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Sounds Like They’d Be Bugged By Anything

, , , , | Right | February 2, 2022

I work at a pizza place and people choose where they sit after ordering. It’s a hot summer, but many families choose to sit outside anyway. I’m working the register when a clearly frazzled woman comes in.

Customer: “I NEED A MANAGER!”

Me: “What’s the issue?”

Customer: “There is a roach on our table! Go kill it! It’s disgusting!”

I send my coworker to go kill it and we realize the family is sitting outside. He puts the roach in the dumpster area instead of killing it and comes back, irritated.

Coworker: “They really asked us to kill a roach… outside… on the GROUND?!”

Me: “I guess?”

Coworker: “She said the restaurant is ‘dirty’ and her family is never coming back. Good riddance.”

The restaurant had just opened four days prior. We don’t miss them.

Canada Takes Parking Violations Seriously

, , | Right | January 20, 2022

My job requires a lot of different tasks, but today, I am nailing things to telephone poles. I am in a sort of upscale area of a major Canadian city, carrying a hammer, a bunch of nails, and the things I am hammering. I walk from pole to pole along the sidewalk. I also have an orange vest.

As I begin to hammer something into a pole, I hear from the street:

Person: “Hey, man, are you giving me a ticket?”

I turn to face the guy and just hold out one hand holding a hammer and my other holding a bunch of nails.

Person: *Laughing* “Never mind.”

Can you imagine? Yes, in this city we skip the ticket and just put a nail through your windshield.

It’s Sure No Walk In The Park

, , , , , | Related | January 8, 2022

When my sister and I were still young — I think I was still in elementary school — my father had read something about part of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal being opened up as a hiking path. He thought it would be good exercise and history for us to walk from a starting point into town, pick up dinner, and walk back to our car. He estimated it would only take a few hours based on how long it usually took him to walk that long a path.

Unfortunately for all of us, my father is not the best planner. His first mistake was confusing the length of the path from our starting point to town as being the full round-trip length, thus underestimating the full length by half. He also failed to account for how much slower tired kids walked compared to trained military men.

Thus, we got to the city later than he had anticipated the entire trip would take. It was already starting to get a little dark by the time we had found someplace to get dinner and we still had a long walk back ahead of us. My father had the bright idea of cutting through the woods to the nearby road to find a quicker way back to his car. I’m honestly not sure what he planned to do even if he did beat us back since cars couldn’t go on the walking path. Meanwhile, my sister and I were sent along the path with our mother.

Us kids got slower and slower as we grew increasingly tired and it grew darker, further delaying the walk back. Eventually, it was nearly pitch dark out. Despite the path being more than large enough for the three of us to walk abreast as it grew dark, my sister started to get afraid that she would fall into either the river on one side of the path or the now drained canal on the other side, so I let her take the middle spot, leaving me, her two-years-younger brother on the side near the canal and my mother to brave falling into the river. My sister also demanded frequent rest breaks as time went on, not that I minded these, as I was also pretty exhausted.

During one of these rest breaks, we suddenly noticed some moving lights. We eventually realized they were flashlights and called out to find a small group of two or three folks who had been hunting for us. They encouraged us to manage the last tiny bit of the walk to a small off-road car — which looked more like a golf cart — with emergency markings on it. 

It took us to a nearby parking lot where we found both an ambulance and a fire truck parked and waiting, lights still flashing.

Apparently, once my father got lost trying to take the shortcut to the car, he knocked on a door to ask for directions, only to find that the house belonged to a volunteer firefighter. Upon hearing my father’s explanation, he had called in the cavalry, despite my dad protesting that it would be overkill. We apparently had multiple search teams out looking for us across the canal.

We got to ride the ambulance back to our car, which little me found rather interesting, though hardly worth the torment of the evening for the experience. My legs and feet were sore for days after from the forced marching. From that day on, whenever my dad tried to plan anything at all, the family would remind him of the Canal and insist that my mother do the actual planning.

Infinitely Better Than A Dusty Old Sofa

, , , , , , | Friendly | December 28, 2021

I have a weird knack for finding unusually valuable things, especially when I’m not looking for them. Several times, I’ve grabbed an interesting-looking book from a free book box only to find out later it’s worth anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand dollars. Secondhand furniture, too, and thrift store jewelry — I have a weird talent for picking a piece I think looks cool that turns out to be some fancy antique or valuable designer piece.

Probably my favorite example, though, found ME as I was taking a walk one evening.

Small Voice: “Mew.”

Me: “Huh?”

Small Voice: *Very insistent* “Mew!”

And out from under my neighbor’s hedge crawled a half-grown kitten in rough shape. Despite looking like he lost a cage fight with a rabid bear, he came right up to me and sat on my feet, meowing. So, I brought him home.

My boyfriend and I got him washed off, got the cuts cleaned out, and gave him some canned tuna, which he promptly inhaled, purring like a lawnmower. It wasn’t until the kitten was curled up on the couch that his fur started to dry enough for us to realize he had a very unique spotted pattern that we’d never seen before. He looked like nothing so much as a tiny leopard.

The kitten clearly had belonged to someone; he was very comfortable around people, and when we got a temporary litter box set up, he jumped right into it with a visible air of relief. With a coat that distinctive, we figured it shouldn’t be too hard to find his owner. We checked the county’s lost pet website. We asked the local animal shelter. We checked the town’s Facebook page. We asked the neighbor whose hedge he had been under. We checked the local bulletin boards. And we found… nothing.

The kitten, by this point, had made himself right at home, sleeping with us at night and pouncing on our socks, and neither of us objected to the idea of keeping him, so we decided to find him a vet while we kept looking.

Vet: “Well, he definitely got into a few scrapes but nothing that shouldn’t heal up. I’ll prescribe him some antibiotics just to be sure, and since we have no way of knowing if he’s been vaccinated, we should get that scheduled if you want to keep him.”

Me: “Sounds good. Any idea what breed he is? I’ve never seen fur like that.”

Vet: “My guess is he’s a Bengal cat. Maybe a Savannah cat, but he’s not quite leggy enough. You don’t usually see spotted coats like that outside of a few specific breeds, but there’s no way to tell for sure unless you wanted to get a genetic test done. He’s a handsome little thing either way, though, and clearly friendly.”

Me: “Has anyone reported one of those missing?”

Vet: “Not that I’ve heard. I’ll ask around, but he isn’t microchipped, either, so if you found him without a collar, I’d guess he’s just a stray.”

Armed with the newfound knowledge that our little rescue was probably a Bengal cat, we kept looking, and we still found no hint of who his owner might be. After a few months, we decided he was probably ours for good and scheduled a few more vet appointments for him.

The kitten was terrified of going outside and absolutely detested other cats — unsurprising, given the state we found him in — but was a sweet, outgoing little cuddlebug when he was safely inside with us. [Boyfriend] and I were relaying the story to a few friends who were over to visit when this conversation happened.

Friend: “He’s a Bengal?! Those things are valuable. You should show him!”

Boyfriend: “He’s probably a Bengal. We don’t know for sure unless we get him tested. He couldn’t be a show cat, anyway; he has too many scars from when he was a stray, and we don’t have any paperwork for him.”

Friend: “But you could get him tested like you said and prove he’s a Bengal! Then you could show him.”

Boyfriend: “I don’t really want to. It sounds like a lot of work for something neither of us are interested in, and more importantly, being stuck at a cat show all day would stress [Kitten] out. He hates other cats.”

Friend: “But the stud fees from a show-quality Bengal would be awesome!”

Me: “Well, he’s definitely not going to be a stud cat. He’s getting neutered next week.”

Friend: “What?! You have a Bengal, and you’re neutering him?!”

Me: “Well, yeah. We’re not showing him. We’re not breeding him. He’s a pet cat, and I want him healthy and mellow. And also, did we mention he hates other cats?”

Friend: “I can’t believe you guys!”

Up to this point, the kitten had been sitting quite contently on [Boyfriend]’s lap, but at this outburst, he flattened himself into [Boyfriend]’s arms and made a VERY unhappy noise.

Friend #2: *Laughing* “See? Even the cat agrees it’s a bad idea. Drop it, man. He’s their cat; they can do what they want.”

Our friend did finally get over it when it became clear that, yeah, our cat really does just loathe every other cat in existence and that going outside turns him into a shaking, yowling ball of stress. Six years later, his original owner still hasn’t shown up, we still don’t know if he’s actually a Bengal cat, and we don’t really care.  Designer breed or not, he’s our handsome furball, and he’s definitely my best find!

How To Never, Ever, Ever Get A Date

, , , , , | Friendly | December 21, 2021

I’m walking to work one morning. A guy driving past calls out:

Guy: “Hey, pretty lady!”

I smile and nod, but nothing more. It’s standard catcalling, except…

He proceeds to follow me for ten solid blocks, continuing to call out to me despite my ignoring him, asking for my name, phone number, etc. It doesn’t take long for me to get annoyed, and by the time he demands to know, “Why are you being so antisocial?”, I’m beginning to get frightened. Luckily, by this point, I’ve arrived at work and managed to evade him.

I don’t think about it until a few days later when it happens again. 

This time, he follows me as I’m walking home, again heedless of the fact that I’m ignoring him and that he’s holding up traffic. All I can do is keep my head down and walk as fast as possible, hoping he’ll finally take a hint and leave me alone and/or that I can get home safely.

Suddenly, I hear a car door slam and I look up to see that he’s pulled over, has gotten out of the car, and is coming toward me.

Thoroughly frightened and completely fed up, I scream as loudly as I can:

Me: “Leave me alone! You’re scaring me!”

He has the nerve to look completely shocked.

Guy: *As if I’m overreacting* “You don’t have to be scared!”

It’s been six months, and while he hasn’t bothered me since, I still jump every time I see a white SUV, wondering if he’s lurking around and waiting to strike.