Your Intentions Are Stronger Than A Crane Hand

, , , , , , | Hopeless | April 11, 2018

(I’m pretty good with crane games, and I play them anytime I go to a certain store. I put a couple dollars into a machine one day and win three plush toys: a popular superhero and two of his villains. As I’m waiting for my mom and sister to catch up to me, a man with three young boys walk out of the store.)

Boy #1: *pointing at me* “Oh, look! She’s got [Superhero] and [Villain #1] and [Villain #2]!”

Boy #2: *excitedly pointing at the machine* “She got ’em outta there!”

Boy #3: *tugs his dad’s sleeve* “Daddy, can you win us something? I want [Villain #1]! He’s my favorite!”

Boys’ Dad: *sighs* “I can try. I never can win anything out of those things.”

Me: *holding out the toys* “Here. Take them.”

Boys’ Dad: “Are you sure?”

Me: *nodding* “Oh, yeah. Take them. I’ve got loads of stuff like this at home because I play those games so much. Honestly, my mom would probably appreciate you taking them with you.”

(As I say this, my mom and sister have finally caught up to me.)

Mom: *sighs* “Really, [My Name]? Why do you keep playing those things? You’ve got more stuffed toys than you can shake a stick at.”

Me: *grinning* “See? I told you she would want you to take them.”

Boys: *each grabbing a toy* “YAY! Thank you!”

Boys’ Dad: “Thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.”

Mom: “No, thank you! She’s won so many stuffed animals and things out of those machines that it’s ridiculous. Thank you for keeping them out of my house.”

(I don’t carry cash on me these days, but for the next six or so years after that I would give any toys I won to nearby children to keep from driving my mom crazy.)

Mouth Wide Shut

, , , | Healthy | December 11, 2017

(For some reason, all of my baby teeth didn’t come out on their own, so at 13 I had to have all four of my canines removed. The dentist removes the ones on the left side without issue and I go back a few weeks later to have the ones on the right removed. The bottom one comes out easily enough but when the dentist tries to pull out the top one, he winds up roughly yanking my head forward.)

Me: *yelps but keeps mouth open* “Ow! That hurt!”

Dentist: *grasps my tooth again and tries to wiggle it* “Hmm, looks like it’s still got the root. That’s weird.”

Me: “Does it need cutting out?”

Dentist: “Nah, it just means you have to open your mouth wider.”

Me: *frowning* “It doesn’t get wider than that.”

Dentist: “Sure, you can.”

(He then proceeds to put one hand in my mouth and tries to force my mouth open wider than is physically possible. My jaw makes a loud, clicking sort of pop as he does and I shout in pain then, without thinking, I bite down on his hand. HARD. He screams and he and his assistant pry my mouth open. I’m given another shot of Novocaine and he finally RIPS my tooth out. He gives me the tooth as a souvenir and his assistant packs the holes in my mouth then sends me on my way. I can’t get out to my mom out fast enough and refuse to let her schedule a follow-up or the cleaning I’m due.)

Mom: *as we’re getting in the car* “What was that screaming? Was that you?”

Me: “Nope, I bit the dentist. And I bit him good, too.”

Mom: *shocked* “Oh, my god, [My Name]! Why?!”

(I relate what happened and she stares at me with her mouth hanging open.)

Mom: *muttering as we drive off* “We are NOT coming back here. Ever. And I’m telling everyone I know to never come here.”

(About a year later the dentist closed his practice.)