This takes place in the middle of a heatwave. We discover that our water heater is leaking, so we get it replaced. Two guys come out, they get it unhooked, and they get the new one in place. Then, it’s time to get the old one out of the house. One of the guys starts pushing the old 80-gallon water heater up the stairs, but after two steps, he has enough. He throws a tantrum, saying he doesn’t want to be the one pushing it up the stairs. He throws the dolly across the basement, gouging a wall, and then he goes back into the utility part of the basement and knocks a shelf off the wall, before storming up the stairs and out of the house. The other guy apologizes for his behavior and says that he will most likely be fired for his behavior. The other guy finishes installing the water heater, but there’s an extra wire hanging down that he has no idea what it’s for since the grumpy guy didn’t label anything. He assumes it’s for nothing and leaves it. They do not take the old water heater with them when they are finished and leave.

Meanwhile, one of my mom’s friends has had his AC die, so Mom offers him our spare window unit until he can get his AC fixed. She and Dad drive it over to his house, but when they return, they notice our house is very hot. Closer inspection reveals that our AC is no longer working. Dad goes into the basement, navigating around the water heater, and sees the extra wire. He tries to fix it, but he can’t. A few angry emails and phone calls later, the company agrees to send an electrician out, even though they claim there’s no possible way the water heater guys knocked out the AC.

We bring out every fan we can find in the house to keep as cool as possible. Like I said earlier, it’s in the middle of a heatwave with real feel temperatures of 110 to 115, if not hotter. Since I overheat easily, I drive around in my car for an hour, then I head into the basement and sleep down there. 

The electrician comes out the next morning. He finds the problem and fixes it. He doesn’t charge anything, and he even takes the old water heater with him. It takes two days for the house to cool down completely.

The worst part is, the AC at my mom’s work is also broken the same week this happens, so she has zero relief from the heat.

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Me: “Thank you for calling [Tech Support]. How may I help you?”

Customer: “My landline phone is not working. It’s got no dial tone.”

Me: “Oh, I know what you mean; it can be a hassle.”

(We go through troubleshooting.)

Me: “Is one end of your phone cord plugged to the phone port?”

Customer: “Yes, it is.”

Me: “Is the other end plugged to the modem?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Well, that’s why you have no dial tone; let’s insert that end to the back of the modem just like we did with the phone.” *after several minutes of trying to walk the customer through*

Customer: “I don’t know how to do it; send someone over!”

(My doctor has me on a restricted diet, which includes disallowing garlic and garlic powder. Yeah, it sucks. But if I eat it, I risk lying on the ground in agony and restarting my eight weeks of treatment. I am going grocery shopping and see a special on burgers.)

Deli Worker: “Let me know if you have any questions!”

Me: “Do the steak burgers have anything besides beef, salt, and pepper in them?”

Deli Worker: *upbeat and confident* “Nope! When it says, ‘salt and pepper,’ we mean only salt and pepper!”

Me: “Great! I’ll take eight.”

(It’s a friendly and helpful interaction, and I’m happy… until I get home, and my grocery bag smells distinctly of garlic. I read the printed sticker on the burgers:)

Ingredients: “Steak, salt, pepper, garlic, rosemary, other spices.”

(Great. I need to go back — a forty-minute round trip — and return these. I hate to ask for a manager but I figure next time they might accidentally kill someone by misinformation. I explain the issue to them during the return.)

General Manager: *stares at package* “You’re allergic to what?”

Me: “Garlic. But I was specifically told it only has beef, salt, and pepper when I bought it.”

General Manager: “Oh. People make mistakes, y’know?”

Me: “I could have been really ill if I hadn’t read that before eating it.”

General Manager: “Well, with that kind of allergy you really should check the packaging.”

Me: *sarcastically* “Silly me for trusting the people who work the deli counter.”

General Manager: “Yeah, well, sometimes we have new people… I guess I can go back and talk to them but you should really read the packaging.”

Me: “Good thing I did?”

(So, next time they accidentally land someone in the hospital, know that I tried. I really did.)

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This story is part of our Garlic roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

10 Cheesy Stories About The World’s Most Perfect Snack: Nachos

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(I go to a pet store to purchase some food for my pet bird. I am describing my lovebird, who happens to be a blue mutation, black-masked lovebird. When I describe him, I say he has a “black face, white collar, blue body, and a purple spot on his tail.” Some lady — who happens to be holding the leash of a black lab — gives a massive gasp, does the pearl-clutching gesture, and proceeds to lecture me:)

Woman: “Don’t say… that term! That’s racist! How can you be in public when you use that language?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I was talking to the cashier who inquired about my bird food purchase. I have a lovebird. I was describing his colors to her.”

Woman: “And you responded with a racist slur?!”

Me: “No… I didn’t. He is a black-masked lovebird. That’s literally his species. I said he has a black face.”

Woman: “You can’t say that!”

Me: “I just did.”

Woman: “Hasn’t your mother taught you to have respect for other ethnicities? That’s racist!”

Me: “Ma’am, there’s a difference between putting on makeup to offensively portray an ethnicity and using a similar term as a physical description for an animal.”

Woman: “There is no way to use… that term… inoffensively!”

Me: “Okay, I’m done trying to educate you.”

Woman: “You can’t ‘educate’ someone by claiming that racial terms are okay!”

Me: “Look, lady, I’m buying food for my bird. Buy the dog food for your black lab–” *she gasps again and looks outraged* “–and leave me alone.”

Woman: “You’re doing it again! Don’t call him a ‘black’ lab! Call him a ‘dark lab’!”

(I just rolled my eyes and walked away. I don’t understand this mentality.)

(This is a conversation I had with my friend and our senior over dinner. We are discussing hobbies and [Senior] mentions that he likes playing badminton.)

Friend: “Why aren’t you part of the badminton club if you play every week?”

Senior: “They wouldn’t let me in.”

Me: “Why not? Did you ask them?”

Senior: “I didn’t bother. I know they won’t.”

(I’m a bit puzzled as the badminton club isn’t competitive or anything. It’s more for learning how to play.)

Me: “Why not?”

Senior: “The thing is, back when I was a kid, I had this weirdo for a badminton coach and she taught me to play badminton completely wrongly.”

Me: “Wrongly? What did she do?”

(I’m thinking that my senior was maybe taught to hold the racquet wrongly or something minor like that.)

Senior: *looking slightly embarrassed* “Well… let’s just say I only found out last– Oh, wait. Two years ago now — that you were only supposed to use one racquet in badminton.”

(I trade incredulous looks with [Friend] and simply say the first thing that comes to my mind.)

Me: “What?”

Senior: “I’m serious.”

Me: *struggling to comprehend* “So… you play by dual-wielding racquets?”

Senior: “Yes.”

Friend: “I’ve seen him play. He’s actually really good.”

Me: “But– but two racquets?”

Senior: “Yeah. I hold the right one in reverse grip and hold the left one normally.”

(I’m completely and totally befuddled at what he told me, my mind struggling to comprehend what I have been told. Incidentally, my friend is still completely fine and not weirded out.)

Friend: “Have you tried using just one?”

Senior: “Yeah, but I always wind up slapping the shuttlecock with my other hand. Muscle memory.”

Me: *somewhat absently* “Ah, yeah. That’s understandable.”

(I’m wondering how the h*** his badminton coach became a coach in the first place, how the h*** she got hired by my senior’s parents, and how the h*** my senior, a straight-A, highly intelligent, mature, and sensible eighteen-year-old, didn’t notice that badminton was meant to be played with only one racquet until he was sixteen. When I asked him on a later date his answers were, “I’ll tell you when I find out,” “She was a family friend,” and, “I’m an idiot.” respectively.)