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It Marches In The Family

, , , , , , | Related | November 24, 2017

(My two sisters and I decide to meet at a local restaurant for dinner on Veteran’s Day. When the server arrives, my youngest sister has a question.)

Youngest Sister: “Do you have a military discount?”

Server: “We offer a Veteran’s Day discount today, 10% off. Which one of you ladies is the veteran?”

Oldest Sister: “All of us.” *pointing to herself* “Army.” *points at my youngest sister* “Navy.” *points at me* “Marine Corps.”

Server: *visibly shocked* “Really? That’s amazing!”

Me: “Yeah, mom had the recruiter on speed-dial.”


This story is part of our Veteran’s Day roundup!

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Really Hope It’s To Go

, , , , , , | Right | November 23, 2017

(I work in a food court inside an office building. Our customers are the building’s employees. Some of them are nice and friendly, but a lot are condescending and rude to us every day because they can get away with it. It doesn’t take me long to get fed up with their nastiness.)

Me: “Hello, ma’am! What can I get for you?”

Customer: “One slice of cheese pizza.”

Me: “Will that be for here or to go?”

Customer: *in a loud, angry, nasty voice* “ONE! SLICE! OF! CHEESE! PIZZA!”

Me: *in same voice as customer* “FOR! HERE! OR! TO! GO!”

Customer: “Oh! Sorry. To go.”

(Somehow I did not get reported and fired for that, and soon moved on to a job with less abuse.)

Grabbing The Situation By The A**

, , , , , , , , | Working | November 20, 2017

(I work at an upscale bar where waitresses wear tight black dresses. The boss is a bit old-school and will only employ pretty college girls. I think he knows our student loans and the average $200 a night in tips are the only things that keep us there. Most customers are nice, classy people, but once in a while we get what we call “frat boy bankers” who drunkenly grope us. We just hired a gorgeous new girl who the frat boys spot and demand come serve them.)

Customer: “Hello, sugar.”

New Girl: “What can I get you?”

Customer: “A piece of this!” *grabs her butt*

New Girl: *uses some sort of cool move to grab his wrist and bend it back painfully* “Get out.”

Customer: “What the h***?! Get me your manager!”

New Girl: *walks to the boss* “I need you to kick out some gropers.”

Boss: “Those guys spend a grand a night.”

New Girl: “They grabbed my a**.”

Boss: “In this job, you just have to deal with things like that. They usually tip a few hundred.”

New Girl: “It is illegal for them to touch me without my consent. Kick them out.”

Boss: “If you want this job, you will march right back over—”

New Girl: “—and even more illegal for you to try and force me into prostitution.”

Boss: “This isn’t prostitution. No cop would arrest—”

New Girl: “You don’t look like I do without getting harassed pretty much every day. I know sexual harassment laws very well. Either kick them out, or I call the cops.”

Boss: *snorts derisively* “This is the real world—”

New Girl: *holds up phone* “And I have our conversation on tape. Now, get them out.”

(A week later we had a new manager, and she kicks out anyone who so much as makes lewd comments.)

They’re Massaging The Truth

, , , | Healthy | November 12, 2017

(Where I work the hands-on part of the massage is 50 minutes. There is a client who knows this, as I and others have told him several times, yet he always pretends to be surprised and mad about it. He has been coming in two or three times a month for over a year. It always goes something like this:)

Me: *after discussing what he wants worked on* “Okay, you can undress and start face down, I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

Client: “A couple minutes?! Why? I’ll only be ten seconds! Don’t go anywhere.”

Me: “I need to return your file up front and wash my hands. I’ll be two minutes.”

Client: “I only need ten second to undress.”

Me: “Okay. I’ll see you in a couple minutes.” *closes door*

(Often when I’m in the break room washing my hands I can hear his voice out in the hall saying: “I’m ready! Hello? Hello?” I give him his 50 minutes hands-on massage, and end at, say, 6:55.)

Me: “Okay, thank you. I’ll go get you some water and—”

Client: “Done?! Already?”

Me: “I’m afraid so!”

Client: “Why?”

Me: “Well, that’s all of our time. I have another client at seven.”

Client: “Yes, so we have five more minutes.”

Me: “The hands on portion of our massage is 50 minutes.” *as you’ve been told several times, you idiot!*

Client: “Why?”

Me: “I’ll go get you your water and meet you in the hall.”

(He is sometimes grumpy when he meets me in the hall, or sometimes he thanks me and says he feels great. Either way, he always complains to the front desk that I ended five minutes early, and they always tell him that I did not and that he paid for a 50-minute hands-on massage!)


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The Biology Of Growing Up

, , , , | Related | November 7, 2017

(I’m a student worker in a university biology department, and I’m fairly close to my boss. One night she asks me if I’d be willing to babysit her five-year-old, since the regular sitter cancelled. I agree. The little girl is very sweet, and is mostly interested in playing with her new toy, a set of plastic dinosaurs with a little printed cardboard backdrop. I’ve finished cleaning up from dinner, and she’s telling me about the picnic adventure her dinosaurs are having.)

Little Girl: “This one is a meat eater, but he’s not eating meat so that he doesn’t scare his friend, who is an herbivore, and this one likes the cupcakes best, and this one is mad at the herbivore dinosaur because he wanted the salad…”

(Out of nowhere, the little girl suddenly sweeps her arm across the table, sending the dinosaurs and their backdrop and their “picnic” flying.)

Little Girl: “And none of that matters, because then the meteor hits, and dust covers the sun, and all the plants die, and ice squishes them all!”

(She looks up at me, perfectly placid.)

Little Girl: “And they all die. And that’s what happens.”

(I was completely aghast. Five years old, and this little girl had a better grasp of mass extinction than most adults I’ve met. Don’t mess with a biologist-trained kid, I guess! This child is going places.)