Buy To Let To Bullet

, , , , , , | Related | December 4, 2017

My dad told me this story. When he was a kid, the family moved to a new house. After living there about three months, he distinctly remembers that one night they heard a loud bang, and the next morning, he and his siblings found a bullet hole in the mailbox. It was a great mystery for all the children as they wondered why a random person would shoot at their mailbox.

The mystery went unsolved. More than 40 years later, my grandfather developed rapid-onset dementia and had to be put in aged care. As my dad and my uncle went through his paperwork and belongings, trying to sort everything out, they came across several old documents which shed light on some interesting events that occurred at the time of his family’s move.

My grandfather, despite being a Catholic and never missing a Sunday mass, was not a very nice man. When my grandfather sold the previous property, a farmhouse, before moving to the new one, he deliberately neglected to tell the new owner of the farmhouse that the small piece of land in front of the house — the only entrance to get into the driveway — was actually private property. My grandfather had bought it from the council some years back and now owned it, and he didn’t sell that tiny bit of land to the new owner.

He then, after the sale of the house was finalised, informed the new owner that that piece of land was his, and that he’d give permission for the new owner to use it — essentially, to drive through it to reach their driveway — for a sum of $500 per year, which would be about $3000 in today’s money.

Forty years later, my dad finally understood the bullet-hole in the mailbox.

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It’s PS2 Too Much

, , , , | Related | December 4, 2017

I have an old box TV in my room that is as heavy as it is cumbersome. Additionally, it’s wedged high up on a tall dresser into a corner that requires me to stand on top of a desk to move it or reach the hook-ups in the back, so once I’ve hooked something to it, like a DVD player or game console, it’ll stay there for months until I feel like moving it again. At one point I brought the family [Console #1] up to my room and hooked it up to the TV, thinking it wouldn’t be a problem since the console was ancient and I’m the only person who still played its games anymore anyway. Unfortunately, despite having long since forgotten about its existence in the household for months, the second my younger, 15-year-old sister realized that she no longer had free access to it, she decided that she wanted it.

So, she harassed me. And harassed me. And no matter how many times I told her to go play the [Consoles #2 or #3] instead, she just had to have that console, because the only game she wanted to play right just then was on [Console #1]. So, after months and months of her harassment and my refusal to let her play games in my room (she always eats in my bed and spills drinks, despite me telling her she’s not allowed to bring them into my room), I finally gave in and went to unhook it.

First, I almost fell off my desk, because the cat jumped up at that moment and scared the crap out of me. Then, while moving the TV, I accidentally dropped the corner on my hand and painfully crushed some of my fingers. Then, I nearly fell off the desk again, when I panicked and quickly stopped the [Console #1] from falling off the dresser when the cords caught on something and pulled as I moved the TV. Finally, I got the [Console #1] unhooked, moved the TV back into place, and brought it downstairs, where I had to climb in back of the living room TV to unhook the [Console #4] so I had a place to plug in the [Console #1] and get it set up for her.

My sister played a game for all of five minutes, and then decided she was bored of it already. She switched to the [Console #3] and never played the [Console #1] again. I could have killed her.

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Discharging Hard Truths

, , , | Healthy | December 3, 2017

I was in an ER cubicle patiently waiting for a doctor to be free to treat my migraine, which is considered low-priority in triage. It was a very busy night, but amazingly quiet so my headache wasn’t exacerbated by sounds. And then, HE arrived in an ambulance.

We were able to hear that he had gotten drunk, climbed onto the bar’s roof, and fallen through a skylight.

Though he was at least 40 yards from me, his continual yells were overwhelming, causing me pain, confusion, and dizziness. Because of that, I couldn’t understand most of what he yelled, but did manage to hear him demanding more alcoholic drinks and trying to get out of bed, and that they had to restrain him.

By the time a doctor went to examine him, I was crying from pain and at the end of my ability to cope. The doctor began talking to the drunk: “And what’s going on with you tonight?”

I snapped and yelled, “HE’S DRUNK AND STUPID!”

The entire ward went silent and then we heard giggles. The doctor bustled into my cubicle, followed in minutes by a nurse with a syringe.

Within fifteen minutes of my outburst, I had been medicated and discharged.

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Let’s Not Split Hairs About Who It Is For

, , , | Healthy | December 2, 2017

Because of family history, I need a specific medical test every five years. My husband always accompanies me to the pre-test appointments. The doctor is mostly bald and does not like jokes about it.

Please note that my husband has been balding for quite a few years. A few years before this appointment, I had made my husband a baseball hat, which said, “Wish you were hair.” I hadn’t realized he was wearing it.

The doctor took one look at the hat, got a sour face, and said, “Is that meant for me?”

At first we were too startled to say anything. Then my husband removed his hat to show his own balding head. He and I burst out laughing. After his own startled pause, the doctor joined in.

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Lack Of Direction And Humanity

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 30, 2017

I am taking my four-year-old to the hospital as he has a high fever and seems to be in some respiratory distress. It’s not an ambulance case, but I still don’t want to waste any time. I find that I don’t remember the hospital’s location quite as well as I thought, so I pull into the parking lot of the nearest store, a hardware store, pulling right up to the door to run in and ask for directions. I notice a lady in the passenger seat of a parked car, so close to me that we’re looking at each other, so I decide to ask her.

I don’t tap on the window, but make a tentative gesture toward her, mouthing, “Can I talk to you?” and making a “talk” gesture with my hand. Her expression goes a little colder and she looks back down at whatever she’s reading.

I run into the store and ask the cashier, who gives me directions right away as several customers stare with interest. I run right back out and get in the car again. I wouldn’t have given the lady another thought, but I notice her watching me as I get back into my car, looking smug.

I shout, not looking at her as I close my door, “I wanted directions to the hospital!

Turned out my kid is all right, and everyone is great. Except the lady who was all pleased with herself for not helping a stranger with a sick kid whom she could see through the window.

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