A Talkative Toddler Saves The Day!

, , , , , | Friendly | December 9, 2020

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.


I live with my husband and six-year-old daughter in a house on a pretty quiet street in a small town. On one side of our house is a house that gets rented out as a short-term rental; sometimes it’s an AirBNB and sometimes there’s someone there for up to six months. We’ve just had a couple and their two young children move in. The dad is a doctor and was born in Australia before working overseas for years, and he has only just managed to get his wife and kids over from their home country.

The kids speak both English and Farsi. The dad knocks on our door to introduce himself and let us know they will be there until they buy a house of their own, and to let us know that his wife doesn’t speak a lot of English, so please don’t think her rude. We don’t; she often tries her best to greet us and make small talk, and we don’t mind helping her practice. Her older child is a five year-old-boy who sometimes comes over and knocks to see if my daughter can come out and play. The younger kid is a tiny little toddler girl with a gorgeous smile, but she can’t speak much yet.

One day, the older kids are in school and I hear a tiny knock on our door. I open it to find my neighbor’s toddler crying on my front step.

Me: “[Toddler]?! Honey, what’s wrong?”

The toddler continues to cry and babbles in a combination of Farsi and English. The only word I can make out is “Mama.” She is absolutely beside herself.

I scoop her up and give her a cuddle, trying to calm her down. I yell my neighbor’s name over the fence, thinking maybe the toddler ran off while in the yard with her mother and she might be frantically searching. No response.

Toddler: *Still crying* “Mama fall. Mama bang, bang bang! Fall down.”

My heart about stops. I scramble over the fence and find their door open. I call out to my neighbor again. No response. I carry the toddler into the house, and I realise I can smell burning. I get to the kitchen and find my neighbor on the floor, bleeding from her head, not breathing, with a toasted sandwich burning on the hot plate. I turn it off and call an ambulance, putting the toddler down so I can start CPR.

I did CPR until the ambulance got there and took over. Realising the toddler had nowhere to go, I opted to come to the hospital with them and figure out how to contact her husband from there, as I had no idea where he worked. I’d assumed he was at one of the medical practices in town. Imagine everyone’s stunned surprise when we climbed out of the ambulance and the toddler started yelling, “DADA!” and tried to scramble into her dad’s arms as he stood at the doors of the ER.

It turned out the mother had been electrocuted by the electric kettle and had fallen down, hitting her head on the way. Her toddler had somehow gotten out of her highchair, unlocked the front door, gone out their gate, found my gate, somehow opened it despite it being out of her reach, and climbed up the ten steps to my front door and knocked on my door. We still don’t know how long her mother had been unconscious and not breathing on the floor before I found her. She managed to make a full recovery after a hard slog in hospital and at rehab, all thanks to a very determined little girl who knew her mother needed help!

This story is part of our Most Inspirational Of 2020 roundup!

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Ain’t No Walk In The Park(ing)

, , , , , , , | Friendly | December 4, 2020

We live on a small road with houses facing each other across it. Parking can be a pain, but it’s normally fine as there are plenty of communal spaces very near.

On the day of our wedding, we ask our neighbour opposite us if they could not park in front of their house between 2:00 and 3:00 pm — they have a garage, two offroad spaces, and communal parking — because the wedding car will be coming and it’s a struggle to get to our house. The neighbour agrees and we think that’s another thing checked off the list.

Of course, on the day of the wedding, the wedding car spends thirty minutes trying to edge the way around not one, but two of that neighbour’s cars, blocking the road and causing the whole wedding to be late. 

We chalk it up to a pair of petty, jealous idiots that don’t want others to be happy. We don’t bother acknowledging them from that point on.

Fast forward a year or so. I’m clearing out the garage and am parked in front of the house. I load up the car with some donations when the same neighbour from before comes over, panicking.

Neighbour: “No, no, no. You can’t park there.”

Me: “What?”

Neighbour: “We have viewings. You need to move your car.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, I saw that you’re selling. Sure, I’ll move my car when I’m finished.”

Neighbour: “Good, good.”

I waited for her to go back inside and then I did the same. I made a cup of coffee and ignored the doorbell. I doubt parking in front of the house was the reason it didn’t sell — the house was massively overpriced — but it felt nice for some petty Karma.

This story is part of our Best Of December 2020 roundup!

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A Shearly Ridiculous Request

, , , , , | Friendly | December 2, 2020

I’m outside the front of my house pruning some of the plants. It’s a bit of a job, although it is a tiny bit of land; reaching the back is impossible.

I’m sweeping up the clippings when a man I’ve never seen before approaches me.

Man: “You can do mine next, if you like?”

I laugh as I think he’s joking, but his expression tells me otherwise.

Me: “Oh, you’re serious. No, sorry, mate. I don’t do this for a living.”

Man: “You have all the tools and I don’t. Come on! Be neighbourly.”

Me: “I don’t know you, ‘neighbour,’ and these tools are cheap enough. Go buy your own.”

Man: “Don’t be a d**k! Come on, or let me borrow them.”

He reaches for the shears in my hand. I pull them away from him.

Me: “Get lost.”

Man: “Whatever, I’ll just come back and take them.”

Thankfully, I have a video doorbell that he was standing right in front of. I passed the video on to the police and they said they would investigate. I never heard from or saw the man again.

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Sometimes, Karma Really Stinks

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 29, 2020

Sometimes, I think I’m the only person in my apartment complex who actually picks up after their dog. Every time I walk her, we have to navigate a gauntlet of poop so we don’t track it inside.

I always take my dog down to the corner of our street, a little way down from the door to our building, because there’s a receptacle there specifically for pet waste so it makes everything easier. I’m standing there waiting for my dog to do her thing when I see a man come out with his dog. He stays on the grass fairly close to the building door, telling the dog to go potty. I am absentmindedly watching and waiting for them to go inside, since my dog is very distractible and I know she won’t go until they leave. After a few minutes, the dog does her business, and predictably, I do not see the man pick up after her. 

But karma strikes! As they approach the building, I see the dog jump up the steps and the man pull her back, as he is vigorously wiping his shoe on the step while not-so-quietly grumbling to himself.

Man: “Wait, [Dog], I stepped in s***. F***. Can’t believe I stepped in f****** dog s***.”

After a minute or so of this, he went inside. Gee, random dude, I wonder why you stepped in s***. It’s almost like this is a preventable problem. But I guess we’ll never know.

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You Gotta Learn To Coexist

, , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: VenNeb21 | November 25, 2020

I live on the second floor of an apartment building in a college town, so there are lots of young people getting their first taste of “the real world”.

My neighbor below me comes to my door one day.

Neighbor: “I need you to keep the noise down.”

I am confused, since I’m a rather quiet person, until she explains that the “noise” is from me walking around my apartment. She doesn’t appreciate how loudly I walk in my own home.

All the apartments have wall-to-wall carpets except for the first floor. I remember something my uncle once told me about how, if you don’t want to hear people walking above you, then you need to live on the top floor.

Me: “If me walking in my own apartment bothers you, you shouldn’t have chosen to live on the first floor.”

Neighbor: “I have trouble with stairs, so I didn’t have a choice. You just need to be quieter when you’re walking around.”

Me: *Politely* “I’ll work on that.”

And I shut the door. I am not going to alter how I walk in my own apartment just for her and her attitude problem.

Oddly enough, though, shortly after this encounter, I broke my foot walking down the stairs. I would be on crutches for six weeks with a cast and then have a walking cast for several weeks more after that. This made it difficult to move around my apartment since my crutches would get caught in the carpet.

I found that it was easier to sit in my desk chair and push myself around my small apartment with my still functioning foot and arms. However, again, the problem here was the d*** carpet. The wheels would get stuck in the carpet and would cause me the occasional problem. This meant I would have to hop around my apartment if I couldn’t get the chair unstuck from the floor. I could hear her complaining sometimes, especially when I had my balcony door open and she was outside. I honestly didn’t care about her petty problems, but I was tired of hearing them.

Then, one day, I was trying to push myself across the apartment to the kitchen and the wheels got stuck. I had just given the chair a big push, right as it got caught, and I promptly fell out of the chair and onto the floor. I didn’t land gracefully, and I ended up with a huge bruise on the back of my leg from landing on the armrest of the chair. Needless to say, I was not in a good mood and I was in pain.

My lovely neighbor came upstairs not too long after this and to complain that I woke her from her nap with “that loud bang,” I answered the door sitting in the evil chair with my broken foot in plain view. I politely told her that the “loud bang” she heard was my body hitting the floor. In my best sugary-sweet, sarcastic voice, I told her that I appreciated her concern for my well-being and that I was fine. I then thanked her for coming by to check on me and slammed the door in her face.

She never bothered me again.

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