I’m a self-checkout attendant in a grocery store chain. We’re semi-famous for having a mechanical horse at the front of the store, which can be ridden for just a penny. It’s nothing fancy, but kids adore it.

A woman rolls a full cart of groceries into the self-checkout with three little boys in tow. As soon as they spot the horse, they start begging to ride it. The woman is just trying to get everything scanned and bagged, and she keeps telling them they don’t have time, but the kids just keep asking.

Me: *To the kids* “Sorry, guys, [Horse] is actually taking a nap right now. He gets really tired with people riding him all day.”

Customer: “Yes! He’s napping! [Horse] is taking a nap! You can’t ride him today.”

The kids weren’t happy, but they accepted that [Horse] was napping and didn’t fuss anymore. I now use this excuse with all kids whining about not getting a ride. If any of them ask me why [Horse]’s eyes are open while he’s supposedly napping, I’m going to tell them that he has no eyelids.

My mom and I were at the mall. She was looking for silk boxers because she finds them comfortable to sleep in, and she had tried many stores in the mall with no luck. While walking back to the parking area, we passed a “romance shop” that had a worker standing outside the storefront, and as a last resort, she decided to ask if they carried them.

Mom: “Do you have any men’s lingerie?”

The worker was clearly uncomfortable as she eyed me, a young teen who was most definitely not allowed inside her workplace.

Worker: “…well, we have a men’s push-up thong?” 

Mom: *Laughing* “Not really what I’m looking for, but thanks, anyway.”

This is the story of how my mom’s older sister was born, back in the 1950s.

Nanny (my grandmother) went into labor at home. She called Pa (grandfather) to come and take her to the hospital. The area was very rural at the time, and the hospital was a ways away.

Pa either was already at his mother’s house or decided to stop in and tell them the “wonderful news” about the impending birth. (I don’t remember which.) His mother insisted on feeding him a good meal. And he, naturally, decided that eating was far more important than getting his pregnant wife to the hospital.

By the time Pa got to the house, Nanny was well into labor pains. She was dropped off at the hospital door and rushed to the delivery room. Meanwhile, Pa parked the car. By the time he walked into the hospital, he was a father. My aunt was nearly born in the car — it was that close a thing.

Nanny made her opinion on the delay Very Clear, and this did not repeat for the next two children.

In this story, I spoke of two instances that made me dislike a certain newspaper. That story gave one instance; here’s the other. I can’t remember the exact date, only that it happened in the 1980s.

This newspaper, like many others, had a bingo-style game. The newspaper at the start of the week would contain a unique playing card. In the newspaper, they would print a few numbers, and if you had them on your card, you would cross them off. If you were lucky enough to cross them all out, you would win the jackpot prize of £10,000.

One morning, Mum came into the room, chuckling away. It was the last day of the game, and she had crossed out all the numbers, bar one. We had a bit of a giggle, too, saying it was a shame, but ah, well, never mind. 

Later that day, this particular game hit the news. Thousands of people were ringing the claim line, as they had all won. The switchboard was swamped, and everyone wanted their £10,000. A spokesperson for the newspaper said that all the claimants would get a share of the prize. Ultimately, all the claimants received one pound.

What had happened was that the newspaper had printed the wrong number. The number that should have been printed?

The one we had on our card.

I did suggest to Mum that we contact the newspaper, as it was possible that they might still give us something, but Mum declined, saying we hadn’t won, so they wouldn’t. I always thought that was a bit defeatist, but I respected her wishes. So no, we didn’t get anything, not even our fifteen minutes of fame.  Ah, well; never mind.

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Assault Of A Child

This is the story of how my oldest daughter got suspended for “assaulting a colleague” and its legal conclusion.

The school called to tell me about the “assault”, so I changed into a suit, dolled up a bit (to look more “respectable”), and went there. I entered the principal’s office, where my daughter was waiting.

Principal: “Ms. [My Name], the reason I called you here is that [Daughter] here assaulted a boy, elbowing him in the nose and then punching him, knocking two teeth out. This behaviour is unacceptable for a young lady. As such, she’ll be suspended for a month.”

Me: *To my daughter* “Why did you do that, honey?”

Daughter: “He came from behind me, put his hands up my shirt, grabbed my breasts, and said, ‘Nice t*ts.’ So, I did as uncle taught me.”

Me: *To the principal* “Is this true? You’re punishing my daughter for defending herself? Then what is his punishment for sexually assaulting her?”

Principal: “No punishment. He was assaulted — something very traumatic for an eleven-year-old boy. Also, what he did is normal for boys his age.”

Me: “Okay. Can I have that in writing? Everything you just said?”

Principal: “Here’s the report with the witnessing teacher’s account.”

I picked up the report, which said exactly what the principal had just told me. Then, I got up, grabbed my daughter’s hand, and turned to the principal.

Me: “Now, I am going to the nice police officer outside, and I am going to press charges against you and this school for failing to protect its student from sexual assault and discrimination. Good day.”

(They have police due to a program called “Escola Segura”, which stations cops near schools.)

We walked outside, and I did press charges, showing the report to the cop, who took a picture of it and gave me a report number so I could follow its progress.

The next day, I woke [Daughter] up at 9:30 am and told her to take a shower, so we could go to the ER to get her hand X-rayed, just to be safe.

About twenty minutes later, I heard the water running, and then I heard her screaming. I ran into the bathroom and found her staring at the mirror, tears running down her face. Why? Her chest had bruises in the shape of the little a**hole’s hands — a very traumatizing thing for any woman, let alone an eleven-year-old girl.

I helped her shower and get dressed, and then I called the police, giving them the case number and requesting their presence with a forensic tech at the hospital, also explaining why.

We got there and were escorted through a side door. The tech (a woman) along with a female nurse took pictures and measured the bruises. While this was happening, I was present and giving a statement to a CPS (Child Protective Services) lady, who was shocked at the principal’s reaction to the whole thing. The police officers informed me that they would be adding assault charges against a kid who did this, beyond the ones already filed against him and the school.

As soon as we got home, [Daughter] curled up in my bed, cried under the sheets, and fell asleep. I was feeling murderous. 

My husband and I and our lawyer had a meeting a few days later with the representatives from the Education Department and the Justice Department. They informed us that the principal had been fired and forbidden from working with children. My daughter’s suspension had been revoked, but they would be giving her the time needed for her to recover, and they offered €100,000 in compensation if we didn’t go to court. We agreed.

As for the kid who assaulted my daughter, he was expelled from the school. Legally, we can’t sue him for damages as he is a minor, but the State is proceeding with the criminal charges, and they are going to offer him a five-year suspended sentence and a restraining order so he can’t get within 200m of my daughter. Should he refuse, he’ll get five years in a correction house and between two to five years in an adult prison.

We agreed to their proposal.

They also asked if we wanted [Daughter] to be homeschooled. She’d have the full support of the State, and she would only have to take the tests and exams at the school. We later talked with her and she chose to be homeschooled for the rest of the year since we’re moving abroad next year anyway.

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