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Tipped For A Corporate Career

, , , , , | Related | January 18, 2026

My goddaughter was eight at the time of this story. She was going for one of her scout badges, and it required that she run some sort of small commercial enterprise, like a bake sale or a lemonade stand.

She decides to be creative and make ‘hot coco-balls’. She buys chocolate molds, pours melted chocolate into them, fills them with cocoa powder (and sometimes marshmallows), and seals them. She then waits for them to dry, then decorates them with painted chocolate and sprinkles.

She’s been selling these balls, caramel apples, and cups of fresh milk from a stand. Her parents have asked me to take a look at her books for them because I’m an accountant, and her numbers don’t match up. 

The amount of cash she has brought in is much higher than her recorded sales, but her inventory hasn’t been dropping proportionally as though she were selling off the books. If this were a business, I’d suspect money laundering or that they were keeping a separate set of books for an illegal business in the basement. 

But I also notice another interesting detail: There are plenty of small bills in the till, and her parents have not reported frequently going to the bank to break larger bills. Most businesses quickly run out of small bills and need to break them. This gives me an idea of the likely cause.

So, I sit down with my goddaughter and ask very gently:

Me: “[Goddaughter], what are you doing when someone asks for change?”

Goddaughter: *Extremely sweetly.* “I say thank you for the tip, and smile at them until they stop asking.”

Mystery solved.

We Saw How This Was Going To End Three Waivers Ago

, , , | Right | December 8, 2024

I work at a rural Boy Scout camp. Troops from around the country come out to the camp for up to a week at a time to practice camping and outdoor activities – archery, swimming, and canoeing, pitching tents, etc. – under our supervision.

In the past, we’ve had a lot of parents and troop leaders who ended up locking their keys in their cars when they arrive to drop off or pick up their troop, so the camp has put together a tool kit to help unlock cars if the driver doesn’t want to wait for a sheriff’s deputy or locksmith. We’ve also taken steps to protect ourselves if the driver later chooses to complain, most of which will be explained in the story.

Most people who choose to allow us to unlock their car are OK with the conditions, both because we don’t charge money for the service, and because they don’t have to wait for a sheriff’s deputy or locksmith to make it out to our VERY rural location. 

But there are also plenty of drivers like this one…

Driver: “Hi, do you have a number for the local sheriff’s office? I locked my keys in my car.”

Counselor: “Yes, it’s [number]. But, if you don’t want to wait for them to get out here, some members of our staff actually have proper training in opening car doors. [My Name] over there is one of them. Would you like him to handle it for you?”

Driver: “Okay, yeah, we can do that.”

[Counselor] calls me over and explains the situation.

Me: “Yeah, I can do that for you. But before we do that, I’m going to have you read and sign four waivers. The first waiver is to acknowledge that I have showed you my training certificate from [County] sheriff’s office, verifying that I have received proper training in unlocking car doors.”

Yes, it’s a real certificate. The sheriff’s office recognizes that our camp has a legitimate need for the knowledge because of our very rural location, so they provide training for some of the senior-level camp employees. Any employee who does not have a certificate does not get to use the tool kit.

I show the driver my certificate and he says okay, so I hand him the waiver.

Driver: “Can we just get out there? I don’t have all day.”

Me: “Without your signature on all four waivers, I can’t unlock your car. You’re welcome to call the sheriff’s office or a locksmith and wait for them.”

Driver: “Fine, give me the paper.”

He signs the waiver, clearly without reading it, and I put it in a folder with his name.

Me: “Waiver number two is you giving us written permission to unlock your car door.”

The driver grumbles again about the delay, but he takes the paper and signs it.

Me: “Waiver number three is an agreement that you will NOT hold (camp) responsible for any minor damage caused by me unlocking your car, such as scratched paint. It also declares that if any additional damage occurs, such as a broken window, we will negotiate on payment as needed.”

Driver: “Jesus Christ, how long is all of this going to take?”

Me: “Again, you’re welcome to wait for a sheriff’s deputy or locksmith. This time of day, they should be able to get here in about… an hour? As long as there are no other emergencies in the area that they have to deal with first.”

He grumbles, but signs the waiver.

Me: “The final waiver states that I will be filmed by a camp employee for the duration of unlocking your car. The video is meant to ensure that I follow the proper procedures and will be used to document any potential damage to your car if we need to negotiate payment, per waiver number three. You also agree to be filmed depending on your position during the procedure – if you don’t want to be on camera, you can stand behind the camera operator or somewhere else out of the video. You are also welcome to film the procedure yourself if you choose to do so, provided you do not block the view from our own video.”

More grumbling from the driver, but he signs the fourth and final waiver, so I grab the tool kit and tell [Counselor] to grab the video camera and come out with me.

We get out to the car, and the driver stands directly between me and [Counselor].

Counselor: “Sir, I need you to step back. I can’t see [My Name] on the camera.”

Driver: “Just get on with it, would you?”

Me: “Sir, I will not unlock your car unless you allow [Counselor] to film it. If you want to watch and you don’t mind being on camera yourself, you can stand on my other side, but you can’t block the camera.”

The driver grumbles a bit more, but eventually steps back. [Counselor] confirms he can see and hear me on the video, so I proceed to unlock the car, narrating every step for the benefit of the camera. I manage to get the door unlocked and open, and [Counselor] moves in with the camera to show close-ups of the work area and the results of my work. [Counselor] then declares that he has seen what he needs to on video and is ending the recording, so I step away from the car to allow the driver to retrieve his keys. The driver makes a grand show of inspecting my work.

Driver: “You scratched my paint! I’ll sue you for this!”

Me: “You’re welcome to try, but remember – we have not just one, but FOUR pieces of paper signed by you, AND we have the entire thing on video. I’m sure you can figure out the odds of winning if you actually do take us to court.”

Shockingly (sarcasm), we have yet to actually be sued by any driver, thanks to all that documentation.

The Truth Of My Words Will Come Spewing Forth

, , , , , , , , | Learning | CREDIT: willowfeather8633 | August 11, 2024

CONTENT WARNING: Vomit

 

In the late 1970s, I went to Girl Scout camp. It was great! But one night, they served boiled spinach, and as fate would have it, I’d been playing with pond moss that very afternoon. Add to this the fact that I’d tried spinach once at a friend’s house and I threw up. (Mom despised spinach, so it hadn’t crossed my plate any other time.)

At dinner that night, our vegetable was boiled spinach. I told the counselors:

Me: “I can’t eat this; I’ll throw up.”

Counselor #1: “If you don’t take at least three ‘Brownie bites’, you can’t have dessert.”

Me #2: “What is dessert?”

Counselor: “Ice cream sandwiches.”

D***. Game on.

Me: “Okay, I want that. I’m going to take a bite and puke… Should I aim for the railing?”

It was semi-outdoors.

The counselors had stopped caring.

Counselor #1: “Uh-huh. Sounds good.”

I took the bite, swallowed it, and promptly puked over the railing. Suddenly, they were all action and rushed me to the one-stall bathroom… which was occupied.

I puked in the sink until the vile green s*** was out of my system.

As I wiped my mouth with the paper towel, I said:

Me: “So, do I need to take my other two bites?”

Several counselors asked me shortly thereafter:

Counselors: “If you knew you were going to throw up, why did you eat it?”

Me: “I love ice cream sandwiches.”

My sweet mother raised Hell upon my return from camp that summer, and the forced “three bite” rule went away at that camp for many, many years.

They’re Lucky He Didn’t Encounter A Squirrel

, , , , | Learning | July 16, 2024

In 1993, we had a Scout camp next to a lake (Lake Bullaren, for the reference of other possible inhabitants of the Swedish West Coast). When we were collecting the last bits and bobs, we asked one of the assistant scoutmasters to pick up “everything loose”.

When we got back to town (Göteborg), we found that he’d picked up the life buoy that belonged to the safety equipment at the lake.

It was a very long drive back!

Make An Unoriginal Joke, Get One In Return!

, , , , , | Right | June 10, 2024

I was a Girl Scout in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Part of Cookie Season involved booths — sitting in front of stores and imploring people to buy some of our surplus stock. A lot of people would ask if we took credit cards. This was before Square readers and Zelle were around, so my leader or whichever other girl was running the booth with me (they almost never let me do the talking) would apologetically say that no, we didn’t.

I always wondered: A, how they didn’t realize that people were saying this to be funny, not to be serious, and B, why everybody seemed to think they were making a wholly original joke.

One day, I was manning the booth alone with my leader, and she allowed me to take the lead.

Me: “Hello, sir! Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

Customer: “How much are they?”

Me: “$3.50 a box.”

Customer: *Barely suppressing a smirk* “Do you take credit cards?”

I was fed up after hearing that “joke” approximately seventeen times in the last hour.

Me: “Yes, but we don’t give them back!”