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The Cry-Baby Is Not The Crying Baby

, , , , , , | Right | May 28, 2022

My husband and I are checking in for a long-haul flight. We’re confirming the seat allocations with the check-in clerk:

Me: “And those seats are in the child-free aisle, yes?”

Clerk: “That’s right, ma’am. I can confirm those seats are in that section.”

Suddenly, we hear a shrill voice come from an older woman checking in with another clerk adjacent to us. She is carrying a baby on her shoulder.

Passenger: “The what section?”

Me: “The child-free section. It’s a section of the plane where the airline guarantees you won’t be flying near any children.”

Passenger: “What disgusting discrimination! How dare you discriminate against the God-fearing people who do their duty and have children?! I’m flying with my granddaughter and I will not be treated this way, d*** it!”

The clerk serving the old lady passenger tries to calm her down, and we finish our check-in process. We eventually board the plane, get to our blissfully child-free seats, and take off without issue.

About an hour into the flight, I notice the grandmother from earlier keeps walking over to our seats, carrying her granddaughter, and prodding her to start crying right next to us. After she does this three times, I speak up.

Me: “Look, ma’am, you’re obviously doing this on purpose because you felt offended by the airline offering this seat section. I’m sorry you feel that way, but we booked this section specifically to be away from crying babies, and you’re ruining that.”

Passenger: *Raising her voice* “It’s you that’s ruining everything! Children-haters like you have no place in this world!”

An air stewardess approaches us and asks what the issue is. I try to explain the whole situation over the lady interrupting me and her poor granddaughter crying.

Stewardess: “I think I understand. Ma’am, this airline does indeed offer this section of the plane as a child-free section. If you take offense to that, please feel free to forward a complaint to the contact information found in your booking. As for right now, crying babies are not welcome in this section of the flight—” *looks the passenger directly in her eyes* “—and I am not referring to your child.”

Grumpy Grandma stormed back to her seat, and our heroic air stewardess got a round of “thank you”s from most of the passengers in our section.

Good Thing This Puppy Isn’t Super Literal

, , , , , , | Related | May 25, 2022

One night, not long after getting a new puppy, my gran was visited by her daughter (my aunt) and they were having a chat in my gran’s bedroom whilst the pup played on the floor next to the bed.

At the time, my gran was trying to train the pup that he could only climb on the furniture if he was invited using the command, “Up,” and as my aunt had just sat down on the bed she thought she’d let her invite the pup up for a cuddle. My gran also had a habit of spelling out words to disguise them from the dog. B-A-T-H, V-E-T, P-A-R-K — that kind of thing.

Gran: “[Aunt], why don’t you tell the dog to come U-P?”

Aunt: *Looking puzzled* “Why don’t I tell him to what?”

Gran: “You know, tell him ‘U-P’!”

Aunt: “Okay… [Dog], you pee!”

Fortunately, the dog actually didn’t pee on the bedroom floor, although when she stopped laughing, my gran asked my aunt why she thought that’s what my Gran wanted him to do!

A Totally Metal One, Grandma!

, , , , , , | Related | May 9, 2022

My great-grandmother immigrated from Poland to the USA. She was endeavoring to learn English, but sometimes there could be a little confusion with names. She had been informed of my birth and that my name would be Bernadette. She got a horrified look on her face, and offered this quite indignantly:

Great-Grandmother: Burn the dead?! What kind of name is that for a little girl?”

Comedic Hyperbole Isn’t My Cup Of Tea

, , , , | Related | April 25, 2022

While visiting my grandad’s side of the family, I’m voluntold to make tea for everyone. My aunt offered first, but my dad told her I was going to make it. I check who wants drinks and go to make them.

As I go to put sugar in the cups, I realise I’ve never made tea for my grandad’s wife before, so back I go to the living room to ask. I run into my dad on the way there.

Dad: “Where are you going?”

Me: “I forgot to ask [Grandad’s Wife] how much sugar she wants.”

Dad: “She has sixteen sugars.”

Me: “Sixteen? That’s a lot of sugar.”

Dad: “Yep. Oh, and she doesn’t have her tea stirred.”

I make her tea according to my dad’s specifications and bring them all through.

Grandad’s Wife: “Oh, this doesn’t taste right.”

Me: “Did I do it wrong? I tried not to stir it, but I had to use the spoon to take the teabag out. Did that stir it too much?”

Grandad’s Wife: “You didn’t stir it? Why not?”

Me: “Because Daddy said not to stir your tea?”

Grandad’s Wife: “What? That’s not—”

Dad: “Did you actually not stir it?”

Me: “But I thought you told me not to?”

Dad: “How much sugar did you put in it?”

Me: “Sixteen.”

Grandad’s Wife: “Sixteen?”

Me: “You said [Grandad’s Wife] wanted sixteen sugars in her tea.”

Aunt: “[Dad]!”

Dad: “I wasn’t expecting her to actually do it! No one has sixteen sugars in their tea, [My Name].”

Me: *Very confused* “But you said—”

Dad: “I can’t believe you actually put sixteen sugars in [Grandad’s Wife]’s tea.”

I asked my grandad’s wife what she actually wanted in her tea and remade it for her. 

I dunno why I even believed him in the first place. Maybe it had something to do with me being an autistic fourteen-year-old who trusted that her dad wouldn’t lie to her and had always taken his instructions literally? No, couldn’t be. (Heavy sarcasm.)

Sure, Blame The Baby

, , , , , , | Related | April 19, 2022

I’m kind of a pet peeve for Grandpa. He doesn’t like me. Like, at all.

You’d think it’s because I was born out of wedlock, but no. It’s because he insists that if it weren’t for my birth, Dad could have done way better in his A-levels and not have gone to what he calls a “garbage university”.

Back when they were teenagers in boarding school, Dad and Mom accidentally got pregnant with me. Mom didn’t find out she was pregnant until literally three weeks before my birthday. I’ve seen the photos, and yes, Mom really didn’t look like she was pregnant. Sure, she put on a bit of weight, but I was born in spring. It just looked like the regular Christmas and New Year weight gain.

As for the other symptoms — morning sickness, mood swings, and the like — both my parents were studying for their A-levels. They were way too stressed out to realise.

And thus, Mom gave birth to me, when she and Dad were both international students half a world away from home and their families — a pair of clueless nineteen-year-olds saddled with a newborn daughter to raise less than 100 days before the A-levels.

They both achieved straight As and got their courses of choice: medicine for Dad, computer science for Mom.

Both of them also raised me rather successfully (though not without their fair share of bumbling mishaps) while being full-time students in a foreign country three continents away from home.

Also, that “garbage university” they both went to? Birmingham University.

And Grandpa still claims that Dad could have done better if he “hadn’t wasted time looking after a kid.”

I swear, there just isn’t pleasing some people.