I’m in line for security at the airport. It’s shortly after domestic flights restarted from the health crisis lockdowns, so the airport is very quiet compared to pre-crisis levels. They still have the traditional “rope maze” set up before security, but the line doesn’t stretch very long.

When I’m about twentieth in line, with about the same number of people behind me, I watch two college-aged kids duck under the rope at the closest corner to the security entrance — not the very front of the line, but pretty close. Several people in front of me berate the kids, but of course, they ignore the complaints. The TSA agents monitoring the line, however, do take notice.

Both kids get pulled aside by TSA for “extra screening”. After I pass through security, I find a seat near the terminal entrance and watch to see how long it takes the kids to finally make it through.

By my watch, they don’t get through security until half an hour after I made it through — nearly an hour after they so blatantly cut the line.

Serves them right for being so entitled that they thought they could get away with such a blatant cut, especially when the airport was so quiet.

Our pool isn’t deep enough to dive anywhere. Some young teenagers think they are too cool and need not follow the strict NO DIVING rules. I catch them.

Me: “Okay, guys, you have to sit out next time you do it.”

Of course, they think we’re stupid and blind and do it again.

Me: “That’s it. Sorry, guys, but you’re sitting out for the next ten minutes.”

Some of their parents come over, so I kindly inform them:

Me: “They’re sitting out for ten minutes, and if they do it again, we’ll have to kick them out.”

Parent: “Good for you guys. They need to learn that their actions have consequences.”

Thank the lord! Somebody is on our side! After the ten minutes are up, the FIRST thing these kids do is dive headfirst into the pool. Another lifeguard steps over to them:

Lifeguard: “I am going to have to ask you to leave the pool for the day. You dove headfirst into the pool numerous times after we already told you it was against the rules. Next time you come back, please do not dive headfirst into the pool; you could seriously injure yourself and possibly those around you.”

The lifeguard turns to the parent.

Lifeguard: “I am sorry, but your child dove headfirst again. We are going to have to ask you to leave the pool area for the day.”

Parent: *Yelling* “Are you kidding me?! I took the time to bring them here so they could enjoy the pool! You guys are making this up! My kids are good kids! They would never do that! I am never coming here again!”

They came back the very next day.

I work in a pet hotel/doggie day-care located inside a large corporate pet store. On my way to take my break one drizzly evening, I pass through the hotel “lobby” where a man and his son, who looks to be in his mid- to late teens, are standing. I hear the man ask the senior associate at the check-in desk if someone can help him jump his car, as the battery is dead. Since I’ve already clocked out for my break, I decide to offer to help.

I’m a woman in my early twenties.

Me: “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear. I have jumper cables in my car and I’m just about to take my break. I can give you a boost, no problem.”

The man looks me up and down and then chuckles.

Man: *Condescending* “Are you sure you know how, honey?”

The son, to his credit, groans and covers his face. I stare at the man for a moment and then frown.

Me: *Annoyed* “Sir, I don’t have to help you, so you can either be rude or you can be on your way home. Which is it?”

He stares at me, startled, and then turns to the senior associate.

Man: “Are you going to let her talk to me like that?!”

Senior Associate: *Shrugging* “She’s not on company time; she can say what she wants.”

Son: “For God’s sake, Dad, it’s already raining and she’s offering to help. Just ask her nicely.”

The man looks at his son in surprise, then looks chagrined and turns back to me.

Man: “Um, we would very much appreciate your help, thank you.”

Me: “No problem. Where are you parked?”

We went out to the parking lot, and he just happened to have parked in the space across from mine, so our hoods were already lined up. I grabbed my cables while [Man] got an umbrella from his car that he graciously held over me while I hooked up the cables.

A few minutes later, they were good to go. [Man] thanked me again and apologized for his condescension while his son whispered an apology for his dad’s behavior. When I returned from my break, the senior associate (also a woman) gave me a knowing smile and a fist bump.

If you ask for help and someone offers, don’t be a jerk!

I am at a convention as an artist and I have some leftover stock, so I organise a giveaway. All people have to do is sign up — no purchase required. At the end of the day, I hold a lottery and two people win a package. The winners are happy and thankful and go their merry way.

About fifteen minutes later, I see a boy, my guess is about fourteen years old, hanging around my booth.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Boy: “Yeah, I signed up for the giveaway.”

Me: “Ah, well, the winners already picked up their prizes. Better luck next time!”

Boy: “So, what was the prize?”

Me: “Oh, a couple of items, like a calendar with my art, a mug, greeting cards with my art… things like that.”

Boy: “That was the prize? Who would want that junk?”

Me: *Taken aback* “Well, the winners seemed to be happy with it, and the prizes were advertised so you would know what you were signing up for. What did you think the prize would be?”

Boy: “I dunno… A car or something.”

Me: *Speechless* “A… car? As a giveaway? Why would I give away a car? I’m an artist; I would love to have that kind of money laying around!”

Boy: “How should I know? You advertised that the value would be 25,000 euros!”

I look at the pamphlet, doubting myself.

Me: “It says 25,00 euros…”

Boy: “Eh… well… Your art sucks anyway!”

He rushed off. At least the winners were grateful; one even came by before the end of the convention to thank me again for the prize.

A harried-looking woman comes up to the pharmacy counter.

Customer: “Do you have anything for hormones?”

Me: “I need you to be a little bit more specific, ma’am.”

Customer: “It’s my teenage son! He has too many hormones! I can’t take it anymore! He has no socks left! I can’t buy anymore!”

Me: “Oh… wow. Um… I think you would need to talk to a doctor about that, if you think it might be a health risk. I can’t offer you any over-the-counter medicine that would help you, I don’t think.”

Customer: “But you don’t understand! All he thinks about are boobies! There’s something wrong with him!”

Me: “Not that this is medical advice, but it sounds like there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him at all.”

Customer: “Ridiculous! I can’t handle so many boobies!”

She continues muttering about teenage hormones while the pharmacist comes up to me.

Pharmacist: “Did she just ask to chemically castrate her teenage son?”

Me: “That’s what it sounded like. Does that even happen?”

Pharmacist: *With a wry smile* “The Lord himself couldn’t stop teenage boys looking at… uh… boobies.”

Amen!

Related:
Making A Boob Of One Self, Part 10
Making A Boob Of One Self, Part 9
Making A Boob Of One Self, Part 8
Making A Boob Of One Self, Part 7
Making A Boob Of One Self, Part 6