Shaken, Stirred, And Totally Served

, , , , , , , , , | Right | July 27, 2021

I am third in the queue at a local supermarket. At the counter, there is a lovely, polite, elderly lady with the telltale jerking movements of Parkinson’s. Her voice is a little slurred, soft, and monotonous.

Lady: “I’m sorry I’m so slow. Can I just get these?”

She puts through five items, mostly lunch stuff.

Cashier: “No worries, not a problem at all! Would you like a bag?”

The next customer cuts in.

Man: “Well, I’m f****** worried! You shouldn’t be allowed out in public like that.”

He gets up in the old lady’s face.

Cashier: “Stop that immediately!”

Man: “Listen, b****, I shouldn’t have to wait in line because some old f***** can’t handle her highs!”

Meanwhile, the old lady is calmly putting her stuff in her bag… except for a can of soda which she holds in her hand.

Cashier: “Excuse me. That is my mother, and she has Parkinson’s Disease; it is a neurological degenerative condition that causes those movements.”

The manager can be seen approaching but is still a few moments away.

Man: “Like f*** she is! She’s just high!”

The lady opens the now very well-shaken can of soda and proceeds to drop it at the man’s feet, causing it to spurt upward in a jet of foam and thoroughly soak him.

Lady: “Oh, I’m terribly sorry! I have Parkinson’s disease. There was a spasm in my hand and I let go of it. I’m soooooo sorry!”

The other customer shouts for a bit and then gets thrown out by the manager.

The elderly lady then waits at the end of the checkout to speak to her daughter after she finishes serving me, and that’s when I notice her mischievous grin.

Me: “You totally meant to do that, didn’t you?” *Smirks*

Lady: “H*** yeah, I did!” *Smiles sweetly* “I may have Parkinson’s, but I can still deal with an a**hole or two!”

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Cut This Lesson Short

, , , , , , , | Learning | April 26, 2021

My mother is a high school maths teacher working with some of the younger and more difficult students. To try and encourage her students, she stamps their work with various motivational phrases.

A few minutes after giving her class back their homework, she notices one student looking a bit puzzled for a few minutes before putting his hand up.

Student: “Miss, what’s a eunuch?”

Although this isn’t exactly a maths question, my mum decides to try and answer anyway.

Mum: “Uh, well, a long time ago, in some countries, nobles used to have lots of wives or girlfriends who were all housed in special rooms within their palaces. You know how dogs can get neutered to prevent them having puppies? Well, they used to do that to some of their male servants so that they could be trusted to look after the women, and those servants were called eunuchs.”

As you can imagine, all of the students in the class have stopped what they were doing and are watching this scene. The student looks even more puzzled and a bit angry.

Student: “Well, why did you call me a eunuch, then?”

Mum: “What? What are you talking about? When did I call you a eunuch?”

Student: “You did! You wrote it on my homework!”

Mum: “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Show me.”

The student stormed up to her desk with his homework in hand and showed her the message she had stamped on it. What did it say?

“You’re unique.”

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Tea Is Supposed To Be Relaxing!

, , , , , | Related | April 21, 2021

When I am still living with my parents, I buy a box of Red Bush (Rooibos) tea for myself, and I have just made a cup one evening when I run into my dad in the kitchen.

Dad: “That doesn’t smell like normal tea. What is it?”

Me: “It’s Red Bush tea. Someone told me that it’s decaf and healthy, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

Dad: “What is it, though?”

Me: “Oh, it’s also called Rooibos tea. Is that what you mean?”

Dad: “No! What is it?”

Me: “I don’t know what you mean! It’s tea! Tea from a red bush!”


Me: “Somewhere in Africa, I think.”


Me: “No, it wasn’t!”

I’m not sure if the tea is meant to have a calming effect or not, but it certainly didn’t when we stormed off in opposite directions.

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Good Thing You’ve Got No Skeletons In Your Closet

, , , , , , | Legal | April 5, 2021

At around 0430 one morning, I woke up because I thought I heard someone knocking on my front door. I waited a few moments, and as there was no further noise, I decided that I must have been dreaming.

However, when I got up about an hour later, I found a card through my door which claimed to be from the police, asking me to contact the station immediately but with no explanation about why.

I phoned the number given on the card, but the operator on the police system had no details about why it had been left and could only make a note that I had called. In the absence of any further information, I decided to shower and get ready for work, so obviously, that was when they called back with an utterly bizarre story.

They had received a report from a mental health charity that someone had phoned them who seemed very unstable and implied that they were going to harm themselves and had already hurt someone else. All the charity’s rep could get out of them was a first name, house number, and postcode. They passed this information to the police and, through some sort of cosmic fluke, the postcode and house number lined up with my address.

The police were pretty sure it was a hoax — hence I didn’t get my door broken down — but did ask to come out and search my house just in case. They arrived about half an hour later and had a quick look around — waking my wife and baby — but left after a quick apology, and that was the last I heard of it. 

So, the long and short of it was I had to go to work and tell my boss that I was late because the police were searching my house for dead bodies. Somehow, I managed to get through the day without Human Resources involvement, but I got some mileage out of that story.

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Redressing The Addressing About The Address

, , , , , | Right | March 23, 2021

A lady comes in with her granddaughter, who looks to be around four or five years old. She wants a library card for the child. I explain that she will need to sign as a guarantor for the child and that I will need to see some ID with her full name and address. The little girl, dressed in dungarees, pipes up: 

Little Girl: “But Granny, I’m not wearing a dress!”

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