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Teachers Barely Make A Mint

, , , , , | Learning | June 14, 2018

(My classmate sees my teacher getting a mint out of his desk as he is asking to go the bathroom.)

Classmate: “Can I have a mint?”

Teacher: “No.”

Classmate: “Why?”

Teacher: “Because then I would have to give everyone a mint.”

Classmate: “Rock-paper-scissors, then.”

Teacher: “No.”

Classmate: “Best out of three.”

Teacher: “Just go to the bathroom.”

Classmate: *as he is walking out of the room, yells* “[Teacher] has mints!”

(Everyone stares at the teacher.)

Teacher: “D*** it, [Classmate]!”

Making Of A Murderer

, , , , , , | Related | June 14, 2018

(My brother, who is months away from adulthood, is trying to confront my mum on the issue of her regularly employing emotional blackmail to get him to do what she wants. It has made him miserable enough that it’s impacted his morale and made him less willing to study, not more. He decides to bring it up with her. My dad and I are in the same room, although we’ve mostly been quiet so that he can do the talking on his own behalf. I have seen enough of these “interventions” with my mum to know that unless my brother is willing to firmly enforce the boundaries he’s trying to set, any change in behaviour from my mum will be lucky to last a week. As such, although I’ve always tried to encourage my brother to stand his ground, I have grown rather weary and cynical towards these family meetings, and I’ve particularly run out of patience for my mum’s excuses or “defenses.” At this point, they have been discussing and arguing, practically in circles, for at least half an hour now.)

Brother: “The thing that I really hate, Mum, is when you threaten to call up my friends and teachers when you think I’m playing too much or not studying hard enough, or whatever. It’s really hurtful.”

Dad: *in disbelief* “No… Really? Seriously, [Mum], you can’t be doing this; he’s almost 18!”

Me: “Mhm.”

Brother: “Yes! And she’s actually gone through with it, too, when I tried calling her bluff; she actually picks up the phone and starts calling them.”

Mum: *indignant* “You’re making things out to be so much worse than they really are! How many times have I done that, [Brother]? Was it every time? Was it every day?”

Brother: *groans in frustration* “No, but—”

(With that, my patience is out. I have run out of f***s to give.)

Me: *rolls eyes* “Oh, gee, Your Honour, I know I’m facing murder charges, but let’s look at the facts here: it’s not like I killed someone every day, so can you really call me a murderer? I mean, fair’s fair.”

(My brother has his head in his hands. My dad tries to shush me and stifle a chuckle at the same time and is rather unsuccessful in both endeavours. My mum makes a point of ignoring me. She regains composure and tries again, a little quieter this time.)

Mum: *deliberately not looking at me and addressing only my brother* “Tell me, [Brother], did I do that today?”

Me: *throwing my hands up dramatically* “Oh, Your Honour! The unfairness of it all! Okay, so maybe I did kill some people in the past month, but Christ, give me some credit! I didn’t kill anyone today, did I?!”

(My dad lost it and collapsed into a fit of giggles while my brother just about threw his hands in the air. I don’t think much progress was ultimately achieved that day. I may have been a bit unhelpful in that regard. Oops.)

Imagine If His Numbers Came Up That Night?

, , , , | Right | June 14, 2018

(One day, an older gentleman has a medical issue causing him to lose control of his vehicle. After he loses control, his truck jumps the sidewalk, barrels through our parking lot, and crashes through one of our large windows. There is now gasoline leaking from his car throughout the store, and the crash knocked out the electricity and knocked over a large section of shelving. This conversation happens while they are pulling his truck out of the building.)

Regular: “Are you guys open?”

Me: *looks over at the ambulances, fire truck, and large tow truck, and then at the large truck jutting out from the store* “No, we can’t even enter the store to get our personal items.”

Regular: “Are you sure? I really need my lottery.”

(The older gentlemen was fine besides getting a broken ring and pinky finger, and no customers were in the store besides, luckily, an off-duty EMT.)

A Vertical Slice Of Bad Customers

, , , | Right | June 14, 2018

(I’m delivering a pizza. At the time, the standard tip is $1 to $3. Also, for safety reasons, we only carry about $20 in small bills for change.)

Me: *starting my standard spiel as the door opens* “Good evening. Your order comes to…”

(Instead of an adult, a little boy of about three has answered. He’s got a bunch of money in one of his fists.)

Mother: *from far side of apartment* “Give him the money, sweetie.”

(The boy holds up his fist with the money, and I take it from him. With bills and coins, the amount he’s given me is the exact total; no tip is included.)

Me: *not wanting to give a hot pizza to a little child* “Ma’am, do you want to come get this?”

Mother: “No, give it to [Boy]. He can handle it.”

(I hand the pizza to the boy as carefully as I can. He turns away, holding the pizza vertically, and the door closes. I resign myself to getting no tip; it happens.)

Mother: *opening door as I’m walking away* “Oh, wait! Do you have change for a $20?”

Me: *thinking she’s going to tip me from breaking her $20* “Sure, ma’am. Here’s 5, 10, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20.”

Mother: *recounts change* “Okay, thanks! Bye!” *closes door without tipping*

(I then had to continue to my next delivery without any change, and without a tip.)

Leaked Their Scam

, , , , , | Right | June 13, 2018

(In early 2012, I’m selling my PT Cruiser as part of getting ready to take a job in Japan. I have had a woman test the car and am getting ready to turn it over to her, but her husband decides to do one last check.)

Husband: “Well, you have an oil leak, so I can’t take it for the asking price. I will pay you [less than half what I am asking].”

Me: *knowing that my car consumes barely any oil at all, much less enough to account for a leak* “Where’s this leak?”

Husband: “Right there, see? And there.” *points out a couple of wet spots on the parking lot under my car*

Me: *now uncertain* “Well, my garage never mentioned an oil leak; let me have it checked out again and I’ll get back to you.”

Husband: “They’re just going to say what you want to hear. Take my offer or leave it.”

Me: “Okay, bye.”

(He gives a surprised expression and I leave. I am living with my parents in the lead-up to leaving and my father has this to say.)

Father: “I know for a fact you don’t have a leak. If you did, we’d have oil stains in the driveway.”

(I eventually sold it to a national used car chain for slightly less than my asking, because the only thing wrong with it was cosmetic damage. It was in better shape than most Cruisers its age.)