’s go to the next place.”

Agent: “Okay. Are you sure? This place is very trendy!”

Wife: “We’re sure; plus, none of those are three bedrooms. We need three bedrooms.”

Agent: “Okay, let’s go to the next place.”

She brought us to four other apartment complexes, every time trying to sell us on the idea that we really wanted an apartment and not a house. Most were only one or two bedrooms; only one had three-bedroom units available.  

After a wasted day, the agent dropped us back at our hotel and handed us applications from the places we’d been to. I grabbed them, not looking at them then, and said thanks, and we left to go inside. My wife and I were very frustrated at that point. I started looking at the applications in my hand and I noticed something. All the complexes were run by the same management company. Clearly, she was trying to get us to rent from this company, probably because she got a kickback of some type.

In the end, we ended up not moving to Boston, though I did express to my manager what a frustrating experience it was with the relocation agent they had sent us to, and I told him what happened.

He later got back to me and said they had talked to several other people who were trying to move out also, and all of them said the same thing. She showed everyone the same five places, no matter what they said on their forms. He tried to get me and my wife to go out again and give it another go with a completely different agent, but by that time, we had decided not to relocate.

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