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They’re Just Wasting Paper

, , , , | Friendly | May 26, 2022

I was in need of lodging for just a few months while working on a project a day’s travel from home. Because the town was booming, empty apartments were unheard of and most people had a couple of roomies in each bedroom plus a couple in the living room. I was thrilled to find a sole tenant looking to fill his second bedroom. It was a nice building, nice location, AND fair rent, so I jumped on the opportunity.

When I arrived with my stuff, there was an eviction notice on the door. My new roomie told me it was nothing to worry about. He said he had been a couple of days late with the rent and the building manager overreacted. That sounded okay.

As I settled in over the next few days, I got to know [Roomie] a bit and learned he was on his first-ever job, making more than double minimum wage for doing almost nothing. Lucky? No, his dad had pulled strings to get him the job. Good for him.

I also noticed that [Roomie] seemed to take every opportunity to waste money. He had the nicest leather couch I’d ever seen. Several designer sunglasses boxes lay around, each sporting a price tag of about $300. He said he just kept scratching them and needing new ones. He had a huge, artistic blown glass bong that he proudly said cost $750. The fridge was full of rotting takeout, yet every night he ordered more because he found leftovers unappetizing. He’d order enough for several people and stuff the extra in the fridge, never to be touched again until I threw it out for being too moldy.

Between his easy work, with not just great pay but many chances to work overtime shifts at double rate, and his constant squandering, he certainly didn’t seem like someone on the brink of homelessness.

But a week after I moved in, there was another eviction notice. And a week later, another.

I went to speak with the building manager myself to find out what was really going on. Turns out [Roomie] hadn’t paid a cent in months! She told me not to be afraid; if he got kicked out, I could keep staying, as she didn’t want the fuss of looking too hard for a new tenant. So, relieved of the anxiety that my own fate was at stake, I continued watching as merely a curious observer and slight friend.

I tried to gently encourage frugal choices. I suggested to [Roomie] that he might do the same when I was cooking up a big pot of stew and putting it in Tupperware for my week’s meals. When he’d announce he was ordering pizza, I’d suggest he eat last night’s. I even asked him directly if he wanted help planning a budget. But he just waved it all off, insisting that he would be fine.

The eviction notices kept coming about weekly. They stopped demanding that he pay back rent OR move out and started demanding that he be gone by a deadline. Starting a month before the deadline, the notices began to include threats that if he was not gone by then, his belongings would be moved out for him.

He kept telling me it was fine, he had a plan, he had things under control, and she didn’t mean any of it.

One day, I had just gotten to bed after a long shift when I heard a pitiful gasping, sniffling sound from the kitchen and then my name whimpered meekly. I ran out to find [Roomie] white as a sheet, doubled over as if gut-shot, holding himself up by clutching the counter. I could tell his denial had cracked and he finally was facing what a mess he’d made of his finances.

Hyperventilating, he gasped my name twice more, and then, right before he began to cry, he said, “She’s kicking me out! I never saw it coming!”

Never. Saw. It. Coming.

What Year Did He Pop Out Of?

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: Shroom_Toad | May 25, 2022

I’m a woman in my twenties and I work for a restaurant, delivering food. This is the first delivery of my shift — $44 worth of food, fresh, hot, and ready. I pull up to the customer’s house, grab the food, walk up to the door, and knock.

The customer opens the door. It’s a man who appears to be anywhere between thirty-five and forty-five.

Me: “Good evening! How are you tonight, sir?”

Customer: “I’m all right. How about you?”

Me: “Pretty good, thank you!”

I check the receipt real quick, because it’s an unpaid order, and turn back to him.

Me: “It looks like it’s going to be… $44.62!”

He starts to stick his hand out to give me what I am expecting to be cash, but I have to stop him because I realize he is trying to hand me a paper check.

Me: “Err, I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think we can take checks.”

Customer: “Really? But I’ve paid with checks all my life. It’s never been an issue before.”

Me: “I understand. Give me a second to check with my manager, but do you have any cash or a card on hand by any chance?”

Customer: “No… all my cash is in the bank. I have a card but there’s nothing on it.”

That explanation doesn’t make sense to me; how can you have a bank account with cash in it but a card with nothing on it? But I don’t question him about it.

Me: “All righty, give me just a few minutes, then.”

I call our store, but they are all busy, so I text our work group chat asking if we can take checks. A few minutes go by, and I get an answer from one of our managers, who says we can’t unless it’s a business check. Personal checks don’t work with our computer systems.

Me: “Sorry, sir, it looks like we aren’t able to take checks—”

His tune completely changed as soon as the words left my mouth. He went from being polite to all of a sudden, “Okay… bye.” And he slammed the door in my face. I took his order back to the store.

That Would Be A Mis-Steak, Part 4

, , , , | Right | May 25, 2022

I work the meat counter at a grocery store. An older man comes to the counter with two younger women.

Customer: “We need three steaks! The best you got!”

Me: “Well, it’s a great price on the strips this week.”

Customer: *Putting his arms around the women* “Look, I don’t need a d*** discount! Give me the best steaks you have! Spare no expense!”

Me: “Filet mignon is always a good bet.”

Customer: “Now you get it! Three of those!”

I wrap them up.

Customer: “H*** yeah! We are balling out tonight!”

A few minutes later a cashier comes back with the steaks.

Cashier: “His card was declined.”

That Would Be A Mis-Steak, Part 3
That Would Be A Mis-Steak, Part 2
That Would Be A Mis-Steak

Friend-To-Friend Exchange Rates Are Getting Bad

, , | Friendly | May 24, 2022

I was visiting my friend to help with something. I was actively busy playing with her little girls while she cleaned up some stuff when she suddenly showed up to ask me a question.

Friend: “I don’t suppose you want to buy some quarters?”

Me: “Not really, no. I try not to carry any change.”

Friend: “I could sell you ten for twenty bucks.”

Me: “Oh, well, that’s such a bargain, I’d be a fool to say no!”

Friend: “Yeah, I’m willing to sell them at a discount to get rid of them.”

She eventually realized the cause of my sarcasm and clarified that they were collector coins — worth more than twenty dollars. She had been planning to give them as a gift to a friend but for some reason had changed her mind. She was offering them to me to avoid the hassle of reselling them through proper channels.

I still turned her down. I don’t want the hassle of figuring out how to resell them, either.

Was The Book “Bartering For Dummies”?

, , , , , , , | Right | May 23, 2022

It’s approximately 5:30 on a Saturday night — about thirty minutes before we close. I’m alone at the counter while my only other coworker is in the shelves tidying things up. Two teenage boys come in, one wearing what appears to be a band uniform consisting of a black button-up, black slacks, and a silver tie. It strikes me as a little odd, but I don’t really think anything of it.

About ten minutes later, the boy comes up to the counter with a book in his hand.

Boy: “Yeah, so… I don’t have any money, but what about—” *slowly places an unopened can of soda on the counter* “—you take this?”

Me: “Sorry, mate, no can do.”

Boy: “Oh. That’s okay. I’ll just go put it back.”

Me: *Holding back laughter* “Sure thing.”

Boy: “Did you, uh… want the soda anyway?”

Me: “Sure…? Why not? Thanks, mate.”

He proceeds to hand over the soda and I put it behind the counter. [Boy] wanders back into the shelves, followed by his friend. Five or so minutes later, he leaves with his friend. Then, my coworker comes wandering up, clutching another can of soda with a confused expression on his face.

Coworker: “Did he…?”

Me: “Yup.”

Coworker: “Did you…?”

Me: “Nope.”

Coworker: “But you…?”

Me: *Holding up my own can* “Yup.”