My mother watches my children while I work. I come to pick them up and she starts lecturing me.

Mom: “You need to start getting up earlier. You need to allow enough time to feed them breakfast before they get here. You dropped them off and you probably weren’t even to the end of the street, and they were asking for cereal. I asked them if you fed them breakfast and they said no. They need to eat breakfast. I don’t mind feeding them but—”

I finally manage to interrupt.

Me: “Kids, did you eat breakfast today?”

Kid #1: “Yeah. We had oatmeal.”

Kid #2: “Dad made it for him and us. It had cinnamon!”

Me: “So, no, I didn’t give them breakfast. Their father did. But they ate breakfast.”

Mom: “So why did you tell me you didn’t have breakfast?”

Kid #1: “I said my mom didn’t feed us. Because Dad did.”

Mom: “Why did you ask for food here, then?”

Kid #2: “We don’t have sugar cereal at my house. You do!”

Fortunately, Grandma learned to be more precise in her questions.

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My mother is in her eighties. One day, I come by while she is having a party with a few of her old-lady friends. The issue of race-relations comes up.

Old Lady #1: “I don’t see why anyone would have a problem with black people or Mexicans.”

Old Lady #2: “Right, we’re all the same in God’s eyes!”

Me: *Thinking* Gee, how nice to hear all these old people saying—”

Mother: “Except for those d*** Russians!”

Old Lady #1: “Yeah, and they stink, too!”

Old Lady #2: “And they eat soup with their bare hands!”

I was a bit bummed, but then I remembered that they had all lost family, and then their whole country, to Russian invaders.

‘Rock Band 3’ for X-Box 360 has only been out for a year or so. As the owner of a computer store, I’m pretty friendly with many other business owners in town. One owns a favorite restaurant of mine a block away. They have a large room for parties/spillover when busy/etc. We came up with the idea of doing a “Rock Band” night. I have the Xbox and she offered to get the game and full musical instrument set as she could give it to her son after we used it. I also offered to host, as I had played it before.

We get set up and everything is going great. Some people sing or play instruments, they submit songs and actually wait turns to make sure everyone gets a go. Some folks just sit and watch, enjoying drinks and food.

Then a mom shows up with her kid, who looks to be about twelve or thirteen years old. Both are carrying acoustic guitars.

I greet them and point out the waiting list for RB3 songs and encourage them to grab something to eat or drink while they waited their turn. She immediately gets snarky with me.

Mother: “Well we need to know when we can play.”

Me: “The list is right there. Just choose what song you want to play and which instruments you want to use.”

Mother: “Well we brought our own! We don’t need to use those electric instruments!”

Me: “Oh, I don’t think you understand. We’re playing Rock Band 3. On an Xbox. Those aren’t real instruments.”

I’ve had people ask about that before, when I was playing the guitar at my shop; they didn’t seem to realize it was a game controller.

Mother: “No! I got the email saying we could play!”

Me: “Right… you can play on the Xbox. We’re not doing anything with real instruments. But the owner is right there; maybe you can suggest an open mic night?”

Mother: “NO! THE EMAIL SAID WE CAN PLAY OUR INSTRUMENTS!”

The whole time her kid looks mortified, but never says a word. Finally, the owner notices this woman arguing with me and comes over. She’s a great lady but tolerates absolutely no bull-s***.

Owner: “What’s up?”

Mother: “The email you sent said we can play our own instruments!”

Owner: “No, it didn’t. I sent that email out myself. It clearly says it’s Rock Band for the Xbox. You’re welcome to stay and join in the fun.”

The owner turns to the kid.

Owner: “Would you like to try playing a song?”

The kid’s face lights up, but you can guess what happens next.

Mother: “We’re leaving!”

She escorts the kid out the door.

Me: “You ever see her before?”

Owner: “I don’t think so but she must have eaten here at some point since she’s on our email list.”

I later checked the email from the restaurant and yeah: clear as day it said we’d be playing ‘Rock Band 3’ on the Xbox 360. There was no indication it was open mic night or that people should bring their own instruments. The mother just didn’t want to admit she was wrong. Just felt bad for the kid because he definitely looked like he wanted to join in the fun.

In the late 1990s, when we were in second grade, my twin sister and I got glasses. This was still the second week of school. My sister and I looked (and still look) very similar to each other, though we weren’t (and still aren’t) identical twins. We had ordered them before the start of the school year but for some reason it took some time for them to come. It was surprising that no one had realized we needed glasses before, since at the time I had 20/350 vision and my sister’s was much worse, one of her eyes being functionally blind.

We went to school the Monday after we got glasses. For me, everything was fine. My friend fawned over my glasses because it meant I could watch movies with him now. I had the teacher everyone liked. She was young, fun, and friendly and always had a joke ready for any occasion. My sister had the teacher that everyone dreaded. She was old and rather deaf and would yell at anything she found unacceptable.

Just before lunch, I was called into the main office. I went to the meeting room to see the principal and vice principal looking uncomfortable, my sister’s teacher looking very livid, another woman looking very angry as well with a hand on my sister’s shoulder, and my sister curled up in a chair crying. I went over to my sister and hugged her, and just then my dad burst into the room.

With everyone there, the meeting began. Essentially, what happened was that the teacher believed my sister was breaking the dress code because she was wearing glasses, which “pretty little blonde girls shouldn’t do,” and she tried to take my sister’s glasses off. The assistant teacher intervened. The vice principal actually seemed to be taking the teacher’s side. 

My dad smiled, and then stood up, gestured towards the vice principal and spoke very calmly and matter-of-factly.

Dad: “Firstly, I’m pretty sure I remember your daughter wore glasses in third grade. She’s friends with my son, remember? Secondly, I’m fairly certain when my son was in elementary school he had this hag as his teacher and we specifically requested that none of our other children would ever have her. Thirdly, if by the start of next week [Sister] isn’t transferred out of that witch’s class, I will lawyer up and get the press involved.”

The principal was just sitting there with a smile on his face. The vice principal was stuttering.

Vice Principal: “There are only two second-grade classes, and it’s school policy to not put twins in the same class.” 

Dad: “You can break the policy. Unless you are suggesting my daughter would fare worse in a class with her twin sister and best friend than in a class where the teacher bullies her and doesn’t believe she should be able to see the board.”

Vice Principal: “Well, how do you know that [my teacher] won’t think the same way?”

I exclaimed proudly:

Me: “Because I have her and she said my glasses were really cute this morning!”

The principal turned to the vice principal.

Principal: “You must admit, [Vice Principal], he’s got you beat on all fronts.”

Then, he turned to my dad.

Principal: “Your daughter will be out of [teacher’s] class by tomorrow.”

Even though my dad was smiling the whole time, it was the scariest my sister and I had ever seen him. My sister was transferred into my class the next day, and the year continued without much incident. The teacher was later fired midway through the year for an unrelated incident, and my sister and big brother helped bake a cake to celebrate.

I’m working at a haunted house selling the tickets up front. The manager puts me in charge because he has to make a change run.

A young woman, who looks like she could be twenty, with her child, who looks like he might be five years old, is next in line. We have a rule that no child under seven is allowed inside; signs are put on the door entrance and on the ticket desk that say this. She puts her money on the table and asks for two tickets.

Me: “Ma’am, we cannot allow children under the age of seven to enter the haunted house.”

Customer: “He’s fine; don’t worry about it.”

Me: “No, that’s the rule: nobody under seven.”

Customer: “FINE, HE’S SEVEN!”

It’s already been a long day and I really don’t want to get into it, so I just give her the tickets after taking her money. She snatches the tickets and drags her son to the attraction. The walk in the haunted house usually takes about five minutes.

After about two minutes, I hear a child scream and cry very loudly in the house. Shortly after, I see the same lady, carrying her son, out through the entrance rushing towards me.

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you people?! You made my f****** kid cry in there! I want my money back and I’m going to sue this g**d*** place for traumatizing a four-year-old!”

At this point, her ignorance breaks through my tolerance level.

Me: “Lady, I told you, nobody under seven years old! You even said he was seven! If anything, I can call CPS on you for dragging a four-year-old in there!”

Customer: “Stupid b****! How dare you talk to me like that?! Where is your manager? I bet your tone will change once I tell them you’re threatening me!”

Me: “My manager is not here. Right now, I’m in charge. I’m not gonna argue on an issue that is clearly your fault. So get out, or I can get security to drag you out!”

After a few minutes of calling me names and screeching about how she was going to bring her baby-daddy to “f*** me up,” our security guard finally came out of the office after watching the cameras and proceeded to escort her out.