Thinking Outside ALL The Boxes

, , , , , , , , | Working | February 24, 2020

My first job out of school was at a local bakery. One of the tasks I was expected to do during the day was to take the flat pack cake boxes and assemble them, making it easier to pack cakes for customers during the busy periods. My manager was horribly nitpicky about things and one of her pet peeves was that there weren’t enough boxes.

One day, I came into work and she had me fill out and sign a “formal warning notice” to say I hadn’t assembled enough boxes — I was literally one box short of what she wanted. Likewise, my colleague got the same “warning.” Being the 17-year-old I was, and feeling like a smarta***, I spent my whole Saturday assembling every single box we had.

The manager liked to have around 30 and I assembled around 3,000. They were literally stacked everywhere — on the counters, filling the shelves, and on the floor. I even built an archway leading into the back of the store. The next day, the store owner demanded to see me because of the ridiculous state of his store; he actually called me in on my day off.

And that was how I got my second formal warning. After I explained the situation to the owner, he did agree to speak to the manager about how a warning over a single missing box was excessive.

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The Nights Are About To Get Quieter… And Colder

, , , , , , | Romantic | February 24, 2020

Many years ago, I lived on the bottom floor of a shared house, and a married couple lived on the top floor. I was very shy at the time and just wanted to stay out of other people’s business, but about a week after I moved in, every weeknight the upstairs was resounding with the sound of furious lovemaking. I could hear the bed thumping against the wall and the lustful yells were enough to wake the dead. It was disturbing my sleep. 

After about a month of this, I waited for a weekend, knocked on the upstairs door, and timidly suggested that they be a little bit quieter while making love at night. 

Cue a glare that would freeze Hell from the husband, directed at his wife. 

It turns out he worked nights.

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Having A Meow Meow Pow Wow

, , , | Right | February 24, 2020

I was in a pharmacy with two pharmacists working. I was waiting in the left line while in the right there was one of “those” customers, a woman who wanted a “spray that heals cuts.” There was previously an antibiotic spray on the market which did something similar but it’s not available anymore.

The pharmacist explains and explains and the woman says that’s not even it; this spray she is talking about basically heals the injury instantly. (NASA would love to have those, probably!) They go back and forth for a long time.

We all watch with sympathy as the scene unfolds. Since I can be a bit of a complicated customer, I also watch and think, “Whew, there you go. You are not the worst one; that one is definitely crazier!”

As I get called up to the pharmacist on the left, I tell her what I need and she turns around to get it for me. I sort of stare into space and get lost in thought and start quietly singing to myself, “Meow, meow, meow…” to the tune of an ad jingle. Before you ask, I have no idea why.

The pharmacist turns around to see me quietly meowing to a melody to myself and, as our eyes meet, I can just see her thinking, “The crazies are everywhere.”

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The Most Satisfying WHACK

, , , , , | Learning | February 24, 2020

When I was around 12, I got rather depressed. One of the ways this showed was that at school I would walk into the classroom, sit down, cross my arms on my desk, rest my head on it with my eyes closed, and get up again when the bell rang for the next class.

Obviously, the teachers weren’t fans of this, but I was able to focus pretty well this way, got good grades, and wasn’t disruptive so most just ignored it. Some classmates found it extra fun to mess with me, though, stealing pens and doodling in my notebooks.

One time, the guy sitting next to me kept poking me with a pen. A few times, I cracked an eye and hissed, “Quit it!” at him.

After the fifth time I cracked an eye, I saw the teacher with her back to the class, grabbed my hardcover textbook from under my arms, and gave the guy a solid WHACK! on the head. In a flash, I was back in my regular position.

The hush told me that some classmates had seen it, but the teacher either missed it or accepted it.

One bully down, a few warned through the grapevine, and several more to go.

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Mom’s Bark And Bite Are Both Pretty Bad

, , , , , , | Related | February 23, 2020

My mother owns a boxer that she picked up off the streets a few years ago; around the same time, my dad and I were living with her, and I adopted a cat. However, unbeknownst to me, this dog she picked up had serious issues when it came to smaller animals and chased my newly adopted cat right out of the house, snarling and barking the entire time. We managed to stop the dog, but we lost my cat down the street. Miraculously, she came back a week later, unharmed and only a little worse for wear. My mother tried to convince me that her dog was just a little excited and to bring my cat inside while the dog was loose in the house, but my dad and I staunchly refused. Eventually, my mother relented and took her dog out the back door on a leash, away from where my cat was hiding under the front porch, and I coaxed [Cat] inside to the back room where I could keep her safely away from [Dog]. For the next few weeks, my mother insisted on letting [Dog] into my room or [Cat] out into the living room so they could get “acquainted,” but I refused to do so. Eventually, my dad and I found another place to live and moved out.

Since it’s sort of relevant to the story, I should mention during that time my dad also had a boxer that had been around cats since she was a puppy and was very mild-natured and well-behaved around them. After we moved out, she and [Cat] got along swimmingly and constantly cuddled, played, etc.

Fast forward a few years later, during which time my mother is extremely pushy about bringing [Dog] over to play with my dad’s dog, “because she needs a playmate,” to the point that she bullies my dad into letting her in and forces me to constantly put up [Cat]. My mother insists [Dog] won’t hurt her, but there are several instances that make me believe otherwise. Finally, I put my foot down and I tell my mother that unless she leaves [Dog] at her house, she can’t come over. My mother tries to bully me about picking on [Dog], but when I refuse to relent, she stops coming by as often and leaves [Dog] in her car when she does.

Eventually, my dad wants to take a vacation way out of town and asks if I want to go. I say sure and we make plans. Everything’s in order… except for arrangements for the pets. We’ve chosen a poor time of year to make impromptu plans and can’t find a pet-sitter. Reluctantly, we finally accept that we’ll have to ask my mother if she can do it, as we can’t think of any alternatives, so I give her a call and tell her we need a sitter. She’s more than happy to do so, which we figured she would be, but given her history… 

I tell her, “Now, just to be clear, you are absolutely not to bring [Dog] to the house. I don’t want her near [Cat], and I don’t want to hear any ‘buts’ about it. Don’t bring her in the house.”

“You don’t have to tell me like I’m a child, [My Name],” my mother insists. “I would never bring [Dog] over! Honestly, I don’t know why you hate her so much; she wouldn’t hurt [Cat], but whatever.”

We argue a bit back and forth over the phone until I think we’ve reached an understanding. My dad and I go on our vacation, have a pleasant time, and come back a few days later. My mother is at the house when we come back, and when we come inside, [Dog] is in the house. Naturally, I am livid.

“I thought I told you not to bring that f****** dog in the house!” I yell.

“Don’t you swear at me!” says my mother. “I brought her over to introduce her to [Cat] and they’ve been getting along just fine, just like I told you they would!”

Now I’m both angry and scared, and I immediately start looking for [Cat] while my dad and mother have a shouting match in the living room. Eventually, my mother leaves in a huff with [Dog], and not much longer later I find my cat hiding under my bed. It takes a long time for me to coax her out — nearly an hour — and the stench of cat urine and feces is obvious; she’s been so scared she hasn’t come out to even use her litter box. And when she comes out, she beelines for the water bowl and drinks like she’s dying of thirst. I notice right away that her tail is scraggly and bloodied, and sure enough, it’s obvious she was bitten when I inspect it. It doesn’t look too severe and has scabbed over, but my dad calls the vet while I call my mother in tears. I scream and cuss her out for lying to me, disrespecting me, endangering my cat, and being negligent, etc. It’s not my proudest moment, but I am super upset. My mother proceeds to retaliate with how I should be grateful that she “volunteered” to take care of our pets, that I’m making a big deal over “one little love nip,” that [Cat] was poorly behaved, and a bunch of other bulls***. Finally, I tell her that she can f*** off, and that I refuse to speak to her until she gets rid of [Dog].

I haven’t heard from her since. We took my cat to the vet as soon as possible, and aside from some slight scarring, she’s perfectly fine. Though, since then, we’ve made sure to have plenty of options for pet-sitters on hand if we want to go on trips anymore!

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