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Stomach Made Of Steel, Head Full Of Rocks

, , , , , | Friendly | November 29, 2021

I clear out the shared fridge regularly. We’ve had arguments over it before, but after I showed my flatmates what was dripping on their food — the green mold farm at the back of the fridge — they quickly changed their minds.

Everyone, that is, apart from [Housemate]. [Housemate] hates me for it; he hates being told what to do and he hates not getting his own way. I blame it on his spoilt lifestyle.

Housemate: “Why did you throw this out? It only went out of date yesterday!”

Me: “Don’t tell me you are going to eat that? There’s fur all over the cheese.”

Housemate: “I was going to cut it off!”

Me: “Firstly, this mold grows through the cheese; it doesn’t spread across the surface. You can’t cut it off. Secondly, you left it uncovered on top of everyone else’s food. I’ve told you. Everyone has told you. It’s not hard. Put your food in containers or it will get thrown out.”

Housemate: “You need to pay for the container, then.”

Me: “What? No. Your food, your responsibility.”

He tries to argue with me.

Me: “No, everyone here agrees with me. You act like an adult or you don’t use the fridge.”

Later, he tried to convince the housemates to get me out. I shared photos of some of [Housemate]’s food I’d thrown out over the past week or so. No one sided with him. Everyone told him to just grow up and think of others. [Housemate], in response, packed an overnight bag and disappeared late that day.

But not before unplugging the fridge.

No one noticed until much later the next day. We had to throw a lot away as it was the middle of summer. [Housemate] came back pretending to be innocent, but it was obviously him.

We agreed to kick him out, bagged his stuff, and told him to come to get it. [Housemate]’s biggest concern? He wanted “his milk” from the fridge. I got the (now) warm milk from the bin and put it with his things, and yes, he actually took it with him.

Black Friday Becomes Green Friday

, , , | Right | November 27, 2021

Customer: “I want my money back for this turkey. It didn’t taste right.”

The customer presents me with a plastic bag containing bones and skin.

Me: “If it didn’t taste right, why did you consume the entire turkey?”

Customer: “It was Thanksgiving! We had to eat something!”

Pure Crappy Entitlement

, , , , | Right | November 17, 2021

Our theater is located in a plaza with a large retailer that’s open twenty-four-seven. However, we close every night. It’s about midnight, and we’re waiting on the last show to get out so we can clean the theater and leave. There are only two people in it: a couple. The movie lets out, we clean it in record time, and we head out to the lobby to clock out. It’s just me, a coworker, and a manager who has been there since 10:00 am working a double shift. However, the couple is just sort of… standing around in the lobby.

After waiting about five minutes for them to leave so we can all go, my manager walks up to them.

Manager: “Hey there. I hate to do this to you, but we’re closed for the night and are about to leave, so I’m gonna have to ask you to head out.”

Man: “I can’t do that! I called a cab and they said it was going to be about an hour and a half! I need to wait in the lobby!”

Manager: “Sir… I apologize, but I can’t wait here an extra hour and a half, nor am I going to make my staff wait that long to go home. There’s a twenty-four-hour store right next door in the plaza. May I suggest you wait there?”

Man: “I ain’t moving!”

Manager: “Again, sir, we’re closed. I need you to leave.”

Man: “Pfft! Fine! I’m using the bathroom first, though!”

Manager: “That’s fine.”

The man goes into the bathroom and is in there for a solid ten or fifteen minutes. We get royally annoyed because we think he’s going to try and wait there for the entire ninety minutes, but he eventually comes out, gives us the biggest crap-eating smirk I’ve ever seen, and leaves with his girlfriend.

Manager: “[My Name], check the bathroom. I didn’t like that look he just gave you.”

I headed into the bathroom and was greeted by a horror show. He had gone into the final stall — the handicapped accessible stall — and used his underwear to smear feces all over the toilet and wall. His dirty underwear was also wound around the toilet handle. I literally could not believe it; the guy had to be in his forties, and this was how he acted. I headed out and told my manager, and we were forced to stay an extra thirty minutes to clean up the mess the guy had left. And that’s yet another reason why I hate people.

Simon Says…

, , , , , , | Right | November 12, 2021

This happened back in the 1990s. For a couple of years, during the summer, I did residential voluntary work at a charity holiday home for the elderly and disabled, until the charity sadly had to sell the property. It was the opportunity for couples and individuals to go away for two weeks and have other people help look after them.

There were a lot of volunteers, and we were each assigned to one or two guests to provide as much help as they needed throughout the day and night. We were also expected to help other guests if their volunteers were not available. There was always at least one fully trained nurse or doctor on the premises at all times.

It was hard work, but I loved every minute of it… except possibly that time I was woken up at 2:00 am by the nurse to help change my guest’s sheets, as they were urine-soaked. He’d not wet the bed, but the idiot who emptied his catheter the evening before had forgotten to close the tap. But before anyone says the nurse should have woken up the idiot and gotten him to clear up the mess, I can assure you she did. Let’s just say that half-asleep me soon woke up and was very apologetic. Both the guest and his wife were all right about it; it wasn’t the first time that had happened to them, and I made certain I didn’t do that again!

To say this next thing was an annoyance would be a massive overstatement. It was more a mild frustration that quickly become a bit of a running joke: no one could remember my name. We all had name badges — those plastic types with a removable card. Mine clearly said, “Stephen”, but I was always called “Simon”. Everyone else was called by the right name, but for some reason, no one could remember mine.

I didn’t get cross, nor did I blame anyone. It could be because of their eyesight or memory; that’s hardly their fault. I did always politely correct them, which worked briefly, but by the next time they saw me, I had reverted back to being Simon. One of the biggest “offenders” was a lovely gentleman who was recovering from a stroke. It was all taken in good humour, but I really did want people to stop calling me Simon.

So, after a day or two of this, I removed the card, turned it over, and wrote, “NOT SIMON”. And it worked! They stopped calling me Simon!

Everyone — the staff, the volunteers, and the guests (especially Lovely Recovering Stroke Chap) — happily called me “Not Simon” instead. Ah, well.

And as an epilogue, LRS Chap improved incredibly well over the course of his holiday. He was wheelchair-bound at the start, but after every meal, he would try walking a few steps. He went from only managing three or four steps at the start of the holiday to managing over one hundred unassisted steps by the end!

Really Embracing The Whole “Crappy Neighbor” Thing

, , , , , , , | Friendly | November 11, 2021

We live in a house across the street from an old brick building that has been converted into four apartments. It was empty when we moved in but was soon renovated and filled with new tenants. Most of them have been nice and respectful of the quiet neighborhood… except for one person: a young woman in her twenties. She moved in with a man about her age, and like every other household on the street, she had a dog.

It’s a town ordinance (and common courtesy) to clean up after your dog, but I soon began noticing brown patches on our neighbors’ grass and clumps of dog poop on ours.

I had a hunch that it was the couple with the dog, but I couldn’t prove it… until one day. Our house is situated on a slight hill from the street, whereas the apartment building is right on the street, so from our windows, we can see very well everyone coming and going. While walking past a window one day, some movement caught my eye, and I saw the woman leaving the apartment with her dog on a leash. She dragged him across the sidewalk, across the street, and straight to our front yard.

Aha! Caught in the act!

I immediately ran to the front door to confront her. She tried to tell me that “she’d clean it up,” but I pointed out she hadn’t ever before, and I saw her deliberately lead the dog over to my yard!

Suffice to say, we haven’t had a problem with dog poop again, and thankfully, the couple moved out within a year.