When Paper Towels Are Worth More Than Gold

, , , , , , | Related | March 29, 2020

Our home computer is in the kitchen/dining room area. My mom is at the computer and I am in the kitchen. I’m puttering around when I feel the need to blow my nose, so I tear off a paper towel and blow.

Nothing comes out. No snot, boogers, or mucous-like substances. Just hot air. So, now, I’m standing there with a perfectly good paper towel, wondering what to do with it, when I spot a water spill on the counter. Happy that the paper towel shall not go unused, I quickly wipe up the spill with the non-nosed side of the towel and turn to toss it.

That’s when I see my mother looking at me as though she is replaying my entire childhood in her head and wondering where exactly we went wrong with my upbringing. I explain that I’d actually failed to blow my nose, and we share a laugh, but I don’t know if she actually believed me or just thought I was covering for myself.

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Stephen King’s New Cosmetic Line

, , , , | Related | March 28, 2020

(I like to do different greetings with my nana when we talk on the phone. Here’s one I just did:)

Me: “Hello, ma’am, I work for a shady makeup company. Which lipstick would you prefer: fire-engine red, petal pink, or alabaster white?”

Nana: “Oh… petal pink.”

Me: “Which perfume would smell better: dog doo or skunk butt?”

Nana: “Neither one of them! Although dog doo doesn’t make your nose burn.”

Me: “Which eyeshadow would look better: corpse yellow or frozen-to-death blue?”

Nana: “You’re morbid.”

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Pick A Better Habit Or It’s Your Loss

, , , , , , , | Friendly | March 28, 2020

(When my nephew is little he picks his nose until it bleeds CONSTANTLY. Nothing we nor the doctor do will stop him. Even painting his nails with medicine the doctor recommends barely helps.

One year, when he is still in this stage, my parents and I take him to the Fred Hall Sportsman Show. It’s an annual California show for people who fish, hunt, hike, and generally love the outdoors.

We’re passing a booth run by an older man who sees my nephew with his finger back up his nose despite us telling him to stop. The man walks up to my nephew holding out his right hand, revealing that his index and middle finger have been amputated at the knuckle.)

Man: “Do you know how I lost these? By picking my nose.”

(My nephew instantly took his finger out of his nose and never put it back up there. He still talks about that now that he’s in his early thirties, laughing about it. Thank you, sir, for getting him to stop picking his nose. Now, we just need to find another man with amputated fingers to talk to my great-nephew. No, not my nephew’s son — his sister’s.)

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When Doing The Right Thing Sours The Milk

, , , , , , , | Working | March 26, 2020

About ten years ago, I got my first job in a local pub right on the seafront. It was — and still is — a beautiful location, and my best friend also worked there behind the bar. I thought I had scored the perfect job, but due to the actions of a few terrible people, it became a living nightmare. There were many things that went on that you probably wouldn’t believe, but today I’m just going to tell you about one of the milder instances.

The big boss, a giant of a man almost as wide as he was tall, wanted to train me up on coffees. Along with the usual instructions, he told me to just put the jugs of hot steamed milk back into the fridge after we were done with them. They were large pitchers, so the same batch of milk would be constantly heated, cooled, and reheated throughout the day. After the boss had walked away, my best friend quietly told me that it wasn’t safe to do that, and we should throw the old milk away as soon as the coast was clear.

Concerned, I did some research that night and found that, yeah, it’s not safe to keep steaming hot liquids in the fridge, as the repeated cooling and heating keeps the milk in the “danger zone” temperature range too often, which could lead to the growth of bacteria, as well as potentially affecting the temperature of everything else in the fridge.

Being young, naive, and on the autistic spectrum, I innocently assumed that my manager was simply unaware of these facts, and that surely he would be glad to know the truth. I printed off my findings and took them to him the next morning.

Spoiler alert: it didn’t go well. 

He shooed me into the kitchen, physically backed me up into a corner, and began threatening me that — in his own words — “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” and that he had been thinking of giving me a promotion but now he “didn’t think he could trust me.”

I had my hours cut, and of course I never got that promotion, which honestly I don’t think ever existed. If we were ever caught throwing the milk away, it was taken out of our pay. It was a good lesson in never trusting the bosses to do the right thing, a lesson that has been backed up time and time again in every place I’ve worked since.

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Feel Guilty Or Feel Sick, The Choice Is Yours

, , , , , | Working | March 25, 2020

I ordered some Chinese food from my favorite restaurant to be delivered; it was an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I’d never had any problems with the food before but this time, it looked like it had been sitting in a refrigerator for weeks. The spare ribs sauce had crystallized in the bottom of the plastic container, there was brown goo inside the vegetables, and there were small specs of mold on the egg rolls, among other things. I called the Health Department right away and they came later that day and picked up the food to analyse it. They did not give me the results when they called the next day but told me that they were about to make a surprise inspection in the restaurant. They closed the place down for two weeks. 

When the restaurant reopened, I went back a couple of times to eat there but felt sort of guilty that they had to close for two weeks because of me; I know it’s stupid! A few months later, I learned that the Health Department closed the place down for good following another surprise inspection. I stopped feeling guilty after that because I understood that even without my complaint, the restaurant was bound to close anyway; it just happened sooner than later.

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