Making Mom Worried Sick

, , , , , , , , , | Learning | January 27, 2018

(I’m in my third class of the day, with a teacher who doesn’t really like me. I start to feel terrible. I go to the teacher and ask if I can go to the office. This teacher looks at me, practically pale as a corpse, and says no, and that I’ll be fine. I manage to get to the next building over for my next class, where my teacher sees me before I even get to the classroom. She is horrified by my zombie-like appearance and immediately asks if I need to go to the office. I miraculously make it to a bin and proceed to vomit, hard. I finally get to the office, still feeling queasy.)

Receptionist: “If you want the bathroom key, you’ll have to wait. You should have gone at recess.”

Me: “Actually, I think I might puke on you.”

Receptionist: *looks up, eyes go wide* “I’ll just call your mother.”

(She calls my mother, who says she’ll come to get me. Meanwhile, I’m feeling more and more like I’ll vomit again.)

Me: “Can I please use the office toilets? I think I might be sick again.”

Receptionist: “No, but here’s a vomit bag.”

Me: “That’s not going to hold enough; I threw up a lot before. Please let me use the toilets.”

Receptionist: “No, you’ll have to go outside.”

(So, I trudge outside, out to the front of the school, and proceed to vomit all over their flower beds while cars drive by to witness the spectacle. By the time my mother arrives, I’m still outside, not puking anymore, though I still feel very sick.)

Mum: “What are you doing out here?!”

Me: “They wouldn’t let me use the toilets when I told them the barf bag wouldn’t cut it.”

(I could see she was mad as she walked into the office, but unfortunately, I have no idea what she said. We made it home without me being sick all over the car, but I still threw up a couple more times that day and had to take the next few days off school. When I went into the office on my first day back with my doctor’s note, the ladies were MUCH nicer to me, so I’m guessing whatever my mother said worked!)

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His Comments Elevated Him To True Jerk Status

, , , , , , | Right | January 26, 2018

After I got out of the military I took a temporary job working security at an outdoor mall.

I was actually required to wear a locator so the powers that be could see if I was walking around enough on my 12-hour shift.

My feet were horribly blistered from so much walking. So, I went to take an elevator to the second floor. This actually was part of my job, to look for vandalism.

When I pressed the button, I heard someone make a remark that I could tell was a snide one.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he responded, then said, “Lazy rent-a-cop.”

I responded, “Well, I’ve been walking for ten hours, on a twelve hour shift. My feet are blistered, and my knee is screaming. I’m a disabled veteran, so is it really a problem if I take an elevator?”

That shut him up. For the record, I am a disabled vet, though my knee injury was an operational one, not a combat one.

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This Person Is Such A Headache

, , , , , , , | Healthy | January 26, 2018

(A coworker has been on blood-thinning medication for the past couple of months. She isn’t allowed to have other medication that has the same effect, namely aspirin.)

Coworker: “I have such a headache. Does anyone have anything I can take?”

(We all say no, so she resorts to searching through the desks of people who are on holiday. She finally finds some.)

Coworker: “Perfect!”

Me: “Um, shouldn’t you try something else? You aren’t allowed aspirin, remember?”

Coworker: “It’s only two tablets! What harm will it do?”

(She disappears before I can protest further, and comes back with a glass of water, having taken them on the way back. She surreptitiously takes another two a few hours later, and I protest yet again. She goes to the printer and comes back screaming.)

Coworker: “I’ve got a paper cut and it won’t stop bleeding!”

(I see that she is actually applying a lot of pressure on the cut, causing it to stay open.)

Me: “Maybe if you ease up on it, it’ll stop.”

Coworker: “No, you idiot! You do that to stop the flow. Oh, my God, I’m dying! Why did you make me take those d*** pills?!”

(We called an ambulance for her, and the second the paramedics arrived, they loosened her grip and the wound closed within a couple of minutes. She spent the entire time accusing us of trying to kill her, and demanded the paramedics phone the police for “force-feeding her death-pills.” We had to explain the situation, as the paramedics thought she was under some sort of narcotic, and they decided to take her to the hospital to make sure the medication wasn’t wreaking havoc on her blood. When she came back into work the next day, she went straight to our manager and launched a formal complaint. We all needed to give statements, and it was decided that if we are going to bring medication to work, we need to ensure it is secure. [Coworker] was put on temporary leave after we revealed in our statements that she actually went looking for the medication in someone else’s belongings, something she failed to mention in her complaint.)

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Making An Explosive Discovery

, , , , , , | Learning | January 26, 2018

(We are in middle school.)

Teacher: “Your body is constantly creating new blood cells.”

Student: “So, would you, like, explode if you never cut yourself?”

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Enabling Them Getting A Ticket

, , , , , | Working | January 26, 2018

(I’m picking up my severely disabled mother from an appointment at a big medical facility. As I’m arriving, I see a delivery truck standing across the last two handicapped parking spots. The driver is still sorting packages in the back of the truck, so I quickly jump out and approach him.)

Me: “Hi. I’m not sure if you noticed, but this is actually a handicapped parking spot.”

Delivery Guy: “So? You look like you can walk just fine. There are still some spots open in the back of the parking lot, I think.”

Me: “Not that it matters, but I’m picking up a disabled person who can’t walk that far. Could you please move?”

Delivery Guy: *while already walking away with some packages* “Sure, whatever! I’m busy, so shut up!”

(By now I’m furious, so I decide to park behind him in the handicapped parking spot, effectively blocking him from driving away. I rush into the building to collect my mother as quickly as possible to avoid being towed, but as we arrive we see that there’s already a police officer next to my car talking with the delivery driver. The officer looks at me, and at my mother who’s already looking pained while walking on crutches.)

Officer: “Is this your car?”

Me: “Yes. I’m terribly sorry, but there were no other disabled parking spots, and he refused to move after I explained the situation to him. Won’t happen again. I promise!”

Officer: “Oh, don’t worry. You’re free to go!”

Me: “Thank you very much.”

(Right as I was helping my mother into the car I heard the delivery guy scream, “Wait… You’re writing ME a ticket?!”)

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