(I have been writing fiction for almost twelve years now, and would love to get something published. Until then, and having just graduated college, I am searching for a job while still trying to balance my writing. I have recently adopted a schedule of writing for an hour a day before dinner, as a way to keep focused and not get too burned out from job hunting.)

Me: “Okay, now to do some writing.”

Mom: “Apply to five jobs first.”

Me: “No… writing is more important right now.”

Mom: “Why? There’s no money in writing.”

(Thanks for letting me know after twelve years what you really think of my dreams, mom.)

(My brother was supposed to start a load of laundry early this afternoon and forgot, so he ends up bringing them upstairs for Mom to fold late in the evening. Granted, he screwed up, but Mom is acting like a five-year-old, pouting and throwing stuff, and I’m getting tired of hearing it. I’ve offered to help however I can, but she’d rather be angry. Then she discovers some of the clothes are still damp.)

Mom: “[Brother] didn’t check whether these god-d*** clothes were dry!”

Me: “I can take them back downstairs and dry them again—”

(She throws a pair of underwear across the room. I retrieve them.)

Mom: “Son of a b***!”

(She ignores my offer to help, gathers up all the laundry even though most of it did get dry, and stomps downstairs to dry it again. My step-dad and I are left upstairs.)

Me: “… her words, man. Not mine.”

(I’ve never understood why moms call their own sons son-of-a-bitch, but in this case it fit. Mom must have been way out of line because my step-dad admitted he thought the same thing.)

(When I was about seven years old, my mother’s aunt died. I over hear the adults talking about the funeral and cremation.)

Me: “What’s cremation?”

Mum: “Oh, it’s instead of being buried, [Great Aunt #1] is going into a special fire.”

Me: *horrified* “They are going to burn her?”

Mum: “Yes, that’s what cremation is.”

(I had never known Great Aunt #1 to have a husband and in my mind I decide that’s what was done to unmarried women when they die — they burn them. Before then I thought that all boys were icky and that I would never get married; afterwards I am determined to get married so I don’t get burned when I die. Many years later, my grandmother has passed and my mother has just got her ashes back from the Crematorium.)

Me: “Did I ever tell you what I thought when I was seven, when [Great Aunt #1] died and was cremated?”

Mum: “I don’t think so.”

Me: “I thought that when women who weren’t married died they were burnt as some sort of punishment. That’s what I thought was done to [Great Aunt #1].”

Mum: “Why would you think that? [Great Aunt #1] was married.”

Me: “I never knew she was married.”

Mum: “You’re thinking of [Great Aunt #2]; she wasn’t married.”

Me: “No, we used to visit her in that old house on the highway in [Town] and I don’t ever remember her being married. [Great Aunt #2] lived on [Road] on the other side of [Town].”

Mum: “Oh, no, you wouldn’t have known. [Great Uncle] died before you were born.”

Me: “Anyway, that’s what I thought; then a year or two later, Dad was talking to [His Sisters] about what happens when they bury a body. He said that the germs would get as big as basket balls while they were eating the body.”

Mum: “He was just joking.”

Me: “I know that now, but all I could think of was what would be worse, getting burned or eaten. I figured burning would be quicker and wouldn’t hurt so much.”

Mum: “You don’t feel pain when you are dead.”

Me: “I know that now but I was nine years old.”

(I still shudder at the thought of being eaten by giant germs.)

(My mom, about 70 years old, and I eat at a restaurant. She offers to treat me, pays the bill, and leaves a tip… a tiny 10%. It’s a small check, so I put another dollar from my wallet onto her other few dollars that are on the table.)

Me: “I’d like to contribute to the tip.” *I don’t want to offend her by pointing out the stinginess of her tip*

Mom: “Thank you.” *puts the dollar that I added into her purse*

(If I told her that I didn’t think her tip wasn’t enough, I would have started a war. I would have given the waitress directly another dollar but I was close to being broke.)

(I work at a movie theater as an usher and part of my job is cleaning after the movie is out. There are only three boys of around 10-13 years in one of the screens and we’re all already pretty suspicious, as all of them bought our jumbo buckets of popcorn.)

Coworker: “I bet they’re gonna throw the popcorn.”

Me: “Yep, definitely.”

(As we keep an eye on the monitors behind our tills, we see some popcorn flying.)

Me: “Knew it.”

(I rush to the screen, enter the room, and watch the boys throw their popcorn at the screen. As the movie finishes I stand in front of the closed door, two vacuums beside me.)

Me: *sweetly* “Well, since you’re having so much fun, would you mind helping me clean the mess you made?”

Boy #1: “Are you f****** insane?”

Boy #2: “Yeah. It’s your job to clean, b****!”

(The third boy keeps nodding and empties the rest of his bucket in front of my feet.)

Me: “Well… it is my job indeed. But you know, I was kind enough to watch you throw that popcorn for almost two hours, when I could have kicked you out immediately. So either you start cleaning now, or you will never ever step into our theater again. I don’t know you or your parents, but since I’ve seen you coming here pretty often, I think you would want to use our service again, am I right?”

Boy #1: “I’m gonna complain to your boss! I’ll get you fired! You are just too stupid to do your own job, b****!”

(They start vacuuming the whole screen. I let them do every row and follow them back out. They rush towards a woman who seems to be one of the boy’s mother.)

Boy #3: “She made us clean the entire screen! Get her fired now, Mom! She’s crazy! She made me f****** clean everything!”

Me: “Excuse me, miss. Those boys were alone and started throwing popcorn everywhere. I’m wondering if they ate anything out of their 21€ purchase. I made them vacuum everything since the theater was clean before and I do not clean after such rude customers if I see what’s happening.”

Boy #3: “See! This b**** made us do her f****** job!”

Mother: “Oh, really?” *looking at me* “Thank you. I guess they needed that. Boys, shut up or you’ll never go to the movies again!”

(This mother’s reaction really made my day and I saw her get back at the still-pissed boys outside of the cinema. Never felt so good to see a kid put back in its place.)