Unfiltered Story #107780

, , | Unfiltered | March 24, 2018

It should be noted that my mom was born in the Philippines in the early 1960s and moved to the U.S. in her 30s while my dad has lived in the U.S. for all his life. Still, there are some things about American culture or history that my father or I would have to explain to her on occasion. Also important to note is that I have an odd sense of humor and the times for me to act as such usually occur around my parents. On this night, I am walking behind them as they are watching TV. Over the sounds of the TV, I overhear my mom asking my dad what a sock hop is. I stand off to the side and see my opportunity to act like a goof, though without trying to attract their attention too early.

Dad: …So the sock hop *he gets a crick in his neck and pauses to roll his head*

Me: *pouncing on the opportunity, I lift the sock I had just taken off* Yeah, don’t you know Mom? This is the sock hop. *I begin hopping on my sock-covered foot with one hand outstretched*

Why Don’t You Just Ably Walk Away In The Other Direction?

, , , , , | Right | March 23, 2018

(I work the graveyard shift at a truck stop. I also have a bad leg and walk with a cane. Despite my disability, I always manage to get my work done. This happens one night in the middle of my shift.)

Customer: *glaring at me* “You are way too young to be walking with that cane!”

(Having heard this a million times, I use my usual response.)

Me: “Yes, sir, I agree. My leg doesn’t, though.”

(I smile at him, hoping that answer is enough.)

Customer: *clearly angry now* “Now, listen here, young lady! Canes are for people who actually need them, not for youngsters who just want to get attention. Where is your manager? Does he know you use a cane when you don’t need one? This is outrageous.”

Me: *insulted and angry* “Sir, I do need this cane to be able to walk, and to be able to get my job done. My manager does know that I have it and that I use it. I do not use it just to ‘get attention.’ Canes are used, as you said, by people who need them. There is no minimum age requirement for needing a cane. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go clean a shower for one of our regulars.”

(I used my cane and walked away to do my work, but I heard the customer mumbling to himself about “faking youngsters” who “want all the attention.” I found out later that he spoke to my manager, who told him the same thing I did. I never got an apology, and I never saw the customer again.)

The One Tax You Were Happy To Pay

, , , , , | Working | March 5, 2018

(My cousin and his family are at a restaurant they’ve visited before. My cousin’s wife is a nurse. Their young daughter is deathly allergic to nuts and some legumes, including peanuts, so the cousin’s wife carefully vets any place they eat for allergy compliance. This restaurant has always passed with flying colors, so she’s not terribly worried.)

Server: *turning to the daughter* “And what would you like, sweetie?”

Daughter: *orders her food* “And can I have a chocolate shake, please? I’m allergic to nuts and peanuts, so can you make sure it’s safe?”

Server: “Of course!” *writes “NO NUTS” and underlines it*

Daughter: “Thank you!”

(A while later, the food comes.)

Daughter: “Mom, can you please hand me a spoon?”

Wife: “Sure!” *grabs a spoon, then swipes a bit of the chocolate shake* “Food tax!”

(She takes the bite, and instantly, her eyes go wide. Before she can even swallow, she snatches the shake away from her daughter and starts waving frantically for their server.)

Server: “What’s the matter?”

Wife: “This has peanut butter in it!”

Server: “What?! Are you sure?”

Wife: “It’s loaded! Smell it yourself!”

(The server took a whiff, then grabbed the shake and ran to get her manager. The manager apologized frantically, and then went to find the source of the mix-up. It turns out, the guy making the shake had misread, “NO NUTS,” as, “ADD NUTS,” and threw some peanut butter in. He was reprimanded, the shake was remade following allergy protocols, and the little girl got her shake, but not until after her mother had tested that one, too. She never steals bites of her children’s desserts, but, for some reason, she did that day. And we’re all very grateful.)

Lack Of Instruction Will Lead To Destruction

, , , , | Working | February 21, 2018

(One of the managers at my new job is a lovely woman, very encouraging and helpful, but cannot give directions to save her life. I have just finished her request: printing out product orders, POs, stapled together in fives or so, along with a batch of original documents. I have probably gone through a small rainforest printing all these things out. It’s for a big festival, so there’s a LOT of products being ordered.)

Me: “Okay, here you go! One stack of originals, one stack of POs, and here’s the ones the computer didn’t like.”

Manager: “I’ll teach you how to deal with those…” *looks at stacks* Oh, dear.”

Me: “Is something wrong?”

Manager: “I forgot to tell you I wanted the POs stapled to the originals, not together.”

Me: *looks at stack of papers in horror*

(She did apologize, but I’m still trying to figure out a nice way to word the question, “And are those ALL the instructions?”)

Walking Tall After The Fall

, , , , , , , | Friendly | February 14, 2018

(I’m driving to my evening class in my beat-up little car, and I pull off the freeway and take the off-ramp towards the college. I stop at the red light at the top of the hill, but the car behind me doesn’t and ends up rear-ending me. It doesn’t feel like a hard hit, so, as soon as I can, I slowly pull through the intersection and head immediately into the parking lot of the strip mall next to me. The other car, which looks equally as old as mine, follows me and parks in a nearby spot. I can see the two guys in the front seat and they are freaking out a bit. I get out of the car, and as soon as they see me, they panic more. I’m a big guy — well over six feet tall, and 300+ pounds of muscle — with a full beard.)

Me: “Hey, you guys all right?”

(They get out of the car, but they never take their eyes off me. I’m almost a foot taller than them, and I can see them shaking.)

Driver: “D-d-dude! Oh, man, dude! I am so sorry! It was just a little bump, dude!”

Passenger: “Yeah, man, we’re so sorry!”

(I walk to the back of my car and take a look. There’s barely a little dent in my back bumper, so I check the front of their car, too, and it doesn’t even look like there’s any damage at all. The whole time, the two guys are shaking, fidgeting, and apologizing profusely. I’m starting to feel really bad for them, as they look young, and I’m sure they are scared of me.)

Me: “Well, it doesn’t look like there’s any real damage. So, we don’t need to bother calling anyone. Are you two okay?”

(They immediately relax and smile, and the driver kind of does a funny little jump-dance thing.)

Driver: “Yeah, man! No, we’re all right! Yeah!”

Passenger: “Dude, we’re cool! We’re all cool! You want a beer?”

(In horror, I watch as the passenger pulls a nearly-empty six-pack out of the front seat and tries to hand me the last bottle. I have no more pity for these idiots. I bring myself up to my full height, clench my fists, and put on my scariest face.)

Me: *in a deeper voice as I glare at the driver* “Were you drinking?!”

(They immediately freeze in place, their faces go pale, and they look at me in wide-eyed terror. The driver looks like he might pass out as he stutters:)

Driver: “Um… Uh… We… Uh…”

Passenger: “Uh… Well… Just a little.”

Me: “Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid that is?! You could kill someone! I ought to call the police right now! Your a***es deserve to be in jail!”

Driver: *full-on panicking*Wait! No! Please, no! No! My parents would kill me! Please! We’ll do anything!”

Me: “Anything?!”

Driver: “Anything, man! Anything! Just don’t call the cops!”

(I step forward, and they both flinch like I’m going to hit them, but instead, I grab the remaining beer out of the passenger’s hand, pull out my keys, and pop the top. I turn the bottle upside down and pour it out on the ground at their feet. I step back and get in the driver’s face.)

Me: *in my most intimidating voice* “Lock your car and walk! Sober up, and never drive drunk again! DO. YOU. GET. ME?!”

Driver: *shaking and absolutely terrified* “Y-Yes!”

(I turn and get in the face of the passenger.)

Me: “DO. YOU. GET. ME?!”

Passenger: *cowering and equally terrified* “Y-Yes, sir!”

Me: “NOW, WALK!”

(They stood still for a moment before I bellowed, “WALK!” again, and the passenger took off down the strip mall while the driver fumbled with his keys to lock his door, and then ran to catch up with his friend. I stood watching them jog all the way to the end of the parking lot and across the street before I got back in my car and headed to class. My class was four hours long, so I didn’t get out until almost 11 pm, but when I did, I headed back to the freeway and saw that the guy’s car was still there.)

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