Airport Closed Due To Rogue Helicopter Moms

, , , , , | | Related | July 11, 2019

(I am about to start a semester abroad, my first real experience living abroad which I am, admittedly, nervous for. My mother and I have woken up at about three in the morning in order to make the four-hour trip to the airport. I have a bad habit of not worrying about things and assuming I can figure it out if things go south. My mother is the exact opposite and worries endlessly. This happens about two hours into the trip.)

Mum: “Oh! Did you bring your passport?”

Me: “Yes, of course, I did.” *still checks*

Mum: “Just checking.”

Me: “Can’t catch the plane if I didn’t, anyway.”

(A little later.)

Mum: “Are you sure you’ve got your accommodation sorted?”

Me: “I better f****** hope so; otherwise, I’m just going to have to figure something out.”

Mum: “Wait, so you do have it sorted?”

Me: “Yeah, Mum. Please, can you chill out? I’m nervous, too, but you’re not helping.”

(A little while later:)

Mum: “Do you have your boarding pass?”

Me: “It’d be too late to do anything if I didn’t, so I don’t know why you are asking. Yes. Yes, I do, can you stop? You’re freaking me out.”

Mum: “All right, sorry…”

(After four and a half hours, we are nearing the airport.)

Mum: “Are you sure your passport is in date?”

Me: “Why would you ask me that?! Why would it even occur to you to ask me that?! No! No, I am not sure! I was sure, but now I’m not! And even if it wasn’t, what could we possibly do at this point to fix the problem? All that question has done has made this more stressful than it needs to be!”

Mum: *starts laughing* “Because I’m crazy! I’m sorry!”

Me: “Don’t be sorry. Shut up! And before you ask, no, I have not checked if the airport has an infestation of airport alligators, and even if they do, we’re here now, so I’m just gonna have to deal with it!”

(We laughed until we got to the terminal, and my mum told the rest of my family when she got home. Now “Airport Alligators” is a family joke for unnecessary stress.)

Be Happy That You Gave Her Something To Be Unhappy About

, , , , , | | Friendly | July 11, 2019

For various reasons, I prefer to park in the back of parking lots, even when it’s not very crowded. One day, after leaving the grocery store, I got into my car, turned on the AC, and took a moment to check my phone. A minute later, I heard honking and looked up to see a pissed-off woman gesticulating at me and mouthing, “MOVE!”

So, I shrugged, put the phone down, pulled out, and drove off past dozens of empty spots closer to the store while the lady took my old spot. Some people aren’t happy unless they’re unhappy, I guess.

Driving Them Away Via The Driveway

, , , , , | | Legal | July 5, 2019

(Our house is on the corner of the street, so it is very common for people visiting our neighbors to park in front of our house. I don’t mind when they park in front of our yard, but recently, I’ve been having problems with one particular car getting parked forward enough to be in front of our driveway. They are just an inch or two in front of the drive, and one of my friends who is a cop says that it is unlikely to get towed or even ticketed for just that, so I just deal with it. I do keep a lookout to see if I can catch the person who owns the car and try and talk to them about it. Then, one day, I come out to find the car a full two feet in front of our driveway, blocking me off from getting to work. Thanks to some brick walls along the edge of the drive, there is no way for me to cut around, so I call the police. They arrive about twenty minutes later, after I’ve already called into work to explain the situation. They look at it and then head around to knock on a few doors to see if they can get the driver to move the car before getting a tow truck called out. None of the people who answer claim the car, so a tow truck is called out. By the time it actually arrives, I am an hour late for work and rather steamed. The tow truck gets hooked up and they are loading up the car, when a man suddenly comes charging out of one of the houses across the street — which happens to have a completely empty driveway — screaming about them moving his car.)

Man: “That’s my car! What do you f*****s think you’re doing to my car?!”

Officer: “Sir, your car is blocking this man’s driveway. If you will move it, we can let you off with a ticket rather than impounding it.”

Man: “F*** you!”

(He tries to shove the cop, and ends up being wrestled to the ground, swearing the entire way. He ends up being arrested, and his car is towed off. However, that isn’t the end of it. About a week later, I get a knock on my door, and I answer to see a woman I vaguely recognize from around the neighborhood.)

Woman: “Hey! A**hole! You got my boyfriend arrested, you dumb c***!”

(She then hauled back and tried to spit at me, but she didn’t get enough force, leaving her standing there with spit dripping from her mouth and onto her shirt. She spun around and scurried away at that, but then, a couple of days later, we found our front garden torn up and insults written in lipstick on the side of our car. We contacted the police, mentioning the prior incidents, and they eventually sent out a unit to investigate. I watched as they went and knocked on the door of the house across the street, and I got to see this lady try and take a swing at the officers and end up getting hauled off. Like boyfriend, like girlfriend, I guess.)

Caution: This Story Will Make You Hungry

, , , , , , , | | Related | June 27, 2019

(At this time, I am 15 years old and my family is preparing to spend the weekend in the Santa Clara area — coming from El Dorado — for a father and daughter’s joint Bar Mitzvah. As usual, I wake up early and am showered and dressed before anyone else. My mom comes out of her room while I’m getting a box of cereal out to have breakfast. It’s before 8:00 am.)

Mom: “Don’t eat; we’re going to stop for breakfast before we head out of town.”

(I like the idea of getting a Belgium waffle more than eating cold cereal.)

Me: “Okay, sure!”

(However, it takes my family a long time to get ready. My mother and younger sister particularly enjoy lingering in the showers for quite a while. I end up going to my room and switching on my PS2 for a while. Finally, we leave after 10:15. I notice that when we drive into town we immediately get on to the highway.)

Me: “Wait. Weren’t we going to stop for breakfast?”

Mom: “Oh, no way! We left WAY too late for that. Besides, [Sister] and your father already ate something.”

Me: “Well, you could have said something so I didn’t have to go hungry.”

Mom: “Sorry!” *obviously doesn’t care that much* “We’ll stop for something around lunch time.”

(It’s out of my control, so I try to distract myself from the hunger pangs for the next couple of hours until it is past noon.)

Me: “Hey, are we going to stop for lunch anytime soon?”

Sister: “I’m not hungry.”

Mom: “Neither am I. If we stopped for lunch, it would just be for you.”

Me: “I’m fine with that.”

Dad: “We can just go through a drive-thru for him.”

Mom: “I want to make sure we get checked in to the hotel so we don’t have to rush to the ceremony, so let’s just head straight to the hotel.”

(No amount of complaining or compromising makes a difference. It doesn’t matter that we will be at the hotel in an hour and the ceremony won’t happen for another three hours after that; my mom is dead set against stopping for lunch. We arrive at the hotel and get checked in with plenty of time before the ceremony — far more time than what would have been necessary to get a meal. It’s around 1:30 by this time and I still haven’t eaten.)

Me: “How about I order mini pizza from room service?”

Mom: “No way! The ceremony is in a few hours and they are serving dinner; you can wait until then.”

Me: “That’s still hours away and I’m starving! I haven’t eaten all day!”

Dad: “Honey, we can let him order something small from room service.”

Mom: *as if we are making an absurdly ridiculous request* “No! We are not ordering him room service. They are serving prime rib for dinner and he’s not going to eat it if he has food now.”

(No food for me. The ceremony starts at 4:00 pm, but it’s at a synagogue. Dinner isn’t until later at the reception. I sit through the ceremony while listening to my stomach trying to digest itself. We are dismissed back to the hotel before the reception and we get to the hall by 7:00 pm and dinner is served. For some reason, my family isn’t seated together. My parents are with their friends, my sister is with the daughter being Bat Mitzvah-ed and her friends, and I’m with some adults I’ve never met before. Of course, I’m at one of the last tables served dinner. I see the other tables digging into their prime rib and green beans. FINALLY, my table gets our turn and the waitress plops down in front of me… the fattiest slice of beef I’ve ever seen. There are hardly any traces of meat visible.)

Me: “Excuse me. This is basically a lump of fat. Could I get another piece?”

Waitress: “Sorry, this is all that we have. We made the exact number of plates that there are guests.” *rushes away before I can say anything else.*

(So, I eat my green beans and pick out what little flecks of meat I can find while the other people at the table jokingly keep asking me if I’m enjoying my “prime fat.” Later, dessert is served, and of course, they run out of chocolate cake before they get to me, so I don’t get any dessert, either. Later, after the reception…)

Mom: “I bet you feel better now that you finally got some food.”

Me: “Not really. The meat I got was almost all fat, so I didn’t eat anything besides green beans.”

Mom: “Seriously?! You should have told us or [Friends]; they would have gotten you a better piece.”

Me: “They said they were all out, anyway. Can I please order room service now?”

Mom: “Sorry, the kitchen is closed by now. You’ll have to wait for breakfast.”

(Nothing else to do but go to bed hungry. We wake up on Sunday morning and I get showered and dressed before everyone else because I’m in a hurry to finally get my first proper meal since Friday night.)

Me: “I’m starving. Can I go downstairs and get breakfast while you guys get ready?”

Mom: “No, you can’t. You will wait for us so we can eat as a family.”

(And wait I do, yet again for more than two hours while they take their time to have some coffee, take long showers, get dressed, and apply makeup. Then, I have to wait until my mom and aunt make sure my grandparents — staying in another room in the hotel — are up and ready to go. Eventually, we make our way downstairs together. Most of my family elects to go to the breakfast buffet to get breakfast quickly. I decide to order a Belgium waffle. It takes a LONG time to get here. My grandparents have already received and finished their eggs and toast and the rest of them have had a couple of rounds at the buffet.)

Mom: “I told you that you should have gone to the buffet.”

Me: “I would have if I’d known they were going to take so long.”

(My waffle does eventually come out. I pour on some syrup and cut into it only for waffle batter to pour out like a lava flow.)

Me: *incredibly frustrated and hangry* “My waffle is completely raw!”

(My parents are in hysterics, laughing at how hard a time I’ve been having finding food this weekend. I send back the waffle and tell them I just want to eat at the buffet. I take my plate and get my first helping of random breakfast foods available and start scarfing down. I get back up to get my next course, happy to finally be able to eat a full meal.)

Mom: “That’s enough. Everyone else is done eating and they don’t want to wait for you.”

Me: *my frustration starts rising again* “No way. I’ll be done when I’m done!”

Dad: “Honey, just let him eat.”

Mom: *chuckles as she again remembers what a miserable time I’ve been having* “All right, all right.”

(I went back to the buffet and had a total of four plates.)

If You Wanna Be My Lover, You Gotta Get With My Jams

, , , , , , , | | Friendly | June 27, 2019

I’m driving to work, and the turn arrow I need turns red just as I pull up. I’m annoyed, as this is a major intersection, and it’ll be at least two minutes before the arrow changes.

However, at that instant, the radio changes to “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls. Knowing how long the light is, I crank the volume, roll down my windows, and rock out. About a minute in, I glance at the car on my left: the driver looks at me with pure judgment. I ignore them and look over at the big rig on my right.

The driver is also rocking out, and I realize he’s also jamming to the Spice Girls. We make eye contact and exchange thumbs-up before going our separate ways.

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