, , , , , , | Working | December 5, 2017

(Our vacuum cleaner has died on us, so my dad and I go shopping for a new one. We go to an appliance store. I’m a young teen at the time. A salesperson starts showing us various models.)

Salesperson: “And here we have a Sauber.”

Me: “Huh. German for ‘clean,’ right?”

Salesperson: “Yeah. You speak German?”

Me: “Not fluently, but decently well.”

Salesperson: “Dein Vater is doof.” (“Your father is stupid.”)

(He then winks at me, like I should find him hilarious. I don’t.)

Me: “So does my Dad.”

Dad: “Ich möchte zu dein Geschäftsführer sprachen, bitte.” (“I would like to talk to your manager, please.”)

(We had a lovely talk with the manager about employees who like to call their customers stupid, especially to their own kids, even if they’re doing it in another language. We went elsewhere to buy our new vacuum, so I don’t know what happened after, but I can’t imagine that the employee stayed long at his job.)

Buy To Let To Bullet

, , , , , , | Related | December 4, 2017

My dad told me this story. When he was a kid, the family moved to a new house. After living there about three months, he distinctly remembers that one night they heard a loud bang, and the next morning, he and his siblings found a bullet hole in the mailbox. It was a great mystery for all the children as they wondered why a random person would shoot at their mailbox.

The mystery went unsolved. More than 40 years later, my grandfather developed rapid-onset dementia and had to be put in aged care. As my dad and my uncle went through his paperwork and belongings, trying to sort everything out, they came across several old documents which shed light on some interesting events that occurred at the time of his family’s move.

My grandfather, despite being a Catholic and never missing a Sunday mass, was not a very nice man. When my grandfather sold the previous property, a farmhouse, before moving to the new one, he deliberately neglected to tell the new owner of the farmhouse that the small piece of land in front of the house — the only entrance to get into the driveway — was actually private property. My grandfather had bought it from the council some years back and now owned it, and he didn’t sell that tiny bit of land to the new owner.

He then, after the sale of the house was finalised, informed the new owner that that piece of land was his, and that he’d give permission for the new owner to use it — essentially, to drive through it to reach their driveway — for a sum of $500 per year, which would be about $3000 in today’s money.

Forty years later, my dad finally understood the bullet-hole in the mailbox.


, , , , , | Right | November 30, 2017

Customer: “How old are you?”

Me: “Sorry?”

Customer: “How old are you? You couldn’t be more than 25.”

Me: “I’m 22; why?”

Customer: “If you are 22, then why are you wearing a watch?”

Me: “Because I like my watch.”

Customer: *rolls his eyes* “Oh, are you one of those stupid hipsters who thinks you’re too good to look at your phone, or something? Seriously, they shouldn’t hire hipsters.”

Me: “Sir, I wear this watch because it was given to me by somebody I care about. I don’t see how wearing a watch is an issue.”

Customer: “I’m sick of hipsters thinking they’re better than everybody else. If you’re not a hipster, then tell people.”

(After customer leaves.)

Customer #2: “Did you really just get in trouble for wearing a watch?”

Me: “I think so.”

Customer #2: “I wonder what he would say if he saw my brother’s pocket watch.”

Has An Intolerance For Those With An Intolerance

, , , , , | Working | November 19, 2017

(I stop in to a cafe on the way to work. On their board they state milk options as “Regular, skim, lactose-free, soy, and almond.” I always order the same thing, every morning, without issue. Today I see a new face at the register.)

Me: “Can I get a small cappuccino with lactose-free milk, please?”

Cashier: “Just to let you know, lactose-free milk is cow’s milk.”

Me: “I know.”

Cashier: “It’s not vegan suitable.”

Me: “I’m not vegan.”

Cashier: “So, regular milk?”

Me: “No, lactose-free.”

Cashier: “It’s a 20c surcharge.”

Me: “I know.”

Cashier: “Are you sure? It’s pretty much the same as regular milk.”

Me: “I’m very sure.”

(I pay, give my name, then stand and wait. I see the usual barista come over to the cashier and say something, and I hear:)

Barista: “No, no, she’s always lactose-free milk.” *looks up at me* “The usual? Yeah?”

Me: “Yes.”

Barista: *turns back to the cashier* “Always note down the correct milk they request, especially if you’ve charged them the surcharge!”

(I’ve decided that if he tries to give me regular again, I’m going to give him a lengthy explanation of IBS. I’m sure he will enjoy that at 8:00 in the morning.)

Grandma Had A Pet Name

, , , , , | Right | November 2, 2017

(I work in a pet mortuary with a very obvious name that also services local veterinary offices.)

Caller: “Hello, is this [Pet Mortuary]?”

Me: “Yes, how can I help you?”

Caller: “Yeah, I was calling because I need to get a cremation done.”

Me: “Okay, what’s the pet’s name?”

Caller: “Grandma.”

(This is not unusual; people have called in before with pets named “Mama” or “Bro.” The caller proceeds to have an outpouring of emotion about how much they’re gonna miss Grandma, going on near ten minutes. Eventually, I am able to get a word in edgewise.)

Me: “Okay, sir, what kind of pet did you say this was?”

Caller: “Pet? No! I need to cremate my grandmother!”

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