The Terrible Twos At Twenty Thousand Feet

, , , , , , , | Friendly | August 28, 2019

I am flying home from Spain with my two-year-old son. The airline gave us the option of pre-selecting our seats beforehand to ensure that I would be next to my son.

However, bizarrely, our seating arrangements put me on the window and him on the aisle with a space in between.

I try to appeal to the stewardess but she tells me that I will have to ask the person who was assigned the seat if they will move.

Just before takeoff, a group of lads boards the plane. They are wearing matching shirts. All of them look worse for wear and are clearly coming home from a stag do/lads holiday.

One of the lads comes and sits in the seat between me and my two-year-old. I ask nicely if he wants to move to either the aisle or the window, but he declines. In fact, his exact words are, “Don’t rabbit on at me, love. I’ve had a long week and I just want to sleep off some of these drinks.”

Fair enough.

What follows is what I can only describe as a nightmare to a childless, 21-year-old male with a hangover.

My son decides that this new man is his best friend. He asks him every question under the sun. He tries to get him to play Paw Patrol and help him with his colouring. When the drinks trolley comes around, the man has to help him with his drink as I can’t reach.

This goes on for an hour before I get up and take my son to the toilet.

When I get back to our seats, the man has silently moved to the window seat and fallen asleep against the glass.

I did warn him.

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Day Careless

, , , , , , | Friendly | August 28, 2019

I am at the hotel pool with my children. Another family with three children joins us. The mother and I make small talk for a few minutes while the children play. Then, without warning, the other parents leave. Without their children. They’ve left their three kids at the pool, none of whom appear older than ten. My husband and I share a look, and we keep an eye on the kids for a few minutes, figuring the parents will be right back. 

Meanwhile, these kids are running around the pool, taking the lifesaving devices off the wall to play with, and trying to jump on top of my kids. I tell them repeatedly to stop, and they ignore me.

After about twenty minutes of this, I flag down a hotel maintenance worker and quietly inform him that those kids are unsupervised at the pool. He goes to get the hotel manager, who calls the parents in their room.

The mother comes back down and collects her children, but not after asking me why I didn’t personally come get her so she could deal with her children. I look at the hotel manager, who informs her that she has to watch her own kids, and I remind her that we don’t know each other, and she didn’t ask me to watch her kids, and therefore she could not assume that I would do so. 

She left with her kids in a huff.

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The Battery Is Giving Him The Finger

, , , , , , | Friendly | August 27, 2019

I was sitting in the parking lot at my local superstore waiting for my friend when I felt the entire car rock. I looked over to see a man loading groceries into the car beside me. He had opened his door far enough and with enough force that he shook my car. I looked at him for a moment before shaking my head and returning to my phone.

Then, there was a knock on my passenger window. I looked up to see the man peering in at me. He grinned and gave me the middle finger before getting in his car.

I’m a small woman and as such I generally avoid confrontation, but I was angry. I got out of my car to inspect the damage and saw that, aside from a small scratch I couldn’t prove he’d made, the door was fine. The man saw me get out and quickly locked his door and put his keys in the ignition. 

Click click. He stared at his steering wheel, confused. Click click. Again. Click click. He pounded on the steering wheel. Click click. Click click. Click click.

I must have looked crazy, standing in that parking lot laughing as hard as I was. His battery was dead! He sat there for another half-hour in 85-degree weather before he got it started.

I would have helped him jump his car even after he hit mine, had he not acted like such an a** about it. In the end, I didn’t have to do anything; karma did my dirty work for me!

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Biking In The Netherlands Is Taken Seriously

, , , , , | Friendly | August 26, 2019

(I’ve just impaled myself on a fence after I was riding my bike, avoided a car, noticed no working brakes, went into the sidewalk, and then hit a bump which sent me into said fence. I’m clearly hurting and stuck when a person who was on the sidewalk walks over. I am a tourist.)

Woman: “Bikes are for the road.”

Me: “I know, but I didn’t have a choice.”

Woman: “You should have stayed on the road!”

Me: “I’m not a good enough rider to stay on the road and not get hit by a car when there are no brakes!”

Woman: “You are a terrible rider. Bikes stay in the street! No sidewalk riding!”

(At this point, I get off the fence and fall into the bushes on the other side. I have blood dripping down my leg and other, far more minor injuries like scratches that are obvious as I finally stand up.)

Me: “I understand. I’m not a good rider, but I had no chance. I couldn’t stop the bike and I think I did pretty well to not hit you or anyone else.”

(I’ve got a lovely scar just above my right knee as a reminder but hey, at least she told me off for “riding on the sidewalk.”)

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Bumper To Bumper Bumpers

, , , , , | Hopeless | August 24, 2019

One day, I decided to buy and put a bumper sticker on my car. The bumper sticker read, “Politicians are like diapers. They need to be changed often and for the same reasons.” 

Sometime later, I was with my parents at a store and I saw a bumper sticker that I got my mom to buy me. This one read, “Don’t steal. The government hates competition”. 

Fast forward a few months later. I’m at the mall just browsing around and after an hour or two, I head out to my car. As I get close to it, I see a piece of paper that was placed under the driver side windshield wiper. At first, I think I’ve gotten a ticket but when I look at the paper, I read, “Congratulations! I love your bumper stickers.” 

To whoever put that note under my windshield wiper, glad I could make your day.

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