Baking And Math Don’t Care About Your Opinion

, , , , , , | Related | September 24, 2020

My sister is making a cake, and I notice that there seems to be an awful lot of batter for the size of the pans.

Me: “I don’t think that’s going to fit.”

Sister: “I followed the recipe.”

Me: “Can I see?”

I skim the recipe and notice that it calls for twenty-three-centimetre pans.

Me: “Your pans are way too small.”

Sister: “No, I didn’t want the cake to be that big, so I cut the recipe in half.”

Me: “Okay, but your pans are still too small.”

Sister: “No, the recipe says twenty-three centimeters; these are about twelve. They’ll be fine.”

Me: “But they’re round pans.”

Sister: “So?”

Me: “So, the volume of a cylinder is pi R squared times the height. A cylinder with a radius that’s half as big will have a quarter of the volume.”

Sister: “That doesn’t make sense.”

Me: “Yes, it does. Look, five squared is twenty-five, right? And ten squared is a hundred. A pan that’s half the volume of a twenty-three-centimetre pan if it’s the same height would have a diameter of…” *does the math on my phone* “…about sixteen centimetres.”

Sister: “Well, that’s your opinion.”

Me: *Incredulous pause* “It is literally math.”

Sister: *Scoffing* “Whatever. It’ll be fine.”

Naturally, the pans overflowed in the oven and it made a huge mess. Baking is not a good place for people who are bad at math.

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Unfiltered Story #209656

, , | Unfiltered | September 24, 2020

(One of the game stores in my town is very casual and has a lot of friendly regulars they know by first name, myself included. I’m browsing and talking to the staff when another regular comes in with a styrofoam box. I don’t want to perpetuate stereotypes, but he had the smell of someone who was on a 10-day gaming binge.)

Regular: How’s it going?

Staff: Good, how about yourself?

Regular: Good! *makes small talk for a little bit* Hey, do you mind if I eat my lunch in here?

Staff: Um, I guess? I don’t think we have rules about that one way or the other, so… sure?

Regular: Okay! Thanks!

(The guy then pulls out barbeque chicken wings and eat them. They have a pretty hefty stench, which adds to the BO. I don’t have a good sense of smell, and even I tell to stay away from the corner he’s in. I leave shortly after, and come back the next day. Now there’s some incense burning in the corner.)

Me: Hey, so when did the owner’s become okay with burning incense in the store?

Staff:… um, y’know, we just wanted to make the place smell nice… and, uh…

Me: Oh, I thought it was the dude who wreaked of BO and ate horrendous-smelling barbeque wings in here yesterday.

Staff: Oh my God thank you. I was trying to be nice, but seriously, that was gross.

Me: I think you might need a ‘no food’ policy.

Staff: I think we might do that.

(To be fair, he wasn’t rude or anything, but I just don’t think he was aware of the odour he was creating. If you’re going to eat smelly food, please do it where it isn’t going to bother anyone.)

Unfiltered Story #209646

, | Unfiltered | September 24, 2020

I was working front till for a popular fast food chain while in post secondary when a man walks in with his son

Man: [Son’s name], make sure you do well in school otherwise you’ll up like this poor sap.

He then walks out without even ordering anything and everyone I was working with just looks at me in sympathy.

Wait Until She Hears Cardi B’s Newest Little Ditty

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 23, 2020

I’m a singer, “pro” by formation but it’s not my career, nor how I win my life. I’m also the owner of a duplex, occupying the first apartment and renting the second. Insonorization is pretty good, but it is a nice warm day and everyone has opened the windows. Also, because of the recent health crisis, my tenant lost her job, and school was canceled for her eight-year-old son, which causes them to be home when I don’t expect them to be.

As I often do, I start a playlist to sing for an hour or two for practice and fun. About thirty minutes in, there’s a knock on my door. It’s my tenant, looking rather angry.

She explains to me that her son heard me sing, and now he’s “asking questions.”

She states that and crosses her arms, looking at me with bulging eyes.

I don’t understand and ask what’s the problem, thinking that maybe I was too loud or that she had some hate against singing in general.

Tenant: “I don’t care if you sing, but what you sing! How dare you be howling obscenities like that in front of children?!”

Now it clicks: while I do opera and classical, I also do popular music. Some songs are in the “sexy” range, but it’s all stuff you could hear from any radio station without censorship.

Me: “Well, there are no children here in my apartment. So much for ‘in front of children.’ Second, it’s the first time I was made aware I was heard from your apartment and I have been renting for fifteen years at this point. Also, I sing what I want; I could drop F-bombs and you would still get no say with that choice. I guess you’re lucky that I elected not to. Otherwise, the lyrics are rather clean in themselves, and out of context it doesn’t mean much.”

Tenant: “But now my son is asking questions! What are you going to do about it?”

Me: “Me? Nothing, he’s all yours to educate.”

Tenant: “It’s all your fault! You deal with it!”

I think it’s pretty funny and I can’t help but smirk.

Me: “So, you want me, the landlady who’s ‘howling obscenities’ to teach your son about the birds and the bees, then answer and explain, in detail, all about what he just heard in the songs? Really?”

I think she changed her mind because she turned around and left without a word.

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Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 5

, , , , | Right | September 23, 2020

I’m in line waiting to buy a lottery ticket. The man ahead of me will be the next person at the register, but he’s huffing and puffing and loudly setting his two items down on the shelf next to him as he waits for the cashier to serve her current customer.

Customer: “Can you get another person on a register?”

The cashier calls for her coworker, who arrives promptly. The man moves to her. A few seconds later, it’s my turn at the first register, so I stop paying attention to everything else and pay for my ticket. I move off to near the exit to fold my ticket up into my wallet.

Cashier: “Excuse me, sir, bags are five cents each. That’s why I asked if you wanted any.”

I look up to see that the impatient man has moved to an empty cashier station and is struggling with a plastic bag.

Customer: “I’m not paying for a bag.”

Cashier: “Then don’t use one.”

Customer: “Cheapo. I’ll be sure never to come here again!”

The man walked off with his two items in his hands, leaving the bag off its hooks. I went to put it back, only to find a huge rip in it.

Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 4
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 3
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage, Part 2
Has Some Serious Bag Baggage

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