Canadians Stealing All The Jobs Stolen By Mexicans

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 1, 2019

(We’re Canadian and live in British Columbia. When my dad retires, my parents buy a cottage in Clallam Bay, Washington, about a six-hour drive south from our home. We often go down for long weekend trips. My husband and I are walking back to the cottage from the beach. A van full of people keeps passing us; it is obvious they are lost. Finally, they pull up next to us and ask for help.)

Lost Driver: “Can you help us find the Anderson place?”

Me: “No, sorry, we don’t live here; we are just visiting. I don’t know who the Andersons are. Do you have the address? I do know some of the road names.”

Lost Driver: “What? I can’t understand anything you said.”

Husband: *slowly and louder because we think the guy is hard of hearing* “We don’t know the Andersons. I have my phone if you want to call them for directions.”

Lost Driver: “Your accent is ridiculous; I don’t understand a thing. Where are y’all from?”

Me: “British Columbia, about a six-hour drive north.”

Lost Driver: “You’re British? Your accent isn’t British. I can’t understand you at all.”

Me: “Not British, British Columbian. We’re Canadian.”

Passenger: “Oh! I love the Canadian accents; they sound so educated.”

Me: “Didn’t realize we had accents. We’re not that far over the border.”

Passenger: “Your accent is great! You say things like a-boot and gar-adge.”

Husband: “About and garage?”

Passenger: “You’re not saying them right… Are you not Canadian?”

Husband: “I am, but I think that accent is more from the east coast, like Newfoundland. Like, people from Rhode Island sound different from people in Seattle.”

Lost Driver: “What? So you’re from Rhode Island? Makes sense. I can’t understand a word they’re sayin’.”

(Finally, we just tell them there’s a gas station two roads over that probably knows where the Andersons are.)

Lost Driver: *as he rolls away* “All these foreigners, taking our jobs and houses… Don’t understand a word they say….”

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, , , , , | Friendly | August 31, 2019

(I am in the waiting room at a local dog groomer. A lady walks in and her eyes light up.)

Lady: Oh, wowww! Your dog is huge! What kind of dog is he?!”

Me: She is a Great Dane.”

Lady: “Oh! Is that like the dog on the Greyhound buses?”

Me: “No, that would be a greyhound.”

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The Kids Of America (Whoa)

, , , , , | Friendly | August 30, 2019

I am English. I was sixteen years old when my family decided to go for a vacation to Florida to visit the theme parks.

Everything was normal. It was a good holiday and the people were friendly and lovely.

One day, we were at one of the famous theme parks, waiting for a water ride. I was wearing large sunglasses and waiting with my mother and my younger brother.

People started to disembark the ride and a girl, around my age, stopped and started to stare at me. My mum made a joke that she fancied me, I ignored it, and we all forgot about it until later.

My family and I were eating lunch at one of the restaurants when a group of 16-year-old girls marched over to my table. They started to berate me for “lying to them about being sick” and saying things like, “If you didn’t want to come out for my birthday surprise, you could have just said!”

The main girl — who stared at me earlier — began to cry quite loudly and my family and I were thoroughly confused.

After one of the girls dumped a drink on my head — this confrontation went from 0 to 60 very fast with little opportunity to speak — I finally removed my sunglasses.

Suddenly, everything stopped. The girls went bright red and rushed away without so much of an apology.

I guess it was a case of mistaken identity.

Don’t worry, America; I don’t hold it against you. I fully admit that teenagers can be crazy regardless of their country of origin.

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The Only Thing She’s Purse-ing Is Her Lips

, , , , , | Friendly | August 29, 2019

(I’m out at a local bar and restaurant with my husband when a woman taps me on the shoulder.)

Woman: “Your purse is so pretty!”

Me: “Oh, thank you!”

Woman: “Where did you get it?”

Me: “I… Hmm. Well, I don’t really remember. Sorry. It’s been a few years.”

Woman: *just stares at me*

Me: *awkwardly, after a silence* “It was handmade from someone on [Online Marketplace].”

Woman: “So, can’t you look into your purchase history?”

(It’s not that this is something that would take a long time to do or anything; it’s just sort of an odd ask from a stranger. Still, I pull out my phone, go to the website, log in, and dig through my past purchases over the last few years until I find it, the woman staring at me impatiently the whole time. I finally give her the shop name and assume that’s the end of it as she bustles off. A few moments later, however, she’s back, brandishing her phone in my face.)

Woman: *accusingly* “The shop is empty and the last update was years ago.”

Me: “Oh… I guess they’re not selling anymore. Bummer.”

Woman: “So, what am I supposed to do?”

Me: *still taken aback by how confrontational she seems and trying to make light of the situation* “Well… based on where we are, I’d suggest buying a drink and trying to relax?

(She scoffed and stormed off. For the rest of the night, I caught her glaring at me from afar. What a weird reaction over what was honestly a pretty plain purse; she probably could have found something that looked pretty darn similar, and cheaper, at almost any store. Oh, well.)

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Creepy Takeaway From This Story: You Were Too Old For Him

, , , , | Friendly | August 28, 2019

(I am waiting at a bus stop one day, answering work emails and messaging my family on my phone, when a man about twenty years older than me sits beside me, so close that our arms are touching. I scoot as far away as I can. I am not one of those people who enjoys small talk with strangers, especially when I’m already doing something else.)

Old Man: “I don’t bite.”

Me: “I don’t like sitting close to strangers.”

Old Man: “Surprised you knew I was there at all, you’re so into your phone.”

Me: *sighs* “Yup.”

Old Man: “You’re so invested you probably only knew I was here when I touched you.”

Me: “Yup.”

Old Man: “You see? You kids can’t even home a proper conversation!”

Me: “My mother taught me not to talk to strangers.”

Old Man: “You’re being rude! Kids these days ought to–”

Me: “I’m 31. Quite far from a ‘kid.’”

(He sputtered a few more nonsensical words before huffing and resigning himself to silence. When the bus came, he didn’t even board; he just got up and walked away.)

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