When I got home, my brother was outside on the phone with his girlfriend. About an hour later, when he came in…
Brother: “Well, that was an uncomfortable conversation.”
Me: *Hesitantly* “What happened?”
Brother: “My earbuds died, so I had to hold my phone up to my ear like a caveman!”
My brother and I have never had a good relationship. The moments in our lives where we actually got along as opposed to fighting or ignoring each other are few. Still, when we became adults, and especially after my nephew was born two years ago, I’ve been trying to connect with him and at least be friendly toward him — but he doesn’t appreciate it.
In the last two years, I’ve checked in with his family (I got chewed out for “texting too much” when I sent two quick check-ins one month), given them free furniture, clothes, and food, spent a day helping them move with no payment (not once in the three times I’ve moved have they helped), and babysat both of their kids multiple times for free, even when it meant walking an hour there and back because I couldn’t afford a cab or bus.
All of that ended last week. My cat, who had never before had health issues, started to throw up whenever he was fed dry kibble, several times a day. I scheduled an appointment with a vet, but because I didn’t have a carrier for him, I asked if anyone had one that I could borrow, and my mom told me that my brother had one.
Yet, when I asked to borrow it, he refused. The reason? My cat hadn’t been de-wormed or de-flea-ed — my cat, who had not been outdoors in over a year, doesn’t live with any other animals, had no signs of worms or fleas, and also, was going to the vet. Not only that, but my brother got angry and started raging at his girlfriend for me even asking, as she told me later.
Just a couple weeks before, he’d let my mom borrow the carrier so she could bring home two kittens, who were not vaccinated and had never been taken to a vet.
The next time he asks me to babysit, I’ll be charging $15 per hour, per kid.
I go out for dinner with a few friends at a local sports bar-type restaurant. We’re all regulars at the restaurant, so we recognize most of the staff, but we’re also not THOSE customers who assume every staff member will recognize us.
We’re seated, and a server we don’t recognize comes by to introduce the specials and take our drink orders. Being a bunch of guys in our mid- to late twenties, we order a round of beers.
The server turns to my friend who has a baby face.
Server: “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t serve you.”
Baby-Face: “Why not?”
Server: *With a bit of a scoff* “You’re obviously too young for beer.”
Baby-Face: “I have my ID right here.”
He holds his driver’s license out, but the server doesn’t even glance at it.
Server: “How do I know it’s not fake?”
We immediately ask for a manager, but the server refuses to get someone, so we all turn to [Baby-Face], who stares at the server while taking his phone out of his pocket and making a call.
Baby-Face: *On the phone* “Hey, man. You mind coming out to table [number]?”
A few moments later, the restaurant manager appears. He looks EXACTLY like [Baby-Face]… because they are identical twins. The server realizes what’s happening and goes white.
Baby-Face: “Your new server refused to even look at my ID when I ordered a beer, and she basically accused me of using a fake ID when I tried to show it to her.”
Manager: “[Server]… head to my office. We’ll talk about the proper handling of ID for alcohol sales… again.”
The manager made an exaggerated show of checking [Baby-Face] — his identical twin brother’s — ID, to the delight of us and a few nearby tables who had witnessed the entire thing. He got another server to take care of our table for the night and headed back to the office.
We never saw our first server the rest of the night, and [Baby-Face] later confirmed that his brother — the restaurant manager — had decided to let her go after too many incidents over ID and alcohol sales.
My brother, sister-in-law, and I are playing a game where some of the rules are a bit… open to interpretation.
Me: *Paraphrasing the card I’m playing* “‘This turn, the most argumentative player goes first, and the least argumentative goes last.’ Can we go ahead and agree that that means [Brother], then me, and then [Sister-In-Law]?”
Sister-In-Law: “Sure.”
Brother: “NO!”
He went first. She went last.
CONTENT WARNING: Suicide
My sister took her life this past June, and sometime between there and when we move out of the house she died in, we get a phone call. It’s important to note that my sister had a more feminine version of my dad’s name. As a result, we always had to be careful how to say her name or be sure to let whichever one we were talking to know it was them.
The phone call is a scam, and I do not mean to mess with them; I am just still reeling from losing my only sister.
Scammer: “Hello, may I speak to [Father]?”
Me: “I’m sorry, but he’s not here right now.”
Scammer: “She’s not there?”
The scammer very clearly enunciates the “she” part.
Me: “Oh, oh! I’m terribly sorry; my sister passed away recently. Please remove our number.”
Scammer: “So, I cannot speak to him?”
Me: “Okay, wait. Which one are you trying to talk to, my father or my sister?”
Scammer: “I thought you said she died.”
Me: “Yes, my sister did die.”
Scammer: “But you also said that he wasn’t there.”
Me: “All righty, then. Who’s trying to confuse whom here? Okay, listen. [Father], the male, is at work right now, but he does not deal with this kind of call in the least bit. [Sister], the female, has taken her life, and obviously cannot come to the phone; I highly doubt I can recreate her out of her ashes.”
Scammer: “You are a c***.”
I snap and go off on them.
Mom: “Holy—”
Brother: “So, uh… think [My Name] is a bit too stressed?”
Mom: “Bit? Dear, your sister has seen things she never should have seen, but this is just… Oh, boy, she’s angry.”
I slam the phone down on the receiver and go out for a smoke.
Mom: “Hun, please go make sure she didn’t break the phone.”
Me: “Y’ALL KNOW I CAN HEAR YOU, RIGHT?”
Mom & Brother: “Love you, too!”
I stewed for a good while after that. Between grieving my sister’s death, dealing with PTSD, and everything else, I was not in the mood to deal with being called that. Usually, I would have just messed with them, but at that point in time, I was dealing with too much.
