(My mother is at the grocery store with my brothers, who are only a few years old. Both of them have been fussy all day, which makes my mother super irritable. As she pushes her cart full of groceries around, a random woman comes up to her.)

Woman: “Ah, this is exactly what I need.”

(The woman then proceeds to REACH INTO the cart and grab an item.)

Mom: “WHAT THE H*** DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

Woman: *drops the item* “I… I need this.”

Mom: “THEN YOU GO FIND IT YOURSELF, AND DON’T TAKE MINE!”

(The woman ran away.)

(I’m a dentistry student. At my university, we work in different services every half-day. Thursday morning is when I work with kids. A dad comes in with his two-year-old. The kid starts crying the moment he sees the dentist chair, and I know I’m not going to be able to do anything on him, because putting rotating metal things in the mouth of an uncooperative and squirmy two-year-old is dangerous for both him and me. In the patient’s file, I see that the dad was supposed to have taken an appointment with a teacher to have his kid sedated. He obviously hasn’t done so, because I’m the one taking care of him. I can’t even get a good look at the kid’s teeth, because he won’t open his mouth and he keeps crying. I tell the dad that he absolutely needs an appointment with sedation, or else we won’t be able to take care of his kid.)

Dad: “But they’re only baby teeth; it doesn’t matter if they have cavities!”

Me: “If the infection gets out of hand, the adult teeth could get infected, as well, and come out black and rotten. Not to mention that the bone could be eaten away by the bacteria.”

Dad: “So, what should I do?”

Me: “I can’t do anything right now with him in this state, but with sedation we could try it. He needs to be on an empty stomach, though.”

Dad: “Why?”

Me: “Because if not, he could throw up and drown himself.”

Dad: “Sure, but I come from [City not even 15 minutes away]; I don’t have time for this!”

(I call my professor to examine the child, and together we manage to put a temporary solution on the kid’s teeth. It involves a lot of crying and screaming, with an uncooperative dad that doesn’t want to hold his child, and keeps interrupting us to “go for a walk in the hallway” with his kid.)

Me: “Well, that should slow the cavities down, but keep brushing his teeth regularly.”

Dad: “Oh, he doesn’t brush his teeth.”

Me: “I know. He’s two; you’re supposed to do it.”

Dad: “Well, I don’t.”

Me: “You’re supposed to. I don’t suppose he dresses himself yet, either, but still, he’s not naked now. Same thing: you’re the one who made him, so you’re the one who should brush his teeth until he’s old enough to do it himself.”

(I have received a speeding ticket, and as it’s not my first, I need to attend a government-run “re-training” session at a local school to teach me about the consequences of speeding. I walk into the classroom, and bump into my brother.)

Me: “What are you doing here?”

Brother: “I could ask you the same thing!”

Me: “Did you get a ticket?”

Brother: “Yeah, did you?”

Me: “Yeah, I was told I had to attend this class.”

Brother: “Oh, man. Me, too!” *his eyes go wide* “Seriously?”

(I follow his gaze and see our mom walk into the room.)

Mom: “What are you two doing here?”

(We establish that all three of us have received speeding tickets recently, none of which have been our first. The class starts and the teacher is taking roll-call.)

Teacher: “[My Name] [My Last Name].”

Me: “Here.”

Teacher: “[Brother] [My Last Name].”

Brother: “Here.”

Teacher: “[Mom] [My Last Name].”

Mom: “Here.”

(The teacher looks up after reading the three names in a row, to see the three of us sat together. We all look alike.)

Teacher: “Are you related?”

Mom: “They’re my sons.”

Teacher: “Who taught them how to drive?”

Mom: “I did.”

Teacher: “Figures.”

(I am nine years old.)

Me: “Are we there yet?”

Dad: “Not yet. Another hour or so.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:30 pm.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “It’s only 3:32!”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:35.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:40.”

Me: “What time is it?”

Dad: “3:45, and stop asking, ‘What time is it?’!”

Me: “Il est quelle heure?”

Dad: *has a fit of laughs and throws a tissue roll at me* “Just… NO asking… at all.”

(I’m sitting on my bed when my dad sits next to me.)

Dad: “When your mother gave birth to you, do you want to know the first thing she said to me?”

Me: “No?”

Dad: *continuing anyway* “She said, ‘CHANGE THE SHEETS, YOU B******; I’M BIRTHING YOUR CHILD!’”

Mom: *from the next room* “And what did we come home to? Dirty sheets! That’s what!”