I work in a touristy restaurant in New Orleans. We’ve just rolled out a Mardi Gras-themed menu, including a cocktail called “The Pink Chicken” (Malibu, Captain Morgan Spiced Rum, pineapple juice, and grenadine). I overhear a new server offering this to some customers.

New Server: “Don’t worry; it’s safe to order the Pink Chicken because we put enough alcohol in it to kill the salmonella.”

I ran over to play it off as a joke and then took the new server to the back to explain some VERY rudimentary basics.

This is my mom’s story. I have three younger sisters and no brothers. When my youngest sister was born, of course, lots of people offered congratulations and well wishes. When people — strangers, mind you — found out it was her fourth daughter, things got weird. Comments like, “No sons? I’m sorry,” or, “Oh, well, you tried,” were common.

One day at church, my sweet, strait-laced mother had enough.

Stranger: “Four girls! Aw, you were trying to have that boy.”

Mom: “Nope! We were trying to have sex.”

Years later, we were reliving the story at a party, and…

Mom: “Yep! And it was good sex!”

I used to work as a store manager in a video game retail store. In addition to video games, we also sold various types of apparel and knickknacks. This story takes place two weeks before the store is set to permanently close.

A few kids come into the store soon before closing time. They start to wander around the store, poking at things. These kids had given me trouble before, so I keep an eye on them as I continue restocking. As I’m putting some apparel out and fixing the displays, I notice one of the kids reach up to pick up a Wonder Woman beanie, put it on, and rip off the tag. I grab the tag and hold onto it as I restock.

Closing time comes and goes, and the kids are still wandering. I’ve got work to do, so I don’t say anything. Then, all five of these teenagers make their way toward the door, one of them still wearing the beanie. I decide to say something.

Me: “Hey, guys, see anything you like?”

Teenagers: “No.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. Did you want to buy that beanie before you go?”

Kid With Beanie On: “What are you talking about? I came in with this.”

I hold up the tag for the beanie in question.

Me: “My dude, I saw you take it off the rack, put it on, and take the tag off. At this time, I’m going to have to ask you to leave my store.”

The kid throws the beanie down on the ground and stomps off.

Other Kids: “Oh, we weren’t with him.”

Me: “Yeah, you were just walking alongside him and joking with him the entire time. You all leave, too.”

Other Kids: “You can’t do this; we’re calling the police!”

I worked for that retailer for ten years, five of them in management. I never had to throw people out except for those last two weeks before the store shut down.

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Cruelty

The uncle in this story is my step-uncle, my grandmother is his stepmother, and the house he evacuated to is his mother’s (my step-grandfather’s ex-wife). This uncle is also a deadbeat with severe alcohol, gambling, and mental health problems he refuses to get or accept help for.

As previously mentioned, my uncle evacuated to his mother’s house just recently because of Hurricane Ida. However, for reasons unknown to all of us, he didn’t bring his two dogs with him despite his mother not having any issues with them coming along. Because of this, they ended up being left alone in a hot trailer for several days that had been half destroyed by the storm without any food or water.

When my grandmother found out about this, she was livid. She and my step-grandfather essentially forced my cousin — one of my uncle’s adult children — to drive out there, pick up the dogs, and give them up to the first animal shelter he could find with working facilities. Apparently, the poor things were extremely dehydrated and hungry. They were also filthy and ridden with fleas and ticks, but we strongly suspect they already had these issues prior to the hurricane.

As soon as my grandparents got water and power back to their place, my grandmother drove out and adopted both of the pups. Apparently, my uncle has since been begging her to return them to him, but she refuses to do so after what he put them through. Both she and my step-grandfather have even gone so far as to threaten him with getting the police involved should he try to take them. These are all decisions that everyone in our immediate family — barring my uncle, of course — wholeheartedly supports.

My mother was in her last year of high school in 1986, the very same year that New Orleans changed its legal drinking age from eighteen to twenty-one. With this change clearly on the horizon, my mother and her friends naturally decided to make the best of the night of their senior prom by taking a trip down Bourbon Street. 

Being that it was prom night and my mother attended a (Catholic) all-girl school, this meant they were also joined by all of their dates. Most of the guys were fairly close to the group of girls, but there was one date, [Guy], who was basically a stranger to the whole group except for the girl who brought him. 

At some point during the night, they all came across a freshly waxed car. In their half-drunken state, they all decided it would be a wonderful idea to start drawing things in the wax. Naturally, they were quickly caught by a cop. It’s important to note that this cop was Black and my mom’s entire group is white.

Initially, the cop was planning to just give them a stern warning since, while that is apparently considered vandalism, it’s not really permanent vandalism… until he walked around the back, where the N-word was very prominently written.

Cop: “Okay, never mind, you’re all coming with me.”

Friend: “Wait, what?! Which one of you did this?”

Guy: “Uh… It was me.”

Before any of the rest of them reacted, my mother spun around to face him and slapped him across the face!

Mother: “WHY THE H*** WOULD YOU DO THAT!?”

The cop immediately separated them before they could escalate and pulled my mother aside. 

Cop: “You know, I really should arrest you for assault for that, but I think that was pretty deserved. Don’t do it again, though.”

They were still all brought in for vandalism and spent the next several months trying to hide the trial from their very religious school so they could graduate! My mother always told me this story when I was younger to make sure I didn’t do any of the stupid things she did when she was a teen.