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Dad Is In More Hot Water Than The Hotdogs

, , | Related | August 18, 2017

(This is during the Northeast blackout of 2003. It’s the height of summer, and our power and water have been out for days. I’m 12 at the time and already acting like a teenager, communicating mostly through angry expressions and snarky words. My mom and brother are away on my brother’s school trip, so it’s just me and my dad. Unfortunately, my dad doesn’t really have any cooking or survival skills. He can barely boil water without something going wrong. During the brief time between when he moved out of his parents’ house and when he married my mom, he lived exclusively on pizza and fast food. He once nearly burnt down his apartment by trying to reheat a pizza in the oven without removing it from the box first. Obviously, he’s having some trouble feeding us both with no working fridge, freezer, oven, stove, or microwave. While I’m reading a book and trying to keep cool, I see my dad carry a gas camp stove outside. I hear lots of clattering and swearing for the next half hour or so, then he comes back inside and proudly sets a plate in front of me. On it are the charred remains of what looks like an entire package of hot dogs. One of them has broken open and appears to still be raw on the inside.)

Me: *disgusted look*

Dad: “Okay, I know it’s not as good as what your mom makes, but this was the best I could do.”

Me: “Oh, my god, Dad! You know I’m a vegetarian now.”

Dad: “Oh, right. Still? But anyway, do hot dogs even count?”

Me: *Of course they— Hold on, I thought we declared yesterday that all the food in the fridge was bad.”

Dad: “Yeah, but hot dogs don’t go bad.”

Me: “Uh, yeah, they do. Why do you think we keep them in the fridge?”

Dad: “Because that’s where the meat drawer is?”

Me: *face-palm* “We can’t eat this. We could get sick.”

Dad: “Well, other than this, we have ketchup and chocolate milk powder without the milk. And without water, for that matter.”

(We decided to drive around to see if any stores were open and selling food or water. We had no luck for a few hours, and then the sun went down. We saw a faint glow on the horizon and headed in that direction. It turned out to be a city with the power back on, and we found one fast food place that was open. We got some food and drinks and then decided to come back the next day to see if any grocery stores were open. Luckily, our power came back on that night. When my mom got home, she had a few words with my dad regarding food safety.)

Customer Has Daddy Issues On Your Behalf

, , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(I work at a low cost retailer on the weekends to make some extra cash. The weekend before Father’s Day, my manager approaches me while I restock some shelves.)

Manager: “Can you work next weekend?”

Me: “Yes. Why?”

Manager: “Thank God! I’m having problems finding people willing to work on Father’s Day.”

(Before I can say anything, an older customer who is standing a few feet away speaks up.)

Customer: “You want to work on Father’s Day? How could you! Don’t you love your father? Don’t you want to spend time with him? What kind of daughter are you? Don’t want to see your own your father on Father’s Day?!”

Manager: *turns to Customer* “I’m sorry, ma’am—”

Customer: *turns her wrath towards the manager* “And you! How could you ask this poor young woman to work on the day made to celebrate her father?!”

(My manager looks flummoxed for a moment, so I jump in.)

Me: “Ma’am? My father has been dead for ten years, and really, he was an a**-hole when he was alive. I don’t think he really cares what I do on Father’s Day.”

(The customer stops and stares at me, her mouth agape. Then she turns and hurries away. I glance at my manager, sure I’m about to get yelled at for cursing at a customer, but am surprised to see him grinning ear to ear.)

Manager: “So… still available to work next weekend?”

You’re The Gluten That Binds The Family Together

, , | Related | August 18, 2017

(My family and I are sitting in the garden having a barbecue. My father is celiac, meaning that giving him gluten is the equivalent of laying his intestines out on a road of broken glass and going over it with a steam roller. He has just finished cooking some gluten-free burgers.)

Me: *coughs* “These aren’t very pleasant.”

Dad: *laughs* “Of course not! They’re celiac. It’s not celiac if it doesn’t get stuck in your craw.”

Me: “Dude, your life f****** sucks.”

Dad: “I know. It’s gotten to the point now that if I’m eating something nice I have to look at the box to double-check.” *recreates a suspicious look*

Mum: “I can’t believe people who aren’t celiac eat this. Put something else on.”

(She chucks what is left of her burger on the ground for the dog.)

Dad: “Nope! If I have to suffer, you have to suffer with me.”

Me: *quoting someone I don’t remember* “I once knew a man who gave up smoking, drinking, rich food, and sex. He was healthy until the day he killed himself.”

(The dog then interrupts us by hacking in the corner, eventually sicking up the burger.)

Dad: “Well if the Labrador can’t stomach it, maybe I shouldn’t eat it either.”

Me: “If the Labrador can’t eat it, I think it technically counts as bio-waste.”

(The dog is fine.)


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Eat Your Own Words

, , , | Related | August 17, 2017

(My mom, my grandmother, and I are having dinner. I’m in my teens and still eating a lot. I grab another pork chop from the center of the table.)

Mom: “Just because it’s there doesn’t mean you have to eat it.”

(Later on, Mom examines the juice she’s drinking.)

Mom: “This juice isn’t what I was expecting. I don’t really like it.”

Grandma: “So why do you keep drinking it?”

Mom: “I don’t know. It’s sitting there and I just forget and take another sip.”

Me: “Just because it’s there doesn’t mean you have to drink it.”

Mom: *glares at me*

Will Trip Over Your Own Ankles To Get A Job

, , , | Related | August 16, 2017

(I live with my dad and my brother. Lately, I got sick of working in customer service so I quit and started looking for a job in a warehouse. There weren’t a lot and I was out of work for months. During that time, my dad, who likes to always have the last word of everything, comes up to me.)

Dad: “Get a job! Do something!”

Me: “I am looking!”

Dad: “Go to school! Do something!” *leaves*

Me: “What the h***?”

Brother: “It’s normal for parents to harass their children.”

(Fast forward a few weeks after that, I finally get a job at a shipping warehouse. During all this time, my dad has been harassing me. Everything goes well until my boss makes me do something dangerous, and I trip and fall. I break my ankle and go to the hospital and get a cast. I can’t work.)

Me: “See what happened?! You told me to go and get a job and I do and I break my ankle!”

Dad: *completely baffled* “Uhh….durr?” *walks away*

Brother: “It’s all your fault for listening to your boss. Take some responsibility.”

(I can’t wait to move out!)