Quite Fluffy About What’s In Her Coffee

, , , , , | Related | June 26, 2018

(My sister is drinking a coffee she’s left sitting for a few hours. She looks in the mug.)

Sister: “Wow, there’s a lot of fluff in here.”

(She sits there, mulling over her options.)

Sister: “Maybe if I stir it in, it’ll sink the bottom.”

(I watched in horror as she happily stirred and drank her dust-and-cat-hair coffee. I really hope one of us is adopted.)

A Sixth Sense That It’s The Sixth Month

, , , , , , | Healthy | June 21, 2018

(I have a bad cold and need a medical certificate for work. I go to the walk-in clinic in my area, and the receptionist asks for my public health care card. I pass it to her.)

Receptionist: “Do you have a current one?”

Me: “Isn’t that current?”

Receptionist: “It’s expired; I can’t accept it.”

Me: “What? I haven’t gotten a new one yet.”

Receptionist: *she flips it around to show me, and taps on the expiry date*

Me: “Um, that’s not expired.”

Receptionist: *she taps it again*

Me: “That says 07-18.”

Receptionist: “Yep.”

Me: “It’s June.”

Receptionist: “Yep.”

Me: “June is the sixth month.”

Receptionist: “Wait.” *she checks something on her computer* “SO IT IS! Okay, the wait is currently half an hour; take a seat and we will call you when you’re up!”

Me: “Thanks.”

Receptionist: “And keep an eye out in the mail for your new card!”

Me: “I will!”

Acting Like The First Three Letters From “Assume”

, , , , , | Friendly | June 20, 2018

(I’m walking my dog in the park, when I get hit in the back of my head. I turn around.)

Woman: “NEVER ASSUME, YOU BI— Oh, wrong person.”

(She then trots away like nothing happened. I am standing there in shock of the spontaneous attack.)

Me: “Did she just assume I was someone else, and then yell at me for assuming?”

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.)


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Someone Grassed Up The Wrong Tenant

, , , , | Working | June 13, 2018

(We rent through an agency, and a year ago our property manager moved on to a different agency. We have a new property manager who is very demanding, but not so great at listening. I receive a phone call from her. It’s worth noting that I live in an old terraced house, so I have no front yard, my fence is about three steps from my front door, and the entire area is paved.)

Me: “Hello.”

Property Manager: Hi, [My Name], it’s [Property Manager]. Look, I’ll be blunt, we’ve had several complaints about the state of your front yard and we need to sort it out ASAP.”

Me: “My front yard?”

Property Manager: “Yes.”

Me: “What about it?

Property Manager: “Grass not mowed and being at knee height is the main complaint; I want to remind you that a condition of your tenancy is garden intermittence.”

Me: “This is [My Name], from [my address]; I think you have the wrong tenant.”

Property Manager: “Excuse me? I thought it would be nice to give you a heads up before I put in an official letter, for you to do the right thing. I know who you are, and I know which house this is; I’ve driven past and I can see for myself that your yard is not maintained.”

Me: “[My address] is a terrace. I don’t have grass.”

Property Manager: “This is [My Name] from [my address], yes?”

Me: “Yes.”

Property Manager: “Then I have the right house.”

Me: “I think something has gotten very jumbled here. I don’t have a front yard or grass; I have a small paved area with no greenery at all.”

Property Manager: “I drove past the property yesterday.”

Me: “Right… Okay. I’m just saying, you might want to double-check. Thank you. Have a good day.”

(A week letter, I got an official warning about my grass in the mail. I ended up emailing a picture of the warning letter, held up in front of my “front yard,” and a summary of the phone call to the rentals manager. I received a lovely apology from the rentals manager, and a gift card.

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