I am a tour guide for historical areas of Philadelphia. We are at Independence Hall I am explaining how the windows were kept closed in the summer heat of 1787 while drafting the Constitution to stop people outside from listening in.
Me: “And so, as you’d expect, it got very hot inside, especially in their outfits at the time.”
Tourist: “Why didn’t they turn the air conditioner on?”
CONTENT WARNING: Injury, Blood
One evening while making dinner, I carelessly cut off a small portion of the tip of my thumb. It was a really tiny and annoying injury, but the bleeding was persistent and I had to go to the Emergency Room. The doctor applied a treatment to stem the bleeding and told me she would be back in ten to fifteen minutes to finish up.
She ended up working with another patient for longer than expected, so I opened my e-reader app on my phone while I waited. I had started a book of short stories earlier that day and turned to the second story. When the doctor came back, I was laughing.
Doctor: “Good to see you’re keeping your spirits up!”
Me: “Someone in the book I’m reading just chopped off the tip of their thumb while making dinner.”
Doctor: “No way! Well, you know what they say — life imitates art.”
I was sent home with bandages and antibiotics. The character in the story went through a lot more drama, but so far it looks like I’ve avoided the worst…
After a very long day of driving, I had just returned my rental car and was more than ready to get home. I went to the stop to wait for my bus. Once one arrived a few minutes later, I realized it was packed full of students from the local university. By reading their matching T-shirts, they were high schoolers in a summer program.
After boarding and tapping my card, all I wanted to do was stand with my suitcase (no seats available) and wait to get home. About four or five of these students blocked my way, though.
As a note, at no point did I suspect that any of these students did not speak English. I spoke to the one standing closest to me.
Me: “Excuse me. Is there space behind you?”
Student #1: “Huh?”
Me: “Is there any space behind you to move back?” *Craning my neck around him* “It looks like there is. Could you please move back?”
Student #1: *Looking back* “Doesn’t look like there are any seats, sorry.”
Me: *Rapidly losing patience* “I’m not looking for a seat. I just want to move farther into the bus so I’m not standing right by the door.”
All of the students within earshot, including the one I was speaking to, had blank looks on their faces like I’d asked them all to levitate. I can understand being new to public buses if they weren’t from the city, but I didn’t think my request was complicated.
Me: *Slowly and politely* “I’d like to move past you, but I have this heavy suitcase, and I don’t want to roll over your feet with it.”
Student #1: *Shrugging, still not budging* “I’ll be fine.”
They all waited while I squeezed by them, dragging my suitcase back to stand in the stretch of wide-open empty aisle behind them. There was absolutely no reason they had to stand clumped by the driver like they were. It turned out they were going on a field trip to an art museum. I can’t grasp why their program wouldn’t have paid for a charter bus, especially since the bus line they were on doesn’t go particularly close to that museum.
I wish I had rolled over his feet with my suitcase.
My friend’s family has a Pizza shop that has been closed on Sundays for its fifty years of existence.
Since the Philadelphia Eagles were in the Super Bowl this year, the family decided to use the restaurant to host a big Super Bowl party for family and friends.
They put a big sign on the window.
Sign: “Closed Sunday: Private Party.”
About an hour before the game, we heard loud rapping on the locked front door. We were chosen to deliver the news.
Customer: “We want to order a pizza and wings.”
Me: “Sorry, we are closed; this is a private party.”
Customer: “I know the owner and he said we could get food.”
Me: “Sorry, we are closed; this is a private party.”
Customer: *Now screaming.* “I know the owner and he said we could get food!”
The owner finally comes to the front door and tells the women:
Owner: “Sorry, we are closed; this is a private party.”
Customer: “I know the owner and he said we could get food!”
Owner: “Oh? Can I have your names?”
They eagerly provide their names, and my manager smiles.
Owner: “I am the owner; we are closed for a private party. We have never been open on Sunday and you are now banned; never come back here.”
It was almost a great day, but the Eagles lost.
Related:
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 24
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 23
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 22
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 21
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 20
We sell roasted corn on the cob at festivals and other events. We are set up in a small college town for a community food truck festival at the beginning of May. The school is in Pennsylvania. Tuition at this school is very expensive, and it is known for its liberal arts curriculum.
I group of young people approached us to purchase corn, and a member of the group asks:
Customer: “Is this locally-sourced corn?”
I smile, while my soul is slowly dying
Me: “The corn is from Southern Florida.”
Customer: “If you will not support local farmers, then I will not support you.”
I feel so bad for whoever is paying $80,000 a year for tuition for a child who does not know that crops do not grow year-round in the Northeastern section of the United States.
