She Put A Hit On You

, , , , | Right | May 16, 2020

I walk into a fast-food restaurant. There are two cashiers at the registers, a big open space on this side, and then two ladies, both standing well back from the counter over by the pick-up area. I head up to one of the open registers. As I approach, one of the ladies suddenly calls out.

Lady: “We were here first!”

I glance over and then just nod.

Me: “Okay.”

I then turn back and finish walking up to the register.

Worker: “Hi. What can I get for you?”

Me: “I’d like to get—”

A hand clamps down on my shoulder and tries to turn me around.

Lady: “You aren’t—”

Without looking at her, I slap her hand off my shoulder, hard. She shrieks and takes a few steps back, before she starts to shout.

Lady: “YOU HIT ME! HE HIT ME!”

The cashier in front of me looks rather uncomfortable, while the other cashier just looks annoyed.

Me: “I’d like [combo].”

The cashier types it in and takes my money, all while this lady is still standing there, screeching, “HE HIT ME!” I get my receipt, go fill up my cup, and then go back up when my order is called to see the lady still standing there yelling, at a manager now, while the other lady hasn’t moved from where they were originally standing.

Lady: “HE’S THE ONE! HE HIT ME! KICK HIM OUT!”

The manager didn’t do anything as I collected my food. I went to sit down and eat it. I didn’t hurry, but I didn’t take too long, either. When I finished, the lady was still there shouting at an entirely different worker as I walked out the door.

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Right, Sleeping, Sure

, , , , | Related | April 13, 2020

This happened when my friend and I were thirteen. We went camping at the beach with my entire family. But being thirteen, we were teenagers! At least in our minds.

We brought a tent for us to share away from the family. The last full day that we were there, my friend and I went out into the ocean all day, so when we came back that night we were exhausted. 

My niece, who was six, asked if she could sleep in the tent with my friend and me, wanting to sleep with the big girls. We said sure and put her sleeping bag in between ours and we all went to sleep.

My niece, even to this day, is an active sleeper, meaning she moves around all the time in her sleep. But we were so tired that we didn’t even notice that she threw her arms wide and hit my friend and me in the face. We only found out the next morning when my friend had a black eye and I had a busted lip… and my niece was perfectly fine.

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You Probably Shouldn’t Tackle Civilians, Either

, , , , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2020

I take a ferry to get to work most days and the ferry dock has a lot of interesting people hanging around. I utilize the time on the ferry and the walk up to work listening to audiobooks on my earbuds or planning my meetings.

One day, I am suddenly tapped on the shoulder by a tall man who does the most interesting Inspector Clouseau impression saying, “You slowed down suddenly and my face hit your bag.” 

This is almost physically impossible but I just say, “Okay, look where you are going.”

Next thing I know, he is in my face saying, “I did not hear you. Are you going to say sorry or say something smart?”

I just say, “I am not going to say anything to you,” and start walking away along the walkway along the river.

I go maybe ten steps before instincts from years as a front line public safety officer get me to step sideways; I move just in time for the idiot from before to barrel past me for what must have been a charge meant for me. He runs unchecked into a support column for the shade structure and splashes into ankle-deep stinking muck from the preceding day’s stormwater discharge.

I would have the guy arrested but he just had karma served right in front of my eyes. Also, his female companion has spotted my badge and is hauling the stinking idiot towards the tap, muttering, “Of all the people, you pick on one with a badge.”

For the record, I am not a street cop.

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Everyone In This Story Needs To Be Hugged More

, , , , , , , | Learning | February 15, 2020

I’m taking a musical instrument class in my school during my senior year. It is a pretty laid-back class and we are allowed to play any instrument we provide ourselves, and our teacher just assigns our individual pieces to practice out of whatever sheet music books we bring in ourselves.

Unfortunately, the laid-back nature of the course attracts a lot of problem students who are just looking for an easy class in which to goof off. There is one particular boy who is in the 11th grade but acts much younger and lives for nothing more than to annoy me and a few other people. He does immature things like sitting in our seats when we stand up, pulling chairs out from under us, dumping the spit valve from his trumpet on us or our music books. You get the idea. Our teacher is well aware of his antics and is getting pretty sick of dealing with him.

On this day, a few friends and I snag a private room to practice and chat in peace. We see the annoying kid run up to our door. A boy next to the door and I try to stop it with our feet, but he manages to get it open enough to stick his trumpet bell into the door and blast us with a loud sour note. One of my friends is fairly quiet and gentle but quite large. Apparently, he has finally had more than he can take from this boy. I don’t get a good look at my friend’s face as he hops up and steps to the door, but I can see the look of fear in the annoying kid’s eyes. He turns to flee, but my friend grabs him and pins him to his chest with his arm around the boy’s neck. I can hear the boy gasping for breath.

My friend says, low and seething with rage, “Don’t ever… do that… again.”

My friend shoves him away and closes the door. The annoying kid attempts a show of bravado by banging on the window and yelling angrily before storming off. My friend immediately feels regretful for having let his anger get the best of him, but we reassure him that the kid had it coming. We leave the room to head to our next class and we pass our teacher, an older man who is nearing retirement.

My friend approaches the teacher and says, “I attacked [Annoying Kid].”

“He was harassing us again,” I point out.

But my friend insists, “It doesn’t matter, I hurt him and it was wrong.”

Then, the teacher asks us, “Is he bleeding or unconscious?” We tell him no, and he says, “Then I don’t care!” And with that, he goes into his office and closes the door.

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Bringing You Some Ketchup, Assault, And Pepper

, , , , , | Right | January 9, 2020

(I’m running the front of the restaurant alone during an extremely busy dinner rush while my coworker helps my manager cook in the kitchen. This hasn’t ever been a problem; people are usually much nicer when I’m out there solo. I’ve been able to remember drinks orders pretty well tonight, so I’ve been doing my best to keep people happy. One table has been taken over by local regulars; no problem, even easier for me to remember their drinks, so I keep them well topped up. I’m summoned into the kitchen momentarily to answer a question my manager asks while my coworker comes out to the bar to get her phone as her daughter is ill and needs to be kept on her. Unbeknownst to me, she also serves the regulars some more drinks and doesn’t tell me, and I’m unable to see this as the table is around the corner. I’ve never had any issue with one of the regulars, but as she has caused problems for my coworkers before, I keep an eye on her, being sure to remain friendly. I come out of the kitchen, smiling at the regular customer since she has brought up her empty glass and placed it on the counter, and she is now watching me and waiting silently.)

Me: “Oh, hey! I’ll be right with you; I just gotta wash my hands! Accidentally got covered in ketchup out there!”

Regular: *overly sweet* “Oh, take your time, sweetie! I’m in no rush here!”

(I quickly wash my hands off and make a big show of thoroughly drying them; we can get in trouble if a customer thinks we have dirty hands so it has to almost be theatrical. I pick up the empty wine glass with a smile and hold it up, as I usually do before I refill.)

Me: “Oh, same again? It was [red wine], if I remember correctly, right?”

(The regular suddenly goes from a sweet expression to a rage that I honestly cannot describe, and before I can react she’s brought her arm back and PUNCHED ME hard enough in the face that I almost fall over, barely keeping my feet under me.)

Regular: “How dare you suggest I’m an alcoholic, you little b****?! Can’t you see I’ve got already got another glass?! I was being kind and bringing the old one back; clearly you don’t deserve it!”

Me: “I… I…”

(I’m in so much shock I can’t speak; I’m hurting and confused as to what just happened. Every table, which had all been fairly loud, has gone eerily silent. I can only watch as the regular goes back to her table, still not understanding what I did to deserve such an attack. The silence in the restaurant must have been noticed by my manager because she comes rushing out and sees me.)

Manager: *concerned* “[My Name]! What’s going on?!”

Another Customer: *pointing* “That crazy woman on that table just punched her for doing her job! She just asked if she wanted another drink!”

Manager: “What?! [My Name], is this true?”

Me: *nods, and I’m only just noticing I’m crying, trying to rub the tears away because I already felt embarrassed enough in front of the customers* “Y-yeah, [Regular] just went nuts at me…”

Manager: “All right, you go finish helping [Coworker] in the kitchen for me. I’ll sort this out for you.”

(I did as I was told, and within a couple of minutes my manager came back and told me [Regular] had run off with the rest of her table. I finished my shift out front again, still fairly shaken, but my other customers were extremely kind and patient, with many of them leaving huge tips as they left. Thankfully, we were able to get the CCTV footage after my shift finished and handed it to the police. The regular hasn’t been back in since, and I’m still waiting for the final outcome for the assault charge against her.)

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