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A collection of stories curated from different subreddits, adapted for NAR.

Don’t Let Granny Get Your Goat… Or Your Books

, , , , | Related | CREDIT: Onionpersonnn | November 24, 2020

When I am about fifteen, my cousin is supposed to take me to the anime and manga convention in a bigger town. I am living in the countryside. I am really excited to go since I just adore watching anime and reading manga. And I am doing some cosplaying, so I am really hoping to bring one of my costumes to the party. The only small problem is money. Since it isn’t a super big convention, it is quite expensive to get the tickets, food, and have some fun there.

Fortunately, I have a bunch of schoolbooks from the past few years of learning and I know a place where you can sell these during the summer in order for somebody to buy them cheaper than in the shop. I can’t get their whole value back for selling these, but it will definitely be enough for convention and then some. I start stacking up all the books, and when my granny asks me what I am doing — she lives with me — I explain where I’m going, what the convention is, and how selling these books will help me cover my expenses. I am really happy to tell her all about the fun things that I will be able to do for three days there.

Then, she tells me a little story about herself.

Grandmother: “When I was ten, I really wanted to have a goat because my friend had a little one and I thought it was really cute. I asked my rich aunt to give me money. My aunt agreed without even asking questions, and she told me exactly where I could buy a small goat. But when I went home to tell my mom about that idea, she snatched the money from my hand and told me that it was not going to happen because we needed to buy food, clothes, etc., not a goat for fun.”

I think that she’s trying to tell me that she is sad that she couldn’t have such fun as a kid. I tell her that I’m feeling sorry for her and don’t think much more of it. I have no idea what is coming.

The next day, when I am supposed to go sell my books, they are gone; they all just disappeared. I immediately get scared that now I can’t go anywhere, but I decide not to panic and just ask everyone in the house what happened to my things. My dad has no idea, nor my brother. I finally confront my grandmother.

Me: “Granny, what happened to those schoolbooks I was going to sell?”

Grandmother: “I have no idea. Someone must have picked them up and hidden them somewhere.”

Me: “I asked literally everyone and no one knows what happened to them. Besides, I already can see on your face that you’re just trying to avoid my questions.”

Grandmother: “Why do you even need these old books?”

Me: “What do you mean? I told you yesterday exactly why I need them.”

Grandmother: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She is acting like our talk never happened and my books never existed. I tell my dad about it. He tells me to forgive her because she’s old and may really not remember that — I know her personality really well and I KNOW that she is just lying to me — and to not worry because he will give me some money. That cheers me up a bit but I am still upset that the books I was about to sell are just gone. We aren’t any kind of rich, so Dad can give me money for tickets and some food, but there is no extra for buying souvenirs, doing lotteries, etc. I was really hoping for that since I was supposed to use only my own money.

After some time, I completely forgot about that accident until I went to my granny’s backyard while helping with something in spring. I looked to the old doghouse because I spotted something weird inside with the corner of my eye. Yup. All my books. All destroyed by the rains, winter, etc. Useless.

I love my grandmother but I still can’t forgive her that she stole my stuff, hoping that I would never go to the dreamed convention just because she couldn’t fulfill her own dream when she was small. I still went there, I still had fun with my cousin, but you know… I was still lied to.

More Entertaining Than “The Blob”

, , , , , , | Related | CREDIT: RavensArts | November 24, 2020

I’m a woman in my late thirties. I have a friend who has an uber-b**** of a younger sister, who in turn has a rotten little eight-year-old crotch goblin.

I mean, this kid is SUCH an a**hole and her s***head mom enables and indulges her. This kid always takes other people’s stuff and either messes with it, breaks it, eats it, or steals it. She throws a fit if you stop her, causing MOMMY to get in your face. Of course, her mom never offers to replace anything.

One night, a bunch of us ladies go to [Friend #1]’s house for a horror movie marathon night. We do movie nights two or three times a month, always with a different theme. Friends and spouses are welcome, and each of us is expected to bring a snack, drinks — alcohol is optional — and one or more movies, usually R-rated. We then pick the three or four movies we like best to watch. Suffice to say, young kids aren’t allowed.

We are well into our first movie — the 1988 remake of “The Blob,” which I brought — and two bottles of wine, when [Friend]’s front door opens and her sister walks in unannounced.

Sister: “I’m going clubbing! You need to watch [Kid]. You’re staying home anyway, so it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

My friend is pissed and refuses to watch the kid because of these reasons, which she fills us in on later. A, [Kid] is a spoiled, destructive brat; B, [Sister] didn’t call or ask, despite multiple warnings; C, this is [FRIEND #1]’s time to unwind with friends, not babysit her sister’s rotten crotch fruit; D, none of the movies are remotely child-friendly and she isn’t going to alter her plans just because her sister wants to go clubbing; and E, did I mention that the kid is a spoiled, destructive brat?

She doesn’t say any of this to her sister; she just gives a flat NO. Both [Sister] and [Kid] throw a tantrum; it turns out she told her daughter she would be having a “fun movie night with Auntie.”

As they argue, the kid takes the opportunity to grab the remote and start playing the DVD we paused when they let themselves in and starts watching. None of us stops her because, honestly, we are too busy watching the sisters fight to notice.

Ironically, we paused it just before a particularly scary and gross scene where a little boy gets grabbed and pulled under the water, and then comes up half-melted and screaming before being dragged back under and devoured.

Naturally, the brat freaks out and starts crying, which alerts [Sister].

Sister: *Screaming* “How dare you let my kid watch your disgusting f****** movie?! Who the f*** brought that?!”

Since I HATE [Sister], I get up off the couch… but surprisingly, so does [Friend #2], a very buff, sporty girl who [Sister] hates and ACTIVELY fears. This is because they got into a fistfight last year when [Sister] groped [Friend #2]’s fiancé at a party, completely sober, and then slapped [Friend #2], who promptly beat the crap out of [Sister] in front of everyone.

Friend #2: *Glaring* “It doesn’t matter whose movie it is. What matters is you coming in here uninvited, giving your sister s***, not watching your f****** kid, and then getting pissed off when your kid once again touches s*** that isn’t hers and ends up scaring herself. Now, I suggest you get your kid, turn around, and Go. F******. Home!’

A smart person would do what [Friend #2] said. But [Sister] has never been particularly smart. Instead of leaving, she turns to ME and starts getting in my face, probably figuring I’m not going to retaliate because she is smaller than me — she’s my height but much slimmer. She is right… but also wrong.

She keeps screaming a mishmash of oral flatulence I don’t really listen to, nor care about. At some point she insists that we NEED to care for her kid.

When she stops to take a breath, I cut in.

Me: “Why is it our job to watch your kid? It’s not like any of us pushed her out of our vag!”

[Sister] actually gasps, like someone in a graphic novel.

Sister: “YOU HAVE A SON!”

Me: *Starting to get really mad* “Yes, I do, but do you see him here? No! That’s because I’m not a self-centered b**** who’d bring him to an adults-only gathering or dump him on others without asking!

This really sets her off. And like any entitled moron who can’t fight, she tries to slap me. Luckily, she fights like a girl. Too bad for her, I don’t.

When [Sister] pulls her arm back — people, never telegraph your blows — I move slightly to the side, grab her arm, rotate it behind her back, grab her hair, and then plant her face into the nearest wall, pinning her arm behind her back. D***, it felt good!

[Sister] struggles and curses, but I’m not letting go.

Me: “You have three choices: you can take your kid and leave, quietly, I can kick your a** in front of your kid—”

I’d never do that, but she doesn’t know that, and by this point, one of the others has taken the kid into the kitchen, but I was too busy to notice.

Me: “—or I can call the cops, have you arrested for assault, and then call your ex to come pick the kid up.”

Her ex is the kid’s dad, and hates [Sister] because she cheated.

[Sister] agrees to the first option, but then, once I release her, she tries to get my friend to side with her because… FAMILY!

[Friend] responds by taking her sister’s keys, removing her house key, and telling her sister that neither she nor her kid are welcome in her house and to please get the f*** out.

The look on [Sister]’s face is one of utter shock, as if she just discovered someone pissing in her cereal bowl. [Sister] then looks to all of us for support — why she looks at me for help, I just don’t get — but we just glare at her.

Realizing nobody will side with her, [Sister] grabs her kid, calls us all c***s, especially me, and leaves, slamming the door.

[Friend] apologizes to us — no need; we all knew her sister was an a**hole — and then immediately calls her parents, giving them the low-down and warning them that unless they want to end up watching the brat all weekend, they’d better get in their car and go anywhere else, and to warn the other relatives, as well; [Sister] has tried this before, many times.

[Sister] didn’t get to go clubbing, and I heard that soon after, she lost custody of the brat to her ex. Apparently, the kid actually started to get better and stop acting up so much after that.

Time To Learn That Nothing Is Free

, , , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: jay_boyo_ | November 24, 2020

To celebrate National Novel Writing Month, my creative writing teacher is making us write a 30,000-word novel. That constitutes about a thousand words a day. This is my first novel, so I decide maybe it’d be best to go for a children’s novel. I’m not saying those are easy to write; I just have some experience with storytelling with children.

To cram some words in, I am writing on the bus. It is pretty nice; people are minding their business, and I’m just a dude working on his laptop… until some kid is like, “I’m going to wreck his productivity!” and starts asking me a lot of questions. I don’t necessarily mind, because this is the age range I’m writing for. It’s a pretty open bus, so his mom has sight of both me and him. We bounce ideas back and forth until his mother comes over.

Mom: “Hey, [Kid], what’re you doing?”

Kid: “I’m helping him write!”

Mom: “What’re you writing?”

Me: “I’m writing a children’s novel. Your kid has been a lot of help.”

Mom: “Well, if he’s helped so much, shouldn’t he be able to get a copy for free?”

I then try to explain to her about the editing process, which can take anywhere from a few days to an entire month, and the publishing process, which would take about half a month to a full month. I also tell her that I’m not even done with it yet. I am barely halfway through the seventh chapter. The kid’s opinions and suggestions might not even come through in the published version.

She then goes OFF about how her son should be compensated for his ideas and how he should at least have a free copy when it is out.

Me: “Oh, I’m planning on selling this on Amazon. I’m publishing under [My Pen Name].”

She continued to say her son should get a free copy. I just got off the bus.

Being Salty Will Result In The Cold Shoulder

, , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: 3colt3/ | November 23, 2020

I live in an apartment complex. There’s a row of four apartments with another four on the same lot, facing each other, owned by the same guy. It snowed a bit yesterday, so today when I got up I decided to help my landlord out since he is an older gentleman, and I grabbed my trusty snow shovel.

I started with our walkways leading up to the sidewalk and then started on the part that goes around back to the garages between the two quadplexes. Just my luck, our side drifted, and six inches of snow turned into a thigh-deep battle.

I’m maybe halfway done with my battle with the drift when someone from the other quadplex comes out and heads for the garages. Our two walkways are separated by about five feet of grass and her side is mostly clear. As this woman I’ve seen once and never spoken to passes me, she flaps her hand to get my attention.

Woman: “Excuuuuuse me!”

After about half a second of her flappy-birding me, I glance up.

Me: “Yes?”

She waves her hand in the general direction of her apartment.

Woman: “Put salt on my stair once you’re finished.”

My. Brain. Goes. Wild! So many things I could say. So many! So much opportunity for shenanigans! Malicious compliance? Petty revenge? But I’m not much for making people too mad if I can help it. I just try to be nice as a first option. I smile at her.

Me: *In a super cheerful voice* “Sorry, don’t have any!”

Woman: “Why not? That’s super dangerous! See all this snow? What if I slip? What company do you work for? What the name of it? I’m going to call up my landlord and have your companies contract cancelled!”

My smiled just gets bigger and bigger as she is talking.

Me: “Lady, I don’t work here; I live here.”

I pointed to my living room window. Her face went instantly red. I was going to mess with her a bit more, but she just muttered something under her breath and hurried off. It gave me the laugh I needed to finish out my morning.

But wait. There’s more!

She actually called the landlord! She claimed I swore at her and she complained that I didn’t shovel her stairs; she said nothing about salt, though. Apparently, she makes monthly complaints about all sorts of things. The takeaway of our conversation with the landlord was that this was a normal interaction with this woman and unless someone is dying, I should ignore her for my own sake.

Actions Have Consequences. Who Knew?

, , , , , | Legal | CREDIT: kmc2301 | November 23, 2020

I’ve been working bar security at the same bar for about three years. If you ever want to know what it’s like to be a bouncer, think daycare but at night, and instead of small children, it’s adults who revert to children when intoxicated… some of them even when not intoxicated.

This night is much like any other night. There’s a popular local band playing so we’ve got a decent crowd going. The team is keeping their eyes open for anyone passed out, being belligerent, drugs, the works. I’m standing by the door to the bar area of the building. One half of this place is a pool hall and the other a bar and entertainment area, and they’re separated by a wall with a door on either end. I stand by this door a lot because I can easily keep track of both rooms at the same time without needing to really walk all around the place.

There’s a gentleman sitting near the door where I am, and there’s a couple sitting at the bar across the way. The female is well-known for acting out when she’s drunk. From what we can see on the cameras inside, she walks on over to the gentlemen by the door and starts trying to flirt with him. This guy has come into the bar for years and never has he raised a hand to anyone for any reason. He’s a professionally-trained boxer, doesn’t really drink, and doesn’t generally close out the bars. He rejects her advances, and she becomes noticeable upset.

The woman runs over to her husband.

Woman: “That guy disrespected me! And he called me names!”

The gentleman ushers her man over.

Gentleman: *Kindly* “I’m sorry, but could you please make this woman leave me alone?”

Before the conversation really starts, though, the husband grabs this guy by the collar and starts driving him towards the wall.

Chaos ensues, as the couple didn’t realize that the gentleman came in with his twenty friends. The gentleman throws a couple of jabs at the husband. Then, the woman decides she wants to join in this brawl, so the gentleman takes a jab at her, too.

WELP.

The dude punches her so hard that he literally folds her bottom row of teeth back into her mouth.

This all happens in the span of about ten seconds before the security team jumps in and gets everyone separated. The husband and wife are taken outside, but we don’t call the cops right away, because that’s generally a last resort.

So now, we’re outside, this lady is bleeding from her mouth, and her husband is visibly angry. The lady keeps asking me to call the cops, but I keep telling her that’s a bad idea, considering her husband put his hands on the guy first, but she’s not having it. So, I call the police.

I can’t describe how difficult it is not to laugh in this lady’s face as she witnesses the cops put her husband in handcuffs and not the guy who punched her. She says something that I’ll never forget, and I wish I had it on recording.

Woman: “THIS IS WHY WE DON’T CALL THE F****** COPS!”

I very nonchalantly remind her that it was her idea to call the police in the first place.

I didn’t see them again until about a year later. The woman had to get her whole bottom row of front teeth pretty much fixed, and she still hasn’t changed in the slightest.

What a night.