Click And Collect Catty Comments

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 4, 2020

We are in a lockdown with the recent health crisis. Supermarkets have a limit on how many people can enter, which is enforced by security at the doorway. Naturally, this means there are lines to access the supermarket. 

I’m immunocompromised, with a condition that means my immune system attacks and fights my organs, so I have to take specific medication that suppresses my immune responses. This puts me in the “vulnerable” bracket to lots of things, not just the new crisis. I’m basically 80% liquid sanitiser and soap at this stage. 

I’ve not been able to organise home delivery for groceries — all the slots were full — and it’s been hard to get anyone to collect groceries for me. But luckily, our store has an option for a “click and collect,” where I qualified to place an online order and pick it up at a special counter at the store. I go in a mask, gloves, and all. 

Part of going for the click and collect, however, involves strolling past the large lines of people waiting to collect my order at the counter. While I have the immune system response of a weak tea bag, I’m in my twenties and look fairly healthy. This, of course, attracts a lot of foul-mouthed comments from people I walk past with my groceries, ranging from “faker,” to “selfish, taking the slots from those who need it,” as well as “hoarder,” for having a full cart and being a single person — it was a normal shop. 

Please, guys, don’t judge everyone. You don’t know if they are themselves vulnerable or collecting for someone else who is.

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Taking A Page Out Of Jean Milburn’s Book

, , , , , , | Healthy | September 4, 2020

My mother is a retired midwife. I was raised with a clear understanding of motherhood and everything it entails. As a ten-year-old boy, I would read her professional magazines. I could have an intelligent conversation about menopause or explain an epidural. Then, in my early teens, this happens.

Mum: “Hey, [My Name]. How are you? You won’t believe what happened last night. We had a model breast.”

Me: “A model— Wait, what?”

Mum: “We had some professional development training to do in breastfeeding, and they had a model breast for it.”

Me: “Er, model breast?”

Mum: “A model of a boob; it’s supposed to imitate a functioning boob. It came complete with a nipple that dispenses a liquid.”

Me: “Right… but almost all midwives are women. Aren’t there enough boobs in a maternity hospital for this to be obvious?”

Mum: “We all thought that, so we repurposed the training boob.”

Me: “I— Wait, what? A model boob was supplied to your colleagues for training and… Where is it now?”

Mum: “In the bathroom.”

Me: “Model breast in our bath… huh?”

Mum: “Since we didn’t need it, we reused it as a soap dispenser.”

Me: “I… What?”

Mum: “We obviously didn’t need it, so we might as well put it to good use. So, we glued it to the wall of the staff bathroom and added liquid soap. Press the nipple and soap comes out.”

I nearly peed myself with laughter.

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Shedding Some Light On The Birds And The Bees

, , , , , | Related | September 3, 2020

When I am in college, I go to a local community college and am still living at home. I don’t have my own car and am sharing with my parents. On days when I have to work and don’t have the car, one of my parents drops me off at class in the morning and picks me up after work.

One day, I am having a really bad headache as my dad picks me up. We’re on the freeway stuck in stop-and-go traffic and there’s a semi next to us. I keep getting flashes of sun from the gap between the cab and the load the truck is hauling. This is just making things worse, so I’ve sort of twisted myself in the front seat so that I can face the driver’s side with the back of my head toward the sun.

Dad: “Are you okay?”

Me: “Yeah, just a bad headache.”

Dad: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yep.”

Dad glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

Dad: “You’re not…” *whispers* “…pregnant, are you?”

Me: “No!”

Dad: “Well, I mean, do you know how that works?”

I’m about twenty-two, so I do know how it works. Granted, it also would be impossible for me to be pregnant right now since I haven’t had a serious relationship since high school, and the only dates I’ve been on since have not led to sex, but that’s beside the point.

Me: “Yeah, do you?”

Dad: “Of course I do!”

Me: “Well, I’m missing one pretty important piece of that equation.”

Dad: *Laughs* “Ah, right. Don’t tell me that.”

The rest of the car ride was uneventful. When we got home, I relayed the story to my mom who laughed and just shook her head at my dad. I love my dad, I do, but sometimes I think he’s kind of like Steve Martin in “Father of the Bride,” where he still sees me as his little girl in pigtails playing with Barbies, so when he hears about me doing more “adult” things, it throws him for a loop.

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Some People Really, REALLY Should Not Have Kids

, , , , , | Friendly | September 3, 2020

I had a classmate who was lovely but not really bright. She had gotten pregnant and was telling me how it happened. She genuinely believed her boyfriend wouldn’t be able to impregnate her because he smoked. I asked her when she found out. She told me she went to the doctor and he told her she was just a bit pregnant. The Dutch love sarcasm.

So, she went on with her daily life thinking she was partially pregnant. Eventually, she had an ultrasound and that is when it hit her. They got married, and five months after giving birth, she was at the doctor again believing she was just a bit pregnant. 

They are expecting baby number three now.

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Doing Some Tissue Damage

, , , , | Right | August 31, 2020

I’m the careless customer here. Local stores are under heavy health restrictions. When I enter the store, I grab a sanitizing wipe to use for opening fridge/freezer doors. At some point, I must have dropped it into the cart unseen because as I’m going through the checkout I hear a shriek from the cashier, pointing at my lost wipe.

Cashier: “Is that a tissue?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ll get that right away.”

I picked up the wipe and deposited it in the nearest trash bin. The cashier spent the rest of the transaction glaring daggers at me and I slunk away as fast as I can.

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