Right Working Romantic Related Learning Friendly Healthy Legal Inspirational Unfiltered

The Need For Speed(ing)

, , , , , | Friendly | April 8, 2019

(We are in front of a town hall before a civil baptism and we meet another guest, a travelling salesman, whom we know to be a Sunday driver.)

Father: “I hope you didn’t drive too fast!”

Guest: “No, I was careful today.”

Guest’s Girlfriend: “That’s because there are only three points left on his license.”

(The French driving license is on twelve points. A number of points are lost in addition to the fine depending on the offence.)

My Mother: “Be careful; the driving license is essential for your job.”

Guest: “Oh, I talked to a police friend. To avoid any problems, I can buy another residence in Belgium and take the necessary steps to get a Belgian driving license. They don’t have a license with a penalty point system, so if I present the Belgian license to the French police, I’ll lose no points; I’ll just get the fine.”

My Father: “But wouldn’t it be easier just to respect speed limits?”

Drunk Discussions Should Be Tabled

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 27, 2019

(Some friends of mine have gotten together. One of the group is American and is visiting the UK for a few days. As the evening goes on, and drink has been drunk, one of the friends drunkenly starts telling the American friend all sorts of “facts” about his own country, resulting in this gem.)

Drunk Friend: *to American Friend* “…and America is big, you know? It’s bigger than this table!”

You’ve Been Monroed

, , , , , | Friendly | March 18, 2019

(I’m at the park with my young son and my best friend. As we are sitting down having lunch, a couple of attractive girls walk past. It’s summer, so they’re in skirts. Just as they are nearly out of earshot, my friend mutters to me.)

Friend: “Where’s a gust of wind when you want one?”

Son: *quite loudly* Daddy, why does Uncle Jay want the wind to blow those ladies dresses up?

(The ladies turned to look at us and then walked away with a look of both amusement and disgust whilst my friend and I laughed and I tried to hush my son.)

Riding You The Wrong Way

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 15, 2019

(I am in high school. I play basketball and often travel to different cities within my province for games. Towards the end of the season, I injure one of my knees and can’t play the end-of-season championship. I still want to travel and see my team play, but as the bus is overcrowded, and my dad has planned to come to see our games even if I am injured, I am going to make the ten-hour travel with him in his truck. The mother of one of my teammates asks my father if she and her eleven-year-old son can travel with us. My dad accepts, and we agree that we will pick her up from the elementary school where she works at 4:00 pm. At 4:00 pm, she’s not there. At 4:15 pm:)

Me: “That is ridiculous. Why is she taking so long?”

Dad: “Maybe she had some kind of trouble. Let’s wait a bit more.”

Me: “Yeah, but if she was going to take longer, she could just come and see us and tell us how long it will be.”

(This is before cell phones.)

Dad: “I know. It’s bugging me, too, but I agreed to give her a ride, so let’s wait a bit more.”

(She finally comes out of the school at around 4:30 pm.)

Friend’s Mother: “Oh, I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I had to wait for a student’s mother, and then we took a few minutes to catch up. But now we just need to go to my place to get my son and our bags and we’re all set!”

(Okay, it was bugging us that we had to wait while she “caught up,” but at least it’s over. Or so we thought… Once we pull over into her parking, she says…)

Friend’s Mother: “Okay, I just need a few minutes to get our things.”

(So, we wait… and wait… Soon, it’s 5:15 pm, more than an hour after we were initially supposed to leave.)

Me: “Let’s just leave. We waited long enough.”

Dad: “That wouldn’t be nice. I’ll just go and see what this is all about.”

(And so he goes. He comes back two minutes later, visibly fuming.)

Me: “What’s going on?”

Dad: “You’re not going to believe it. Not only was their luggage not ready, but they were rooting through emails so she could find the address of her brother they’re going to stay with! They were not ready at all!”

Me: “So, we leave now?”

Dad: “No, they’re coming. They had their coats on.”

(Finally, two minutes later, they’re in, but I just cannot understand how she feels it is okay to make us wait for over an hour, when we are the ones to give them a ride. The road is long, and once we are close to our destination, we get lost, thanks to my father. My father finally figures out where we are and drives us to our hotel.)

Friend’s Mother: “Why are we going to the hotel? You need to give me a ride to my brother’s place first! It’s in [Suburb].”

Dad: “Listen, I don’t know this city very well, but I know your brother lives on the other side of town. It’s about 3:00 am, and I’m not going anywhere. Take a taxi.”

(Later, he told this story to other players’ parents and learned that she had pulled off similar stunts with most of them, so they all refused to give her any more rides. My basketball team got eliminated from the championship on the first day, so she expected us to leave soon after. My father stayed a day and a half longer and watched every game of the championship, just to spite her.)


This story is part of our celebration of Not Always Right publishing over 100,000 stories!

This story is included in the roundup of Not Always Friendly stories to toast this achievement!

<< Previous Story  |  Roundup  |  Next Story >>

The Golden Rule

, , , , | Friendly | March 14, 2019

(I have had platinum blonde hair for all of my childhood and right into my mid-late 20s. In this story, I am sixteen and my friend is fourteen. We are travelling to school on the bus one morning.)

Friend: *randomly* “You know, your hair isn’t blonde. It’s too pale.”

Me: “Okay, if you say so. What colour is it, then?”

Friend: “I don’t know, but it isn’t blonde.”

Me: “Well, if it isn’t blonde, what is it? Is it black?”

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Is it red?

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Is it brunette?”

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Are you saying you think my hair is white?”

Friend: “No, it’s not that pale.”

Me: “So, it must be blonde.”

Friend: “No! I told you! It’s too pale!”

Me: “Soooo, what colour is it, then?”

Friend: “I. Don’t. Know. It’s just too pale to be blonde.”

Me: *smirking* “Okay, whatever.”

(I didn’t bother arguing with her anymore since I was familiar with her intransigent nature. However, being only a mere teenager, I did have a giggle with mutual friends about her claim later on.)