She Likes Turtles!

, , , | Hopeless | November 15, 2016

I’d just moved into a set of apartments for the first time, and I don’t know any of my neighbors. I come home from a long and tiring day of work one evening and venture out on the commons to throw something in a trash can there.

Quite abruptly, a small child comes rocketing across the grass and flings her arms around my legs, beaming up at me.

I didn’t know this kid from Adam, but she chattered sweetly to me about her plastic turtle until I went back inside.

A few days ago I went out on the commons again and found the same toddler there with her family. She charged up to me and declared, “Hey! I didn’t give you a hug this morning!”

I still don’t know any other neighbors, but that toddler’s friendliness made my day.

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Love Bites

, , | Related | November 14, 2016

Growing up, I lived less than a mile from a well-known ice cream business. My dad and I would go there every so often, order a couple of cones, and sit in the back of his truck. My dad’s order never changed: large vanilla cone dipped in chocolate.

When I was still little, somewhere between 6 to 10 years old, I got into the habit of biting the tip off of his cone. He would pretend to be angry and I would get a kick out of it. I did this every single time, even when he “sternly” told me not to, well into my teens and even my twenties.

One day, I pick us up some ice cream and his usual order by myself. When I get home, I hand him his cone. He looks at it, then at me, and hands it back. I hadn’t bitten the tip off and he wouldn’t take it until I did!

He no longer gets his cones dipped in chocolate, but I still try my best.

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Unable To Table This Discussion

, | Right | November 12, 2016

I work in a chain-operated sit down restaurant in a small, midwestern city. We are very busy on weekends. We are also attached to a hotel with a bar and banquet facility inside. There are a lot of weddings that take place there, usually on Saturday nights, so Sunday mornings can be especially busy for breakfast.

One Sunday morning we are getting a lot of large groups, most of who did not make reservations. We have a lot of smaller tables in the front of the restaurant and then large tables in the back. We have just seated a group at the last available large table. There are a few smaller tables open, but they are not even close to adjacent. A woman comes in and asks for a table for 12. I tell her that I can’t seat a 12 right now as we don’t have any open tables. She asks if we can push some smaller tables together. I point out that the smaller tables that are open are scattered, with occupied tables between them, and if she would like she can sit in the lobby and we’ll let her know when something opens up.

She starts fuming and demands to speak to the owner. I tell her that he isn’t in at the moment and ask if she would like to leave her number so he can contact her later. She says “No, God-d*** it! Just seat my family! We’re f****** hungry!” I explain to her (again!) that there is no place to seat her and she can wait until something becomes available or she can go elsewhere.

Then she starts in that she knows the owner and they’re good friends and if he were here he would find her a table, he would find a way to make his regular customers happy.

I’ve worked there for six years and had never seen this woman before, so I doubt she’s a regular and I doubt she knows the owner. So, I ask her “Oh, you know Bill?” She says “Yes! I told you, we’re old friends. I went to school with his wife!” I took great pleasure in bursting this hag’s bubble. I said “Ma’am, the owner’s name is Brian, not Bill, and Brian doesn’t have a wife, he has a husband.”

Honestly, even if she DID know the owner, what did she expect? Was he supposed to magically pull a 12-top out of his butt?

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New Lengths Of Stupidity

, , | Right | November 9, 2016

Email from customer about an item she just purchased: “Your listings says that the item would be 20″ wide, but it didn’t say how wide twenty inches was. It is way bigger than I expected!”

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Rock Around The Clock

, , | Friendly | November 7, 2016

After my freshman year of college, I sublet a friend’s room for the summer, in an apartment on the ground floor, to be closer to my job. I share the apartment with her roommate and her roommate’s boyfriend. We all get along really well, spend time together whenever we feel like it, etc.

The week I move in, they warn me about a neighbor across the hall they call the “Random Rock Band Guy.” Apparently he had a habit of playing Rock Band at odd hours, but mentioning the noise to the apartment manager had apparently not been helpful.

About two weeks later, I’m sound asleep on a weeknight, when around three am there’s a blast of music so loud you can hear it throughout our apartment. I stumble to the front door and open it a bit to peek out. Across the hall, the door is wide open, and Random Rock Band Guy is sitting there in nothing but his boxers and a backwards hat, banging away on the drum set that comes with the game. I stare for a minute before locking the door and crawling back into bed.

Since he isn’t actually harming anyone, and the Rock Band playing is so sporadic, there isn’t really much the manager was willing to do about it.

It isn’t until I am about to move out at the end of the summer that I think of playing some kind of retaliation music whenever he starts up.

It didn’t work.

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