This Is Spring Rolling Down Hill

, , , , , , | Related | February 9, 2019

(My father, over the years, has taken the eating habits of a pig. I mean the like of always having some food fall on his shirt, making it a race by pushing one bite down by taking the next, open mouth, loud noises so you can actually hear him chew, slurp, smack, and all from one end to the other of the house, and so on. It’s useless to ask him to stop; he says he doesn’t hear anything or just doesn’t know how and that it’s no big deal. It drives me crazy and makes me sick. This one time took the cake. We are having Vietnamese spring rolls for dinner in a build-your-own way; all the ingredients are on the table and you just take what you want. Some items are sticky and have a spoon to serve yourself with, while others you can use your hand as long as you take what you touch. As usual, my father decides the rules don’t apply to him, so he goes in without using the spoon. He can’t just wipe the sticky sauce on a napkin or go wash in the sink. Instead, he proceeds to stick each finger in his mouth, one at a time, all the way to the base, and suck it clean, with the usual noises. Then, with his hand all wet with saliva, he moves to reach into the next dish like nothing happened. Totally grossed out, I stop him.)

Me: “Dad! No!”

Dad: “What?”

Me: “No, you just covered your fingers in saliva; don’t put it back in our common food. Go wash it first.”

Dad: “Hmpf. If you insist.”

(He does wash, but he decides to be as loud as he can since he did not like me calling him out. Since he eats super fast, he’s done first. The problem is, he has to throw his napkin and some bits that fell on him from the meal in the trash can, which is behind him. So, here we are, and he — unnecessarily — bends all the way in half, placing his butt right at the table level, almost leaning on the table, and… yes, he farts. A big, long, stinky one. On the table. Again, grossed out, I call him out on it.)

Me: “Dad! Come on! Farting at the table is bad enough, but farting on the table is disgusting and totally excessive.”

Dad: “Oh, I did? I didn’t notice.”

(He never even attempted to say sorry.)

Scratching Off Your Debt

, , , , , , | Related | January 1, 2019

(I am six years old. My father is working full time on collecting funds for charity. One of the persuasion tools they use is a scratch card, as a sort of appeal to a “gambling sense” or a “leave it to faith” kind of thing. This would convince some to give apparently, anyway. One day, the little six-year-old curious and enthusiastic learner I am, I decide to ask about the scratch card and how it works. I go to see my father.)

Me: *holding the card* “Dad, what’s this?”

Father: “This card? I’ll show you.”

(He takes it from me and points on it.)

Father: “So, this is to raise funds for [Charity]; all you have to do is pick one little circle on the card and scratch it. Give it a try; just scratch one.”

Me: “You want me to scratch one for real?”

Father: “Yes, yes for real. Go for it.”

(I scratch one circle, it says $1.70.)

Father: “All right, that will be $1.70, miss.”

(I proceed to pretend to give him money, but he gives me a stern look.)

Father: “No, you have to give me a real $1.70. You scratched it; now you have to pay it. That’s how it works.”

(I’m stunned into silence, and start panicking! I’m just a kid; I don’t have any money! I believed we were just pretending for the sake of explaining. Since he said to scratch it for real, I thought it did not matter and that we could just use it as a meaningless demonstration. I was certainly not aware we were making an actual transaction. After five seconds that are an eternity for me…)

Father: “It’s okay. I’m your father; I’ll pay it for you.”

(He went away with the card like everything was perfectly fine. Up to this day, I have no idea why he made me do it for real, knowing real money would have to be involved, and without a warning, or, why he could not simply explain with words only. But I swear I still have trust issues from the experience!)

Rage Against The Machine Is For Little Old Ladies

, , , , | Right | December 5, 2018

(I’m standing in line to buy a gift card from the ticket counter at a movie theater. There is only an older lady in front of me, while the cashier is serving another customer, as all the other patrons are using the ticket machines nearby. The lady, thinking to find a kindred soul, looks at me with a frown.)

Customer: “Ugh, machines. Nowadays everything has to be with machines!”

Me: “Well, they’re really practical for—”

Customer: “No! I don’t like using them!”

Me: “But they’re practical—”

Customer: “No!” *grumbles some more*

Me: “They’re practical for the people who can use them.”

(It’s her turn to the counter then, and I hear her grumble to the cashier. It takes some time, but eventually it’s my turn. While I wait for him to process the transaction, I comment on the old lady.)

Me: “It’s such a great thing that there are still people we can talk to!”

Cashier: “Yeah, I’ve been working in retail for a long time. I don’t question things anymore.”

Me: “I don’t think she realizes that she’d have to wait much longer if there weren’t machines.”

There Is No App For People This Stupid

, , , , , | Right | November 25, 2018

(I work in a national chain coffee shop similar to the one with the mermaid logo; we have a rewards app similar to theirs, although neither the app nor our store look the same in concept or design. A customer comes in who has been coming in pretty regularly the past couple of weeks. The first time I saw her, she recognized my boss and had a lengthy conversation with him, so it’s somewhat fair to assume she’s not unfamiliar with our cafe.)

Customer: *pulling out her phone to show me* “I have a free drink with you guys.”

Me: *instantly realizing it isn’t our application* “Um, I’m not sure that that’s our app.”

Customer: *condescendingly* “Yes, it issss!”

Me: “Are you sure? Would you mind taking it to the home page or something really quickly so I could verify?”

(The customer proceeds to exit out of the app, and I see on her screen she has the app for our competitor, which is what she presses on.)

Me: “Yeah, that’s not for this store.”

Customer: *in the same tone as before* “Yes, it issss!”

Me: “Uh, no, this is for [Competitor]. You’re at [My Cafe].”

Customer: “Yes, that’s right.”

Me: “Right, so, it doesn’t work here.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Um… Because it’s for [Competitor]. Again, we’re [My Cafe]. It doesn’t apply here.”

Customer: “Well, why not?!”

Me: *completely baffled that she hasn’t understood* “Because that’s the application for [Competitor] and it does not work here, because we are [My Cafe].”

Customer: “I don’t understand the difference!”

Me: “It’s for [Competitor], which is not our company. We are a totally separate company, completely unaffiliated with them, and we have a totally different application. Again, that’s for [Competitor], and that’s why we can’t accept it.”

Customer: “Oh! This isn’t [Competitor]?”

(She left after this. I’m still confused how she knew my boss so well and had been coming fairly consistently, yet didn’t realize this entire time that we were a totally different company. Our logos, design, concept, menu, and even colour scheme are completely different. Sadly, this is pretty common!)

In Your Hour Of Need

, , , , , , | Working | November 2, 2018

(I’m at the hardware store, speaking to a manager, since my water tank is broken and I have not heard back from the plumber.)

Me: “I’m waiting to be called by the plumber. I was told they would call within 48 hours.”

Manager: “Yeah, you have to wait for their call. There’s nothing I can do.”

Me: “But it’s been more than 48 hours.”

Manager: “No. It’s within 48 open business hours.”

Me: “Seriously?”

Manager: “Eight hours per day.”

Me: “Right, so… six days?!”

Manager: “Probably.”

Me: “But I need the tank. I have no hot water.”

Manager: “Maybe you’d like the emergency service, then? It’s $200 extra, and it’s within 24 hours.”

Me: “You mean three days?”

Manager: “Well… no. A day is 24 hours.”

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