CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Assault Of A Child

This is the story of how my oldest daughter got suspended for “assaulting a colleague” and its legal conclusion.

The school called to tell me about the “assault”, so I changed into a suit, dolled up a bit (to look more “respectable”), and went there. I entered the principal’s office, where my daughter was waiting.

Principal: “Ms. [My Name], the reason I called you here is that [Daughter] here assaulted a boy, elbowing him in the nose and then punching him, knocking two teeth out. This behaviour is unacceptable for a young lady. As such, she’ll be suspended for a month.”

Me: *To my daughter* “Why did you do that, honey?”

Daughter: “He came from behind me, put his hands up my shirt, grabbed my breasts, and said, ‘Nice t*ts.’ So, I did as uncle taught me.”

Me: *To the principal* “Is this true? You’re punishing my daughter for defending herself? Then what is his punishment for sexually assaulting her?”

Principal: “No punishment. He was assaulted — something very traumatic for an eleven-year-old boy. Also, what he did is normal for boys his age.”

Me: “Okay. Can I have that in writing? Everything you just said?”

Principal: “Here’s the report with the witnessing teacher’s account.”

I picked up the report, which said exactly what the principal had just told me. Then, I got up, grabbed my daughter’s hand, and turned to the principal.

Me: “Now, I am going to the nice police officer outside, and I am going to press charges against you and this school for failing to protect its student from sexual assault and discrimination. Good day.”

(They have police due to a program called “Escola Segura”, which stations cops near schools.)

We walked outside, and I did press charges, showing the report to the cop, who took a picture of it and gave me a report number so I could follow its progress.

The next day, I woke [Daughter] up at 9:30 am and told her to take a shower, so we could go to the ER to get her hand X-rayed, just to be safe.

About twenty minutes later, I heard the water running, and then I heard her screaming. I ran into the bathroom and found her staring at the mirror, tears running down her face. Why? Her chest had bruises in the shape of the little a**hole’s hands — a very traumatizing thing for any woman, let alone an eleven-year-old girl.

I helped her shower and get dressed, and then I called the police, giving them the case number and requesting their presence with a forensic tech at the hospital, also explaining why.

We got there and were escorted through a side door. The tech (a woman) along with a female nurse took pictures and measured the bruises. While this was happening, I was present and giving a statement to a CPS (Child Protective Services) lady, who was shocked at the principal’s reaction to the whole thing. The police officers informed me that they would be adding assault charges against a kid who did this, beyond the ones already filed against him and the school.

As soon as we got home, [Daughter] curled up in my bed, cried under the sheets, and fell asleep. I was feeling murderous. 

My husband and I and our lawyer had a meeting a few days later with the representatives from the Education Department and the Justice Department. They informed us that the principal had been fired and forbidden from working with children. My daughter’s suspension had been revoked, but they would be giving her the time needed for her to recover, and they offered €100,000 in compensation if we didn’t go to court. We agreed.

As for the kid who assaulted my daughter, he was expelled from the school. Legally, we can’t sue him for damages as he is a minor, but the State is proceeding with the criminal charges, and they are going to offer him a five-year suspended sentence and a restraining order so he can’t get within 200m of my daughter. Should he refuse, he’ll get five years in a correction house and between two to five years in an adult prison.

We agreed to their proposal.

They also asked if we wanted [Daughter] to be homeschooled. She’d have the full support of the State, and she would only have to take the tests and exams at the school. We later talked with her and she chose to be homeschooled for the rest of the year since we’re moving abroad next year anyway.

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My grandfather worked in Human Resources for forty years and freely shared his stories about his work. As a result, by the time I’m about ten, I have a visceral loathing of all Human Resources workers and am fully convinced their sole job is to f*** over good, hard-working employees. 

I make it very clear to my manager when I am hired that I will never, ever speak to Human Resources about anything unless TWO other witnesses — preferably managers — are present. If HR wants to contact me about something that isn’t life-threatening, they can send me an email. 

Most of HR is cool with that, but one HR person views it as the worst insult possible. They demand an in-person meeting. I tell them it will be held in my manager’s office. 

My manager, another manager, and I are waiting for the crazy HR person. 

HR Person: “Why do you insist on us sending you emails? It’s so much easier to talk!”

Me: “Emails leave a written record. You can’t mishear an email.”

HR Person: “But it’s so much work to type out an email!”

My Manager: “For the length of a typical work email, it takes one minute to type.”

HR Person: “But I’m used to just talking!”

Manager #2: “You’ll get used to typing really soon.”

[HR Person] stood up and kicked a hole in the wall. [Manager #2] typed a quick email and snapped a photo of the damage. [HR Person] was escorted out of the building ten minutes later. My opinion about HR being psychotic, evil scumbags was confirmed.

CONTENT WARNING: Repeated Abuse By Sibling

My older sister was physically abusive toward me. At the slightest — accidental — provocation, she would attack me.

My parents generally laughed it off because I was a boy and she was a girl, and I should suck it up; she couldn’t hurt me that badly. 

One time, she nearly drowned me by holding my head underwater in the bathtub, but it didn’t leave any marks, so my parents didn’t care.

I guess I was the one with all of the empathy in the family; I never hit back since I was afraid I might actually hurt her.

One time, I turned the light on in our bedroom while she was asleep so that I could put my stuff away and go to bed. She leaped out of bed, grabbed something heavy, and smacked me with it. She broke my leg.

The nurses and doctors at the hospital actually listened to my story about how my sister abused me, and all the times she had abused me before.

The doctors got CPS involved. They had my parents move me out of the room with my sister into my own room, and they insisted that any disputes between me and my sister would have to be mediated by a third party, or else my parents would lose custody of both of us.

This helped a lot, and by high school, I had almost forgotten how abusive my sister had been, until the day before prom. She was in college by then, drinking and partying, and often spent the night in my parent’s house rather than the dorm because they cooked and did laundry for her.

That night, she was very drunk, our parents were already abed, and her eyes lighted upon me when she got home. “I always hated you, you little f***er,” she said. And then she attacked me.

I managed to get away and lock myself in my room, but I was covered with bruises, bite marks, and scratches. I was a mess. I thought about stealing Mom’s makeup to cover up the bruises like I had done in the past to dodge awkward questions in grade school, but then, I decided, “F*** it.”

I went to prom covered in open, obvious, injuries. I got my prom pictures taken looking like the victim of domestic assault — which I was. One of my friends encouraged me to let the police know what my sister had done, and I did.

She was arrested, and as she was old enough to be legally an adult, she was tried as one. She went to prison and lost her scholarship.

My parents blamed me for it, so after I left for college myself, I never came back. I don’t know how they’re doing now. And I don’t care.

It’s around 2003 or 2004. I am working in the toy section at a huge big-box store doing shelf stocking. Around Black Friday, we happen to have this doll on sale for $19.99; Toys “R” Us has the same doll for $79.99.

People know about this and are lined up outside five hours before we open. They’re not just your regular bargain shoppers but a bunch of middle-aged women who have been standing in the cold for five hours for this… doll. Of course, there are a few normal bargain shoppers in the mix, also.

Fifteen minutes before opening, we start hearing this loud bang, so a few of us go to see what’s happening.

They’re ramming the door! Two-hundred cold people are trying to take down the gate to the kingdom! Five minutes later, there is the inevitable SNAP! Yup… they’ve broken through the doors! Everybody rushes into the store even though it’s not open yet and nobody is at their cash register.

It doesn’t matter; people think it’s okay to go in through the door that popped off its hinges. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve worked retail for almost ten years in total now.

First, we have to call an ambulance, as one of our elderly customers (a very nice, old man who always makes people smile) was near the front entrance, in the front line of the battle of the bargains (barbarians). He fell to the floor and got run over by countless people. Nobody stopped to help; he just got stepped on.

At the same time this is happening, I head over to the toys section where the three pallets of these dolls are sitting. And what do I see? A crazy woman swinging her cane violently, claiming the whole lot of them! She’s screaming things like:

Crazy Customer: “I’ve been here for eight hours! I brought $5,000 and I’m getting them all! If you want some, you are going to have to buy them from me!”

She hits two employees along with many customers. Our security guard is there, though. She’s small but she is built. She goes up to the front of the crowd and addresses the violent woman.

Security Guard: “This is strike two. I want you to leave now or else I’m having you removed.”

Crazy Customer: “Bring it on; you can’t take me!”

The guard slowly walked up to her, put her hands in her pockets, and threw three or four bouncy balls on the floor. The crazy lady was a little thrown off and looked at the balls. The guard snapped the cane out of her hands. The cops showed up a few minutes later.

We sold out of dolls in minutes, with a limit of one per customer.

CONTENT WARNING: Injury

I am working on Black Friday in the clothes department at a big grocery store in a small town. For two straight hours before the sale begins, people hover over the pallets. The alarm goes off and the swarm just goes insane.

There are two women in particular on opposite sides, tossing clothes back and forth to each other. I don’t know what their system is because half the stuff they are just catching and tossing aside.

A little teenager — a petite, tiny girl — intercepts a pair of jeans being tossed and the women just go f****** insane. They elbow her in the face — instant blood. The little girl is so shocked she just stands there shaking and crying. The women act like that was a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

I pull the girl out of the crowd and start to walk her to get her cleaned up when the sheriff appears out of nowhere. (I recognize him; it’s a small town.)

It turns out the teenager is his kid, and the women are arrested on the spot.

When the girl came back for more shopping, she told me that the women had to post bail and pay full price for their s***ty jeans.