The Hidden Truth

, , , , , , , | Related | May 7, 2019

Many years ago, my family lived in the Washington, DC area. We often went to visit the Smithsonian Institution museums which line the National Mall between the US Capitol and the Washington Monument.

I would usually pick my daughter — at the time of this story, four years old — from preschool and deliver her to my wife’s office. I would then go to my second job. This one afternoon, however, I got finished extra early, so I picked up my daughter and we went to the Air & Space Museum, which is one of my daughter’s favorites.

We spent a good hour in there during a very busy summer day. After we’d seen our fill, I told her we needed to get going to mommy’s office. As we were walking out, she walked to the right side of a display that was in the middle of the hallway, and I went on the left.  

However, at the other end — maybe 12 feet — she didn’t meet up with me. Panicked, I quickly ran around the right side, then to the left. I couldn’t see her. I started calling her name, but my voice was easily drowned out by the crowd present. I quickly found a security guard, and he called in a missing child. We kept looking around until he got a call that a young girl matching my daughter’s description had been found. We went to the security desk, and there was my daughter. Since there was nothing sinister about her disappearance, I didn’t file a report, and I also didn’t bother to tell my wife.

Twelve years later, my wife and daughter flew back to DC to visit old friends for my daughter’s 16th birthday. One day, they decided to go to the museums. When they went to the Air & Space Museum, they walked by where I’d lost her years before. That’s when my daughter told my wife, “I remember this spot. This is where I hid from Daddy when he wanted to leave, but I didn’t.”

So, the ugly truth came out: she had deliberately hidden from me; it hadn’t been an honest misplacement. And who got in trouble for not telling my wife about the incident? Not the little girl who hid from Daddy, but the husband who thought, “No harm, no foul.”

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Otterly Disgusting

, , , , , , | Working | June 20, 2018

I took my daughter to the zoo. They have a family of otters and that particular day the otters were having a grand time. We noticed that a couple of them were doing a peculiar stamping dance move. I filmed it and pondered out loud if it was a mating ritual or play.

A zoo employee was nearby and said, “Actually, they’re going to the bathroom and covering it up.”

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A Mental Rental

, , , , , | Working | May 15, 2018

(I am looking at a local ad website for a place that my boyfriend and I can rent. One apartment has an unusually low, but still believable price, so I call the poster.)

Me: “Hi, is the apartment on [Street] still available?”

Landlord: “Yes, let me tell you a little about it. There’s a separate entrance, laundry and kitchen on the main floor—”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, is this a shared house?” *the listing just said “apartment”*

Landlord: “It’s a basement apartment with a completely separate entrance. Do you want to come by and see it?”

Me: “Sorry, we’re really looking for a private apartment or house. Thank you for your time, though.”

Landlord: “No, no! It’s got its own entrance! What’s wrong with a basement apartment?”

Me: “Nothing, it’s just that I’m looking for my boyfriend and me, and our dog. You probably only want a single renter.”

Landlord: “Oh, yes, no dogs! I’m allergic! And no men. Women only!”

Me: “Right, so, we’re looking for our own place. Thank you for your—”

Landlord: “You should move in here, and the dog can stay with the boyfriend. It’s very affordable.”

Me: “Um… No, we live together.”

Landlord: “You shouldn’t live together before you’re married, anyway! When would you like to come see it?”

Me: “No, thank you.” *hangs up as quickly as possible*

(The room is still posted on the same site. Still says nothing about it being the basement in her house, or that pets aren’t welcome, or that it’s women only.)

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About To Start A Star Trek War, Part 5

, , , , , , | Working | April 27, 2018

(My husband and one of his coworkers have to go to DC for a special training course. During their downtime, they go to the Smithsonian. As they’re leaving, my husband stops by the gift shop to pick up a souvenir for me. He finds a pizza cutter that looks like the USS Enterprise and decides to buy it.)

Husband: “[Coworker], look!” *holds up pizza cutter* “Isn’t this cool? My wife is going to love this.”

Coworker: *confused* “But I thought you guys liked Star Wars?”

Husband: “Though she prefers Star Trek and I prefer Star Wars, we like both.”

Coworker: *shocked* “That’s heresy! You’re not supposed to like BOTH!”

(He said she persisted with, “You can’t like both! You’re not supposed to like both!” until they got back to the hotel and went to their rooms. When he relayed the story to me, we both had a good laugh about it. I’ll never understand people who don’t believe that you can like both franchises.)

About To Start A Star Trek War, Part 4
About To Start A Star Trek War, Part 3
About To Start A Star Trek War, Part 2

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Knows How To Make An Entrance

, , , , , , , | Working | December 1, 2017

(I live in a “garden” apartment complex and my building has ten units. Two of the apartments, mine and one other, have private entrances to the outside, and the other eight are accessed through a common entrance where you have to buzz in. One night my wife and I have just put our newborn son to bed when there is a loud thump on the front door.)

Voice Outside: “WHAT THE H***? WHY IS THIS LOCKED?!”

(There’s more loud banging, almost like someone is trying to break the door in. I look out the window and there’s a pizza delivery guy apparently trying to shoulder down my door.)

Me: *through the door* “What are you doing?”

Delivery Guy: “Oh! I have your pizza.”

Me: “I didn’t order a pizza.”

Delivery Guy: “Is this [address]?”

Me: “Yes, but I didn’t order a pizza. What apartment is it for?”

Delivery Guy: “[Apartment Number upstairs] for [Neighbor].”

(I crack open the door to talk to him but keep the chain in place.)

Me: “You’ve got the wrong apartment; that’s upstairs.”

Delivery Guy: “But I need to get in! Let me in.”

Me: “The door is on the other side of the building. They’ll buzz you in.”

Delivery Guy: “Can’t I just come through this way?” *he leans his shoulder against the door again*

Me: “This is my apartment; I’m not letting you cut through my apartment to deliver somebody else a pizza.”

Delivery Guy: “Why not?”

Me: “I’m just not. Go to the other door.”

Delivery Guy: “Fine, you can explain to your neighbor that you won’t let me deliver their pizza.”

(He got back in his car and drove off, making no attempt to go to the main entrance. I talked to my upstairs neighbor later that week. Apparently the delivery guy told them that the doorman wouldn’t let them in. We don’t have a doorman.)

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