Praise To The Lamb(ing Sheds)!

, , , , , , , | Related | June 30, 2020

I suppose I should start with a mild warning as this story, while funny, is also kind of gross. Welcome to my life.

Allow me to start with a little back story. My father’s wife appears to have done all of her research on how to be a Step-Mother in certain children’s books. I don’t mean she could be a little grumpy; I mean she got cease and desist letters from The Mouse.

On the Sunday evening in question, I had just gotten home and was trying my d***edest to get out of my boots, an effort hampered by the fact that, despite being fifteen, I had worked thirty-six hours in the lambing sheds that weekend and was so tired I had walked home, right past the motorcycle I had ridden to work.

As soon as she heard the front door, she started in on me through the door that separated the kitchen from the front hall, screeching at me that I hadn’t done my chores and I had better get caught up right now or no supper for me.

I said, “I’ve been at work all weekend; you know that. You insisted I take the job.”

As soon as I said the words, I knew it was a mistake, and sure enough, she ripped the door open and took a deep breath to engage in her favourite pastime: berating me for being a waste of skin and air.

Sadly for her — but not me — she took the deep breath after she opened the door.

After thirty-six hours in the sheds, I was covered in… I’m not going to be specific, but suffice to say that if it was liquid and could be found inside a sheep, I was wearing it. (I ended up having to throw all of my clothes out because even a boil wash couldn’t get the smell out.)

Her eyes bugged out, she went green, and she dived past me to throw up in the downstairs bathroom. I finished undressing, threw my clothes and boots out the front door, and went upstairs to scrub myself down with Swarfega: proper manly, gritty cleanser.

You’d think that would be an end to it, right? Wrong.

As I fell asleep — passed out — it was to the sound of her howling at my father because he wouldn’t let her wake me up to vacuum the downstairs and do the dishes.

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They Need More Lifeguards… For The Out-Of-Water Hazards

, , , , , , | Working | June 25, 2020

When I was fourteen or fifteen, I worked in the snack shack at my local swim club. This was my first real job, so I didn’t have a lot of experience, but I learned quickly. The snack shack was run by a separate company from the pool, so technically, they were my employers. But I will tell you, it sucked.

This place, had anyone actually checked on it, would have broken so many health codes that they wouldn’t have even been able to fit them all on one paper. The entire floor under our grill and fryers was a massive grease pit, and the entire summer, I was scared it would catch on fire and explode.

One time, I swore I saw a mouse disappearing into the bread drawer. Halfway through the summer, there was a fly and maggot infestation. When food went bad, we usually scraped off the ick and still served the good parts!

Toward the end of the year, the company basically gave up on us and stopped sending restock items. This meant that, on Labor Day, by far the pool’s busiest weekend of the year, we were out of fries, onion rings, bread in general, hamburger buns, waters, sodas, candy, and tuna.

And, to top to all off, they took an extra three weeks after the snack shack closed for the year to get us our pay, and they likely wouldn’t have paid us at all if I hadn’t put up a fuss.


This story is part of our Labor Day roundup!

Read the next Labor Day roundup story!

Read the Labor Day roundup!

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That’s Bloody Disgusting

, , , , , , | Working | June 23, 2020

My friend related this story to me. He stops by a chain coffee shop that also sells sandwiches and the like. Almost immediately after he’s been handed his order, he notices that there is a smear of what is clearly blood on the bag that his sandwich is in.

He returns to the counter immediately. 

Friend: “Excuse me, but there’s blood on my sandwich.”

The cashier does not sound at all surprised or alarmed by this serious health code violation.

Cashier: “Oh, that’s not good! You know, there are a lot of tomatoes that go into our sandwiches; it might just be a bit of tomato.”

Friend: “I know what blood looks like. I’m not eating this.”

Cashier: “Okay, we can make you a new sandwich. We’ll just need to take back the one you don’t want.”

As my friend went to hand back the bloody sandwich, he noticed that the cashier had a bandage on her hand but was not wearing a glove over it, as is expected when you cut yourself doing food prep. Hmm, I wonder where the blood could’ve come from?

His second sandwich was blood-free, and amazingly he still ate it. I’m not sure I would have.

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A Fun Update To “My Dog Ate It”

, , , , , , , , | Learning | June 22, 2020

The one time I don’t turn in my work for my senior English class, I have a legitimate excuse. 

Teacher: “Where’s your homework?”

Me: “My cat dragged it into the other room, and…”

I don’t know how to say that she peed on it. 

Teacher: “Half points! Best excuse I’ve ever heard!”

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Dirty Money Is The Problem At Both Ends Of This Story

, , , , | Right | June 19, 2020

I have a cold this winter but can’t call off work. Instead, I dose up on decongestants and pain meds and keep pushing through. To minimize spreading germs, I ask customers to leave larger items in their carts and use the hand scanner as much as possible. I also have a box of tissues and a bottle of hand sanitizer at the ready.

A customer comes to my register with a basket full of canned food. Mid-transaction, I have a sneezing fit. I sneeze into my armpit, turn to excuse myself as I make sure I don’t have anything on my face, and use the hand sanitizer liberally. I turn to face the customer again, only to find her standing several feet away, looking horrified.

Me: “Oh, excuse me. Sorry about that.”

Customer: “Gross!”

Me: “Um… Sorry?”

Customer: “You need to go home. You’re sick!”

Me: “I, uh… I can’t.”

Customer: “Why not?!”

Me: “Well, I tried to call off, but management said I’d need a doctor’s note and he’s not available… and I need the money, so…”

Customer: “That’s insane.”

Me: “If you’d like someone else to ring you out, I can call.”

Customer: “No, you’ve already started. Just don’t touch anything else. Use your laser scan thing.”

Me: “Okay.”

The woman holds up each item, keeping a full arm’s length away from me, before bagging her own items.

Me: “Okay. Your total is $83.19.”

Customer: “Okay. Can you break $100? Oh, never mind; maybe I have my bank card.”

She starts looking through her wallet.

Customer: “Here, take these, instead.”

She then licks her thumb, counts off several $5 and $10 bills, and holds them out to me. I sanitize, take her money, sanitize again, and return her change. She holds out an empty plastic bag for me to drop her change into.

Customer: *Disgusted* “Spreading germs like that… Why can’t you just stay home?”

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