I was deployed to Louisiana as a volunteer disaster responder after Hurricane Katrina. The damage was so great, and the media coverage so thorough, that an unprecedented number of people volunteered for the first time to come down south and help out.

My job at the time was shuttle driver; I ferried volunteers and their luggage back and forth from the headquarters building and the local airport. Quite late one evening, I was called to pick up a young college student whose flight had just arrived.

When I got to the airport, she was standing next to an older woman who, as it turned out, was her mother. This woman got in a car and followed us to the HQ, followed us INTO the HQ, and then tagged after us while I signed in the new volunteer and showed her where she would be sleeping.  

Mom took one look at the sleeping room — three rows of snoring volunteers on rickety cots or on blankets on the floor — and hit the roof.

Mom: *Hissing* “You are not staying here!”

She grabbed her daughter by the arm and frog-marched her back out to the car.

This woman — upon learning that her lovely child had signed up to do relief work — had driven down to Louisiana from Ohio in her car, timing it so that she could meet her daughter’s plane and check us out.

I guess we didn’t pass muster. I felt so sorry for the girl; I wonder if she ever managed to get out from under Mom’s thumb.

My mother is the type that claims she needs a cup of coffee a day to function; however, she also has a mildly annoying habit of putting her cup down somewhere around the house and completely forgetting about it. Sometimes, she’ll remember it again hours later and go hunt it down. Other times, either I or my dad will stumble upon it and ask her about it. This particular event involves the latter. It is late afternoon on a weekend.

Mom: “[My Name], have you seen my coffee today?”

Me: “No? Not since you made it this morning, at least.”

Mom: “D***, I swear I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it.”

There’s a pause as we look at each other.

Me: “Fine, I’ll help you look for it.”

Mom: “Thank you!”

We both spend a good chunk of time roaming around the house looking for her mug. My dad even joins in for a bit, but we have no luck finding it at all and my mom is completely bummed out.

Mom: “Well, this sucks! That mug was a gift from [Best Friend]. I really liked it.”

Dad: “At least we know it’s in the house somewhere.“

Fast forward about an hour. I decide to warm up some leftovers for dinner. I open up the microwave, and I think you can guess what I find.

Me: *Yelling* “Mom! I found your stupid mug!”

Mom: “What? Where?!”

Me: “You left it in the microwave.”

Mom: “Oh.”

Turned out, she had already forgotten and remembered it once that morning. She’d gone to rewarm it but got sidetracked before she could even turn the microwave on. She, of course, promptly forgot about it again along with exactly where she had left it, leading us on a wild goose chase around the house for it. Every time I see her poking around the house for coffee now, I can’t help but tell her, “Don’t forget the microwave!”

My mother and her best friend decide to go shopping at a local strip mall and force me to go along with them.

Our first stop is a somewhat more upscale shoe store. Given that I’m really not a fan of clothes shopping and the minor health issues I have involving my feet, I quickly find a place to sit in one of the less busy parts of the store when a middle-aged man walks up to me.

Man: “Hey, do you work here?”

It takes me a second to process his question, all the employees I’ve seen walking about are wearing nametags and business casual attire. Meanwhile, I’m wearing a band tee, ripped jeans, and a mask with vampire fangs on it while just sitting on a bench playing on my phone.

Me: “Uh, no. No, I don’t.”

Man: “Oh, well, you should!“

I just sat there, wondering what he meant by that, as he wandered away.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 40
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 39
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 38
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 37
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 36

I’m driving back from the first day of my first ever job. As I’m sixteen, I’m still a very new driver. Between both of my parents having their own cars, their own work schedules, and the fact that we have a very narrow driveway, we have to shuffle cars around a lot in the evening so we aren’t getting up earlier in the morning. 

I call my dad via the hands-free option on my car when I’m only a few minutes out so he isn’t scrambling to come out to move his car for me.

Dad: “Oh, you’re calling me for this? Why don’t you just text me like your mother?”

Me: “…”

Dad: “Never mind, I’ll be ready when you get here.” *Click*

In my mother’s defense, she has a smartwatch she uses speech-to-text on, but still!

Every few weeks, [Friend #1], [Friend #2], [Friend #3], and I plan little outings to catch up. This week is my turn to plan. [Friend 1#] tells me that [Friend #4] wants to go. I agree, even though I barely know him, because it brings the cost down and he seems like a nice guy. Before booking and paying, I send out a mass text.

Me: “Hi, all! The total for our adventure is $1,000. With all five of us, it’s $200 each. Is that okay with everyone or should we look for something smaller?”

The first three friends agree that it’s okay. [Friend #4] doesn’t respond. I wait for a full day before contacting him directly.

Me: “Are you good for $200 for [event]?”

Friend #4: “K.”

Me: “Okay, I’m gonna book it. You can pay me there.”

Friend #4: “I said OK.”

The day of the event comes and we all gather at my house. My first three friends have cash in hand, but [Friend #4] shows up empty-handed. I pull him aside. 

Me: *Quietly* “Hey, do you have your money?”

Friend #4: “No.”

Me: “I told you it’s $200 to go out today.”

Friend #4: “I don’t have that kind of money.”

Me: *Frustrated* “So why did you tell me you were good? I asked—”

Friend #4: “You said I could go.”

Me: “If you pay.”

Friend #4: “You didn’t say that. You invited me out and now you expect me to pay?”

Me: *Sigh* “If we cover you, can you pay us back?”

Friend #4: “You already paid for everything, right? It’s not a lot more if you—”

Me: “No. You pay or you don’t go.”

Friend #4: “I drove all the way here and you aren’t going to let me go?”

I shrug.

Friend #4: “F*** you!”

I’m one of those people who laugh when they get mad, like now.

Me: “Get the f*** out of here.”

Friend #4: “You know what? I heard you were a c***, but I gave you the benefit. Now I see he was right. You’re f****** white-a** trash. F*** you!”

I tell our friends what happened. [Friend #1] shakes his head. 

Friend #1: “I’m sorry, [My Name]. He has money; he just doesn’t like to spend it. He pulled the same s*** at dinner the other night.”

Me: “Well… thanks for being so flexible. But if any of you ask if [Friend #4] can come with us again, my answer is no.”

My friends all pitched in to help cover [Friend #4]’s absence. He tried to wedge his way into another event a few weeks later, but I shut him down without hesitation.