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Wait Until She Finds Out About Brake, Transmission, And Power Steering Fluid…

, , , | Right | June 27, 2021

My mother got a new job in a town some twenty km away, so she started commuting with my late grandfather’s car which had been gathering dust in the garage. The time came for a refueling.

Mother: “Fill my tank, please.”

Attendant: “Sure. Want me to check the levels while I’m at it?”

Mother: “Yes, please.”

The attendant started with the oil level, but the dipstick came up squeaky clean.

Attendant: “Ma’am, when was the last time you put oil in here?”

Mother: “Oil? But cars run on petrol!”

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Her Alignment Is Chaotic Good

, , , | Learning | June 26, 2021

My mum is a science teacher. A chaotic one. Once, she suspected that some of her students had been smoking and she didn’t waste her time preaching about how unhealthy it was.

Mum: “You know that overpopulation is a huge problem these days, right? Keep smoking. Keep smoking and you’ll help to solve it.”

Another time, she was explaining the evolution theory.

Student: “Teach, I don’t really like the idea of descending from monkeys.”

Mum: “Well, every living being descends from a common ancestor. If it makes you feel better, you can think you descended from clams.”

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Someone’s Feeling Octopushy

, , , , | Working | June 24, 2021

I am a university freshman and I’ve just moved out of my home to study in a prestigious university. I get most of my after-lesson meals at a small Apulian sandwich shop. I usually order either a calzone and a beer or a sandwich with bologna, chard, and chickpea mousse, plus some tonic water if I felt in a healthier mood. One day, after several months, I notice that they also have an octopus, dried tomato, and olive puree sandwich. Curious, I set out to order it.

Me: “Hello. I would like a Monopoli-style sandwich and a tonic water.” 

Cashier: *Snapping around to face me* “No, we don’t have that. We haven’t had any octopus for months. Do [University] students talk to each other, or is being annoying know-it-alls toward us common mortals all they do?”

I’m taken aback and, obviously, offended. After some confused sputtering, I collect myself enough to speak up again.

Me: “Get me your manager, please.”

The cashier turns around and claps a couple of times, and the manager, a woman looking very much like the cashier, arrives.

Manager: *Blithely* “Yo, what’s going on?”

Cashier: “This guy over here wants to talk to you.”

Me: *Annoyed* “Yeah, I’d like to complain about your cashier; she’s being rude to me over a question.”

Cashier: “He asked me if we had anything with octopus! Again! It’s not my fault students from [University] keep thinking it’s like back at Daddy’s home and want everything right now.”

Me: *Bellowing somewhat* “I just asked for a sandwich, politely at that, and you blew to me—”

Manager: “Yeah, yeah. What counts as polite in your mansion isn’t polite in the real world. Now get out.”

Me: “Gladly.”

I stormed out and went out to try out the university canteen, which did prove to be pretty decent, actually. As it turned out, the university I went to had a reputation as a “gentrification machine” of unheard-before proportions, and the owners of the shop were two activist sisters doing activism against it, but, even so, was it really necessary to insult somebody for a simple question?

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Will Have To Manufacture A Phone Number

, , , , | Right | June 11, 2021

I work for an online store. I answer the phone.

Me: “Hello, this is [Online Store]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I’ve placed an order on your site, but the package hasn’t arrived yet. When will it be delivered?”

Me: “Can you please give me your order number so that I can check?”

Customer: “I don’t have any order number. Can’t you just tell me when my package is arriving?”

Me: “I would need to find your order first in order to check. Do you remember the email address you used to place the order?”

She gives me her email address. I check, but it’s not on our database.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t find any order with that email address. Did you get an email confirmation from us?”

Customer: “No. I didn’t get anything! That’s why I’m calling! I don’t even know if you guys shipped the product yet!”

Me: “I can try searching by name. Can you please give me your full name?”

She gives me her name, but there are no customers that match.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m unable to find any order with that name. What product did you buy?”

She tells me what she bought. I check again, but the last time someone bought that product was a few months ago.

Me: “I’ve found an order for [Product], but it’s from a few months ago. When did you place your order?”

Customer: “A couple of days ago.”

Me: “We haven’t received any order for [product] recently. Perhaps you didn’t fully complete your order on our website? If that’s the case, I can place the order for you.”

Customer: “Of course, I did! You guys charged my credit card for [amount].”

I check our transactions and find nothing.

Me: “I’m sorry, but we have no transactions for [amount]. Are you sure you ordered from us?”

Customer: “Yes! I’ve ordered from [Manufacturer]! That’s you!”

Me: “No, ma’am, we are not [Manufacturer]. We are just resellers.”

Customer: “But I Googled [Manufacturer] and you guys came up! Can’t you just tell me when I should expect my package?”

Me: “I’m afraid you would have to contact [Manufacturer].”

Customer: “How?”

I ended up Googling the manufacturer’s phone number myself and giving it to her.

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Any Port When They Make You An Offer You Can’t Refuse

, , , | Legal | June 10, 2021

I was in the US Navy and my ship was moored in Sicily for several days. I purchased several good brands of Cuban cigars in [Sicilian Town], and I was also carrying two or three brands of cigars from Honduras and the Dominican Republic — two other countries which produced stellar cigars. I regularly shared my smokes with my shipmates, both to share the fun and to make sure I didn’t accidentally bring contraband Cuban cigars back to the ship.

My small group of c-workers and I preferred eating and drinking in quiet, so we were trying to avoid the bars and restaurants close to the ship; American sailors are notoriously boisterous on liberty in foreign ports. We made our way far down the waterfront in [Small Sicilian Town] and stopped at a small restaurant for dinner. We chose to eat in the outdoor café area because it was a lovely evening and so we could smoke after dinner. I handed cigars out to my friends and we enjoyed some coffee and cigars in Sicily. It was an amazing night, made possible by the US Navy.

A local customer who’d been eating in the outdoor area asked me a question as we smoked. I thought he was complaining about the cigars, so I apologized and we all started to get up and leave. He waved us back to our seats with a smile, then pointed at the cigars and asked more questions. I was still having trouble with the accent — the wine I’d had with dinner probably wasn’t helping — but I definitely understood one word: “Cubano”. I guessed he was asking if we were smoking Cuban cigars, so I sat and spent the best part of a half-hour trying to communicate. With a great deal of gesturing and my poor grasp of Italian, I finally managed to tell the gentleman I had Cuban, Dominican, and Honduran cigars, and offered him one of the Cubans. He really appreciated this gesture, introduced himself, and walked with us when we left the restaurant for a nearby bar.

We sat at a corner table away from the door and ordered the usual round of beer and liquor almost all sailors indulge in. We spent most of the evening talking and smoking and drinking at this bar, which had relatively few other customers. We were joined by a couple of very pretty local women after a bit, which understandably brightened our mood. One of the young ladies spoke decent English, which made it easier to communicate with our new friend.

With the woman acting as interpreter, I drunkenly held forth on the merits of various cigar brands and showed off a couple of varieties I had in my jacket pocket. I offered [Gentleman] one particular Honduran smoke which I was particularly fond of, and he was pleased and impressed, lighting up and smoking it with pleasure. As we went to settle up with the bartender, [Gentleman] waved us away and said, through the English-speaking young lady, that he would take care of it. The bartender wished us a good night in several languages as we departed. The gentleman and the young ladies waved goodbye as we walked back toward the ship.

The next morning, I was told to report to the Command Master Chief’s office. Confused and not a little curious, I went to CMC’s office and was surprised to find my shipmates from the night before also waiting. We were hustled into the office and found the CMC talking to a local police officer, who I later learned was a member of the Carabinieri, Italy’s national police force. This did not bode well.

The Carabinieri wanted to question us because we’d been reported as being in the company of a known criminal. It turns out that [Gentleman] was a prominent figure in the local mafia, and the restaurant where we’d eaten was a known hangout for the mob. We were all pretty blown away by this news, and we freely told CMC and the Carabinieri officer everything we could remember. He eventually decided we had just been stupid and drunk, and not part of some nefarious criminal enterprise.

Our chain-of-command was extremely unhappy with us, and that restaurant was declared “Off-Limits” to all sailors for the duration of our stay. My friends and I were restricted to the ship for the rest of that port visit, and we spent a lot of that time writing reports about that evening for the ship’s security officer.

All future visits to foreign ports saw my friends and me sticking close to the ship, no matter how loud and obnoxious our shipmates were.

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