Driving Yourself Into A Dead End

, , , , | Legal | August 7, 2018

(My office has a parking lot straight across the road from us, where my coworkers and I park our vehicles. Since my office is at the front, I can see the vehicles that come and go through the day. It’s late morning when I notice a red Mercedes parked beside my car, and the owner is apparently waving their hands around, gesturing between vehicles. I hurry out to see what’s going on and see there’s a large red smear on the back of my car, and my bumper has been dented.)

Me: “Oh, God, what happened?”

Owner: “I’ll tell you what! When you parked your d*** car, you hit my Belle!”

Me: “Your… what?”

Owner: “You hit my f***ing car!!”

Me: “That is practically impossible. When did you get here?”

Owner: “I got here over an hour ago. Look at this. Look what you did! I want your insurance information now!

Me: “Fine. And I need yours. However, it’s obvious you hit my car.”

(By this time, a coworker has come out to see what is going on. I give her my phone to ask her to take pictures while I trade information with the car owner.)

Me: “I’m not pulling my insurance information out until you get yours.”

Owner: “I shouldn’t have to! You hit me!”

Me: “Buddy, I’ve been here since 7:30. I have been in my d*** office over there this whole time. How else do you think I saw you standing out here, waving your arms around like a loon? Either get your papers out, or I call the cops. Since I have witnesses to prove where I was, I’m pretty sure you’re going to be the one getting in trouble.”

Owner: *splutters* “How dare you?! Do you know who I am?”

Me: “The a**-hole who hit my car. I’m calling the police.”

(Funny how me saying that introduced the insurance card. I still called the cops, because his insurance paperwork was outdated. He still didn’t understand why he was getting a ticket. When I called his insurance, I had to fax them a copy of the police report, because he’d told them it was my fault.)

Pokémon Go To The Police!

, , , , , , , , | Hopeless | July 30, 2018

I work in a store in an outdoor shopping mall. If I end up closing, my boyfriend and I will eat a late dinner, and then drive down the main strip a few times hitting Pokéstops, as there are a ton in the area.

We also try to beat one of the gyms in the area most nights. Yesterday we parked to battle the gym and ended up winning and claiming it for our team. Less than a minute later, a police car pulled up behind us, blocking us from backing out of the parking spot.

The officer came to the car and wasted no time telling us that it was his gym and he would be taking it back!

It made our night, and now we are in for a real battle!

Entitled To Their Opinion, But Not Their Assumption

, , , , , , | Friendly | June 8, 2018

(I’ve recently hurt my knee and am wearing a brace that allows me to walk, but walking or standing for too long is painful, so I park as close to the grocery store as I can. As I’m getting out of my car, I notice a woman parked a few spaces down and across the aisle is glaring at me as she helps an elderly woman out of her vehicle. I force a smile to be polite, close my door, and lock my car up, then take off toward the store.)

Woman: *loudly* “Mom, look at that one! Bet she’s not even hurt. Stupid, lazy teenager. And look at her brand new car! I bet she’s never paid a dime on it! Entitled teenage brat.”

(I would usually ignore an idiot like her, but I’m in a bad mood and my knee is throbbing, so I whirl around as best I can and flip her off.)

Me: *shouting back* “Actually, I’m a spoiled 30-year-old housewife, with a three-year-old used car, not a spoiled teenager! Thanks for playing, b****, but you don’t win the golden Kewpie doll!”

(I turn and start for the store again as the elderly woman starts cackling gleefully.)

Elderly Woman: *loud enough for me to hear* “Serves you right for being a judgmental c***!”

What A Dump

, , , , , | | Right | May 17, 2018

(The office building I work security for has an attached parking deck with multiple driveways. Security is required to check on the deck via both foot patrol and cameras. I come on duty to find this happening:)

Me: “Where’s [Supervisor #1]?”

Coworker #1: “He’s out at the parking deck.”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, and [Supervisor #2] is helping him.”

Me: “Why?”

Them: “Take a look at the camera footage.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I pull the video up from the last few minutes. I see a guy walk up one of the ramps, clearly trespassing. Then, he looks around.)

Me: “So, they went to chase this guy off?”

Coworker #1: “It gets better. Keep watching.”

(I do, and the next thing I see is the guy lowering his pants to take a massive dump on the driveway. He then pulls his pants up and walks away.)

Coworker #2: “[My Name], you should probably radio them to see if they need backup. That happened just before you got here, and [Supervisor #1] and [Supervisor #2] are trying to see where he went, because the cops are on the way. Oh, and the cleaning crew needs a call.”

Unfiltered Story #104556

, , , , | Unfiltered | January 29, 2018

(I work at a grocery store. One of the tasks that we crew members have is a ‘cart run,’ which is basically just going out into the parking lot and collecting carts and bringing them back into the store. One day, in the middle of February during a snowstorm, as I was struggling to push carts through the sludge, a woman in a floor-length fur coat comes up to me and grabs my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. She speaks in the American version of an upper-crust posh accent.)

Woman: “Really, dear, I must commend you for your hard work.”

Me: “Oh, thank—”

Woman: “I’m sure that if you work hard enough, you might be able to make something out of yourself. I’m sure that for people of your social status, it must be so difficult, but you shouldn’t let that bother you.”

(She smiles in that way that people do when they think they’ve just done a good deed, as though she just paid me a compliment, and I’m sure in her head, it was a compliment. Meanwhile, I’m completely floored.)

Me: “Excuse me?”

Woman: “Well, being part of the working class and all—”

(At this point, I’ve had enough and interrupt her, adopting a similar posh-like accent. I just want to get the carts back into the store and get out of the freezing cold and biting wind.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’ll have you know, I am currently working on my master’s degree at Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts. I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”

Woman: *stammering* “Oh, yes, of course, who hasn’t heard of Miska—”

Me: “Miskatonic University. My major is archaeology with a specific study on ancient tomes and texts. Have you ever heard of the Necronomicon, written by the mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred?”

Woman: “Oh, I’m sure I have…”

Me: “My work with that tome is going to change everything. So you see, I am not simply a cart-pusher or cashier. Now, if you don’t mind…”

(I gesture to the carts, which have started to slide sideways in the harsh winter winds.)

Woman: “Oh, yes, of course. My apologies.”

Me: “Hm.”

(She stumbles off to her car, a Mercedes Benz, and skids out of the parking lot. I guess luxury cars and snowstorms don’t mix. In all, I don’t know what made me more sad; her affluenza and oblivious personality, or her lack of knowledge concerning classic American literature.)

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