When You’re Planning On Dating Sheldon Cooper

, , , , , , , | Romantic | January 15, 2018

(I am sat next to my male colleague, who I’m quite good friends with. I’m female and have recently realised I’m bi. I am complaining to him about my new discovery that I am terrible at chatting up women, when I realise that he has a girlfriend and ask him for tips. Note that we’re both lawyers. We chat for a bit about what he used to do and then…)

Colleague: “I think now… Okay, so, I guess if it was now, you’d want to just talk to her. And then you agree that it’s exclusive, so you know the terms you stand on.”

Me: “Are you suggesting I make her sign an exclusivity agreement?”

Colleague: “Bring it on the first date.”

Me: “That’ll go down well.”

Colleague: “Make sure you include all the relevant warranties.”

Me: “To the best of my knowledge and belief, I am not dating anyone else?”

Colleague: “Schedule five contains a list of all former relationships.”

Me: “A list of all ex-lovers who might want to kill me.”

Colleague: “Let’s go for material relationships; that’ll do it.”

Me: “Do I stick indemnities in there, as well? Like, in the event of a break up, you will indemnify me for the cost of all gifts over a certain amount?”

Colleague: “Couldn’t hurt. You see, this will be very romantic.”

Me: “Yup. Do we have to give notice to terminate?”

Colleague: “No, we’ll go for at-will.”

Me: “Very American. Also sensible.”

Colleague: “Oh, but in the event of a material breach…”

Me: “You have to remedy within ten days?”

Colleague: “Yes!”

Me: “You know, when I asked you for help, I wasn’t expecting you to advise I bring a 100-page legal document with me.”

Colleague: “Well, it could just be heads of terms. So, not binding.”

Me: “Like a lesser version of a prenup?”

Colleague: “If you keep adding terms, though, you know what it’ll be?”

Me: “…what?”

Colleague: “A relationship agreement!”

Me: “…”

Colleague: “What?”

Me: “That’s terrible.”

Colleague: “It’s true, though. It’s an agreement that governs the relationship between two parties. A relationship agreement!”

Me: “This is the last time I ask you for advice on dating.”

(For the record, the other lawyers sitting around us slowly edged away during this conversation…)



Dating Sheldon Cooper, Part 15

Dating Sheldon Cooper, Part 14

Dating Sheldon Cooper, Part 13

In Need Of Some Extra Credit With My Father

, , , , , | Learning | January 14, 2018

(I’m in England. I’m a Ph.D. student in who also has teaching responsibilities. I’m alone in the office I usually share with four other Ph.D. students when there’s a knock at the door and I call out for them to come in.)

Master’s Student: “[My Name], do you know where everyone is?”

(I turn around and see that it’s a Master’s student I work closely with and a younger student I don’t recognise, meaning she’s a first year undergrad. The undergrad is crying.)

Me: “The academics, admin, and techs are on an away day; there’s only Ph.D.s in, and just a couple of us. Can I help?”

Master’s Student: “[Undergrad] was looking for someone to talk to about her grade for an essay.”

(Given that I have a crying 18-year-old in my office, I offer to have a look at it for her, figuring it’s the usual issues, such as poor referencing that’s been pulled up as plagiarism. Pulling up the undergrad’s work, I frown; she’s got a 73%. It’s important to note that from her accent the undergrad student is American.)

Me: “[Undergrad], this is a very good grade for this early in the year.”

Undergrad: “My dad is threatening to pull me out because my grade isn’t good enough.”

(She explains that, unlike most of our American students, she’s actually here for the full three-year degree and her family has only allowed her to come if she lets them access her grades via the online system.)

Me: “[Undergrad], I don’t know what to tell you. This is a very good grade; it’s a First.”

Undergrad: “If I call my dad, can you explain that to him? He won’t believe me.”

(I really don’t have the authority, but she’d so distressed I can’t refuse. She pulls out her mobile phone and calls her father, then explains that she’s in with one of her tutors and hands the phone to me, which I put on speaker.)

Father: “So, what can my girl do to pull up her grade? 73% is not good enough! Is there extra credit?”

Me: “Sir, let me stop you there. From what I understand, we grade very differently in the UK than you do in the US. We do not offer extra credit, and we do not grade on a curve. Your daughter is held to an absolute standard which doesn’t change between years. We also use percentage scores differently; 90% and above is impossible on all but a few assignments, and certainly an essay. Above 70% is considered a First-class result. Your daughter has got 73% on an essay we assign to teach students how to write essays. The main note on her feedback is that her referencing is not the department standard; however, if she continues at this level then I would expect her to gain a First.”

Father: “A First?”

Me: “The highest level we award. For your daughter’s sake, please add around 25% to future results to convert UK to US grades.”

(Her father seems shocked into silence, and the undergrad takes her phone back and promises to talk to him later before hanging up.)

Undergrad: “Thank you so much. How do you know about the grading difference?”

Me: *laughing* “Television, film, and online comics! If you have any more issues, try your personal tutor.”

Masters Student: “Her tutor is [Our Mutual Supervisor].”

Me: *laughing again* “Then you can see me any time. Go and have a coffee or something and relax a bit. I think after that you’ve earned it.”

(The Master’s student stands up and ushers the undergrad out.)

Master’s Student: *to the undergrad* “Told you she’d sort it out. Have you tried the student union bar yet? I think you need a drink.”

Undergrad: “That’s why my dad is so worried about my grade; I can drink here!”

Master’s Student: *as she opens the door* “Sounds like he’d drive you to drink!”

(I went back to the paper I was writing. They were in the bar an hour later when I went past and [Master’s Student] invited me to join them. It turned out [Undergrad] had come to study in the UK to get away from her overbearing father.)

Unfiltered Story #103650

, | Unfiltered | January 14, 2018

(A coworker and I are working consessions. I’m serving my customer on one till, and my coworker is standing at the till next to me, ready for the approaching customer, who walks very quickly towards the till, he is obviously in a hurry.)
Coworker: Hi, what can I do for you?
Customer: I want to collect my tickets.
(He has a membership card, which can be used to buy tickets online, which can then be picked up from the tills. We use the cards to search by name. Unfortunately, if you type in someone’s full name it often won’t find their booking, so we type in the surname and then look for their first name on the list of bookings. If someone has a common surname, this list can be very long, meaning you have to scroll down a lot, previous bookings are on the system as well. This process can sometimes take a few moments. My coworker takes the customer’s card and types in his surname. He begins to scroll down a lot, since the customer’s surname is common and his first name starts with an “R”, and is repeatedly tapping the down arrow.)
Customer: Are you taking the p***?
Coworker: I’m sorry? No?
Customer: You’re taking forever, you’re all f****** rubbish at your jobs, you’re taking the f****** p***!
(The customer is referring to the fact my coworker was tapping the screen repeatedly, which made the customer assume my coworker was taking longer on purpose, which he wasn’t. My coworker is not the kind of person to put on a fake smile and continue to be polite when someone shouts at him.)
Coworker: Okayyyy…
(My coworker prints the tickets and hands them to the customer.)
Customer: You’re all f****** rubbish at this place, and I know you were taking the p***!
Coworker: I wasn’t, but alright mate, thanks.
(The customer storms off, but rather than going towards the screens, he goes back out the front door and leaves, despite now having his tickets. On his way out he punches the wall, and then when he’s out of sight we hear him scream in frustration. My coworker and I are both a bit shocked, and my customer looks worried as well. I apologise to my customer, and he goes off to his movie. My coworker brings up the angry customers booking, since his name is not hard to remember, and we see he had missed the start of his film, hence why he was in a hurry and why he left even though he had his tickets. My coworker goes to check the wall for damage, and then radios the manager to inform them of the incident. A few moments later the angry customer came back in to watch his movie, although he is clearly embarrassed about his outburst and the fact he just left and then came back.)

An Asymmetrical Service

, , , , , | Working | January 12, 2018

(I am walking out of a department store and I have to go through the cosmetic section. A salesperson notices me.)

Salesperson: “Oh. My. GOD! You are gorgeous!”

Me: “Oh, thank you. I’ve been told I have a very symmetrical face.”

Salesperson: “You do. It’s amazing! Well, almost, except for those freckles.”

Me: “Oh. Well, I actually like my freckles, so—”

Salesperson: “You shouldn’t; they’re horrible. It shows you don’t care about your skin.”

Me: “And you just lost your last chance to make a sale.” *walks away*

Salesperson: *shouting* “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t want to sell anything to such a dermatological nightmare!”

(Who would hire a someone who goes from “gorgeous” to “dermatological nightmare” in one conversation to sell cosmetics?!)

Totally (Coco)Nuts About Being Vegan

, , , , , | Working | January 11, 2018

(I have just come back to my desk with a carton of milk to fill up my cereal, which I keep in my desk drawer so people won’t try to steal it. I take a mouthful, and while I’m chewing my coworker starts talking to me.)

Coworker: “That is disgusting!”

(I stare at her while I chew.)

Coworker: “How many cows did you rape to fill up your bowl?!”

(Realising what she’s getting at, I tap the top of the carton which is still on my desk.)

Coworker: “Just because we’re the most evolved doesn’t mean we have the right to hurt and murder and rape our fellow creatures. You should be ashamed! Try some f****** vegan options, for once. It won’t kill you!”

(This entire time, while finishing my chewing, I have been steadily tapping the carton more loudly. She finally clocks on.)

Coworker: “And why are you smacking your bottle of cow’s blood? Are you trying to make me sick?”

Me: *swallowing* “It’s coconut milk. I’m lactose intolerant.”

Coworker: *suddenly happy* “Oh, that’s great! Can I try some?”

Me: “No, not after that steaming pile of ‘attitude’ you just unloaded.”

(I leave and finish my breakfast in the kitchen. I put my milk back in the fridge and get on with my day. Around lunchtime, I go back into the kitchen and find the same coworker looking at my milk with a sour face.)

Coworker: “How can something vegan taste so horrible?”

Me: “I didn’t say you could try that.”

(She jumped, dropped and spilled the milk on the floor, and ran past me, not a word of an apology or anything. I reported her for using someone else’s food, and she was put on probation. She tried to retaliate, saying it was because she was vegan, but then a lot of other coworkers came forward saying she had done the same with their food on finding out it, too, was vegan. They were afraid that if they said something they would get in trouble because of her privileged attitude; I just happened to be the one to open the floodgates. She still works here, but she has a very close eye kept on her, and I just bring in a small beaker every morning with my milk instead of a whole carton.)

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