Bee Reasonable!

, , , , | Right | September 24, 2018

(While a customer is eating on the outside patio, she is stung by a bee and has an allergic reaction that requires medical assistance. Later, when she contacts the restaurant requesting to be reimbursed for the medical bills, the restaurant’s representative politely asks:)

Rep: “Did you see the bee that stung you?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Rep: “Well, was the bee wearing our uniform? And if so, did you happen to get his name from the name tag?” *pause for answer* “Since he was not one of our employees, there is nothing I can do for you.”


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Legal Lightning Struck Twice

, , , | Legal | September 22, 2018

When I was six years old, my father was struck by lightning while he was lowering a wheelchair ramp for the last passenger on his bus. Thankfully, he survived, but the injuries put an end to him working. Since it happened while he was on the job, this was clearly a case for workers’ comp. The problem? Dad was working for the city, who in turn controlled workers’ comp. Long story short, they desperately did not want to pay. So, my parents needed to get a lawyer.

While preparing the case, my mother asked about getting a hold of the aforementioned passenger, who was the only witness to my dad being struck. The lawyer waved her concerns away. “They’re not contesting the fact that he got hit,” he said.  

Flash forward much, much later to their meeting with the opposition. The workers’ comp lawyers’ argument? “We don’t know for sure that he was even hit by lightning at all!”

Mom was livid, especially since by this time, the witness had moved out of town. Fortunately, a family friend had taken it upon herself to track the guy down, and he was able to testify that, yes, my dad was hit by an enormous bolt of electricity, and the “singed and delirious” look wasn’t just a new fad he felt like trying.

Phase two was, “But surely taking one billion volts to the head didn’t hurt him any,” but that’s another story.

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The Birds And The Bees And The Bathroom Employees

, , , , , , , , | Hopeless | September 21, 2018

I come from a very religious family. As such, I was never given any formal sex-ed talk.

I was 12 and I was at the mall by myself. I went into the washroom and found blood in my underwear. I completely panicked and ran into the closest store.

In this store, there was one female worker, but the rest of the store was empty. In tears, I begged her to call my family to come get me because clearly I was dying.

The woman calmed me down and gave me an adhesive pad. After explaining what it was and how to use it, she let me use the staff-only washroom in the back. She then gave me the whole sex talk my parents and my religious school had failed to tell me. She only told me because I was so freaked out and confused. I don’t think she knew I was religious; she just thought I was super innocent and my parents didn’t tell me s***.

I never told my parents what this employee said. My parents acted like my period was shameful and discouraged any discussion about it, besides saving sex for marriage, when I went home that night. Before I went to bed, my mom handed me a package of pads and a book about Virgin Mary. She didn’t explain how to use them, the difference between wings and no wings, etc., like the woman in the store had. I would’ve been so overwhelmed if it weren’t for that woman.

The following year, I was taught about how abstinence is the best birth control, but nothing like what that employee taught me. I had to be the one to teach my friends about their own bodies, and I am so grateful for what that employee did. I have friends who are in their early 20s just learning what I learned when I was 12.

This woman saved my teen years.

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Padding Out This Story

, , , , | Friendly | September 18, 2018

(I’m a man, and my female friend from California is visiting me in Maryland for the weekend before her next semester of college starts. We’re going to tour DC with my girlfriend. Her first morning after her flight, we’ve woken up, and I come out of the shower to find her still sitting on my futon.)

Friend: “Um… Hey. Can I ask you a stupid question?”

Me: “Sure.”

Friend: “…”

Me: “Go on.”

Friend: *chuckles* “Do you have any pads?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid I don’t have much of a need to stock feminine hygiene products. Did you forget to pack some?”

Friend: *sheepishly* “Yes.”

Me: “There is a supermarket nearby; I’d be happy to walk down and buy some.”

Friend: “No, no, I don’t want to have to make you do that.”

Me: “Well… [Girlfriend] should be here in about an hour; I can ask her to bring some.”

(She agrees, and I text my girlfriend about the problem. She finds the situation amusing and agrees to bring some pads for my friend. Unfortunately, my girlfriend is delayed, but my friend insists that she doesn’t want to burden me with a five-minute walk to the store, so she sits on my bed watching a movie in her PJs for two hours until my girlfriend arrives. I introduce them to each other.)

Girlfriend: *fishes a selection of pads out of her purse* “Um… Here?”

Friend: *hugs her* “Yes! You’re a lifesaver!”

Me: “No, she’s a pantysaver.”

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Beginning To Sound Like A Broken Vinyl Record

, , , , , , | Working | September 18, 2018

(Within a few months of starting my job, I develop a latex allergy. Because I need to wear gloves to collect samples, my boss orders in some nitrile gloves for me. They are only for me to use because of the higher price compared to the latex gloves. A few months later, I start getting horrible itching on my hands during work. It sometimes spreads to my face and arms, and gets so bad I need to jump in the shower the moment I get home and scrub myself raw to try and make it stop. After a process of elimination, I figure out the source and go to my boss.)

Me: “So, you know how I’ve been itching lately?”

Boss: “Yeah.”

Me: “I think I know why, and if I’m right, you’re not going to like it. I think I’m allergic to the nitrile gloves, as well. I need to test it out.”

Boss: “Oh, my God, you’re so bloody precious.”

(I was allergic to the nitrile. I now have vinyl gloves and strict orders not to develop any more allergies.)

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