The Butterfly Effect Is Not A Get Out Of Jail Card

, , , , | Right | June 25, 2020

My mom works at a gas station in France that is usually open from 7:00 am to 8:00 pm every day. Her boss has decided to change the opening times following the demand decrease due to the lockdown procedures, so the gas station is open only from 9:00 am to 5:00 pm, which has been advertised on Facebook, on the company’s website, on the door of the gas station, etc.

Safety and hygiene measures are in place, including two metres distance between people and no passengers allowed in cars except for kids.

A guy comes to the gas station demanding reimbursement for the tickets he and his wife got while driving around town one morning, because it’s all the gas station’s fault. He and his wife decided to drive together to the gas station at 8:00 am, when the gas station was usually open, had to turn back after seeing the locked door and lights out, and got spotted by the police who ticketed them for being two in the same car, which is illegal at the time.

That guy’s thinking and claim is that if the gas station had been open, they wouldn’t have gotten the tickets.

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Stretching Out Your Patience

, , , | Working | June 24, 2020

After a few years of wearing old and stretched-out bras, because it wasn’t worth it to me to go bra shopping when I kept changing sizes due to pregnancy and breastfeeding, I finally decide to go to a specialty shop and treat myself to a high-quality, supporting, and fitting piece.

I already tried this shop a year ago and was disappointed: I called ahead to check if they had nursing bras in specific sizes, was told, “Of course!”, and then showed up to find out that they actually didn’t have them. But I figured that nursing bras were kind of an exception and that they would be better when it came to regular bras.

For reference, in France, band sizes go 80, 85, 90, 95, 100, etc., and cup sizes go A, B, C, D, E, etc.

Me: “Hello, I’m here for a new bra. I just stopped breastfeeding and I don’t really know what size I am right now, so I was hoping you could measure me.”

Shopkeeper: “Well, what size are you wearing?”

Me: “Right now, a 90-G sports bra, but it’s wayyy too big. I got it while I was breastfeeding.”

Shopkeeper: “You are not a G-cup!”

Me: “Yes, I know; that’s why I need a new bra. I’ve been wearing old bras forever. I’ve had three kids and my breasts have really changed shape during pregnancy and breastfeeding. I’ve bought sports bras and nursing bras in all sizes, ranging from D to G, so I have no idea what size I am today.”

Shopkeeper: “You don’t know what size you are? Well, what are we going to do, then?”

Me: “Could you not just measure me? The last time I was correctly fitted was ten years ago, and I used to be a 85-F, but you can clearly see that I have lost a few cup sizes!”

I laugh awkwardly and gesture at my chest.

Shopkeeper: “There’s no way you’re an F-cup!”

Me: “Yes, that’s what I just said.”

Shopkeeper: *Searching through her stock* “F! No way! You’re, like, a C, at best!”

Me: “I know… So could we measure me, please?”

The shopkeeper gives me a few C bras to try on.

Shopkeeper: “See? You’re a C-cup. Not an F!”

Me: “Actually, there’s a bit of a bulge here. Can we try a D-cup? And I keep telling you that I know I’m not an F-cup anymore.”

I finally got out of there with a 90-D bra. I never got her to measure me; she didn’t even have a measuring tape. She kept muttering that there was no way I was an F-cup.


I now exclusively shop at the specialty bra shop my mom uses, one she introduced me to as a teenager. It’s 500 km away and I can only go while visiting my parents, but the vendors there are so much more professional!

I also tried the mainstream stores, now that I am a “normal” cup size. So not worth it. The 20€ bras seemed to fit but had no support, leading to breast pain, and they stretched out after a few weeks. The “specialty” 90€ bras last a year and more.

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Poo Asks That?!

, , , , | Friendly | June 22, 2020

My wife’s family is French, and we try to get over to visit them a couple of times a year. I love my in-laws, but they can be quite outgoing at times, and as a thirty-eight-year-old Autistic man, I find this a bit tiring.

For Christmas a couple of years ago, we were staying with my wife’s sister, her husband, and their son. My wife likes to keep me informed when we are about to meet people so I can prepare myself mentally and emotionally. I’m usually all right once I meet them; it’s just the thought of meeting new people for the first time that makes me anxious.

On this occasion, my wife told me that her sister’s husband’s brother would be visiting with his wife, and told me a little bit about them so I knew roughly what to expect.

When they arrive, I am in the bathroom, so I am unable to properly say hello. I hear them arrive and go through the typical French greeting of a kiss on each cheek. I finish in the bathroom and go to the room where my wife and I are sleeping to grab something, planning to head for the living room and say hello properly.

I turn to leave the room when I am met by a woman at the door, who I assume is the wife in the couple. The following brief conversation happens, in French:

In-Law: “You must be [My Name]!”

Me: “Yes.”

She tells me her name, but I can’t make it out because she speaks so fast.

In-Law: “Okay, hello.”

She shakes my hand instead of kissing my cheeks.

In-Law: “Was your poo good, then?”

Me: *Utterly mortified* “Uh… yes?”

She grins and walks off. I stay in the bedroom, trying not to cry. In my head, I am thinking, “What the actual h*** is wrong with this woman? WHO ACTUALLY ASKS THAT?!”

I decide not to leave the bedroom and instead lay on the bed, reading. Eventually, my wife comes to see what is wrong. The following conversation happens in English:

Wife: “Here you are, [My Name]!”

Me: “Hi.”

Wife: “Are you coming to say hello?”

Me: “Maybe.”

My wife notices something is wrong.

Wife: “Is everything all right?”

Me: “Yes.”

My wife eventually persuaded me to tell her what was wrong, and tearfully, I told her about my “encounter.” She was disgusted and horrified, and she apologised profusely. I told her that the only person I wanted an apology from was “the stupid b*** in the living room who thinks she’s a f****** comedian!” My wife told me I could stay in the bedroom until the visitors left, so I did. She asked me if I’d like her to tell her sister what happened, but I asked her not to because I was too embarrassed.

I haven’t seen this woman since the incident, but if I ever meet her again I’ll have to bite my tongue because I have a few choice words for her!

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Old Habits Die Within Fifty Meters Of Each Other

, , , , | Right | June 1, 2020

A year ago, the supermarket where I work moved to a bigger building right on the other side of the road. We had to empty the old one and dispatch everything to the other supermarkets of the chain before opening the new one.

Days prior, we put several huge signs on the entrance, the exit, and around the store, stating that we would be closed on a specific Sunday as we were emptying everything.

That day came, and it was obvious that the store was closed — closed doors, the signs, nothing on the shelves, no cashiers, a lot of pallets on the middle of the aisles.

Some customers showed up at the doors and we had to tell them to come another day. As we were working, a customer managed to force the first door of the airlock and around a dozen people started gathering in front of the second door.

A coworker finally noticed them, angrily and confusedly looking at us. It took us a moment to make them understand that we were closed.

From time to time, I still see some customers trying to get into the old building, checking if it’s open, and leaving disappointed, even though there is no way you can’t see the new building literally fifty meters away.

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Maybe She Should Take Half The Normal Dose Of That?

, , , | Right | May 29, 2020

I’m a customer, waiting to have my prescription filled. One of my medicines is called UVdose.

Near me, another customer, an elderly lady, is asking for the same one.

Lady: “Oh, yes, I forgot! I need a box of overdose!”

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