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Driving Like A Pre-Schooler

, , , , , , | Related | November 26, 2018

(One summer while in college I take a job at a day-care center to earn extra book money. My job is to drive the kids in a passenger van to the local pool. It is the kids’ favorite day of the week and they are usually incredibly excited. One day we’re slowed down by a group of police cars with their lights on taking care of an accident on the side of the road. The kids are hollering, “Faster, faster! Drive faster!” A little four-year-old sitting behind me cries out:)

Four-Year-Old:No! Oh, no. Don’t drive faster!”

Helper: *curious* “Don’t you want us to take you swimming?”

Four-Year-Old: “Oh, yes! I just don’t want the driver to walk the white line.”

Helper: “What do you mean?”

Four-Year-Old: “Well, every time the police stop my daddy, they make him walk a white line, and we always end up not being able to go where we wanted to.”

Making A Beerline For The Road

, , , , , , | Right | September 15, 2018

(I work in the take-away area of a popular Australian steakhouse. My job is to bring food to customers waiting in their cars, so they can drive off and take it home to eat. This exchange happens at 10:45 on a Saturday night. I have just gotten this woman’s change while she is waiting for the rest of her food to come out.)

Me: “Can I get you anything else while you wait?”

Woman: “Yeah, can I order [alcoholic beverage] from the bar?”

Me: “What?”

Woman: “Can I order something from the bar and drink it while I wait?”

Me: “No, ma’am, you can’t.”

Woman: “Well, why not?”

Me: “I’m not allowed to give you alcohol. You’re sitting in your car in the to-go area. It’s illegal to drink and drive.”

The Quality Of The Front Will Send Them To The Back

, , , , , | Working | May 4, 2018

(I am 19 and have bought a truck that is about ten years old. It looks bad on the outside, but I know it is sound mechanically. I take my mother with me to pick it up. On the way home, she insists on taking it to a national chain oil change store where she will pay to have it done, even though I already know my way around cars, and have done major engine work on previous vehicles I have owned. I think she just doesn’t want to take the chance I will spill oil on her new driveway. While in the waiting room, the mechanic comes up to us.)

Mechanic: “Okay, I am very glad you brought this in. It is in bad shape. It is not safe to drive.”

(My mother is visibly upset.)

Me: “Excuse me. What are you talking about? It is fine mechanically.”

Mechanic: “Listen, son. I know my business.” *he turns to my mother* “This thing is a death trap. I am surprised it even got here without crashing. The front end is totally shot. Your steering—”

Me: “Hold on. I do know quite a bit about cars. I have been working on them with my father since I was old enough to hold a wrench, and there is nothing wrong with the front end. It drives just fine.”

Mechanic: *ignores me and continues talking to my mother* “Listen. If you want to endanger your son’s life, you go right ahead and listen to him. I can give you a great deal and redo the front end for around $700. Be a mother and protect your son.”

(At this point, I about lose it. My mother is about to do it when I tell her they are lying. I tell the mechanic the car is in my name and I refuse to allow them to do any work on it. We pay for the oil change and leave. My mother is terribly upset, so I drive out of my way to a mechanic’s shop that is owned by a man I know my mother would trust. I do not tell him about what we were told, but ask him to do a quick check on the lift.)

Friend: “Oh, man. You got a good deal on this. She looks great underneath the hood.”

Me: “How about the front end?”

Friend: “Oh, it looks great. I can tell it was rebuilt less than three or four months ago. You really did good with this.”

(The other business closed within a year as their reputation quickly spread through the town for being dishonest and continually — accidentally, of course — leaving the oil caps off the engines after oil changes. You would think a national chain would be smarter and more careful in who they hire. Guess not.)

Turning The Tables On Collections

, , , , , , | Working | April 29, 2018

(We have a friend that has been a dear friend for decades. He has one major flaw: he doesn’t pay his bills, on time or sometimes at all. It wouldn’t affect us if it weren’t for one BIG problem: he always puts us down as a reference, so of course the bill collectors call us when they can’t get him. I have fussed at him numerous times, and he at last has stopped, but with some of the calls I have had to get rude and threaten them. I was once a collection agent, for a legitimate company, so I know the laws governing them and what agencies to report an agency to. I have one rude title-loan company call me and when I ask them to stop, the guy starts telling me he can call anytime he wants.)

Me: “Really? The 1977 Federal Fair Collections Department Act says otherwise.” *silence from him* “Yeah, I was once a collection agent. I know what laws you are breaking, I know what government agencies to report you to, and I know how to make your company hurt.”

(That company never calls back. But a hospital takes the cake. Like usual, I try to be nice at first and explain that the person they are trying to reach does not live here, has never lived here, and will never live here. No, I will not take a message, and do not call back. This one just won’t listen. So, after a month of getting several calls a day, I have had it.)

Me: “Okay, I will take the message.”

Agent: “Great, I am glad you have finally seen the light. Tell him—”

Me: “Now wait. If you are going to use me as a messaging service, you will pay me as such. I charge $200, payment due up front.”


Me: “This is my phone. I pay the bill. You will pay me to take the messages to someone who doesn’t live here. Now, do you want to meet me with cash, or do you just want to mail me a cashier’s check?”

Agent: *very angry at this point* “What are you talking about?! I am not paying you!”

Me: “Then I won’t be delivering your message. Do not call here until you have the cash.”

(At this point a screaming match ensues. He is yelling that he will not pay, and how dare I demand money to deliver a message. I start yelling back.)

Me: “This is my phone! I pay the bill. Don’t call here. Don’t call here. Don’t call here. I pay my bills. I pay my bills. Don’t call here.”

(I could hear someone in the background telling the agent to hang up the phone over and over again. After about two or three minutes of us yelling, he finally hung up the phone. They got the message and never called me again. I have no problem if you are calling me about a bill I owe, but I will not be harassed over a bill that’s not even mine.)

The Problem Is As Licked As They Are

, , , , , | Working | April 23, 2018

(I am shopping with my younger children one morning at a dollar store. Two rows over, two employees are talking about their weekend, VERY LOUDLY, and they can be clearly heard from most of the store.)

Male Employee: “How was your weekend? Did you see that nasty boy-toy of yours?”

Female Employee: “Oh, that f****** boyfriend of mine decided he wanted to lick my—”

Me: *very loudly* “Keeping in mind that there are customers in the store with young children, you might want to rethink having this conversation out here and go back into the break room.”

(Silence. Another older lady with her grandchildren came up to me and thanked me for saying something.)