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Parking Illegally Is No Day At The Beach

, , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: nerothic | November 26, 2020

I live a ten-minute walk from the beach. As you can imagine, on nice days, people park in our neighbourhood — free parking — and walk to the beach. There is a lot of paid parking space closer by. Parking is quite enough for the residents, but not for us and tourists who don’t want to pay or can’t get a parking space closer by.

My husband and I decide to remove some poles from our front yard so that I can park my car there. It’s small and fits just right, and there is enough room to get the bikes out of the shed and things out of my car. Our front yard is our property to be very, very clear.

Here is where the entitled people come into play. One weekend, the weather is quite nice: not too cold, lovely sunny weather, and overall pleasant for the time of the year. My husband and I take our son out to a petting zoo. We choose to go with my car so that my husband won’t have to drive circles around the neighbourhood afterward.

After a couple of hours, we come home to find someone parked in our front yard. Yeah, no. Not your house, not your yard, so certainly not your parking space. We decide to call the non-emergency line from our local police station to ask for advice.

Police: “You go ahead and call a tow truck, and we’ll send someone over to supervise.”

Okay, cool.

Then, the tow truck company is called and they say they will be over in around twenty minutes; they have some other towing to do.

I decide to stay outside to wait for them. The tow truck company comes, we show proof of residence, and they start to do their job after getting some drinks from me. (Mom always taught me to be kind and look after people, even if they do the jobs you hired them for.) They have their drinks, give a business card for the owners just in case, and leave with the car. I go to my car and put it back in our own front yard.

Two and a half hours later, our doorbell rings. The entitled people who owned the car have returned from their extended walk on the beach. I open the door.

Man: “Hello. Our car is supposed to be here.”

Me: “Yes, it used to be. We had it towed as it was on our property.”

Woman: “But there’s no sign, so we are allowed to park here.”

Me: “No, you’re not. This is private property, and we don’t need to put a placard or anything.”

We had checked that.

Man: “You little liar! You just stole our car and sold it.”

Me: “No, I didn’t. I have the phone number of the towing company.”

I try to hand them the card.

Screaming ensues from the both of them. I’m still standing in the doorway, and my husband is throwing anxious glances through our living room door. I’m nineteen weeks pregnant and he doesn’t like the sound of what is happening outside.

Then, the fun begins. The man tries to force entry to our home. My husband sees this, pushes the man out, and closes the door. Afterward, we dialed for some police assistance.

Meanwhile, we have a pair of banshees at the front door, ringing the doorbell and pounding on the door. A couple of minutes later, the police show up. My husband is not having me near them again. He goes outside where the entitlement comes wafting through the air towards us. He explains the whole situation to the cops while the couple keep screaming things like, “Liar!” and, “Thief!”

My husband even calls the tow company, and they affirm that they have towed a car with the given license plate number.

It comes to a point where the cops give the couple two options: either leave willingly or leave with a couple of shiny bracelets on.

They left… screaming. The tow truck company called us afterward, just to tell us how it went and ask if we were okay. They told us they had loads and loads of fun messing with them a bit.

And now, three times a guess what is screwed on our side of the shed? Yep, a note saying that our front yard is private property and cars will be towed.

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A Cool-Headed Manager Turneth Away Wrath

, , , | Healthy | CREDIT: rainbownator96 | November 26, 2020

I’m working the drive-thru at a pharmacy when an older patient who has occasionally been a handful pulls up. She has two prescriptions to fill and she hands me an empty tube of name-brand hydrocortisone cream.

Patient: “Can you get me another tube of this, too, please?”

Normally, we’re supposed to encourage patients to call ahead for curbside pickup, but we are slow and I am feeling nice. I leave the pharmacy, pick up the same tube, and add it to her order. The cream is about $6.

Later she comes in and starts complaining to the manager on duty.

Patient: “I bought this in the drive-thru earlier, and the employee there was rude to me, and she overcharged me! I demand that she be fired!”

She started generally causing a scene. Apparently, she wanted the store brand that was $3 cheaper. Surprisingly, after the manager reminded her that I was doing her a favor and I technically wasn’t supposed to leave the pharmacy to get over-the-counter products, she calmed down and left. I realize I could have been a bit friendlier, but I’m not a mind reader, lady.

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You’ve Heard Of The Dead Parrot Sketch, Now It’s Time For…

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: DangerMorg | November 26, 2020

It’s a week before Thanksgiving. While I am checking out customers, my supervisor hands me a frozen turkey.

Supervisor: “It needs to go back to the meat department. I’ll take over for you while you take it back.”

This is routine and I think nothing of it, so I accept and headed toward the meat department. I arrive at the frozen turkey selection and place a turkey down within the freezer. A friendly old lady walks up to me:

Old Lady: “Excuse me, do these turkeys get any bigger?”

Remembering a certain meme I had found, I chuckle and say:

Me: “No, ma’am, they’re dead.”

She laughs wholeheartedly along with me, and I tell her I’ll check with the meat department since I’m only a cashier and they’d have a larger turkey for her. She thanks me and I meet with the meat manager in their cooler and tell him about the customer. I then retire back to my post on the checkout line.

I would have forgotten about this altogether if it wasn’t for my manager calling me to her office to talk to me.

Manager: “We’ve got a complaint from a customer about you telling a joke. The customer said a joke about dead turkeys is insensitive towards the animal and that if you wouldn’t be making those jokes about people you shouldn’t do it with turkeys.

We both agree that it was kind of stupid and that I shouldn’t have done it, but she did find the joke funny so I think I got off easy with that one.

A few hours later I am on self-checkout when a lady approaches me, with a leather purse and fur coat.

Customer: “Why are you still here? I filed a complaint against you! You should’ve been fired for what you said!”

Everything had made sense to me at that point. This lady had overheard my joke with the older lady and had taken offense to it. She begins to berate me saying that if someone were to joke about my death I wouldn’t take kindly to it.

Me: *Politely retorting.* “Ma’am, I wouldn’t mind because I’d be dead.”

She starts fuming. With a smug confidence, she gets in my face:

Customer: “Would you kill me if I was a turkey?”

She then starts doing chicken motions and making chicken noises at me, and I can’t help but laugh. From the other self-checkout kiosks, I can see customers stifling giggles and pointing towards the chicken customer. Now finished with her poultry outburst, she repeats her question.

Customer: “If I was a turkey, would you kill me?”

While I am enjoying this tirade, all good things must come to an end so I begrudgingly tell her:

Me: “Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave; you’re causing a disturbance to the other customers.”

She demands that I answer her question.

Me: “No, I wouldn’t kill you but I would call security if you do that again.”

Fortunately, she seems to be deterred, and as she walks towards the door she begins to yell the standard spiel like:

Customer: “I won’t ever shop here again until you get fired! Your soul will burn unless you repent you animal-killer!”

I can’t help but ask the question: why was someone like her in the meat department anyway?

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You Gotta Learn To Coexist

, , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: VenNeb21 | November 25, 2020

I live on the second floor of an apartment building in a college town, so there are lots of young people getting their first taste of “the real world”.

My neighbor below me comes to my door one day.

Neighbor: “I need you to keep the noise down.”

I am confused, since I’m a rather quiet person, until she explains that the “noise” is from me walking around my apartment. She doesn’t appreciate how loudly I walk in my own home.

All the apartments have wall-to-wall carpets except for the first floor. I remember something my uncle once told me about how, if you don’t want to hear people walking above you, then you need to live on the top floor.

Me: “If me walking in my own apartment bothers you, you shouldn’t have chosen to live on the first floor.”

Neighbor: “I have trouble with stairs, so I didn’t have a choice. You just need to be quieter when you’re walking around.”

Me: *Politely* “I’ll work on that.”

And I shut the door. I am not going to alter how I walk in my own apartment just for her and her attitude problem.

Oddly enough, though, shortly after this encounter, I broke my foot walking down the stairs. I would be on crutches for six weeks with a cast and then have a walking cast for several weeks more after that. This made it difficult to move around my apartment since my crutches would get caught in the carpet.

I found that it was easier to sit in my desk chair and push myself around my small apartment with my still functioning foot and arms. However, again, the problem here was the d*** carpet. The wheels would get stuck in the carpet and would cause me the occasional problem. This meant I would have to hop around my apartment if I couldn’t get the chair unstuck from the floor. I could hear her complaining sometimes, especially when I had my balcony door open and she was outside. I honestly didn’t care about her petty problems, but I was tired of hearing them.

Then, one day, I was trying to push myself across the apartment to the kitchen and the wheels got stuck. I had just given the chair a big push, right as it got caught, and I promptly fell out of the chair and onto the floor. I didn’t land gracefully, and I ended up with a huge bruise on the back of my leg from landing on the armrest of the chair. Needless to say, I was not in a good mood and I was in pain.

My lovely neighbor came upstairs not too long after this and to complain that I woke her from her nap with “that loud bang,” I answered the door sitting in the evil chair with my broken foot in plain view. I politely told her that the “loud bang” she heard was my body hitting the floor. In my best sugary-sweet, sarcastic voice, I told her that I appreciated her concern for my well-being and that I was fine. I then thanked her for coming by to check on me and slammed the door in her face.

She never bothered me again.

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“I Don’t Work Here,” Wholesome Edition!

, , , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: Mel9879875 | November 25, 2020

I am at a popular retail chain looking for a window air-conditioner for my small apartment. I have never bought one before, and I don’t have any idea of how many square feet my apartment is or how big an AC I will need.

This older gentleman is in the same aisle, wearing khakis and a blue shirt.

Me: “Excuse me, sir. Can you help me?”

Gentleman: “I don’t work here. But I can try!”

His wife then walked up next to him, and they spent a good ten minutes helping me figure out what would work the best for me. They were super nice and said they had a daughter around my age and would appreciate someone helping her if she was in a similar situation. I bought the AC they recommended, and it worked great for years. Not all “I don’t work here” stories are bad!


This story is part of our Feel Good roundup for November 2020!

Read the next Feel Good roundup story!

Read the Feel Good roundup for November 2020!

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