The Art Of Breaking In Without Breaking In  

, , , , | Right | August 18, 2020

I work at a Chinese buffet. We get really busy on the weekends, and there are always cars getting broken into at the parking lot. A customer comes in with security.

Customer: “My car got broken into and my stuff was stolen.”

Manager: “Okay, did you lock your doors?”

We have a sign outside that says to lock the doors of your car because we’re not responsible for the losses.

Customer: “Yes, I did.”

Manager: “So did they break your windows?”

Customer: “No.”

Manager: “But you locked your car?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Manager: “And your doors are okay?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Manager: “And the windows are not broken?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Manager: “So… how did they get in if you locked your car and there are no damages?”

Customer: “Uh… I don’t know.”

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, , , , , | Right | August 18, 2020

It was a very busy day at work in the smoke shop. Our work area had only three registers as it was a rather small store, but we were very popular as the cheapest place to buy cigarettes. The two registers up front each had lines that filled the entire store and went out the doorway. I was in the drive-thru with a line of cars wrapped around the building and around the small side street next to the store.

My mom came in, but when she saw my line was actually moving faster, she left the store to come through the drive-thru. I saw her truck in line around the building and didn’t think anything of it, just warned my supervisor she’d be needed to run my register in a moment for when my mom got to the head of the line.

The car I then waited on drove off, but the car behind them did not immediately pull up. I went to quickly help someone in line in the store when I heard the sound of a car crash. I told one of the girls up front to call security and ran to the window to see what had happened.

The car was only now pulling up. A car coming in off the street decided to try and cut my mother off in line, so when he saw the car starting to move, he slammed on the gas, but misjudged and slammed into my mom’s truck. Insurance was exchanged and all of that. I later found out from my mom that he hit her so hard, it dented the truck frame just a bit.

One week later, I was back in the drive-thru when I recognized the truck that hit my mom. It came up, and it was the same driver. As he was pulling up, his window was already rolled down and I heard him talking to his passenger.

“She’s just some f****** old b****. I’m not f****** worried about some dumb c***; she’s just doing it for the f****** attention.”

I leaned forward with a smile on my face and said, “Hi there! You’re talking about that lady you hit in my window last week, aren’t you?”

He turned to me and scoffed, asking why I cared.

My grin just got bigger and I said, “That’s my mother you’re talking about. I’d appreciate it if you got the f***out of my line now, thank you.”

He went pale and sped out of there so fast he nearly hit another car. I went to tell my manager what I’d done and asked when I should sign the writeup. The manager just said, “He shouldn’t have been talking about your mother like that,” and walked off.

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Fuelling Their Anger, Part 2

, , , , | Right | August 18, 2020

I work at a gas station. I’m waiting on customers in line and this woman asks for $20 of 87 unleaded on pump #1. I authorize the sale and the lady is ready to go pump her gas. I continue waiting on other people in line when I notice her flailing her arms around at me. I look out the window to her and she looks irritated. I hold up one finger to her, signaling “just a minute.” She rolls her eyes and stomps back into the store. She bypasses the entire line and stands at my counter. I ask her what is wrong. 

Customer: “My pump won’t work. I can’t get the gas to come out.”

Me: “Okay, just give me one second. Did you press the button hard enough?”

Our pumps are old. Sometimes you really have to slam the button to get it to work.

Customer: “Yes.”

I’m continuing to wait on customers who are in line.

Me: “Okay, just give me one second and I’ll be right out to help you.”

The customer sighs.

Customer: *Irritated tone* “Can’t you just take it off and reset it?”

Me: “Just give me one second, please. As soon as I’m done with these people, I will come out and help you.”

The customer rolls her eyes, scoffs, and stomps outside. I can see her from the window punching the 87 unleaded button over and over again and growing more frustrated each time. Finally, I help the last customer and I go outside to help her. 

Customer: “See?!”

She points to the gas nozzle and slams the 87 button again. I then realize that this lady is a total moron. She was trying to shove the diesel nozzle into her car.

Me: “Ma’am, you’re trying to use the diesel nozzle. The black handled nozzles are for gasoline.”

Customer: *Pause* “Oh.”

I hung up the diesel nozzle, unhooked the black gasoline nozzle, and suck it in her gas tank with ease. She got red-faced and I fought the urge to snicker at her. 

Thank God diesel nozzles don’t fit into gasoline tanks or else she would have completely ruined her car.

Fuelling Their Anger

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Someone’s Being Awfully Cavalier About This

, , , , , , | Related | August 16, 2020

My first car is a Chevy Cavalier and it sits pretty low to the ground, which is fine for me. My grandmother takes one look at it and says she’ll never get inside because it is too low and her hip can’t handle it; she has artificial joints. That is fine by me.

A few years ago, while I still have the car, she has a stroke. After she gets home from the hospital, she’s forgotten that comment. And when I go up to help at her place in some way, she constantly tries to bully me into taking her places. I let her backdoor guilt me into it once, and I never let it happen again. It is a nightmare; it takes me twenty minutes to get her into the car because it is so low and the seats are more bucket than not, and every time the car creaks, she asks me if she’s broken it.

After that one time, my mom gets behind me in saying no. She told me I could say no, but my grandma is good about giving me the “respect your elders” spiel to get her way. After that instance with the car, my mom tells my grandmother to knock it off. My grandma stops when my mom is around but is pushy when she isn’t. I don’t cave anymore. This conversation happens a couple years later. 

My grandmother’s favorite movie is “Beauty And The Beast” and I know she hasn’t been able to see the new version in the theaters due to the stroke and various other reasons, so after it comes out on BluRay, I go up for lunch — she’s moved to an assisted living facility because she couldn’t stay in her condo alone — and take the movie so she can see it. Partway through the movie, my phone rings with my mom asking me some computer questions. I work in IT; my dad does, too.

Me: “Why don’t you ask your personal IT guy? Isn’t he like ten feet away?”

Mom: “He’s busy; I just need help with this really fast.”

I help her find what she is looking for and then my grandmother starts indicating for the phone. We’ve already had the conversation about how we will not be going anywhere for lunch and if she doesn’t want to go to the bistro at her facility then we can either order something for delivery or I’ll go pick it up alone.

Me: “Hang on. Oma wants to talk to you.”

I put the phone on speaker and hand it over.

Oma: “Hey, [Mom], how are you?”

Mom: “Fine. What’s up? How’s the movie?”

Oma: “It’s interesting so far; I don’t like them noodling the songs.”

Mom: “That’s your choice. Other people like the music.”

Oma: “It’s fine. Will you tell your daughter to let me go in her car?”

Mom: “No.”

Oma: “She won’t listen to me.”

Mom: “Good. You don’t need to get in her car; you can’t get into her car.”

Oma: “You don’t know that. I might be able to; it’s been a while since my stroke.”

Mom: *Heavy sigh* “[Oma’s First Name], you do not need to get in [My Name]’s car. You can’t get into the car; that hasn’t changed since she got it.”

Oma: “But—”

Mom: “No.”

Oma: “What about—”

Mom & Me: “No!”

Oma: “Well, I think I could do it.”

Mom: “Think all you want; you’re not getting in that car. If you really need to go somewhere that the shuttle doesn’t go, I’ll come up next week with my car and we can go.”

Oma: “Well, but what if—”

Mom: “Goodbye, Mom.”

She hangs up the phone. My grandmother looks at me, passes me my phone back, and sighs.

Oma: “Maybe she’s right.”

Me: “She is.”

I put my phone away, and we finished the movie and then went to dinner in the dining room. She didn’t ask me to get into my car again for as long as I had it.

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Hey, Mister, Where You Headed? Are You In A Hurry?

, , , , , , | Working | August 13, 2020

Years ago, I used to make a regular run between two cities for the company I worked for. Frequently, I picked up hitchhikers. 

Hitchhiker: “Where are you headed?”

Me: “[City].”

Hitchhiker: “Great! The [Bus Company] driver knows me and he was being an a**hole and stranded me here. When do you expect to get to [City]?”

Me: “[Time].”

Hitchhiker: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Oh, yeah. I know my route pretty well.”

Hitchhiker: *Laughing* “We’ll beat the bus back. I’ll go talk to the station master when we arrive and I’ll tell him what the jerk did. The proof will be my luggage on the bus.”

I used to drive like a bat out of h***, so I beat the bus by about an hour. My return trip was 225 miles and we passed the bus on the highway before reaching the town. I don’t know how it turned out, as I dropped him off at the depot when we got in.

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