Backed Herself Into A Back Problem

, , , , , , , , , | Related | December 15, 2017

My mother told me this story recently. My grandmother — an intractable, stubborn, and often vicious family matriarch if ever there was one — died not long ago and we were telling stories about her. This one made me laugh long and loud.

My grandmother was forever causing arguments with women in the family. She was determined to make sure that all the females in the family knew she was boss, end of story. The men, however, could do no wrong, especially my father, who was truly the apple of her eye.

My mother got into an argument with her. I had just been born — Mum and Dad’s first — and Mum was still getting used to me, and getting me into a routine of feeding and sleeping. Of course, my grandmother knew all there was to know about new babies and was forever butting in and driving Mum mad. One of her favourite tricks was to arrive at the house, with almost clairvoyant timing, just as Mum had got me to sleep, and insist on waking me up so she could spend time with me. Mum said that, had we lived far away from her so she only saw us occasionally, she wouldn’t have minded, but [Grandmother] lived just down the road and saw us every day. One day after it had taken Mum forever to get me to sleep, she absolutely forbade [Grandmother] from waking me, and the usual fight ensued.

Usually, Dad did what he and all the other male members of the family did when their wives, sisters, or daughters clashed with [Grandmother]; they did their ostrich trick and buried their heads in the sand. This time however, Dad came down on Mum’s side. He didn’t go to visit her, though he usually had morning tea with her every day, so she took to her bed with “back problems.”

When he still didn’t go to visit her, she let it be known that she was now paralysed. Still Dad stuck to his guns and stayed away. Finally, she was at death’s door and Dad didn’t give in. This went on for three days, and on the fourth day when [Grandmother] saw, from her bedroom window, Dad strolling down the road, this pain-wracked, paralysed, nearly dead woman leapt from her bed, ran down the driveway and screamed, “[Dad]! How dare you?! I am in agonising pain, I cannot move, and you ignore me! Ignore my suffering! What kind of son are you? Well, I’ll be dead in a day or so, and you and [Mum] will live with the knowledge that you caused it!”

My dad pointed out that she was standing on her own two feet, in her nightie, in the middle of the road. If she wanted this act of hers to really work, she would have to get back in bed and actually die. Then, he would feel sorry for her

It sounds harsh, I know, but it had the desired effect. Once [Grandmother] realised that her interfering in our family wouldn’t be tolerated and that she would, in fact, be excluded, she stopped being quite so hard on Mum. The only shame is that the other men in the family didn’t take a leaf out of Dad’s book and stand up to her when their wives, sisters, and daughters were being bullied. She carried on being as tough on them as she always had been.

Making Boobs Of Themselves At The Entrance

, , , , , | Right | December 11, 2017

(I am with about ten other security guards, checking ID cards and tickets at the main entrance gate for an under-18s festival. This is my first day on the job, but for the most part, things run smoothly once we get into the swing of things. A group of four young women in their teens get to the front of my queue and hand me their tickets.)

Teen #1: “Here’s our tickets.”

Me: “I’ll also need to see your IDs.”

([Teen #1] removes her ID and presents it to me. After briefly comparing her ticket and ID I pass her through, where she waits for her friends. [Teen #2] then hands me her ID, but the photo has been completely scratched off.)

Me: “The photo on this card has been scratched off.”

Teen #2: “Yeah, it was a bad photo, so I got rid of it.”

Me: “You do realize I need photo ID to let you in? Do you have any other ID?”

([Teen #2] looks confused at the concept that a photo ID needs a photo, but then proceeds to try and give me her credit card, along with various other non-identifying cards, looking more and more dejected as she goes.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept any of these. I need a valid photo ID before I can let you in.”

Teen #2: *hopefully* “If I show you my boobs, will you let me in?”

Me: “Unfortunately, that’s not a form of photo ID, but I will call over my supervisor and see if he can sort this out.”

(I raised my arm to call over my current supervisor, who quickly arrived and asked me what the problem was. He was just as confused as I was at the lack of a discernible picture, but he took the group aside and talked to them. They ended up having to wait for about an hour outside the gate before someone came and gave them valid ID. Unfortunately, I lost count of the amount of times I had to deal with this exact same situation throughout the day.)

 

Really Feline This Coffee

, , , | Working | December 1, 2017

(I’m in the kitchen at work, making a cup of adequate instant coffee. There’s only a little bit of milk left in the jug so I resolve to use it all, which results in a cup which is almost full to the brim. Realising I won’t be able to carry it over to my desk, but being too early for rational thought, I decide my best course of action is to lean over the bench and sip the top of my coffee until I’m able to carry it. As I perform this task, my supervisor walks into the kitchen. )

Supervisor: “Um… what?”

Me: “My coffee is too full!”

Supervisor: “Oh! I assumed you’ve just been spending too much time with your cat and you finally snapped! Is there any milk left?”

Bet You Dollars To Donuts He’s After Free Donuts

, , , , , | Right | November 30, 2017

(I work in a fast food restaurant. A woman comes in, visibly shaking with anger. Still, she’s polite to us, so we assume she’s angry at someone other than us. There are two of us here at the moment as it is shift changeover; normally only one person is there at a time.)

Customer: “I’ll have two doughnuts, please.”

Me: *hands over doughnuts* “That will be [price].”

Customer: “Do you have a phone number or website that I could register a complaint with?”

Me: “I’m the manager on duty; is there something I can help you with?”

Customer: “I was in here last week and the guy behind the counter was really rude to me! I asked for some doughnuts and he told me to eff off!”

Me: “I’m very sorry you had this experience, but there aren’t any men who work here. There’s only three of us, and we’re all females. Do you remember what time this was?”

Customer: “I was coming home from dropping my husband at the airport, so it was around 10:00 pm.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but I’m quite confused. We close at 8:00 pm and throw out remaining stock. Are you sure it was this store?”

Customer: *getting very angry now* “Yes! I took a photo and everything! He was really rude; you’re lucky I bothered coming back!”

Me: “I’ll direct you to our website where you’ll be able to register your complaint with the photo. I really don’t know what to say; as I explained, there’s only three females who work here and we close at 8:00 pm.”

(I called my boss and explained what had happened. As far as we both know, the customer never formally complained nor showed us the photo.)

Sharing Is Consciously Caring

, , , , , | Working | October 6, 2017

(It’s early morning, and we are making ourselves some breakfast before we start working. One of my coworkers is of an ethnicity where the sharing of food is of utmost importance. She will not eat her food without offering it to others, even if she only just has enough for herself. She has just made herself some toast.)

Coworker #1: “[My Name], would you like some?” *holds out her plate*

Me: “No, thanks. You eat it.”

Coworker #1: *pushing plate towards me* “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

Me: “Yes, I am; I have my own food on the table.”

(Another coworker comes into the room.)

Coworker #1: “[Coworker #2], would you like some toast?” *holds out plate*

Coworker #2: “Yes, please. I didn’t get anything for breakfast today because I thought I was going to be late.” *reaches out for a piece*

(I watch in amusement as [Coworker #1]’s hand moves the plate away as it is reached for. [Coworker #2] puts down her hand.)

Coworker #1: “Aren’t you going to take it?”

(Again, [Coworker #1] pushes the plate towards [Coworker #2], and again the plate is withdrawn as [Coworker #2]’s hand moves towards it. [Coworker #2] has a confused look on her face as she puts her hand down.)

Me: “You can have some of mine; I still have more in the packet on the table.”

Coworker #2: “Thanks.” *starts moving towards the table*

Coworker #1: *starting to get agitated* “Why won’t you take some?”

Coworker #2: “I didn’t think you wanted me to have a piece.”

Coworker #1: “I’ve been trying to give you the whole plate and you won’t take it.”

Coworker #2: “I only wanted a piece.” *she is finally able to take a piece of toast*

(I could see that [Coworker #1] had no idea that she was doing what she had been doing; it was obvious that subconsciously she did not want to share!)

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