A Life Of Crime Is A Gamble

, , , , , , , | Legal | January 20, 2020

My mum is the area manager of a chain of betting shops. She travels around them all making sure nothing shady is going on and everything is running smoothly. One day, we receive a panicked call from her.

“Yeah, this is going to sound nuts but can you come to get me? Someone is in the shop with a gun threatening to steal.”

At hearing this, we all freak out. For reference: guns have been illegal in Scotland for many years unless you have a specialised license. So, we make the 20-minute drive there only to find a police car and someone in an oversized onesie being escorted out screaming that he has no idea why he is being taken in.

Confused, we walk in to find out what happened. We find my mum and two other employees struggling to contain their laughter. After a few minutes, we manage to get it out. Someone came in wearing a balaclava and all black, and carrying a loaded gun. When the panic button was pressed, he ran… only to turn up a measly ten minutes later after changing clothes and ask to make a bet. By that point, the police arrived and he was escorted out immediately.

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The Wheel Of Stupidity Keeps On Turning

, , , , , | Legal | January 15, 2020

(In Colorado, it is illegal to text and drive, but it is legal to talk on a cell phone or use a handheld device while driving if you are over 18. The officer in this story pulls over a driver who had his phone in one hand and a sports drink in the other.)

Officer: “You do realize you didn’t have any hands on the wheel, right?”

Driver: *in a tone that implies it’s his excuse* “Oh, but I was texting.”

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Because A Bandage Can Totally Fix A Mild Traumatic Brain Injury

, , , , , , | Working | January 15, 2020

(My boss refuses to believe employees who say they’re injured. We are working together in a small space with several obstacles, and he accidentally bumps me sideways, causing my head to bounce off a steel beam. After I regain consciousness about thirty seconds later, I slowly get to my feet, still dazed and bleeding.)

Me: “Boss, I’m taking the rest of today off and going to a doctor to be checked out.”

Boss: “No, you’re not. Go wash yourself up and slap on a bandage, and then get back in here.”

Me: “Not happening.”

Boss: “You’re being insubordinate. Do what I tell you.” 

(I walk out, wash off the blood from my forehead, bandage it up, and then go straight to HR to report what happened before heading for the doctor’s office. Luckily, it’s only a “mild” concussion. I take three days off and come back to work.)

Boss: “You disobeyed my orders. Sign this writeup.”

(I snatched the writeup from his hands and stalked off to HR again, showing them the unsigned writeup and mentioning a few things like “unsafe work environment” and “OSHA regulations.” The writeup was thrown out and my boss was demoted and transferred.)

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Voicemail Jail

, , , , | Legal | January 12, 2020

(I used to be a telephone operator for a telco. At one point, some customers in one exchange — for example area code 222, prefix 456 — begin having a problem. Someone in the exchange has set up an automated system that is sending them advertising voicemails — probably one of the forerunners of robocalling. This is in the days where basic voicemail has a capacity of ten messages. My coworkers and I have talked to managers about the complaints, but what is happening is not illegal. Then, one day, I have a caller who says that he is getting the voicemails every twenty minutes, so in a little over three hours, his mailbox is full and he cannot get any more. Ah-ha! I go back to my manager and relay what is happening to my caller.)

Manager: “We’ve talked about this before and there is nothing illegal happening.”

Me: “My customer loses the use of his voicemail box after three hours. Voicemail advertising may be legal, but a DOS attack is not.”

(My manager got a strange look on his face and reached for the phone. The problem stopped very soon after. I suspect he called legal.)

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My Face Is Up Here, And My Age Is Way Down There

, , , , , | Romantic | January 12, 2020

(I’m sixteen, Catholic, and a virgin. I feel a tad uncomfortable talking about romantic matters in a work setting, let alone sexual matters; my face quickly becomes a tomato. Unfortunately, I have a larger chest size, but my face is definitely too young to look older than twenty. In short, I’m not someone you’d think one would try to aggressively flirt with. A 50- to 60-year-old man is placing an order as I’ve just gotten off shift. I don’t have my license yet; my mom’s supposed to pick me up in a few minutes to take me home to my brother’s First Communion party. She texts me she’s going to be late, so I use my employee meal to get a snack and sit down at a table to wait. Then, the older man sees me.)

Old Man: *staring directly at my chest, speaking seductively* “I like what I see up there, sweetie. Do you want to, perhaps, come over later?”

Me: *very uncomfortable* “Um… I–” *grimaces in discomfort and panic*

(The grimace eventually catches his attention, because his followup question has a note of panic in it.)

Old Man: “Wait. How old are you?” *still staring at certain parts”

Me: *a bit too loud due to panic* “Sixteen! I’m sixteen!”

Old Man: *now embarrassed* “Oh. Never mind, then.”

(Every one of my coworkers who was on shift laughed at me for my reaction. I suppose failing to appreciate the flirtatious endeavors of someone forty years older than you is hilarious. I hope I never see that guy again; he made me feel small and gross, like a used toy.)

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