A little boy and his grandpa approach my counter and I ask to take their order. The grandpa orders his meal and then asks his grandson what kind of kids’ meal he would like. We are currently out of one kind of toy, so I mention it, offering to show him what other toys we have to offer. The boy starts repeatedly chanting loudly:
Boy: “I WANT A BOY TOY!”
Grandpa and I both had to contain ourselves and he got a “boy toy.”
I am manning a touch-tank exhibit at the aquarium and overhear this exchange between a mother and a young child:
Mother: “What does the starfish feel like?”
Three-Year-Old Daughter: “Um, uh… strawberries!”
I ask my four-year-old grandson what happened to his eye.
Grandson: “We were playing store and [Almost Two-Year-Old brother] was a mean customer. He threw a bucket at me.”
CONTENT WARNING: ABUSE
I own a dry-cleaning business and work there. When the national lockdown happened, my business was considered among the “essential” ones, so I was allowed to stay open but doing fewer hours.
During this, I had a particularly nasty client visiting me on the regular — almost every week, in fact. He’d always bring in absolutely filthy bedsheets and pillow covers, never had the correct amount of money, and only used hand sanitizer when he gave me his rags.
By chatting against my will with him and by what info my wife told me, I found out that he actually lived in the apartment above mine, meaning that he not only he was a pigsty of a person, he also was the same man that heavily swore in the wee hours of the morning and stomped up and down his place, waking my son up and scaring him, and had done so for months.
Due to this client’s boorish behaviour, I had nicknamed him “Shrek,” and I told my son that “Shrek” had left Fiona, took a potion turning him human, and then went to live upstairs from us, which was good enough to get him to stop being scared at his heavy steps and his Tuscan blasphemies against God at strange hours.
A few days ago, restrictions relaxed, and I was allowed to finally take my son out to play in the park. As we were getting ready to leave, I saw “Shrek” come down the stairs with some luggage on hand.
My son looked at him with curiosity and intensity, and then he asked, very loudly, “Hey, Mister Shrek, where are you going? Were you really an ogre?”
The client stopped midway through the steps to look at my son. As embarrassed as I could be, I rushed my son back inside, scolded him, and gave him a couple of slaps on the butt to teach him.
I just hope the guy never figures out why my son said that.
While still an infant, I contract rotavirus, an illness that causes severe diarrhea.
In my case, the sickness is severe enough that eating or drinking causes almost immediate diarrhea. I’m taken to the hospital and put on an IV for fluid and nutrients.
I’m absolutely miserable and desperately want something to eat, but I’m not allowed anything to avoid further irritation of my bowels. To try and calm me down, I’m given an empty bottle to suck on.
At one point, a nurse comes in to check on the IV. As she’s adjusting it, I hold up my empty bottle to her and start whining for her to fill it. The nurse takes the bottle and pretends to fill it from the IV and hands it back. I start sucking only to realize I’ve been deceived.
As my mom tells it, I proceed to chuck the bottle across the room in protest.
