No Eggs For You!

, , , , , , | Right | April 1, 2018

(Today is the day customers come in to pick up rental Easter Bunny costumes. I’m helping a man in his mid-60s, from a church, pick up his bunny. A coworker is helping another customer pick up her bunny.)

Man: *to fellow customer* “You look like you should be picking up the Playboy version of that costume.”

(Stunned silence from the three women at the counter: the customer, my coworker, and me.)

Totally Quackers

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 30, 2018

(We love the ducks at [Theme Park]. My wife tends to call out when one is trying to get across a crowded walkway, just to give people a heads-up to watch where they are going.)

Wife: *gleefully* “Duck Crossing!”

Teenager: “Oh! Look at all the chickens!”

Wife: “Ducks.”

Teenager: *to friend* “So many chickens!”

Wife: *losing all belief in our school system* “Ducks…”

Duck: *flies two yards to avoid getting trampled, starts pecking popcorn*

Teenager: *to friend* “Did you know [Theme Park] had chickens?!”

Duck: “Quack!”

Wife: *to the duck* “I know, right?”

Being Hell-pful

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 29, 2018

(I bike around my city, which is fairly bike-friendly, and thankfully, a mixed-use trail and bike lanes connect my workplace, home, and dance studio. I’m leaving the dance studio one evening when I realize I’ve got a flat. I’ve just pumped the tires so I realize there must be a puncture, and resign myself to walking the bike home on the mixed-use trail. I decide to take the opportunity to call my mom. About halfway home, a middle-aged man and a young teenage boy ride past me. Suddenly, the man stops and bikes back to me.)

Middle-Aged Man: “Do you need help?”

Me: “No, thanks.” *returns to my conversation*

Middle-Aged Man: *interrupting me* “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, thanks.”

(He rides off and returns to the boy, who abruptly starts pedaling back to me and bellows:)

Boy: “HEY! He was just trying to be nice!”

(I ignore them but start to feel nervous. They begin idling about the trail, staring at me; I can’t get home without passing them. I whisper into the phone what’s happening and ask that my mom stay on the phone with me. Another cyclist passes me and stops at the crosswalk ahead, so I feel better about continuing onward. As soon as I approach them, the man asks me AGAIN if I need help. I shake my head and continue talking to my mom.)

Middle-Aged Man: “Okay, I’m just trying to help,”

(He says this loudly enough that I can’t hear my mom, and starts following me. I’m not sure how else to hint, so I say:)

Me: “Please leave me be.”

(They continue to follow me down the trail to the crosswalk, and I hear the kid whisper:)

Boy: “She’s got a flat.”

(I wonder to myself why they offered help if they have just now noticed this; walking a bike while you’re on the phone isn’t unusual.)

Middle-Aged Man: “Sure you don’t need help?”

Me: “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

(I say this pointedly, making eye contact with the other cyclist, who doesn’t seem to catch my silent plea for help. The light turns, and she carries on as I sadly watch her leave me alone with them. The man and boy initially take off, and I pull my pocket knife from my bag and rest it on the handlebars. But, sure enough, they pedal back to me a few minutes later and start CIRCLING me like sharks.)

Middle-Aged Man: *with somewhat of a salivating grin* “I’ve got a pump in my bag you can use.”

(I’m feeling totally creeped out, and I am realizing that they are just going to keep bothering me. I’m still on the phone, but I interrupt my mom to tell them:)

Me: “I told you I don’t need help. The police station is right up the street. I will call them right now if you don’t leave me alone.”

Boy: “God, we were just trying to help!

(They pedalled away, finally for good, apparently realizing the proximity of the police station. Five minutes later, I was very, very relieved to get home, and found it ironic that I did start feeling like I needed help, because I was being harassed by people who would not accept that I didn’t need their help.)

Sees Every Color Except The Paint Color

, , , , | Friendly | March 28, 2018

(It’s a sunny day, so I decide to take a walk in the park. I kneel down to tie my shoelace just as a middle-aged African-American woman sits down on a bench. After I finish, I notice a sign that must’ve fallen from the bench.)

Me: *after reading the sign* “Excuse me, ma’am.”

Woman: *cheerful* “What is it, dear?”

Me: “You can’t sit there. It’s—”

Woman: *full-on moodswing to anger* “Why? Because of my skin color? I have every right to sit on this bench, you ungrateful little hussy!”

(I notice as she is shouting that a few heads have turned.)

Me: “Ma’am!”

Woman: “What?!”

Me: “I was trying to tell you that the bench is freshly painted. See? The sign fell.”

Woman: *red and embarrassed* “Well, I… Um…”

(She stuttered a bit more and then grabbed her bags. As she ran away, I noticed her nice green dress had red paint stripes. I just sighed and went on with my day. A bit quick to accuse someone of being racist, if you ask me.)

Use Your Head Before You See The Head Injury

, , , , , | Healthy | March 28, 2018

(One evening, as I am working, I end up standing up and smacking my head against a shelf, leading to a head wound that starts bleeding rather profusely. I clean up a bit and get an old rag to hold over the injury. My manager gets one of my co-workers to drive me over to the ER to get checked out. We arrive, and start to get checked in, when an old man speaks up behind me.)

Old Man: “F****** kid, bumped his head and trying to get attention. Go home, you p****! There are people that actually need to be here!”

(I turned, because I was not quite sure if he was talking to me, revealing the side of my face that had a few streaks of blood down it that I hadn’t managed to clean up. Right as I turned, a new line of blood leaked out and rolled down the side of my face, as well. The old man jumped and actually half-slid out of his seat, before standing up and scurrying over to a chair across the waiting area from where I was. I got checked in, and they confirmed that it was just a typical head wound, no concussion or internal bleeding. As I left, I spotted the old man being let in, and he turned away, beet red. Maybe he’ll learn to not be so quick to judge.)

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