Neither of us has ever been big on going out and dealing with people, and prices have been going nuts when wages haven’t, so actually going out to the movie theater is a rare treat for me and my husband. We’ve sat down for the latest ‘Big Budget Superhero Spectacular’, and of course, there are three vaguely twelve-to-young-teen kids behind us, but so far, surprisingly well behaved and only making noises when EVERYONE in the theater is.

Hurray! And then I get a heavy bump on the back of my chair.

Like most theaters (at least in my area), this was all “enhanced comfort” seating, basically full recliners with plenty of legroom, so someone had to basically get up out of their chair to hit me, especially someone five feet tall or so.

Okay, maybe getting something they dropped, or going to the bathroom, or whatever. 

Then a bit later I get another one… Maybe they were coming back. 

Nope, then another one, and another immediately after. I turn around, and these kids are SITTING ON THE FLOOR, just so they can kick the chairs in front of them. The two people next to me are being saints about it; thankfully, they haven’t kicked my husband’s chair, or I’d have had to go visit him in prison. Me? I just turn around.

Me: “Hey, knock it off, and get back in your seats.”

Kid #1: “Nah!”

Kid #2: “We ain’t doin’ anything!”

Me: “Yes, you are. Knock it off, get back in your seat.”

I turn back around. Ten seconds later, he doesn’t just kick the back of the seat, he kicks the headrest that I am, in fact, resting my head on. I turn around.

Me: “KNOCK IT OFF, NOW, BEFORE I GET YOU ALL KICKED OUT OF HERE!”

Dad: “HEY, THOSE ARE MY KIDS!”

I look over to see the parents a few seats away; whether they did that intentionally, or just had to comply with the whims of what was available when selecting their seats, I don’t know.

Me: “Yeah, well, they’re kicking the whole row in front of them!”

The dad comes storming up, looking ready to jump rows… stops… and looks at the said kids. He then proceeds to GRAB each one in turn by the back of their shirts and DRAG them back into their seats!

I’d like to say I didn’t listen in on the barely whispered threats he gave those kids and just focused on the overdramatic nonsense in front of me, but he had some very CREATIVE word choices. He made sure the kids apologized to all of us on the way out. Worth it!

I work overnights in a deli at a convenience store. I like the job and it’s pretty chill and quiet at night… except the occasional ‘fun customer’.

Last year, I took on a shift for the 4th of July as I didn’t have any plans, and it was a good boost in my pay. It was busy as heck, and I was the only one in the deli. For the most part, it was kind people who were understanding of the wait or running out of products. I’ve had people ask me to check if we had anything in the back multiple times, and would find a substitute if I said no. Not a big deal.

Then we get to Spinach Lady.

She was probably the twentieth customer in an hour, and we were running low on stock real quick. She and her husband come up and order their food, but I inform them that we ran out of the spinach they wanted.

Husband: “Oh, that’s no problem. Would lettuce be okay, honey?”

Spinach Lady: “Can’t you go to the back and check?”

Me: “I’ve checked a few times, but I can check again in case I missed it. One second.”

I go back anyways to check and, lo and behold, no spinach.

Me: “I’m sorry. We are out of spinach entirely. I do have shredded lettuce and romaine if you’re okay with either.”

Husband: “Perfect, shredded sounds great.”

Spinach Lady: “Did you even check? Did you actually look, or did you stand back there and do jack s***?”

No clue where the attitude came from, so I had no clue what to say.

Me: “I actually looked, ma’am. I’m sorry, but we’re very busy tonight, so we’re running out of a lot of things.”

Spinach Lady: “Go back there and actually check, you lazy a**. I don’t want a damn sandwich if you can’t make it the way I want. We waited for so long just to not get what we want?”

Husband: “It’s not that big of a deal. You only get it with spinach because I like it that way. I don’t mind lettuce.”

Spinach Lady: “No! We waited that long for our food; this lazy kid can actually do her job and get us the food for our wait. Maybe make it free for the trouble.”

I’m twenty-six…? Kid?

Me: “Nothing I can do. I can put lettuce, nothing, or you can find something else to order. But there’s a line behind you, and I need to help them, too.”

Spinach Lady: *Storms out, screaming.* “This is why you Gen Z or whatever the h*** kids need to grow up and learn some d*** manners. What a waste of my time. Bet you voted for [Presidential Candidate] too. It figures. Lazy and stupid, just like the rest of you!”

Husband: “I’ll… take the lettuce… sorry.”

At least her husband was nice. I saw the couple one other time, and the husband saw me and looked embarrassed. But she glared at me and kept asking if I actually had spinach this time. I did. Never thought I’d be insulted through political spinach.

I’m stopping into a supermarket when I notice a large RV literally covered with posters and banners for a particular political figure, selling such merchandise. The only physical parts of the vehicle I can see are the windshield, wheels, and door seams. I’m really hoping they at least expose the lights when driving! I’m not a fan of this candidate, nor his frankly cultish following — see above “vehicle covered in posters of the guy’s face” — so I give them a wide berth.

One guy with a pickup truck apparently notices this.

Guy: “HEY!”

Me: *Still walking* “Hey.”

Guy: “You a patriot?”

Me: “Yep.”

Guy: “You love this country, right?!”

Me: “Mostly.”

Guy: “Then you doin’ the right thing and voting, yeah?!”

Me: “Yep.”

I’m now slightly past him… and he huffs and puffs his way back in front of me to try to block my movement.

Guy: “You’re voting the patriotic way, right?!”

I stop. I look back at his truck. I look back at him. NORMALLY, I try to live by the motto, “Don’t mess with me and I won’t mess with you.” But this guy’s favored politician and his entire political party have made “mess with you” their campaign focus, and now this guy is DIRECTLY messing with me, so I can’t help but bite the bait.

Me: “So, you’re a patriot, too?”

Guy: “Of course!”

Me: “And you show it off, yeah?”

Guy: “OBVIOUSLY!”

Me: “Well, let’s see. You’ve got two flags with a guy’s name on it and what years he was running for office. You’ve got one flag that’s for an army of a failed rebellion against this country. You’ve got a fourth flag that has the implied message of ‘I support the police being able to shoot Black people on sight.’ And the entire tailgate on your otherwise spotless truck is covered in bumper stickers talking about what parts of the population you wish you were able to shoot. So, what country are you patriotic for, exactly?”

His face is now redder than his hat, I can see veins bulging on his forehead, and he’s breathing through clenched teeth so hard there’s spit foaming around his lips. I’m fairly certain that the fact that I’m saying all this calmly and objectively is just getting him angrier.

Me: “I hope you vote for the candidate that you think will help the most people in this country. I know I will. Or… are you going to punch me for exercising my First Amendment rights, the same way you’re freely exercising yours with all that stuff on your truck?”

Realizing I probably pushed one button too many, I quickly make my way around him toward the store before he can make that decision. But as a final parting shot:

Truck Guy: “F****** COMMUNIST!”

Me: “I’m literally going to a store to buy stuff — capitalism, baby!”

Thankfully, he was gone by the time I got out, and he hadn’t tracked down my car to do anything to it. I really can’t wait for this election to be over… as well as the inevitable fallout of it, one way or the other.

A few decades ago, the population of my school district was in its third decade of hard growth, which had given us expansions to two high schools, a brand-new high school, and classes taking shifts at times- ‘early’ and ‘late’ sections starting two hours apart in each building, with four lunch shifts. Eventually, a referendum was passed to pay for the (planned for fifteen years) expansion of four of the half dozen high schools.

The work commenced. Often without warning. As the sitework (clearing and preparation of the area the extension would land on) was finishing, I was teaching an AP class on the second floor. About halfway through, the window was smashed out, followed almost immediately by a large air hose, an air hammer, and a demolition worker, in that order. He didn’t even wait for me to get the students out before he began chipping the block around the window.

When I asked the admin why we weren’t relocated in advance, the answer was essentially “the plans are dynamic”. When I asked if it was necessary to smash the window out, the answer was “otherwise, the worker may be hurt by the glass when removing the window”.

It’s the first good spring-weather weekend of the year, and OF COURSE my husband is in bed sick with bad stomach pain and a terrible headache, and OF COURSE a batch of kids is now outside, running up and down the sidewalk in front of our windows, making everything worse. I toss on some shoes and head outside.

Me: “Hey, guys!”

The kids actually stop and look at me, good start!

Me: “I’m really sorry to be a jerk, my husband’s in bed sick with a bad headache, and you’re like, right outside our window. Could you maybe head around the other side of the building, or the front, just for today?”

Kid #1: “Oh, okay.”

Kid #2: “Yeah, sorry.”

Kid #3: “Get him soup!”

Me: *Laughing.* “I’ll do that! You guys have a good day now.”

And… they did just that! 

In fact when I was going out later to grab some groceries for the both of us after the hubby’s stomach started to settle, I saw one of the kids and they actually THANKED me, saying that they were ALWAYS going to the other side, they didn’t realize there was that much more open area over there until they hung out a while.

Small amounts of hope for the future generation restored.