They Tic’d All The Right Boxes

, , | Hopeless | June 23, 2017

(My friends and I, all in our late teens, all somewhat goth/punk looking, had gone to see one of the Final Destination movies in the cinema. For those who missed them, they’re basically movies about people dying in the most ridiculous ways possible. Afterwards, we decide to grab some dinner and go to a nearby pizza place — a bit more fancy than we usually frequent, but open late and tasty. There is only one other group of people at a nearby table, and one of the men seems to suffer from tics. It is impossible not to notice since one involved him randomly shouting “HA!” every few minutes. The first time that happens we look over, but realizing that his friends seem to take it as normal, we ignore them. I happened to have watched a documentary on Tourette syndrome just the night before, so I figure we shouldn’t ruin his night by staring. My friends and I never discuss it, but simply pay attention to our own conversation. As the other group gets up to leave, the guy with the tics and a woman come over to our table. We shut up immediately, realizing our conversation had become quite loud and rowdy (what with being in high spirits and discussing all the ways in which people could die in the middle of a restaurant…) and we think they are about to tell us off.)

Man: “Hey, guys, I just wanted to thank you for leaving us in peace tonight and not making a big deal of my tics.”

Friend #1: “Oh, but you shouldn’t thank us. It’s common courtesy, isn’t it?”

Man: “You’d think so, but most people stare at what they don’t know.”

Friend #2: “Maybe that’s it. I watched a show about Tourette syndrome just the other night, and they interviewed several people who have it.”

Friend #3: “Wait, you watched that show, too?”

Me: “So did I… Wow, that’s odd. It was really interesting, though!”

(The man was looking increasingly happy listening to our exchange, but it was the woman next to him who started laughing. She gave him a little shove and he smiled sheepishly, then mimed polishing a shoe. How did we know what the movement meant? Well…)

Friend #1: “Hang on. That was you in the programme, wasn’t it.”

Man: “Um, yeah.”

Woman: “And he’s been so nervous about the show airing, you wouldn’t believe it. He was afraid people would make fun of him.”

(We all assured him that he had no reason to be nervous or ashamed or anything. It WAS a good show that illustrated the various tics people might suffer from and how it impacted all areas of their lives, and shame was a big part of it. As they left you could tell the guy was much happier, and we were simply stunned that without discussing it, we’d all happened to watch the same show and draw the same conclusions from it… AND happened to meet that guy that night.)

Allergic To Metal And Bad Customers

, , , , | Right | June 23, 2017

(I work for a large retailer. I have a metal allergy, and a necklace I wore the day before has given me a small red mark on the side of my neck. I didn’t think to cover it with make-up because of it’s size. A middle-aged woman comes to pay just as my supervisor is bringing me the change I have ordered. He waves me to ring her up first.)

Me: “Your total will be 9.72.”

Customer: *rather loudly* “Oh, my God.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: *to my supervisor, loudly enough for everyone in line to hear* “This GIRL has a hickey on her neck! How could you even let her ring me up?! She should be fired immediately!”

(She gives me a smug, snarky look before turning expectantly to my supervisor, who looks a little lost.)

Me: *finally realizing what she is talking about* “Actually, ma’am, what you are referring to is a reaction to my metal allergy. I wore a necklace yesterday made of nickel by mistake.”

(She stares at me for a good ten seconds, then huffs.)

Customer: “Well, you ought to cover it. It’s disgusting.”

(I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just finished her transaction as quickly as I could. After she left, my supervisor turned to me and smiled.)

Supervisor: “I’m glad you handled that. The things I would have said could have cost me my job!”

Their Complaining Spree Has Hit A Bump

, , , , , | Right | June 23, 2017

(My colleague is seven months pregnant. She’s quite petite so it’s obvious that she’s carrying a child, and most of the customers she’s helped out have noticed and congratulated her. It’s currently summer and our store can get quite hot, so our boss has allowed her to sit on a stool behind the checkout and have a small fan on her counter. I am working at the counter next to her when a customer approaches her.)

Customer: “There’s a product on the very top shelf that I need you to get down for me.”

Colleague: “Of course, ma’am. [My Name] will be happy to find a ladder and help you out with that.

Customer: “What?! How dare you try and just palm me off onto somebody else! Why can’t you just do it yourself?!”

Colleague: *gesturing to her bump* “Well, as you can see I shouldn’t really be climbing up on ladders in my current condition.”

Customer: “You lazy cow; what’s that supposed to mean?”

Colleague: “I’m sorry, but I can’t get up on a ladder because I’m preg—”

Customer: “No, I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. Clearly you think you’re in some sort of privileged position with your fan and stool behind the counter while your poor colleagues slave away in the heat. Go and find a ladder right now or I’ll call and complain to your manager.”

(Overhearing the entire conversation, I decide to step in.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my colleague has been trying to tell you that she’s obviously quite pregnant and for medical reasons cannot put herself in a position where she risks a fall.”

(The customer looks at Colleague’s bump, the light bulb clearly switching on in her head.)

Customer: “It’s not very high up! She’s still supposed to be helping me. She should go and fetch it!”

Me: “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for the death of an unborn child, would you? Now, if you show me what you need from the top shelf I’ll happily get it down for you.”

(The customer glared at me and started barking orders. At least she left my poor colleague alone after that.)

Paling At The Diagnosis

, , , | Working | June 22, 2017

(I’d always had these white patches on my body and my mom always thought they were scars because I scar and bruise so easily. However she quickly changes her mind when I point out that I don’t have scars on my neck. So she takes me to a dermatologist and this is what happens. The doctor walks in.)

Doctor: “I have good news and bad news.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I don’t know why he said this. I don’t know if he was trying to put me at ease.)

Doctor: “Bad news is you got vitiligo.”

(Vitiligo is an autoimmune disorder where your white blood cells destroy your melanin.)

Doctor: “And the good news is you’re white.”

Sickly Sweet Smile

, , , | Friendly | June 22, 2017

(Some friends and I have driven into the city for a fun day out. The friend who drove is a safe driver, but he tends to turn the car too hard and stop too roughly for people prone to motion sickness. By the time we arrive, I’m very carsick and trying desperately not to throw up. I get out of the car and sit on a nearby curb with my head in my hands. My friends are milling around, fretting over me, and it should be clear to anyone watching that I’m not feeling well. A group of men we don’t know passes by and stops to look at us.)

Random Man: *talking to me* “Hey, you should smile. You’ll look prettier.”

Me: *gaping at him in disbelief, too nauseous to speak*

Random Man: *looking pleased with himself, like he just gave some amazing life advice*

(Unfortunately, I was too sick to respond before he walked away. I wish now that I had walked over to him and thrown up on his expensive-looking shoes.)

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