Cause And Defect

, , , , , , , | Right | October 26, 2017

(I work as a hostess and cashier in a 24-hour diner while in high school. One of the waitresses is basically the epitome of all diner waitresses; she’s in her 40s but looks older, she has a gravelly, whiskey-and-cigarettes voice, she takes no crap from anybody, she’s very popular with all our regulars, and she’s absolutely unflappable. It’s a weekday in the summer, late evening, after the dinner rush but before the bars close and all the drunks come to us, so it is quiet. My manager and I are standing behind the main counter near the cash register talking, and [Waitress] has just refilled coffees for three guys in a booth and is standing there chatting, holding the half-full coffee pot in her right hand. She is mostly talking to the two guys on the left side of the booth, and apparently the guy on the right side thinks he isn’t getting enough attention, because all of a sudden he reaches out and grabs her butt cheek.)

Me: “Oh, my God, [Manager]! Did you see? That guy just groped [Waitress]!”

(The manager heads for the gap in the counter to go intervene — I don’t think he knows what is coming, just that it won’t be pretty — but without even missing a beat in her conversation, [Waitress] just turns her hand over and pours the entire remaining contents of the coffee pot into the groper’s lap.)

Groper: “F***! S***! You b****!”

(At this point, one of his buddies “helpfully” tips his glass of water into the groper’s lap, and my manager is laughing so hard that he has literally fallen on the floor. The ice water bath does cool the guy’s scalded scrotum enough that he is able to get up and come yell at someone less likely to conk him with the coffee pot than [Waitress], and as [Manager] is still on the floor and thus out of sight, that’s apparently going to be me.)

Groper: “Did you see her pour coffee on me? I want her fired!”

(I am a particularly baby-faced 16-year-old at this time, so how he thinks I have the authority to fire anybody, much less this waitress literally old enough to be my mom, is beyond me. I look to my manager for help, but he’s still down, laughing so hard he’s wheezing. Nonetheless, I’m pretty sure he’ll have my back if I need it; he’s like that.)

Me: “Yeah, I saw it, right after I saw you grab her butt. We don’t have to put up with that.”

Groper: “You… I… She can’t! I’ll call the cops! Yeah, that was assault. I’ll call the cops!”

Me: “Well, I guess you could. Or you could just hang around; there’s usually a couple of them dropping in around now for some coffee before they go round up drunks. They like to sit in [Waitress]’s section, so that’ll be convenient. You can tell them your version, and we can tell them how she was so startled her hand slipped after some pervert grabbed her butt, and we’ll see which one they think is assault.”

(At this point the guy just shrieks and stomps out. One of the busboys who’s come out of the back to see what the commotion is about starts to run after him, since he’s walking out on the bill, but our manager, who has managed to regain his feet, waves him off — it’s just coffee, not worth chasing an angry customer into the dark. Meanwhile, the other two guys who were with him come up to the register, and even though they’ve gotten separate checks, they pay his, too, so that works out.)

Groper’s Buddy: “Sorry about him. His girlfriend dumped him, and he’s totally been acting like an a**hole.”

Me: “I think you might have your cause and effect switched around there, but yeah, okay.”

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Persevering Pop Proves His Parking Point

, , , , , , | Friendly | October 23, 2017

(My dad goes to the bank one night to draw money out of the ATM. There are three spaces right up front, and a woman has parked her car sideways over two of them. My dad pulls into the third, effectively blocking her in, unless she wants to back up over the planter.)

Woman: *running from the ATM* “You can’t park there! You’re blocking me in!”

Dad: *shrugging* “I’m parked perfectly legally, inside the lines. It’s not my fault you parked across two spots and now can’t get out.”

Woman: “You have to move right now! I’m in a hurry.”

Dad: “Not my problem. You shouldn’t have parked like that.”

Woman: “But no one else was here!”

Dad: “Again, not my problem. You shouldn’t assume you’re the only person in the world and that no one else wants to use the ATM.”

(The woman continues shrieking at him, threatening to hit his car in order to get hers out, and he tells her he hopes she has really good insurance, since there are video cameras outside the bank that will show she deliberately hit his car.)

Woman: “I’m getting the security guard!”

Dad: “Great! Go for it.”

(He sits on a nearby bench and waits. The woman comes back with a security guard who patrols that lot at night.)

Guard: “Is that your car, sir?”

Dad: “Yes, it is.”

Woman: “Make him move it! I’m in a hurry!”

Guard: *to my dad* “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to move your car, sir?”

Dad: *grinning* “Not at the moment, no.”

Guard: *to the woman* “I’m sorry, ma’am; there’s nothing I can do. He’s legally parked in between the lines. He has every right to park there as a customer. You shouldn’t have parked the way you did.”

Woman: “BUT I WAS IN A HURRY!”

Dad: “And now you’re stuck. How’s that working out for you?”

Woman: *screaming* “I’m calling the police!”

Dad: “Great.”

(The woman walks away, presumably to go call the police.)

Guard: “You stay as long as you like, sir. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Dad: “Oh, I fully intend to. If she’d asked nicely I would have moved my car right away, but I could tell she thought she was better than everyone else, just by how she parked. I’m in no hurry.”

(The woman came back in tears, and Dad finally moved his car after she promised never to do it again. He said he felt like he made his point.)

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The Scam Has Been Rent From The Scammer

, , , , | Friendly | October 23, 2017

(I respond to a few of those infamous “nice house for rent at an unreasonably low price” ads, thinking at worst they’re obvious scams and no harm done, or at best I’ve found the deal of the century. I get various replies to my emails of inquiry, all obvious scams. What I notice, though, is how many of them are using the same story: “I’m a Christian missionary going on a two-year missions trip to Africa, and I want to find a nice Christian family to take care of my house while I’m gone. I’ve already left, so please just send me a $100 good-faith deposit and I’ll send you the keys and let you look around. We can exchange paperwork afterwards if you like the place.” I decide to amuse myself in an email exchange.)

Me: “You’re going on a missions trip to Africa, too? Hallelujah! I’ve recently been in contact with [Other Scammer who replied to my emails] about their house also for rent. Do you know each other?”

Scammer: “Yes, we all know each other; we are on the same mission trip.”

Me: “That’s amazing. How many of you are going?”

Scammer: “There are twelve people going. Please send the good faith deposit and I will send you the keys.”

Me: “What about [Yet Another Scammer with the same scam]?”

Scammer: “Yes, we are all friends and are here in Africa together. Here is a link where you can send the good faith deposit.”

Me: “Well, I think it’s wonderful how so many of you are together doing the Lord’s work. It’s too bad all of you had to leave so quickly and none of you could find renters for these nice houses.”

Scammer: “Well, we leave very quickly. Please let me know if you have other questions.”

Me: “Thank you; I do. What are the names of the streets their houses are on?”

Scammer: “I do not understand and do not know about their houses; that is their responsibility. Please send the $100 so I can send you the keys. I know you will love my house.”

Me: “Well, you’re all there together, so can you ask them? Let me know if it’ll take time to reach them if they’re not right next to you; I can wait. I don’t even need both street names. Just one. Name one of the streets their houses are on. And if you can manage that, I’ll throw in a $10,000 donation to your mission trip, whether or not I go with your house.”

(I never heard back.)

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Shouldn’t Engage In Pillow Talk

, , , , , | Friendly | October 20, 2017

(We stop at my brother’s store during a big sale. It is so busy that we volunteer to help. As I am helping one elderly lady, it becomes apparent that she has just discovered that my brother is gay.)

Elderly Lady: “I just don’t like to think about what he does. It’s so…” *she shudders*

Me: “What do you do in your bedroom?”

Elderly Lady: “That’s none of your business!”

Me: “Precisely, ma’am. Whatever happens in the bedroom should concern only those in that bedroom.”

(She stared at me with her mouth open before slinking off to the checkout.)

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Figuring Out The Dummies With The Dummy

, , , , , , | Learning | October 19, 2017

I took a foods course that was divided into “Theory” and “Cooking,” with half the class doing each at any given time, then swapping to the other. I always did the theory first for any given unit, and was one of the few who actually did the work, and one of fewer who actually got good marks from it.

Most of the rest of the class were, unfortunately, the types who scraped by if given the chance, and it showed during the cooking portion when they barely got passing marks. They all saw that I frequently got good marks, and because our paperwork was kept in a public area, they tried to use mine to cheat for marks.

I saw this, but had no real way to take care of it; if I kept my work in my locker, it wouldn’t get marked by the teacher. However, for the final assignment, effectively a “Final Exam” worth around 35% of the final mark, I concocted a scheme to punish them for cheating. I informed my teacher about my suspicions, and told him that I would submit a “dummy” exam with intentionally wrong answers, and give him the proper exam later. He agreed that would be fine. I did so, leaving this “dummy” exam in the main pile, and then let my fellow students know my opinion on cheaters. They laughed at it, and I went about my business.

We got our final marks back, this final assignment included. The cheaters all looked shocked at their final marks, until I heard them at the next table over trying to whisper, “That makes no sense, I copied him…” and “That means [My Name] also got a 0!” as they walked over to me, laughing. “Hey, [My Name]. What did you get?”

“I got 95%,” I said.

They just stopped, took a moment, and walked away, as my professor sat in the corner laughing at the exchange.

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