Leaving Your Kids In One Social Service, Ending Up In Another

, , , , , , , | Right | May 17, 2020

Connecticut state law prohibits leaving any children under the age of twelve alone in public places. There has to be an adult, eighteen or older, with them. It continues to stun my colleagues and me, even in this day and age, that parents don’t think twice about literally abandoning their kids in a big room filled with people they don’t know.

I work in a library. A mother and seven children, approximately nine years to twelve months, come to the children’s department. Then, the mother turns on her heel and prepares to leave. My boss sees her and runs after her.

Boss: “Ma’am, you cannot leave your children here. You need to stay with them or take them with you. We are not babysitters.”

Mother: “No hablo inglés.”

My boss repeats everything she just said in Spanish. The mother stares at her and shrugs, coming back inside.

We go about our work and things are peaceful until we catch two of the kids with a very large stuffed animal that is our library mascot. One child has found a hole in a seam — which has been stitched over many time —  and is digging the stuffing out. The other child is trying to put the next to the youngest ON the animal.

My boss steps in before any of us can say anything and asks where their mother is. The kids, who had been shouting at one another in perfect English, suddenly cannot speak ANY language.

My boss realizes that ALL seven children are also sick and the baby is the worst. He has thrown up in a corner. Oh, joy.

She goes looking for the mother and finds her in a faraway part of the library where she is holding court with her friends and our security guard, who seems to know her. My boss heads to the guard and says:

Boss: “Hi, [Guard], I’m going to need your help. Someone abandoned seven kids in my department.”

The mother is looking smug because she thinks she got away with something, as my boss is pretending not to know who she is.  

Boss: “All seven kids are very sick, sneezing and coughing, and at least one of them has vomited all over himself. As you know, protocol says I have to ask you to call the police since they are clearly abandoned and are all sick. They need to be taken to Social Services and—”

She doesn’t get any further as, suddenly, Mom speaks perfect English, too.

Mother: “Those are my kids! You can’t call the police!”

Boss: “Well, I will, if you are not down there with them to stay in the next thirty seconds, and yes, I can call the police and I will if you ever do something like that again.”

The mother tore back to the children’s department and dragged all her kids off, but not before they had wiped their noses on our mascot and coughed on all of us and the baby had tossed his cookies again.

We were all sick within the week, but we never saw the mother or her kids again. My boss said later that she wished she could have called the police, but at the time, we weren’t supposed to call the police for anything but people having violent altercations or stumbling about in drunken stupors.

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Soon She’ll Be Quiet As A (Dead) Mouse

, , , , , | Related | May 14, 2020

I was visiting my parents at the small store my dad owns, and while he was up front, I was chatting with my mom in the back office area. The door between the front and back was open.

My mom commented, “I wonder if that mousetrap has caught anything yet.”

I had been with my dad at the office on the weekend, and I asked, “Did you hear that Dad found a dead mouse in the garbage can last week?”

“He what?! No!”

She rushed to the open door between the front and back and called — loudly — up to the front, “You found a dead mouse in the garbage can?”

It was then, and only then, that she heard him talking to a customer up front. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth and almost melted away into her office chair.

After a moment, she whispered, “Haven’t made a business blunder like that in a loooong time.”

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“Jumanji” Came Out Twenty-Five Years Ago… Feel Old Yet?

, , | Related | May 14, 2020

I am facing some difficulties during breakfast.

Me: “Mom, we have to buy another toaster.”

Mom: “That one’s still good!”

Me: “Oh, come on! It’s old! It makes weird noises, the springs are blown to h***, and it doesn’t even toast anymore!”

Mom: “It’s not that old.”

Me: “Mom, when you bought this toaster, the original Jumanji was still in theatres. I think it’s about time we get a new one.”

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This Whole Neighborhood’s Going To The Dogs!

, , , , , | Related | May 13, 2020

I’m about seven years old in this story. As I’m getting off the school bus, a random dog decides he wants to follow me. I try shooing him off, but he just refuses to go away. Not really knowing what to do, and worrying about what might happen if this dog sees my cat, I decide to try and get my dad’s attention in the hopes that he’ll know what to do.

Our house has a screen door just outside the front door, so rather than risk letting the dog inside, I bang on the screen door as loud as I can. My dad opens the front door and I tell him, “We have a problem.”

Before I can say anything else, he opens the screen door to see what the “problem” is. Naturally, our cat is literally right behind him.

The dog immediately chases our cat through the kitchen, into the living room, up over the couch, and back into the kitchen. Dad grabs some of his fireplace tools and uses them to haul the dog back out the door, while our poor cat bolts upstairs. After he’s gotten the door shut again, I quietly point out that there was a reason I hadn’t opened the door.

We didn’t see our cat until sometime the next day; judging by the soot on her fur she’d somehow hidden herself in the attic through the night. Can’t blame her, honestly.

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Thanks For The Trauma, Mama!

, , , , | Related | May 12, 2020

My mother and I went shopping one day when I was sixteen. I’ve been cursed with really large breasts; it looks odd as they don’t fit the rest of my body and they give me back pain, so there’s really nothing good about them. I decided to finally get professionally measured to find the correct size.

Up to this day, I was wearing an 80B. When the lady was done measuring and gave me a bra to try on, I was completely stunned. 

Before, I always had to hold my chest when I went down the stairs or when I bent over to make sure nothing fell out. With this bra, I could even jump and everything stayed in place; it was an 80E and fit perfectly.

I went to my mother, who waited for me at the register, and happily told her I’d found the perfect bra. When I told her my right size, she snapped.

“Who do you think you are?” she said. “Do you think you’re better than the rest of us? I will not buy this piece of s***. Your sister has a B and so do you; don’t think you’re special!” 

Then, she dragged me out of the store. 

As I was not allowed to get a job, I had to wait two more years until I moved out to finally buy underwear that fit. 

My mother still thinks she is in the right and can’t understand why my sisters and I needed therapy after growing up with her.

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