Parent Made Apparent

, , , , , , | Right | May 13, 2018

(I’m cleaning up some tables for the children’s clothing. Everything is going fine until a young boy shows up and starts throwing things on the ground.)

Me: “Excuse me. Can you stop doing that?”

Boy: *snottily* “Doing what? Throwing things?” *throws clothing at me*

(After I spend a few minutes asking the boy to stop, he runs off. I call in to my manager to let him know that he may have to keep an eye on the boy. Fifteen minutes later, the boy and his mother show up.)

Mother: *to boy* “Is this her?”

Boy: *nods and smirks*

Mother: *to me* “I am so sorry for my son’s behavior! I honestly lost track of him, and I’m so thankful you called in to the manager!”

Boy: *shocked* “What?! This lady was saying mean words to me!”

Mother: *angrily* “NO, she wasn’t! I come here a lot, and this lady has treated me with nothing but respect! There is no way she treated you like you say she is!”

Boy: *lets out a string of cuss words*

Mother: *to me* “Thank you so much, again! I’m sorry for him.”

(They proceed to walk out of the store, the mother scolding the child. My manager walks up to see me with tears in my eyes.)

Manager: “Are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah… It’s just so nice to actually have a parent taking responsibility for once!”

1 Thumbs
1,037
VOTES

The Train Tracks Are Long And Bend Towards Justice

, , , , , | Hopeless | April 19, 2018

(The ticket machine at Winchfield train station is super crappy, and constantly has issues accepting cash payment. There are also no buildings anywhere near the train station. I am heading into Basingstoke for a Christmas work do at about nine pm. It is wet and icy, so it’s horrible. There’s a young girl, probably about 11 or 12, at the ticket machine. She has her cash in hand, so I know it won’t be a long wait, and I start fishing for my card.)

Girl: “Erm… Y-you can go ahead of me.”

(I look up, and she’s stepped to the side and pulled out her phone.)

Me: “Oh, thanks.”

(I go to the machine and the girl walks a fair bit away. The ticket machine isn’t accepting cash, and it takes a moment for me to click that the girl can’t get her ticket. She hasn’t cleared all her information from the machine, and I see her station is not one where she can get off without a ticket, so I buy hers and mine with my card. I head over to her after.)

Girl: *on the phone* “Please, Mum. It’s really cold and the ticket office is closed. Can you really not be here sooner? There’s nowhere I can wait! Mum, please?” *she starts crying*

Me: *tapping the girl’s shoulder* “Your ticket.”

(She turns round, and I hand the ticket over.)

Girl: *hesitantly taking it* “What?”

Me: “I bought your ticket. Get home safe, okay?”

(I head into the station platforms and start crossing the bridge.)

Girl: “Hey! The money for the ticket!”

(I look round. She’s trying to hand me a tenner, and I have no change on me.)

Me: “It was a few quid; it’s fine.”

Girl: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Positive. Good deed for the day and all that jazz.”

Our Heart Is Not With The Children

, , , , , | Right | April 19, 2018

(I work as a bagger at a grocery chain well known for its great customer service, assigned baggers at each till, and complimentary service to take customers’ carts out and load their cars. I wear a small heart monitor that has wires connected to leads on my chest, slightly visible under the shirt if I am standing straight. If my heart rate goes too fast or there is an unusual-looking rhythm spike, the monitor lets out a loud beep and I have five minutes to press a button telling it that I don’t need emergency services. If I don’t or can’t hit the button, EMTs are dispatched to make sure I’m not passed out from a dangerous rhythm and unable to get help. A nanny pulls up with a half-full cart and two young boys. One boy is probably four years old and the other is about six or seven, obviously the worst-behaved of the two.)

Me: “Well, hi there, big guys!”

(I start bagging and carefully setting things in the cart around them. The older boy stands up in the cart and leans over to start hitting me in the shoulder and upper chest, with a huge smile on his face.)

Me: “Uh…”

(I pat his head gently to move him back a bit. It’s only my second month working, and I’m afraid to talk back to any customer, no matter how young. The nanny is having a conversation with the mother on the phone, is obviously very overworked, and doesn’t see what’s happening. A few minutes later, I finish bagging and put two hands on the side of the cart to offer to take them out and load their car. I’ve quietly asked the boy to stop several times, but he keeps hitting me. It’s gentle enough, since he’s young, so I tolerate it. The nanny finally notices as she begins writing out the check.)

Nanny:  “Hey, now, she ain’t afraid of you. Stop it.”

(She goes back to her check. The older boy gets nose to nose with me, as I turn my head back to adjust my hold on the cart, and blows a very spitty raspberry in my face before landing a rather hard punch right on one of my monitor leads.)

Me: “Hey!”

(The monitor goes off. I have to pull my shoulders back so I can reach it on the back of my belt to shut it off.)

Older Boy: “OH! WHAT’S THAT?!”

(Then, he grabbed the now visible wire bumps and ripped my leads off my chest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as mortified as that poor nanny. Next time, when the mother actually came in with her children, the manager told her that she could no longer bring the kids into the store because her son had practically assaulted me. She left all huffy after they showed her the security tapes of her “little angel.”)

The Wheels Of Change

, , , , , | Right | April 12, 2018

(I am a museum curator at a transport museum. I’m teaching a class of six-year-olds and have asked them to take a close look at the wheels on one of our buses. As I move around checking they can all reach one, a little girl stops me with a worried expression.)

Girl: “[Boy] says girls can’t touch wheels; he says we aren’t allowed.”

Me: “Oh, really? Where’s [Boy]?”

(The other children all turn and look at one boy.)

Me: “If girls can’t touch the buses, why do you think there is a woman running the whole place? I even drive the tractors! Don’t forget: girls can do anything. Now, everyone, have a good look at those wheels.”

Girl: “Wow!”

Your Intentions Are Stronger Than A Crane Hand

, , , , , , | Hopeless | April 11, 2018

(I’m pretty good with crane games, and I play them anytime I go to a certain store. I put a couple dollars into a machine one day and win three plush toys: a popular superhero and two of his villains. As I’m waiting for my mom and sister to catch up to me, a man with three young boys walk out of the store.)

Boy #1: *pointing at me* “Oh, look! She’s got [Superhero] and [Villain #1] and [Villain #2]!”

Boy #2: *excitedly pointing at the machine* “She got ’em outta there!”

Boy #3: *tugs his dad’s sleeve* “Daddy, can you win us something? I want [Villain #1]! He’s my favorite!”

Boys’ Dad: *sighs* “I can try. I never can win anything out of those things.”

Me: *holding out the toys* “Here. Take them.”

Boys’ Dad: “Are you sure?”

Me: *nodding* “Oh, yeah. Take them. I’ve got loads of stuff like this at home because I play those games so much. Honestly, my mom would probably appreciate you taking them with you.”

(As I say this, my mom and sister have finally caught up to me.)

Mom: *sighs* “Really, [My Name]? Why do you keep playing those things? You’ve got more stuffed toys than you can shake a stick at.”

Me: *grinning* “See? I told you she would want you to take them.”

Boys: *each grabbing a toy* “YAY! Thank you!”

Boys’ Dad: “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.”

Mom: “No, thank you! She’s won so many stuffed animals and things out of those machines that it’s ridiculous. Thank you for keeping them out of my house.”

(I don’t carry cash on me these days, but for the next six or so years after that I would give any toys I won to nearby children to keep from driving my mom crazy.)

Page 2/3112345...Last
« Previous
Next »