When she was younger, my little sister was… a brat. She had to have the best clothes and the best things in life, and she was always chatting with her friends on her mobile. One morning, my mum got a text message from my sister… who was in her bedroom, three rooms away, asking for her to make her some breakfast. My mother took a breath.

Mother: *Texting* “Okay, what do you want?”

My sister responded that she wanted an egg and bacon with a muffin. My mother’s own “McMuffins” were a Sunday special in our house. So, my mother complied. She got a plate, place an unopened egg, a cold piece of bacon, and a muffin on it, walked it to my sister’s room, and placed it in front of her.

Sister: “You didn’t cook it”

Mother: “You didn’t specify!”

And she left the room. My sister never asked my mother for breakfast through a text ever again.

We’re on the train to school camp. I’m playing chess with [Classmate #1]. Meanwhile, [Classmate #2] is chatting with the homeroom teacher of another class.

Classmate #2: *Loudly* “And [Classmate #1] never does his homework.”

Classmate #1: “Huh?!”

Me: “Pot calling the kettle black!”

Classmate #2: “Ah-ha! Everyone, [My Name] is being racist! He called [Classmate #1] black!”

Me: “Oh, s***.”

I forgot that [Classmate #1] is African-American.

Me: “No! I didn’t mean it that way!”

Classmate #1: “Yeah, I know. No offence taken.”

He turns to face [Classmate #2].

Classmate #1: “What do you mean, I never hand in homework, you hypocrite? You’re the one that hands in the least amount of homework in class!”

The argument continues on for a while, but eventually, our own homeroom teacher shuts us all up. She comes up to me afterward.

Teacher: “And what’s this about you being racist?”

Me: “Nothing. It was just a badly-used phrase.”

She frowns a bit and then looks at the chessboard.

Teacher: “When we get back, I want you writing lines about not being racist.”

Me: “Why?! I’m not racist!”

Teacher: “Uh-huh.” *Picks up my queen* “Then why are you making the African-American boy play black?”

Classmate #1: “Hey, I prefer black in chess. I like going second. I chose it.”

Teacher: “Don’t worry. You don’t need to defend him. I’ll sort [My Name] out when we get back to school.”

Me: *Sighs* “I can see that I’m not winning this argument. But I insist that you talk to my father about this.”

Teacher: “Oh, I will. He needs to know that racism is intolerable and that such behaviour will not be tolerated in this school.”

She then flips around the chessboard, such that [Classmate #1] now has white.

Teacher: “And if I see you being racist to anyone ever again, I swear to God that I will find a way to drum your a** out of school faster than you can say ‘goodbye’.”

She smugly trotted off. [Classmate #1] and I sighed and continued playing.

The look on her face when she saw my father a few weeks later was priceless. I looked absurdly like my white mother, so nobody realised that my father was an African-American. Naturally, he disbelieved every single accusation of me being racist and basically ordered [Teacher] to let me off the hook.

She did that, but she always gave me the stink-eye in every homeroom. I was really glad to leave her behind when I graduated.

I arrive at the hotel where I work and check for authorizations/balances on rooms as per usual. One of our rooms, 305, shows “not authorized” for tonight. Room 305 is already on my red flag radar from a couple of nights ago. Noise complaint at 1:30 am. Local. Young. Never wear masks. Inwardly groaned when they extended their stay the first time.

I do the usual procedure. It’s late — 11:15 — so I print up a declined credit card letter, make a lockout key, and lock out the room. They’ve been up all night every night the last several days, so I don’t expect them to be in the room anyway.

Not ten minutes later, I hear a car peeling out in the parking lot, music blaring. They do two laps around the lot, screeching their tires every chance. We aren’t a very large hotel, so the parking lot is right in front of half of the rooms. I go out to confront whatever moron is doing that and waking up everyone on that side of the hotel.

I see the car park at the very end of the lot at the opposite end of the hotel. Yep. 305. Because of course, it is.

I get to them and chew them out for waking up half of my hotel at 11:30 pm.

Driver: “I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to do.”

It was, but that’s not why he’s apologizing; it’s because he got caught and called out on it. The girlfriend, who also happens to be the one to whom the room is registered, is in the passenger seat. I address her.

Me: “I just got done putting a declined letter under your door because your credit card declined. Because of all this, it’s time for you to go.”

They meekly come to the front desk.

Guest: “There’s money in the account!”

I was having none of it. I grabbed a cart and escorted them to the room. They said they’d be out in five minutes, I told them I would give them ten, and they took thirty, because of course, they did.

The girl had some snide remarks on her way out, which I didn’t respond to. That is unlike me normally, but frankly, I was just happy to be able to evict them without having to call the police to do so.

And of course, they peeled out of the parking lot as they left, which I knew they were going to do.

I’m queuing in a small store, ready to pay. In the store, there are plenty of tills and luckily not a long line, so there really is no reason for the guy behind me to start trying to push past me.

Me: “Do you want to wait your turn?”

Old Guy: “I want to pay at the till.”

Me: “Yeah, so do all of us; wait your turn.”

Old Guy: “You can pay at the self-checkouts.”

Me: “They are clearly full; if a till opens, I’m using it.”

A till opens and he tries to push me out of the way; however, I am a lot stronger than I look, so he goes nowhere.

Old Guy: “Move, you c***!”

I turn to face him. His face shows that he knows he screwed up. I look him up and down, grab sweets from his basket, and lob them over the divider.

Me: “No, you move.”

He stood there, not knowing what to do. I paid for my items. The cashier and I shared a smile and she quietly told me that he’s always here causing issues.

Related:
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 19
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 18
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 17
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 16
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 15

This is a story I heard from my senior about his boot camp sectionmate. One guy, having heard all sorts of horror stories about Potong Jalan, was desperate to avoid it. He somehow managed to get himself FIVE girlfriends, with the idea that, and I quote:

Sectionmate: “Even if one or two break up with me, I’ll still have three. No way after service I won’t have a girlfriend.”

I know, right? What a scumbag.

His plan flopped from the get-go, because all five girlfriends insisted on sending him off on his enlistment date, and when they all turned up, they realized he was five-timing them.

After the shouting match, [Sectionmate] went to his knees and begged.

Sectionmate: *Tearfully* “Please let me have all five of you.”

His harem wasn’t amused. Cue mass dumping.

Apparently, [Sectionmate] cried himself to sleep for his first week of boot camp. His platoon was all too busy laughing their guts out to console him. Even the officers were amused.

Related:
Time To Bite The Bullet, Part 3
Time To Bite The Bullet, Part 2
Time To Bite The Bullet