Not What They Mean When They Say To Hand Out Your Resumé

, , , , | Legal | September 1, 2018

Sadly, this is a story about my son. A few years ago he broke into a home, and loaded items into his backpack and left. Sadly for him, luckily for the police, when putting items in the backpack, he removed some papers to make room.

The papers?

Copies of his resumé with full name and contact information.

Wronged By Squatter’s Rights

, , , , , | Legal | August 22, 2018

(I live in a dense and popular neighbourhood where a lot of gentrification has been going on — old houses coming down and flashier new ones going up. I live next to a house which has been gutted in preparation for tearing it down. It is locked, since it is really old and the floors are collapsing, so it is very unsafe to go inside. I have detailed knowledge of the house structure and condition, since one of my cats constantly climbs up on the roof. We have to get a climbing crew in to get him down, since he only has one eye and no depth-perception, so he gets scared to come down. We do this about once a week. One day, I look out of my window and see a man forcing the way in with a crowbar. That door is about three metres from my window, so I see it very clearly. I call the police:)

Me: “I am calling to report someone breaking in into my neighbour’s house.”

Police Officer: “And how do you know he us breaking in and not just going in regularly?”

Me: “Well, you know when you watch someone breaking into a house in a movie? They do not have to caption what is happening for you to know.”

Police Officer: “Well, I would not like to come over and then have that be a good friend of the owner.”

Me: “He is opening the door with a crowbar.”

Police Officer: “Maybe he has the permission of the owner?”

(I do not recall what I said, but I managed to convince them to come out. They did come out, but by that time the wannabe squatter was inside and had closed the door behind him. The police stood around idly for a few minutes and decided all was good. I did not want to come out because I was scared the squatter might be aggressive, so I just seethed from my window. Apparently, somebody else called them again and they came out and so did the owner. They went in and took the squatter outside, and I could hear the discussion. The squatter saying it was open, and the policemen kept saying they had no clue who the real owner was, the squatter or the owner, and “they were not the court to decide that.” Having had enough, I went outside and told them that I saw him open the door with the crowbar and that I knew for certain that the door was locked because otherwise I would go and take my cat down on foot and not call climber crews every week. The police, however, just shrugged and moved on. The owner gave the squatter a look and told him that the house would be coming down in a few days, with or without him in it. After that, I always tell people not to be afraid someone will rob their home, but rather that someone would just come in and not leave.)

About To Go (Mark Of The) Beast-Mode On Your Neighbor

, , , , , | Friendly | July 12, 2018

(My neighbor and I have a long-seeded history of hate for one another. It started with her giving me snarky remarks about weaning my son from his bottle at ten months old and escalated from there. I am sitting on my other neighbor’s deck, just talking to [Neighbor #1]. The neighbor I do not like, [Neighbor #2], walks up and just butts into the conversation. My husband starts bringing my son over so I call out:)

Me: “Yay, here comes [Son]!”

(His name happens to be the same name as the kid from “The Omen.”)

Neighbor #2: “Oh, lord! Please tell me that’s not your child’s name! Don’t take this the wrong way, but anyone with the name ‘[Son]’ belongs in Hell with all the demons and Satan himself! I knew a ‘[Son]’ once and he was the absolute worst person I have ever met in my life! You’ve condemned your child to a life of Hell! He will rot in Hell with the rest of his kind.”

(I was absolutely the maddest I have ever been, but I somehow worked up the strength to walk away. She told me my two-year-old son belonged in Hell with Satan just because of his name, and I wasn’t supposed to take that the wrong way?)

Your Eyesight Is Poop

, , , , , | Friendly | June 22, 2018

(We have just gotten a new puppy and we are working on potty training, as it’s a new environment and new people. Understandably, she’s been under a lot of stress and has had a few accidents in the house. But after a few accident-free days, she gets the runs in the house and as we are working on potty training, we still take her out. Today, I have been up since six am cleaning up accidents and Googling how to make her feel better ,until about seven when I try taking her out again. She squats, but nothing comes out so we just walk away.)

Random Neighbor: *on his balcony* “HEY! I SAW YOU! PICK UP YOUR POOP!”

Me: “There is literally nothing to pick up! What do you want me to do?”

Random Neighbor: “PICK IT UP!”

(I walk back with a baggie and pretend to pick up poop, since there’s nothing there.)

Random Neighbor: “See, was that so hard!”

Me: “…?”

(Seriously, I get it. We all want a clean, poop-free park. But unless you are the poop police, and you are going to come down and take pictures of said poop as evidence, maybe don’t shout at people at seven am!)


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Motorpsycho

, , , , | Friendly | June 22, 2018

(My family lives in a typically quiet residential neighborhood. However, one of our neighbors owns a motorcycle, and feels that it is entirely appropriate to race the motorcycle up and down the various streets, gunning the engine as loudly as he can, at any time of day. He’s not going anywhere in particular, just driving around in loops and up and down the streets. One day, our family is having an outdoor barbecue in our front yard when we hear the motorcyclist coming from around the corner. Right as he does, a plastic bag that has blown away from the party suddenly gets caught by the breeze and spins up into the air in front of the motorcycle. He swerves, and ends up skidding into the drainage ditch on the far side of the street. Several of the adults run to help, including my mother.)

Mother: “Oh, my gosh! Are you all right?”

Motorcyclist: “F*** OFF, C***!”

(He tries to stand up and take a swing at her, forcing her to step back, before he suddenly falls down and grabs his leg.)

Motorcyclist: “F****** b****! Look what you did! F***!”

(He continued swearing, even after 911 was called, right up until an ambulance showed up. When it did, he tried to get up again and hobbled away, swearing some more the entire time. Since then, we haven’t heard him revving around on his motorcycle, at all. Honestly, I rather hope he had to sell it to cover his hospital bills. Serves him right.)

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