Mining This For All It’s Worth

, , , , , | Romantic | November 26, 2017

(I’m teaching my girlfriend to play an old video game where you destroy blocks that slowly move towards you by putting “mines” on the ground and detonating them later. The game is fairly simple in that you can only move around a very limited space, place the mine with a button, and detonate it with the same button. The rules are also easy: you must destroy all blocks but the black ones. I explain all of this to her, but since she’s a really bad listener, I also make her watch the tutorial first.)

Me: “Do you have any questions on how it works?”

Girlfriend: “Nope, all clear.”

Me: “Cool, go for it.”

(I start the game and hand her the controller, but then she instantly makes the character run towards a block, starts mashing all the buttons, and dies, crushed.)

Me: “That’s okay; it was your first try. Just calm down a—”

(The game starts again and she does exactly the same.)

Me: “Honey, you don’t need to keep pressing every button. You’ve got time for everything; there’s no hurry.”

(The game starts once more and exactly the same scenario happens. For ten straight minutes she keeps running to her death while I try to explain to her how to play, but she doesn’t even acknowledge my voice or my presence. I try to touch her arm and gently shove her, but no reaction; it’s like she’s in some sort of trance. Finally, I forcefully yank the controller out of her hands and pause the game.)

Me: “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

Girlfriend: *looking at me like she just came back from another reality* “Huh? What?”

Me: “What were you doing?”

Girlfriend: “It didn’t work.”

Me: “There’s no way it’ll work if you just mash the buttons like that.”

Girlfriend: “No, but I did it because it wasn’t working.”

Me: “What wasn’t working?”

Girlfriend: “The mines were not moving.”

Me: “Why would they?”

Girlfriend: “It makes sense.”

Me: “When I explained the game to you, did I mention that you can move mines?”

Girlfriend: “No.”

Me: “When you watched the tutorial, at any point did it show you that you can move mines?”

Girlfriend: “No.”

Me: “And you died like 30 times trying to do it, even though it clearly wasn’t working.”

Girlfriend: “Yes.”

Me: “Then?”

Girlfriend: “It makes sense.”

Me: “So, you just made up a game mechanic in your mind against all options, noticed that it didn’t work at all, yet kept trying to make it work again, and again, and again.”

Girlfriend: “Yes.”

Me: “Why?”

Girlfriend: “It made sense.”

Cinco De Nono

, , , , , , , | Right | November 24, 2017

(I’m a cashier at a local chain store, currently running the self-checkout. We have various songs sung in Spanish playing. Part way through my shift, I’m approached by a customer who’s finished her transaction.)

Customer: *coming very close to me* “When did you sell your store to Mexicans?”

Me: *blinks* “We… didn’t, ma’am.”

Customer: “Then what’s with this music? I can’t understand a word of it!”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s Cinco de Mayo.”

Customer: “Oh!”

(The sad part is, we’ve been playing holiday-appropriate music for years. Is it really that hard to think that we’d play music in Spanish for Cinco de Mayo?)

Some People Can’t Change That Much In One Go

, , , , , , , | Working | November 24, 2017

(I run to the grocery store with $40 budget money in my pocket. I must have added something incorrectly because the total comes to $40.35.)

Me: *to the mentally distant cashier* “Oh, well, I only brought $40. So . . . I guess I can go ahead and put that $0.35 on my debit card.” *awkward smile as I hold out the card*

(The cashier, clearly not paying attention to a word I said, grabs my $40 and keys in some numbers, and the register pops open, then she looks at me, confused as to why I’m standing there handing her my card. She looks back at the monitor and sees that it’s telling her to give me $3,999.65 in change. She looks back at me, worried for some reason.)

Me: *maintaining awkward smile, holding my card*

Cashier: *looks at monitor, looks back at me, very confused*

Me: “I still have $0.35 to pay.”

Cashier: “I’ll… I can take care of that for you. Have a nice day.” *closes register*

(I should have demanded my change, I guess.)

Missed Calls Means Missed Meals

, , , , , | Right | November 24, 2017

(I am a delivery driver for a restaurant.)

Me: *calling customer but no response* “Hi, this is [My Name] with [Restaurant]. I am having difficulty finding your house, so if you could call me back, that’d be great. Thanks.”

(An hour goes by, and I call my manager because the customer won’t pick up his phone. Now my manager and I are both calling.)

Manager: *finally gets through* “Hi, my driver is having difficulty finding your location.”

Customer: “Yeah, I see the thirty missed calls and two voicemails. We’re supposed to be eating now; why aren’t they here yet?”

Manager: “I’m sorry. The driver had a difficult time finding your address.”

Who Has To Die For You To Leave Me Alone?

, , , , , | Friendly | November 24, 2017

(I am shopping with my mother for funeral attire since my father just passed away two days ago. We are quietly doing our own shopping on opposite sides of the store. Employees at this store must dress formally, while I am wearing a sweatshirt that reads “I Can’t Adult Today,” ripped jeans, and gym shoes. A random lady is watching me for a couple minutes, but I figure she’s just visually browsing the clothing behind me on the wall. I am checking out some black blouses when she approaches me.)

Customer: “That isn’t very appropriate, is it?”

Me: *glancing around* “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Your shirt!”

Me: “What about it?”

Customer: “It is not appropriate!”

Me: “Okay.” *turns to walk away to go browse elsewhere because this lady is freaking me out*

Customer: *following me* “I don’t think you should be wearing that at work!”

Me: “I don’t work here.”

Customer: “Sure, you don’t.”

Me: “No, I really don’t. Leave me alone.”

(I am a very blunt person, so I immediately turn my back to her and go on shopping.)

Customer: *holding a shirt literally inches from my face* “Well, do you at least have this in a size medium?”

Me: “Listen, lady. I do not work here. I never have worked here. I never will work here. I am 22 years old; all the employees here are at least 40 years old. I work in a hospital, and I am trying to find a dress for my father’s funeral. Leave. Me. Alone!”

(The customer’s face turned red and she scurried away.)

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