Look Past-a Your Surroundings To The Wide World Of Noodles!

, , , , , , | Related | March 30, 2020

(In this moment of nationwide quarantine in Italy, my dad has discovered the joys of online ordering products and getting them delivered to your house. After a long slog to get him to figure out how to use his dusty old work email for the purpose, he has started to go online and order various things from [Supermarket Chain]. I go to do something else… until he calls me back again several minutes later.)

Dad: “[My Name], come over here. I need you to order something for me; can you do it?”

Me: “Yes, I can. What is it?”

(He hands me his tablet, and I see two things: he has gone on [Big Company]’s site, and there are several pictures of pasta packages on it.)

Me: “Uh, Dad? Why are you ordering pasta on [Big Company]? They can’t have run out of pasta on [Supermarket Chain], could they?”

Dad: *annoyed* “No, look at what I’m showing you.”

(I take a better look at the packages and notice that they are all of a specific pasta format, called “castellane”… and that the labels are Indonesian.)

Me: *perplexed* “You’re trying to order castellane from Indonesia?”

Dad: “Of course, I am; I can’t find them anywhere else! Now, order them. I’m sure you can figure something out.”

Me: “But Dad, it’s gonna cost you lots of money. Are you sure?”

Dad: “Look, I have the money. I can afford it. Now do it.”

(Despite finding it silly to order pasta from half a world away while in Italy, I decide to try and figure something out. After several rounds of Google Translate and some guesswork, I manage to get myself on the page for one that works for our purposes. He tells me how many packs he wants to get and I input the number.)

Me: “All right. Do you have an account or do you want me to use mine?”

Dad: “No, try to use mine. If you use yours, it’ll get delivered to your flat.”

Me: *sighing* “Okay, can you tell me the password?”

Dad: “The password? What password? Can’t I just use my email?”

Me: “No, you can’t.” *realizing* “Wait, so you didn’t actually make an account?”

Dad: *getting agitated* “Didn’t I already make one? Why does that matter?”

Me: *resigned* “Because you put your email in [Supermarket Chain]’s database and made an account with them, not with these guys.”

Dad: *screaming* “What the f***? Who designed this stupid bulls***? F*** you and f*** your incomprehensible online things, you handicapped swine!”

(And with that, he started pouting and complaining about not getting his precious castellane. My mother suggested I just pretend to order that pasta from Indonesia and actually do nothing, since it was just “one of his personal fads,” but sometimes I wish I could tie him to a chair and make him learn basic informatics.)

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She’s Unable To Chew On That

, , , , | Right | March 16, 2020

I have an acquaintance who has some peculiar views on the world and how it should work. She also has a problem on her mandible that renders chewing difficult for her, but there is a paste that is sold in pharmacies that helps her.

The company that makes this paste has recently changed the formula, and now it tastes like vanilla, and she has already complained that she doesn’t like the taste.

Today, she tells my stepfather and me about her latest feat: she emailed the company asking if they could sell her the old paste, and they explained to her that they don’t sell to the public. She then asked if they could give her the formula so a chemist friend of hers could replicate it, and she received a clear no, obviously.

Both my stepfather and I tried to explain to her that a company has no obligation to keep producing something that she likes, and that drug formulas are copyrighted, so it’s not strange that they refuse to give it to a random lady. After half an hour of trying to explain it we left, but we are sure she wasn’t totally convinced.

It’s not a problem of allergy or anything serious. She is on the warpath because she doesn’t like the taste of a medicine.

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Unfiltered Story #185618

, | Unfiltered | February 12, 2020

(I am working as a cashier in a supermarket when a customer, very well known in the shop for always asking silly questions, comes up to my till.)
Customer: *holding a brochure depicting all the different outcomes of picking a certain color of hair dye* Excuse me?
Me: Yes, ma’am?
Customer: Can I ask you a question? Which color is darker: this *pointing to a blonde, almost silver colored sample* or this *pointing to a dark brown sample*?
Me: *pointing to the lattest* This one ma’am.
Customer: Are you SURE?

Looking At Girls Through Beer Goggles

, , , | Romantic | February 2, 2020

(When I am seventeen, I decide to try to break out of my shell and go out to a fancy-dress street party organized for Carnival in the harbour of my town. I step into the crowd and dance. Soon after doing so, I see a couple of girls looking at me with interest, and after some more dancing I decide to make a move.)

Me: “Hi there!”

Girl: “Hi, would you buy me a drink?”

(While I have heard about offering a drink to somebody else, I have never heard of the opposite, but I immediately assume it means she wants in my pants.)

Me: “Sure, let’s get in line at the shack. What would you like to drink?”

Girl: “Oh, anything’s fine.”

(Since I’m not big on drinking, and since the elderberry liquor I like isn’t popular, I’m a bit worried, but I keep my cool externally. Halfway through the line…)

Me: “Are you really sure that you’re fine with anything?”

Girl: “Of course I am!”

(And so we restart. After quite a bit of time, there are only four people in front of us.)

Me: “Anything in particular you want? They have a bit of everything.”

Girl: “Nah, your choice is all right.”

(Figuring I can’t hold up the line like that, I give up and decide to order a beer for her, as she slips out of the line and waits for me. Thanks to lax IDing, I buy a glass, pay a handsome amount of money for it, and then get back to her.)

Me: “Here we go, enjoy.”

(The girl looks at the glass full of beer as if it was full of urine. She frowns and makes it swish inside the glass before dumping it all in the water below the wharf.)

Girl: “I wanted a mojito.”

Me: *flabbergasted* “W-what? You said that ‘anything’ was fine!”

Girl: *whining* “But I wanted a mojito! Not beer, a mojito!”

Me: “Why didn’t you tell me that?! I asked you three times!”

Girl: “Why would I want beer? I can get that anywhere!”

(Resisting the urge to shove her off into the water, I stormed away and went home. To this day, I cannot understand why she couldn’t tell me what she wanted right away, instead of trying a weird mind game.)

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Saving A Damsel From Distress

, , , , , , | Right | January 5, 2020

(I have been traveling around Europe with only a small piece of luggage with me. I’m not allowed to bring anything else as my ticket is a simple one, but in Toledo, I have to buy a sword because of who am I as a person. Going to Italy, I pay a fine of €50 to bring Damsel, my sword, with me. This happens when I’m in Italy’s airport again, flying to Madrid in a connection flight so I can go back to my country, Argentina. After giving my passport and ticket, the check-in lady, who looks really grumpy, tells me to give her my luggage and the box with Damsel to weigh them.)

Me: “Oh, no, this one comes with me inside the cabin. The box with the sword goes with the cargo.”

Lady: *annoyed* “The plane is full, so everything has to go with the cargo.”

Me: “I understand. No problem, then. I still have to pay the fine for the box.”

(We both make a pause and I realize it.)

Me: “People have been giving you h*** for this, haven’t they?”

Lady: “Yes! They complain and complain!”

Me: *laughs* “Don’t worry; I understand that this is not something you control. Do whatever you have to do; I’m not going to get mad.”

Lady: “Thank you! You know what? Your ticket from Madrid to Buenos Aires does allow the extra cargo; I’m sending both your things directly to Argentina, so you don’t have to pay the fine.”

Me: “Are you serious? Did you just save me €50?”

Lady: “Yes, have a nice flight!”

(Lady, thank you a lot for your work. Damsel and I are very grateful that you saved this poor writer so much money.)

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