Unfiltered Story #142699

, , , | Unfiltered | March 4, 2019

(Since ‘takeaway’ is a broad term for fast food in the UK, if that’s what customers on the phone ask for I ask them to clarify if they want it delivered or if they’ll come collect it from us.) this kind of reply is becoming too regular an occurrence.)

Customer: Hi, could I order some food for takeaway please?

Me: Yes, of course! Would you like delivery or collection?

Customer: Yes.

Falling And Failing

, , , , , , , | Right | March 2, 2019

(I’m a young woman in my late twenties — though I do look younger — walking home one evening. I pass a woman, vaguely noting there’s a boy, maybe twelve or so, behind her heading in my direction. As I walk past, the boy suddenly falls. I start to bend towards him, to help him up.)

Boy: “Sorry, I just fell for you.”

(I can’t help laughing as he stands up, thinking he’s saying it to save face.)

Me: “Very smooth.”

Boy: “So, how about it?”

(I shake my head and start to head on, now assuming it’s a joke)

Boy: “I’ll take you to [Coffee Shop]!”

(I laugh, shake my head, and keep walking.)

Boy: “F***. Why doesn’t it ever work?”

(I’m still in two minds as to how serious I thought he was being, though I’m fairly sure it was a joke. I decided not to suggest that if he is going to go for random strangers, he might want to try someone who’s not over twice his age!)

You Almost Need A Club To Walk To The Nightclub At Night

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 1, 2019

(I get a call to go and pick up my very independent girlfriend from a nightclub because her overprotective work friends won’t let her leave without either getting in a taxi or having me come pick her up. The club is roughly a ten-minute walk from the house. I start to head to the club, carrying only keys, and clock a stranger on the other side of the road. He is walking in the opposite direction until he spots me and crosses over. I am rather tall and, according to my girlfriend, rather intimidating… until I open my mouth, because of my posh accent. I am always wary of people, as I was bullied at school by short people wanting to pick a fight, wanting to make their mark.)

Stranger: “Hey there!”

(He starts walking in the direction I am going, walking fairly quickly to try and keep pace. I am crossing a long bridge without any possible escape routes, putting me on edge.)

Stranger: “Where are you going?”

Me: *still walking, but determined to remain polite and non-provocative* “[Nightclub].”

Stranger: “Meeting someone special?”

(There is a creepy tone in his voice, which makes me even more wary.)

Me: “Yep.”

Stranger: “It’s a girl, right?” *gives a cocky grin* “I’m going there, too! Let’s get a taxi!”

Me: *thinking how he was initially walking north when the club was south, setting off more alarm bells* “I’m all right, mate; it’s not far.”

Stranger: “I don’t mind. We’ll get a taxi!”

Me: “You can get one if you want, but I don’t have any cash on me. It’s not far, though.”

Stranger: “Don’t worry; I’ll pay for it!”

(We get to the end of the bridge as he repeatedly tries to get me to flag down a taxi. I carry on down one side of the road whilst he starts to cross over to the other. My route involves crossing a road south, then going east; his route involves going east and then crossing the road to go south.)

Stranger: “Where are you going, mate? It’s this way!”

Me: “I’m going this way. Have a good evening!”

Stranger: “It’s this way, [gay slur]!”

(He continued walking his way to the nightclub, which was retracing the direction he originally came from. I can only assume he wanted to stiff me for a taxi fare. As it was so close, it was not worth getting a taxi to go a distance of two streets.)

Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 20

, , , , , | Legal | February 27, 2019

(I park in the disabled bay in front of the office like I do every morning. I’m disabled and have a blue badge on display in the car. I notice a laminated sign someone has stuck on the end of the space saying, “Pregnant employees ONLY.” Figuring it has blown over from one of the regular parking bays I just put it carefully to one side and go into work. Coming out later that afternoon I find a parking ticket on my car! I take it into the security office and say this is obviously a mistake.)

Me: “Okay, think you got the wrong car, mate. I’m in the disabled bay with a disabled permit, so I’ve not done anything wrong.”

Security: “Did you see the sign this morning? ‘Pregnant employees only.’ You’re going to have to park in that disabled bay over the road.”

(It’s a four-lane dual carriageway.)

Me: “Is someone in the office disabled due to being pregnant or something?”

Security: “No, but she wants a guaranteed parking spot close to the building, so we’re using the disabled bay for now.”

Me: “I’m not paying this fine, you know, and I’m going to keep parking in that bay unless someone else has a disabled permit. If they do, then we can talk and work something out about sharing the car space.”

Security: “You keep parking there and we’ll tow your car. We’ve blocked it off for her use only.”

Me: “Let’s see how well that goes when I get the police involved for illegally towing a disabled person’s car. Just block off one of the regular bays if you really have to!”

Security: “No. We’ve chosen this one. You need to park elsewhere.”

Me: “Up yours!”

(Yeah, kind of lost my temper at the end there. I’m not paying the fine, and I will raise absolute chaos if anything happens to my car. We’ll see how this goes.)


Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 19

Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 18

Cause For Pregnant Pause, Part 17

We Are Siamese, And We’re Pleased

, , , , , , | Hopeless | February 26, 2019

Fifteen years ago, I finally had a flat to myself again and, full of excitement, I had a friend drive me to a local shelter to adopt me a cat. To be specific, two cats. Indoor cats. Female. Indoor cats are a lot of hard work — and no one likes to deal with litter trays — but my new flat was on the junction of two very busy streets in a pretty grotty neighbourhood so outdoor cats seemed irresponsible.

We pulled up at the shelter and I leapt out of the car like a demented gazelle, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning, and barely managed to wait for my friend before charging inside. I explained what I was looking for to the young lady inside and she took me to look at the cats that were up for adoption. To my shock, about half of the cats seemed to be chocolate point siamese — several hundred pounds a pop, so not what you expect to find in a shelter.

The girl explained that they had all been rescued from a mad old cat lady who was keeping all twenty of them in a one-bedroom house and feeding them enough for maybe fifteen cats. They’d been in a real state when they were brought in, but they’d been fed up and were now full of beans. I was now, if anything, even more excited at the prospect of adopting as the thought of a pair of these magnificent kitties wandering around my flat was really exciting to me. I wandered up the aisle, taking my time and greeting each of the cats in turn, trying to not just yell, “OH, MY GOD! JACK WANT ALL KITTIES! GIVE KITTIES TO JACK NOW!

Cage after cage was filled with these huge, beautiful, and very, very vocal cats, pressing themselves against the front of the cages for pettings. I was totally confused — how would I ever choose? — until I got to the last cage. There, my confusion ended.

In this cage were, once again, two siamese cats. But these two were maybe half the size of the others, and they weren’t pressing against the front of the cage looking for cuddles. They were huddled at the back of the cage, as far away from humans as they could get. I later found out that they were also recovering from cat flu. The cat I would come to know as Sif was huddled into the corner as tightly as she could squeeze herself, and the warrior who would be Freya was lying half on top of her, cuddling as close as she could and I knew. I just knew.

Those other cats, brimming with health and confidence? They could go anywhere, be adopted by anyone, but these two were going to need a special home with someone patient, and I was determined that I would give them that home.

It’s taken years to get them to act like proper, confident goddesses-of-all-they-survey — y’know, cats — and they still get skittish around new people, but Sif will now walk up to people in my flat and demand cuddles — remember, siamese — and even Freya will allow people to pet her, though she has some hilariously specific rules.

And now, beloved readers, those two terrified little cats — the cats I didn’t even see for the first two weeks that they lived with me because they were hiding behind the fridge — those two cats will now not only climb onto my lap at any chance they get but, if I’m wearing a front opening top, they will climb inside that top — with no regard at all for my tender, easily-punctured skin! — and they curl up and they purr and purr as if they’ve finally found their happy spot. And sometimes this makes my face leak, just a little bit.

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