About Trucking Time!

, , , , , , , | Friendly | October 7, 2018

I’m telling on myself in this one. I was working at a video game store in a large, busy strip mall. The parking lot was usually very crowded, so we had a constant problem with our customers parking illegally in the fire lane in front of the store. At first I would just politely inform customers they weren’t allowed to park there and they were risking getting a ticket, but only some seemed to actually care.

Then, one day, our manager told us that he’d been warned that the store could get fined for letting customers park there, and it could possibly mean us getting fired over it, so we really needed to enforce the parking rules. I never found out if that was actually true, but in any case, I wasn’t going to risk losing my job because customers were being lazy and parking illegally.

Eventually, I started to get a bit overzealous about it. Whenever I saw someone parking in the fire lane I would quickly rush out to the sidewalk so I could tell them to move their car.

For whatever reason, this particular week was really bad with people parking in the fire lane. During my last shift of the week, I was starting to get really frustrated, as it had happened multiple times in the first couple hours of my shift. Then, I noticed a huge vehicle pulling up and parking in front of the store. At my wit’s end, I rushed out to the sidewalk, ready to yell, when the coin finally dropped and I realized the vehicle I was looking at was a firetruck — the exact vehicle that the fire lane is meant for!

Fortunately, I caught myself before I blurted out anything stupid. The firefighters weren’t there for an emergency. It turns out they were just bored and were coming to shop for some video games to take back to the station house to play while they waited for a call.

They were extremely nice, and while ringing them out I admitted to how I almost yelled at them for where they parked. They got a good chuckle out of it.

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Will Have To Create A New Call-Code For This One

, , , , | Legal | September 21, 2018

Once, my mom, a police officer, got a 911 call reporting an ongoing murder.

The cops went with lights and sirens to the scene and asked where the murder was taking place. The caller lead them to the bathroom where they heard shrieks of terror and somebody yelling, “DIE, DIE, DIE!”

They promptly kicked the door down… and were met with the sight of a man slapping a slipper around, trying to kill a spider, and an arachnophobic girl shrieking in terror. No charges were laid.

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A Deafening Lack Of Listening

, , , | Legal | September 8, 2018

(A friend who is deaf sees a stranger in a car with a gun. He sends an SMS to an emergency service for deaf people.)

Emergency Service: “Hello, this service is only for deaf people.”

Friend: “Yes, I’m deaf.”

Emergency Service: “You should call the police.”

Friend: “I can’t; I’m deaf. Can you transfer my SMS?”

Emergency Service: “You didn’t call the police?”

Friend: “No, it’s impossible. I’m deaf.”

Emergency Service: “If you’re declining to call the police, we can’t help.”

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Always Getting A Stony Reception

, , , , | Healthy | August 27, 2018

(I’m 22 years old, female, and reasonably healthy for my age while living away at university. When I’m home at my parents for Christmas, I suddenly get a sharp pain in the centre of my chest, radiating out to the centre of my right rib cage. It’s not too severe at first, but I cannot walk straight and end up laying on the floor for two hours.)

Mom: *sitting on my bed, trying to keep me calm, talking to the out-of-hours telephone service, as well* “This pain has never happened before; I’m not really sure what to do here.”

Phone Responder: “All right, there’s not much we can do, unfortunately; judging by your description it could be a diaphragm spasm or a fructose allergy causing the tightness. You can give her pain relief, but all we can recommend is to call your GP in the morning.”

Mom: “All right, thank you.”

(Thankfully, the pain passes in about three hours, so we figure it’s a one-time thing and continue our lives. I get more pains, like this one and worse, about two or three times a year until I’m 24, where I finally go to my GP after a particularly bad “attack” where I end up vomiting from the pain.)

Me: *describes the symptoms in detail* “I was speaking to a family friend who’s had gallstones and says she had the same pains. Could it be that?”

Doctor: “Hmm, I doubt it; you’re simply too young and too healthy for it. It’s probably acid reflux. Try some [Known Heartburn Brand] for a while and see how you get on with that.”

(I leave and do as he asks, and for a while it seems to work… until this year at the age of 25. I have a pain so bad I begin violently vomiting, begging my mom to call an ambulance because I’m convinced something inside me has ruptured because of the severity of the pain. She does, and thankfully they arrive within minutes. I’m unable to talk because of the pain, so my mom is the one having to describe everything.)

Mom: *helping me explain the pain and pointing where it is on her own body, since I’m curled up into a ball on the bathroom floor* “She’s had these pains before, but never this bad. We don’t like to bother emergency services unless it’s severe.”

Paramedic: “We’ll try paracetamol and [heartburn medicine] first to see if that helps. Is that okay?”

(I nod, and the paramedics do as they promised, but after 20 minutes the pain is still worsening and I’m not able to think on anything else anymore. I can’t breathe, I feel like I’m dying or I’m going to pass out, and it’s overall a terrifying experience.)

Paramedic: “All right, since that’s not helping we’re going to give her some gas and air until we can move her over to the bed and check her over, okay?”

Mom: “That’s fine; she’s definitely not allergic to anything, so she can have whatever is needed.”

(Thankfully, the gas and air dulls the pain enough for me to get off the bathroom floor onto my bed, but it’s still severe and I’m shivering from the intensity. The paramedics do all their checks, pressing on the area with the pain, which causes me to cry again.)

Paramedic: “I think she’s got something wrong with her gallbladder. It’s unusual for her age, but it’s the only explanation for this pain and the area of it. I think it would be wise for her to go to hospital to check for sludge stuck in there or stones.”

(My mom agreed, but I insisted that she stay home so she didn’t have to see me in pain anymore. Once I was in the ambulance, I was also given morphine and some anti-vomiting medicine, as I was still being sick. At the hospital, the pain was starting to fade and eventually the emergency room nurse discharged me with the diagnosis of stress from just finishing university. I was tired, delirious, and fed up at this point, so even though I tried to argue, I didn’t have the strength and I left. I went back to my GP a few weeks later, and with a note from the ambulance team included in my file with their suspicions, and my mom not letting me leave without an answer, I was booked in for an ultrasound and a blood test. The ultrasound revealed I had some of the biggest gallstones the staff had ever seen in someone of my age, and I’m now waiting on surgery to remove my entire gallbladder. Just because someone doesn’t match the “average” symptom group doesn’t mean it’s absolutely not that illness, and if I had been listened to in the first place, I wouldn’t be losing my gallbladder!)

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Wronged By Squatter’s Rights

, , , , , | Legal | August 22, 2018

(I live in a dense and popular neighbourhood where a lot of gentrification has been going on — old houses coming down and flashier new ones going up. I live next to a house which has been gutted in preparation for tearing it down. It is locked, since it is really old and the floors are collapsing, so it is very unsafe to go inside. I have detailed knowledge of the house structure and condition, since one of my cats constantly climbs up on the roof. We have to get a climbing crew in to get him down, since he only has one eye and no depth-perception, so he gets scared to come down. We do this about once a week. One day, I look out of my window and see a man forcing the way in with a crowbar. That door is about three metres from my window, so I see it very clearly. I call the police:)

Me: “I am calling to report someone breaking in into my neighbour’s house.”

Police Officer: “And how do you know he us breaking in and not just going in regularly?”

Me: “Well, you know when you watch someone breaking into a house in a movie? They do not have to caption what is happening for you to know.”

Police Officer: “Well, I would not like to come over and then have that be a good friend of the owner.”

Me: “He is opening the door with a crowbar.”

Police Officer: “Maybe he has the permission of the owner?”

(I do not recall what I said, but I managed to convince them to come out. They did come out, but by that time the wannabe squatter was inside and had closed the door behind him. The police stood around idly for a few minutes and decided all was good. I did not want to come out because I was scared the squatter might be aggressive, so I just seethed from my window. Apparently, somebody else called them again and they came out and so did the owner. They went in and took the squatter outside, and I could hear the discussion. The squatter saying it was open, and the policemen kept saying they had no clue who the real owner was, the squatter or the owner, and “they were not the court to decide that.” Having had enough, I went outside and told them that I saw him open the door with the crowbar and that I knew for certain that the door was locked because otherwise I would go and take my cat down on foot and not call climber crews every week. The police, however, just shrugged and moved on. The owner gave the squatter a look and told him that the house would be coming down in a few days, with or without him in it. After that, I always tell people not to be afraid someone will rob their home, but rather that someone would just come in and not leave.)

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