Love Bites

, , | Related | November 14, 2016

Growing up, I lived less than a mile from a well-known ice cream business. My dad and I would go there every so often, order a couple of cones, and sit in the back of his truck. My dad’s order never changed: large vanilla cone dipped in chocolate.

When I was still little, somewhere between 6 to 10 years old, I got into the habit of biting the tip off of his cone. He would pretend to be angry and I would get a kick out of it. I did this every single time, even when he “sternly” told me not to, well into my teens and even my twenties.

One day, I pick us up some ice cream and his usual order by myself. When I get home, I hand him his cone. He looks at it, then at me, and hands it back. I hadn’t bitten the tip off and he wouldn’t take it until I did!

He no longer gets his cones dipped in chocolate, but I still try my best.

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, , , , , | Learning | August 5, 2016

(The founder of my taekwondo club has two children, both of whom are also taekwondo practitioners. The oldest daughter, who is ten, is polite and well-behaved, but the youngest son, who is six, is one of the worst spoiled brats I’ve ever met. He is always acting like he owns the place, doing whatever he pleases, and, when he was younger, throwing huge tantrums whenever he didn’t get his way. I’ve always disliked him because of this, but felt bad about it on account of his young age. I haven’t talked about it with others because nobody else seems bothered by him and might consider a talking-to interfering with parenting. This evening, I and one of the other taekwondo teachers are instructing the more experienced kids, and the son is among them.)

Teacher: *brings out a rope ladder* “Okay, time for warm-ups! To start with, run across this ladder as fast as you can and take two steps in every gap!”

Son: “No! One step!”

Teacher: “[Son], please just do as I say.”

Son: “NO! I only wanna do one step!”

Teacher: “[Son], just listen to me and do these warm-ups.”

(The son tries to protest a bit more, but eventually gives up. The rest of the warm-ups go off without a hitch, and real training session can begin. The kids are divided into pairs, we hand out the focus mitts to them, and they start practicing. Once the groups are done, they sit down onto the floor. The son, however, sits on his pair of mitts, which we aren’t allowed to do as they break faster.)

Teacher: “[Son], get off those mitts. You can’t sit on them.”

Son: “NO! I want to sit on them!”

Teacher: *getting fed up* “[Son], get off those mitts right now, or do 10 pushups!”

Son: *smugly* “You can’t tell me what to do, because [Founder] is the best one here. I can do whatever I want here, and you can’t stop me.”

(The other teacher reacts to this by essentially throwing his arms up in the air and checking on the other students. Overhearing this, I actually get pretty angry, so I walk up to the son.)

Me: “[Son], if you sit on the mitts, they break! And when they break, you won’t have anything left to kick on, and that’s not much fun, is it?!”

Son: *pouts* “Fiiiine!”

(He didn’t sit on the mitts for the rest of the evening, but I felt a little less bad about disliking him since. I’ve realized that this has reached a point where we actually have to talk to his parents, as I shudder to think of what’ll happen once he actually starts school…)

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Coming Face To Face With A Little Haggler

, , , | Right | July 5, 2016

(I am working at a face painting location in a major theme park. I notice a small child, at most five years old, staring at the sign with all the designs on it. After a moment or two, the girl approaches me.)

Girl: “How much is it?”

Me: “Hello! Face painting is $12 to $18! The price depends on which one you pick.”

(At this point, she gives me a dirty look.)

Girl: “That’s too much! Can you lower the price?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t lower the price.”

Girl: “Ugh! Where’s your manager?!”

Me: *trying not to burst out laughing* “She’s not here right now.”

(The girl then turned and stormed off back to her parents, who were sitting on a bench across the way and had no intention of letting her get her face painted in the first place.)

This story is part of our Hagglers roundup.

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Read the Hagglers roundup!

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A-Parent Lack Of A Parent

, , | Right | December 10, 2015

(I work the gate at an indoor play-gym. While I do keep an eye on everyone, I am not there to watch people’s kids for them. A couple with two young kids come in, and they force the gate open.)

Customer #1: “Make sure my son doesn’t leave.”

(As I can’t leave the gate, I figure they’ll be back in a minute. Thirty seconds later, a small boy about four years old run over to the gate and tries getting through.)

Me: “Hey, why don’t you stay in here?”

Boy: “I want my mommy!”

Me: “You can’t be out there by yourself, okay?”

(The boy starts screaming and trying to hit me now. An older woman comes over to try and help.)

Customer #2: “Here, sweetie, why don’t you sit here and wait for your parents!”

Boy: “NO! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you! I don’t wanna wait!”

Customer #2: “What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?”


(At this point I’m scared he’ll hurt the woman, as he’s kicking madly at her. I call down a police officer to help.)


Me: “You need to stay here for now, okay?”

(The boy gets up and tries pulling the gate open. I stop him, as I don’t want the gate to break or for him to get hurt. He turns at me and hits me. It wasn’t hard, but it did stun me.)


Customer #2: “Sweetie, just stay here for a minute! Just calm down!”


(The police officer comes over to the gate and looks down at the boy.)

Officer: “Here, I’ll help you find your parents.”

(I open the gate, and the boy takes off running. The officer goes after him. The play-gym was calmer after that. Later in the day, the officer comes down to check on me.)

Officer: “Everything okay down here?”

Me: “Yeah. Did you find that one kid’s parents?”

Officer: “Yeah. They were out on the go-karts; I had to yell at them to get them off. They didn’t understand why they were in trouble, or why their kid was crying.”

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Your Costume Is Streets Ahead

, , , , | Friendly | October 15, 2015

(While taking my little sister Trick or Treating on Halloween one year, I decide to go as the world’s worst bed-sheet ghost by using Sesame Street bed-sheets. It is meant to be funny and I get quite a few laughs out of it, until…)

Three-Year-Old Girl: “Mommy, I don’t want it!”

Mother: “It’s okay, sweetie, it’s just a costume. It’s not a real ghost.”

(She tries to shield her child from me until I pass.)

Me: “One year, I was a bloodstained axe murderer. Not even a whisper behind my back. Then, there was the year I was a zombie from The Walking Dead with my guts hanging out. Everyone passed by like this was normal. And last year, I was a completely accurate nurse from Silent Hill 2, complete with the bloated, disfigured face, twitchy, creepy walk, and a rusty pipe, and not a tear from a single toddler was shed. But then I cut some holes in a bed-sheet covered in Big Bird…!”

Little Sister: *singing* “Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Depressame Street?”

This story is part of our Creepy Kids roundup!

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