It’s A Big, Bright, Beautiful World… But Not For Shrek

, , , , , , , , | Related | June 14, 2020

CONTENT WARNING: ABUSE

I own a dry-cleaning business and work there. When the national lockdown happened, my business was considered among the “essential” ones, so I was allowed to stay open but doing fewer hours.

During this, I had a particularly nasty client visiting me on the regular — almost every week, in fact. He’d always bring in absolutely filthy bedsheets and pillow covers, never had the correct amount of money, and only used hand sanitizer when he gave me his rags.

By chatting against my will with him and by what info my wife told me, I found out that he actually lived in the apartment above mine, meaning that he not only he was a pigsty of a person, he also was the same man that heavily swore in the wee hours of the morning and stomped up and down his place, waking my son up and scaring him, and had done so for months.

Due to this client’s boorish behaviour, I had nicknamed him “Shrek,” and I told my son that “Shrek” had left Fiona, took a potion turning him human, and then went to live upstairs from us, which was good enough to get him to stop being scared at his heavy steps and his Tuscan blasphemies against God at strange hours.

A few days ago, restrictions relaxed, and I was allowed to finally take my son out to play in the park. As we were getting ready to leave, I saw “Shrek” come down the stairs with some luggage on hand.

My son looked at him with curiosity and intensity, and then he asked, very loudly, “Hey, Mister Shrek, where are you going? Were you really an ogre?”

The client stopped midway through the steps to look at my son. As embarrassed as I could be, I rushed my son back inside, scolded him, and gave him a couple of slaps on the butt to teach him.

I just hope the guy never figures out why my son said that.

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Saving A Damsel From Distress

, , , , , , | Right | January 5, 2020

(I have been traveling around Europe with only a small piece of luggage with me. I’m not allowed to bring anything else as my ticket is a simple one, but in Toledo, I have to buy a sword because of who am I as a person. Going to Italy, I pay a fine of €50 to bring Damsel, my sword, with me. This happens when I’m in Italy’s airport again, flying to Madrid in a connection flight so I can go back to my country, Argentina. After giving my passport and ticket, the check-in lady, who looks really grumpy, tells me to give her my luggage and the box with Damsel to weigh them.)

Me: “Oh, no, this one comes with me inside the cabin. The box with the sword goes with the cargo.”

Lady: *annoyed* “The plane is full, so everything has to go with the cargo.”

Me: “I understand. No problem, then. I still have to pay the fine for the box.”

(We both make a pause and I realize it.)

Me: “People have been giving you h*** for this, haven’t they?”

Lady: “Yes! They complain and complain!”

Me: *laughs* “Don’t worry; I understand that this is not something you control. Do whatever you have to do; I’m not going to get mad.”

Lady: “Thank you! You know what? Your ticket from Madrid to Buenos Aires does allow the extra cargo; I’m sending both your things directly to Argentina, so you don’t have to pay the fine.”

Me: “Are you serious? Did you just save me €50?”

Lady: “Yes, have a nice flight!”

(Lady, thank you a lot for your work. Damsel and I are very grateful that you saved this poor writer so much money.)

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Making Italy Great Again  

, , , , | Right | December 2, 2019

Hostess: *in Italian* “Hello, sir, welcome to [Restaurant]!”

Customer: *in English* “Godd*** it, speak English, for God’s sake! Stop this barbaric dead language!”

Hostess: *switching to English* “I’m sorry, sir, but this is Rome, and most people here speak Italian.”

Customer: “Why? They should speak the good, proper language of English, not this freak stuff.”

Hostess: “But, sir, we are in Italy. Most everyone here speaks the language of our country.”

Customer: “Well, they shouldn’t. They’re just dumb to not learn our language as well as their own.”

Hostess: “Well, sir, how many languages do you know?”

Customer: “Just English. Good old English, like we all should.”

Hostess: “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot serve bigoted a**holes. Goodbye.”

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Unfiltered Story #147726

, , | Unfiltered | April 23, 2019

Hostess: (In Italian) Hello sir, welcome to [Name of Restaurant]!
Customer: (In English) God d*****, speak English for god’s sake! Stop this barbaric dead language!
Hostess: (switching to English) I’m sorry sir, but this is Rome, and most people here speak Italian.
Customer: Why? They should speak the good, proper language of English, not this freak stuff.
Hostess: But sir, we are in Italy. Most everyone here speaks the language of our country.
Customer: Well they shouldn’t. They’re just dumb to not learn our language as well as their own.
Hostess: Well sir, how many languages do you know?
Customer: Just English. Good old English, like we all should.
Hostess: Well I’m sorry sir, but we cannot serve bigoted a**holes. Goodbye

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You Can Hear The Bells Of Bow From Saint Peter’s

, , , , , , | Friendly | April 10, 2019

(My wife and I are on our honeymoon and have just finished a tour of the Vatican. We are making our way through people trying to join the entry queue. I try to speak — bad — Italian, complete with accent, and weave through the crowds, wife in tow. I am over six feet tall and from London, and I have my arm out to part the crowd.)

Me: “Scusi… Scusi… Prego… Scusi.”

(I spot some British tourists up ahead trying to join the back of the line by climbing over the barrier, rather unsuccessfully. I keep an eye out, prepared for the inevitable.)

Me: “Scusi… Prego…”

(I drop into a thick London accent with no time to deal with idiots.)

Me: “COMING THROUGH, MATE!”

(The family parted faster than the Red Sea as we came through, my wife laughing her head off!)

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