Aiming For A Reputation

, , , , , , , | | Learning | May 16, 2019

(We have all taken our seats in our classroom. Our teacher always comes in several minutes late, so someone decides to start an eraser-throwing war. The eraser lands on my desk, so I pick it up and throw it across the room. I’m not aiming at anyone, but it hits one boy in the side of his nose. I’m usually one of the more quiet, stay-out-of-trouble students.)

Boy: “Who threw that?”

Me: “Uh, I did.”

Boy: *to the class* “DON’T ANYONE THROW IT TO [MY NAME]! SHE’S GOT A BLOODY GOOD AIM.”

Easier To Just Do Them By Hand At This Point

, , , , , | | Related | May 14, 2019

(For a few days, I’ve been noticing that our dishwasher hasn’t been washing properly. I put it on in the evening and then in the morning, I find that the tablet is still in the dispenser and the dishes are wet but still dirty. It always washes perfectly the second time around.)

Me: *after the fourth day* “What the h*** is wrong with the dishwasher? It’s not working properly.”

Son: “Yeah, I noticed that, too. I was going to talk to you about it.”

Me: “Have you been running it again, too?”

Son: “No, I keep hearing a noise like something has fallen over in it, and when I take a look, I see that the little plastic door is open and the dishwasher tablet has fallen out. I’ve been putting the tablet back in and closing it up every night.”

Winning The (Price) Match

, , , , , | | Right | May 13, 2019

(My local game store used to run a price match for other stores, but recently stopped doing it due to fraud.)

Me: *to cashier* “Um… Could I please get a price match for this game?” *holds up game*

Cashier: “No, sorry, we stopped doing that about a month ago”

(As he says this he looks prepared to be yelled at.)

Me: “Oh, okay… It’s only a few dollars, anyway.”

Cashier: *surprised* “You didn’t yell at me?”

Me: “No… Why would I?”

Cashier: “Most people who come in unaware that we stopped the price match yell at us. I’ve had about three people today; one of them even threw the game at me.” *points to bruise on his arm*

Me: “Wow, some people. Oh, well, only a few dollars difference, anyway. I’ll buy it at full price; could you please ring this up?”

Cashier: “And she’s polite! You are by far the best customer I’ve had all week.”

(To the cashier: you are awesome, and I hope that all the mean and nasty customers have stopped by now.)

The Drugs Don’t Work

, , , , , , | | Friendly | May 13, 2019

(I work with a 15-year-old who thinks she knows everything. I get on with most of my coworkers, but as I am in my 20s and they are mostly teenagers, I don’t associate with them outside of work. They often go partying together.)

15-Year-Old: “What sort of drugs do you like?”

Me: “I’ve never done drugs.”

15-Year-Old: “Are you an idiot? How are you going to fit in and find friends if you don’t do what everyone else does?”

Me: “I have no interest in fitting in with anyone, and I have my own friends.”

15-Year-Old: “That’s just stupid. No wonder no one here ever invites you out. I’m sure some of the guys would take you out if you did drugs with them. You are always going to be alone if you don’t do what everyone else does.”

Me: “I got engaged without ever having to do drugs with anyone.”

If You Get Into An Argument With A Pregnant Woman, You’re Trucked

, , , , , , , | | Legal | May 8, 2019

(It’s been a bad day; my father had a stroke yesterday and is having brain surgery today, and I am nine months pregnant with my third child and just a had a scary meeting with a mean doctor wanting to induce me. I’m stressed, tired, and emotional. I’m sitting in my parked car, gathering my thoughts, when a truck drives past too close and scrapes my car. It keeps driving, so I leap out of the car and wave it down; it’s hard to miss me in my current state. The driver gets out of the car. He looks barely sixteen — not old enough to drive that big a truck.)

Me: “Um, you scraped my car.”

Driver: “Oh, sorry.”

(Due to my state of mind, I don’t remember all the details I am supposed to get. We take a photo of each other’s licenses, which confirms the driver is sixteen, and the damage on my car. I’m trying to be nice because the guy is so young.)

Me: “Okay, well, I hope your day gets better from here.”

Driver: “I don’t know. I’m having a pretty bad day.”

(Thinking of my poor dad and looking at my pregnant tummy, I decide to ignore that, and we part ways. Seconds after he drives away, I realize I don’t have a phone number or the truck’s registration. I call my husband in a panic; he writes a letter to the driver asking for the details and sends it to the address on the license. He quickly receives an emailed response stating the driver “wasn’t at fault that night” — it happened at nine am — and that I had told him I wouldn’t be pursuing the matter — I never did — and he refuses to give the information. We’re at a loss what to do. Without the truck registration, the insurance company will have to charge us excess for the repairs, which we don’t want to pay. The insurance company suggests physically visiting the address or contacting the local police. I go for the latter option and visit the local police station. The police officer takes all the details, then spends ten minutes on her computer and phone before coming back to me.)

Police Officer: “Well, I couldn’t find a phone number for him, but I did find his mum. So I’ve spoken to her and she’s going to have a talk to him.”

(The insurance company had the details within hours. It still makes me chuckle imagining that boy getting a bollocking from his mum for his irresponsibility. In the meantime, my dad made a full recovery and my baby was born without any drama.)

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