No Such Thing As A Clean Getaway

, , , , | Right | October 22, 2017

(I’m a housekeeper for an apartment building. The residents can get free cleaning every day, or decline if they wish to. There’s an old man that lives alone with his dog, and lately he’s been declining cleaning. We maids are happy, because it means less work for us. One day, he moves out.)

Manager: “Okay, get a crew in there for some deep cleaning!”

(Crew goes and returns.)

Crew: “You’re not going to believe this!”

(The manager went in to see. The apartment was totally destroyed. The manager called the police. Turned out the dog had some kind of untreated infection on his skin and rubbed on the walls, causing massive stains everywhere, and the old man had an infection on his head and bled all over the bed. The old man was arrested and fined for cruelty to animals and causing thousands of dollars in damage!)

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Sympathy Is Number One

, , , , | Romantic | October 21, 2017

(Flu season is really bad this year, and despite vaccination, I catch a nasty case. I’m really bad at being sick, and my husband and I argue about how much I’m allowed to do while ill. He has banned me from doing almost anything on my own, and I’ve been getting a little stir-crazy despite the fever, chills, and aches. He comes into the room as I’m climbing back into bed.)

Husband: “Are you okay? I heard you rattling around in here.”

Me: “I just got up to use the loo and re-wet my wash cloth.”

Husband: “I could’ve done that for you!”

Me: *pauses* “Repeat that?”

Husband: “I could’ve done that for you! You should really stay in bed.”

Me: “I’m not sure you can pee for me, Babe.”

Husband: *joking* “I could pee in sympathy. Like that time I rubbed your back when you had food poisoning, and ended up puking right after you finished?”

Me: “Thanks for reminding me of that. I totally needed it right now.”

Husband: “Anything to make you feel better!”

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She Eats People Like You For Breakfast

, , , , , | Romantic | October 14, 2017

(My friend is working the drive-thru. After the customer gives his order and pulls to the window, this lovely exchange happens:)

Customer: “You know, a guy like me likes to see girls like you on her back, preferably naked.”

Friend: “You know, a girl like me likes to see guys like you in an oven, preferably with it preheated to 350 already.”

Customer: “I was just trying to be flattering.”

Friend: “You were just trying to be raunchy for shock value, and it didn’t work.”

Customer: “What if I had feelings for you?”

Friend: “Wouldn’t change mine toward you, which is hungry.”

Customer: “As in good hungry?”

Friend: “As in Hannibal hungry.”

Customer: *drives off*

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On The Need For Hazard Pay, Part 13

, , , , , , | Right | October 13, 2017

(It’s a quiet Sunday morning, and I’m the only cashier. An older man who looks at least 70 hobbles up to my register and places a shirt on the counter.)

Customer: “I’d like to get this shirt, and I was told you could also take the sensor tag off these pants I’m wearing so I can buy them.”

Me: “Uh, the pants you have on right now? They’re from here?”

Customer: “Yes. Trying them on tuckered me out, and the girl in the fitting room said you could remove the sensor tag up here at the register.”

(Our sensor-removers are secured to the counter, and I know for a fact that there’s no way this man could manage holding his leg up to get the sensor tag taken off. I stammer for a moment before remembering an unattached sensor tag remover we used for our express lane on Black Friday months ago.)

Me: “Right! Let me just see if someone can get us the sensor-remover we need.”

(I ask over the radio and receive some confusion over why I would need it, but eventually my manager says she’ll go to the lock box in the back and get it.)

Me: “All right, [Manager] is just grabbing that sensor-remover, and then you’ll be good to go!”

Customer: “But I was told that you could remove the sensor tag.”

Me: “Yeah, we can; it’s just that our normal removers are attached to the counter. [Manager] is grabbing the unattached one right now.”

Customer: “Well, I’ve already stood here longer than I can handle. If I have to go take the pants off, I just won’t buy them.”

Me: “No, it’s all right. The sensor-remover is on its way up right now; don’t worry.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous. I was told the sensor could be removed. I won’t buy the pants if I have to go take them off.”

(I’m taken aback by how angry the customer is getting, but thankfully my confused manager arrives at that moment with the unattached remover. I go around the counter and have to crouch down to try and remove the sensor at the bottom of the customer’s pants leg. It’s a tricky process, and I notice the man is balancing on one foot, so I tell him he can put his foot down if it would make him more comfortable.)

Customer: “Actually, I have an open sore on that foot.”

Me: *freezes* “Uh, where is that exactly, so I don’t bump it?”

Customer: “Oh, it’s just on the bottom of my foot.”

(With that gross image in mind, I was finally able to get the sensor removed from the pants. I then had to pull all the tags and stickers off of the pants, getting much closer and more touchy-feely with the customer than I would have ever wanted to. He left without so much as a “thank you,” and I promptly took a much needed break to shake off the heebie-jeebies the whole interaction gave me.)

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What Used To Be Jarring Neglect Is Now Normal

, , , , | Related | October 1, 2017

(I’ve received a jar of chocolate biscuits as a gift from my sister. The chocolate seems to have melted, so some of the biscuits are stuck together, and some have lost half of the chocolate. I try a couple and find that they taste awful and stale.)

Me: *to my son* “Could you tip these into the bin, please?”

Son: “Why are you throwing them out? It’s just a waste.”

([Son] hates wasting food, and will eat just about anything.)

Me: “They’re awful.”

Son: “They can’t be that bad; I’ll eat them.” *takes a bite of one and immediately spits in the bin* “What was that? Where did you get those from? You need to take them back.”

Me: “[My Sister] gave them to me as a gift.”

Son: “Well, that figures. Why am I not surprised?”

Me: “Save the jar; I can use that.”

Son: *looking in jar* “Umm, there are crumbs in here that don’t match the chocolate biscuits; she used a dirty jar.”

Me: “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me either.”

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