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It’s A Time For Taking, And That’s It

, , , , , | Working | December 22, 2017

(I’m browsing a department store in the thick of Christmas shopping season. I see an attractive wallet on one of the displays and when I pick it up to check the price, I realize it is overflowing with cash and credit cards. Confident I had just stumbled upon someone’s entire misplaced Christmas budget, I go up to one of the sales counters and ask for directions to the security offices to turn it in.)

Me: “Excuse me, I think someone lost their wallet here. Can you tell me where mall security is? I’m trying to turn it in.”

Saleswoman: *her eyes instantly widen when she sees the cash, and I immediately just get all-around bad vibes from her* “Dang! Look at all that!” *throws her hands up playfully* “Sure I’ll take it!”

Me: *assuming she’s joking, but a little uncomfortable* “I’m actually on my way out now. I figured I can just swing by security and leave it with them.”

Saleswoman: “The offices are way down on the first floor. Leave it here; she’ll probably come back for it anyway.”

Me: *increasingly uncomfortable with her insistence* “I think I’ll just go find security…” *I move to leave the counter*

Saleswoman: “MA’AM! I cannot let you just walk off with that wallet that’s not yours! That’s a customer’s and I will be making sure it gets back to the owner! Hand it over now please, or I will have to involve loss prevention!”

Me: “You mean security? That’s uh… that’s fine actually. Are they here in the store right now?”

Saleswoman: *sputtering and turning red* “I uh… I have to ask you to hand me the wallet and leave the store or uh… yes …I mean… I will call…”

Me: “I’m bringing this downstairs. Call if you need to. I’m not leaving this with a random employee, sorry.”

(I turned and walked away. When I looked back, she was huffing and slamming things down on the counter, but not calling security. I’m still not sure what she was up to, but I don’t think it was anything good.)

Maybe Had Too Much Water Wine

, , , , , , | Learning | November 11, 2017

(I am at my school’s choir practice. Our instructor is going over the alto part for a section of a song and no one is getting it right.)

Teacher: “Come on, guys. Make it sexy!” *noticing our looks* “What? Gospel can be sexy.”

(Pause…)

Teacher: “JESUS CAN BE SEXY, TOO!”

(Cue an uproar from everyone else.)

Fifty Proof Leads To Fifty Dollars

, , , , , | Right | October 11, 2017

(A patient is getting ready for discharge and needs prescriptions. A bunch of us call and make sure we can find the cheapest prices in town. This is not an easy task, as there are quite a lot of them. While at the nurses’ station, I hear this exchange:)

Nurse: “Ma’am, this is your discharge paperwork. Here are the prescriptions your doctor talked to you about. We found them cheapest at [Pharmacy] for you; it should only run you about $50. Do you have any questions?”

Patient: “I can’t afford no $50.”

(Everyone looks dumbfounded, because her extremely expensive alcoholism is what brought her in in the first place.)

Nurse: “Well, that’s the cheapest they come, and if you don’t take them, you may end up back in the hospital.”

Patient: “That don’t matter; the government will pay for that.”

Nurse: “Still, it’s not good for your health.”

Patient: *now yelling at all the nurses present* “Y’all can’t all just pitch in and give me the $50?”

(She stayed at the nurses station for an hour until one of the nurses nearly wrote her a check out of annoyance. That poor woman. Eventually, security had to be called.)

Slices Of Confusion

, , , , , | Working | June 12, 2017

(My husband, toddler, and I are staying in a hotel adjacent to a well-known party street. It is about eight pm on a weeknight, and the area is starting to get busy but not crazy yet, so we decide to walk over to a nearby pizza shop to get a few slices to take back to the hotel. Again, we are stone-cold sober and have a toddler with us.)

Me: “Could I get a [Slice #1] and a [Slice #2], please?”

Pizza Girl: “Sure thing.” *Grabs [Slice #2] to put in oven, but not [Slice #1]*

Me: “Oh, I need a [Slice #1] too, please.”

Pizza Girl: *annoyed* “I got it.” *grabs a [Slice #1] to put in the oven and says to Cashier* “[Slice #1] and a [Slice #2].”

Cashier: “That’ll be [amount].”

Me: “Oh, I’m paying for [Husband], too.” *gesture to my husband and toddler, who are still standing by the pizza display and have not yet ordered*

Cashier: *annoyed* “It’s [same amount].”

Me: *confused* “For four slices?”

Cashier: “Wait, what?” *turns to Pizza Girl who is getting my slices out of the oven* “She’s getting four slices?”

(It finally dawns on Pizza Girl that my husband might like to order, and she takes his order while Cashier rings me up for all four slices. Pizza Girl then hands us each two flimsy paper plates with huge slices of pizza on them, which we’ll obviously need to somehow manage to walk somewhere with while holding a toddler, as there is no dining area.)

Husband: “Could we get a couple extra plates, please? We need to walk back to our hotel with these.”

Pizza Girl: “Oh, would you like boxes?”

Me: *wondering why they wouldn’t think to offer these before* “Yes, please.”

(Seriously, if four slices of pizza was that much trouble for them, I’d hate to see what a mess that place is at two am!)

The Drama Queens Aren’t Just On The Stage

, , , , | Friendly | June 15, 2016

(I am a lover of musical theater but don’t exactly have the income to see many shows that tour through. I saved up for these tickets so I could get good seats and manage to get fourth row, center orchestra. Unfortunately, I am seated next to three women twice my age who can’t find it in themselves to be quiet, even when the overture starts. One, in particular, is the loudest.)

Characters On Stage: *singing and dancing*

Woman: “Oh, my God! What is that over there? What are they singing about? What’s going on? I’m lost!”

(This goes on every few minutes, usually after scenes or during songs, until the Act One closing song. Intermission starts.)

Woman: *to her friends* “Oh, my God, I want to be [Female Lead Character]!”

(I’m unable to take it anymore.)

Me: “Then get on stage and start singing. You talked over her the entire first half, anyway! You won’t need a mic, either.”

(Thankfully, she shut up for the second act, but she switched seats with her friends to get as far from me as possible and kept tossing me ugly looks the rest of the show. The ironic thing is that in the row in front of me was a seven-year-old boy and he didn’t make a peep or wiggle or anything. I guess age really is a state of mind!)


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