What A Female Dog!

, , , , , , , , | Learning | November 21, 2017

I went to a Catholic school, and in sixth and seventh grade I had a religion teacher who was nice enough, but a bit strict when it came to religious beliefs. One day, she told us a story about a young student whose dog had died the previous night. He told her about it while crying, and ended it by saying, “At least I’ll see him in Heaven.”

Her response? “Dogs don’t go to Heaven. Heaven is only for those with souls, and animals don’t have souls.” Cue a renewed bout of crying.

She told us this story to highlight the idea that his parents should have told him the truth, rather than let him falsely believe something that wasn’t true. Even then, I found it a bit cruel to tell a grieving eight-year-old that they’ll never see their beloved pet again, and I found it difficult to believe that animals have no souls. Today, I attribute a lot of my experiences at that school to my current semi-agnostic stance on religion.

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Owner Getting Owned By A Four-Year-Old

, , , , , , , | Working | November 21, 2017

In the 1970s, a local store owner really disliked kids being in her store. She would watch pre-teens and teens who went in very closely. Some of us just stopped going to her store; others watched for the owner to be inattentive so they could pocket things, just to spite her.

One day, I stopped in with some friends to check out a stuffed animal. The owner, as usual, was following us around and watching us closely, much too closely for our comfort. As we were getting ready to leave, an older woman came in with her small granddaughter. The grandmother set a grocery bag on the floor against the counter and engaged the store-owner in conversation.

We watched in amazement as the maybe four-year-old granddaughter immediately began stuffing candy bars in their grocery bag. She then wandered around the shop, picking up items, and carrying them to the counter to put in their bag. In view of the owner!

We continued watching until the grandmother picked up the bag and left — without buying anything.

I looked at the owner, pointing at the grandmother, about to point out what happened.

I stopped talking at a very nasty look from the owner.

One of my friends grabbed my arm and said it wouldn’t do any good, so we just left.

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Oscar Mike Golf

, , , , , , | Working | November 20, 2017

I am doing some stock take at a high-end watch shop. Each watch has a long serial number on the back, a combination of letters and numbers. All the staff use the International Radio Alphabet (Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, etc.) to call out the serial numbers. The store manager comes from upstairs, needing a watch to transfer to another store — a fairly common occurrence.

He needs to note the serial number on our POS system, but elects to write the number down and fill it in later.

The number is called up to him as another sales staff packages up the watch in a pretty box.

Later, the manager is getting frustrated with the POS system not accepting the serial number.

He’s about to go berserk at the sales clerk that’s reading him the number, until I check, and the manager is trying to enter “Whiskey Romeo 3456” rather than “WR3456″ into the database.”

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Realty Bites

, , , , , | Learning | November 20, 2017

I’m the idiot of this story. I need a substantial job to pay my bills, so I start searching. One of my friends tells me I’d make a good realtor, so I find a free information night at a realtor office. There are about fifteen people there, ranging from eighteen to seventy-five years old.

I immediately get labeled “Class Bigmouth” when the speaker writes on the board that his “Pet Peav” [sic] is having phones not on silent. I jokingly tell him that my pet peeve is misspelling and show him the proper spelling on my phone.

The speaker then talks about business realty and buying land for businesses, and how sometimes the business wants a certain type of land, and a good realtor will persuade the owners to sell their property if need be.

My status as “Class Bigmouth” already confirmed, I pipe up with a joke about “putting on a monster costume and hoping Scooby-Doo doesn’t show up.”

There is an absolute dead silence at this as I awkwardly try to explain the premise of Scooby-Doo to everyone. Eventually, we move on and I very quickly decide that the realtor life is not for me.

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How Very Tot-ful

, , , , , , , | Right | November 18, 2017

Every fall, we run a donation drive to benefit Toys for Tots, an organization run by the United States Marine Corps which collects new, unwrapped toys, and donates them to children whose families can’t afford them for the holidays.

Today, I had a family come through my line to buy a parakeet: a father, his daughter, around 12 or 13 years old, and his son, around 9 or 10 years old. After ringing up the bird, I asked the father if he’d be interested in donating to Toys for Tots. He turned to his daughter and said, “It’s your money; it’s up to you.” She said, “Yes. It’s a nice thing to do.”

This year, we have stuffed dogs, cats, and bunnies available for donation. The bunny is very popular, and when people ask to donate a specific toy, that’s almost always the one they choose. I asked the girl if she cared which toy she donated, and sure enough, she chose the snuggly pink rabbit.

Each toy has a name. The dog is Chance, the cat is Lucky, and the bunny is Hope. So, I told this sweet young girl who chose to spend $5 of her own money, “Thank you; you’re giving a child Hope,” and her face lit up. I won’t soon forget this young girl or her generosity.

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