Armed With A Single Sentence

, , , | Right | March 22, 2018

(It is a couple weeks after a shooting at a theater only two hours away from ours.)

Customer: “That ‘No Weapons Allowed’ sign is stupid. People are going to bring in guns, anyway.”

Coworker: *rips her ticket* “Maybe, but that doesn’t mean weapons are allowed, and we have security measures in place to ensure everyone’s safety. Your movie is in theater two, on your left.”

Customer: “Well, I should be allowed to bring in a gun. If someone wants to shoot up the place, I should be able to shoot them first!”

Coworker: *not wanting to get into an argument about gun control* “Theater two, on your left.”

Customer: “I have the right to come in here with a gun to defend myself and my family. It’s not right that you want me to come in here without one!”


The Kind Of Open-Carry Laws That Americans Aren’t Used To

, , , , | Right | March 20, 2018

(I work as a hostess at a restaurant and bar next to a hotel in a touristy area. Two very sweet-looking girls holding wine glasses approach the host stand.)

Customer #1: “Excuse me. Can I tell you something?”

Me: “Of course! How can I help you?”

Customer #1: “We’ve seen a lot of people leaving with glasses of alcohol. We wanted to let you guys know, so you don’t get in trouble.”

Me: “Thanks for letting us know! I’ll send someone out with go-cups for them.”

Customer #2: “What?! You mean they can just leave and drink out in the open?”

Me: *chuckles* “Welcome to New Orleans! Y’all can even get daiquiris at a drive-thru window down here.”

No One Insults Quite Like The French, Part 2

, , , , , | Friendly | March 17, 2018

(I am a Canadian on a tour of a plantation house in Louisiana. There is a man on the tour who keeps interrupting the guide with questions that are actually designed to show off his knowledge. The guide just gets a rousing story going and the man cuts him off, ruining the pace and throwing off the guide. Four rooms in, and this interrupter will not stop. Even his wife is uncomfortable with his actions.)

Guide: *low, under his breath, in French* “Oh, my God. Shut up.”

(I gasp, and he looks at me with an expression that says he’s even more shocked than I am.)

Guide: “Oh. Oh! You’re Canadian!’

(He knows this because he asked where everyone was from at the beginning of the tour.)

Me: *in French* “Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

(No one else knew what was going on for this tiny exchange, so we continued — the interrupter still showing off as best he could — but there was some French thrown in for me after some of the halting stories were done.)

No One Insults Quite Like The French

Patience Is A Virtue And She Is Not Virtuous

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 16, 2018

It’s a cold, rainy day and I’ve run out of a few necessities so I make a trip to a nearby retailer. Luck is with me because I find a parking spot that is very close, right next to the handicapped parking.

I go in, grab what I need, and hustle back out. I put my bags in the back floorboard, then climb into the back seat so that I can take off my toddler’s rain jacket without getting the backseat wet.

As I’m trying to convince my son to put down his plush toy long enough for me to take off his jacket, a car pulls up directly behind my car and puts on their blinker. I wave at the woman, letting her know that I saw her, then return to the task at hand. After removing his jacket, I strap him in and give his plush back.

When I get out to get in the driver’s seat, I realize that she has pulled up far enough that she’s boxed me in. I gesture for her to back up. Then I get into the driver’s seat, start up the car, and look in the mirror to find the woman hasn’t backed up.

I turn around, and again I gesture for her to back up. She keeps glaring and honks again, then gestures for me to back out. I shake my head because there’s not enough room.

Realizing she’s not going to move, I take a cereal bar out of my purse and pass it to my toddler to keep him happy, and then I start playing a game on my phone.

I sit there for another ten minutes that are interspersed with the woman honking, and quite possibly swearing, before she speeds around to find another spot.

Life Is Stranger Than Fiction-Writers

, , , , | Friendly | March 16, 2018

(I’m at a retreat, in the cafeteria, eating lunch at a table with a dozen people I’ve only met today. Eventually, our conversation comes around to me, and they ask me where I’m from and what I do for a living. I explain I’m in college, majoring in creative writing with a fiction concentration, and that I’m from [City #1] but living in [City #2] for school. A few people at the table want to know what living in either place is like, so a lot of their questions revolve around that. When it’s time to go to our afternoon lecture, our group breaks up. I’m on the way out the door when I pass someone who was at my table.)

Group Member: “Where are you from, exactly?”

Me: *surprised to be asked, especially after talking to him about it for at least five minutes* “[City #1], although I’m living in [City #2] for school.”

Group Member: “Wait… You weren’t just saying that? I thought you made that up.”

Me: “What? No. Why would you think that?”

Group Member: “Well, you’re a fiction writer.”

Me: “…”

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