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Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 18

, , , , | Right | August 17, 2021

I started a sales job in an auto parts store a few weeks ago. Retail is pretty new for me, but I spent three years in an auto parts warehouse for a different company, so I’m learning fairly quickly.

I’ve learned most of the free services, like battery, alternator, and starter testing. I’m a young woman and try to look feminine while also being a tomboy. So far, it hasn’t been an issue, despite living in a small rural town… until yesterday.

A man in his seventies or so comes into the store.

Me: “Hello, what can I help you with?”

Customer: “Can you get someone to test my battery?”

Me: “Sure.”

I grab the tester and walk to the door.

Customer: “Oh, you’re going to test it?”

I say yes and we go out to his car.

Customer: “These days, they let women do just about anything men can, don’t they?”

Normally, I ignore comments from customers, and I’m usually too tolerant of rude people, but I’ve been having a rough week at work. I look him straight in the eyes.

Me: “Yeah, I’m a firefighter, too.”

He looked shocked for a minute and then shifted the subject to his son being a retired firefighter. I finished the battery test and told him it showed good but to come back if it dies again (sometimes they go bad slowly). He thanked me for my time and let out a sheepish “thank you for your service” before he left. Maybe next time, he’ll think before judging what a girl is capable of.

Related:
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 17
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 16
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 15
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 14
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 13

The Game Is A-Foot

, , , , , | Related | June 3, 2021

I’m watching my oldest daughter, who is twenty-two, play with my youngest daughter, who is ten. [Youngest] has her arms around the other’s ankle, playfully trying to tug [Oldest] off the couch. My oldest is “struggling” in [Youngest]’s grip.

Youngest: “Come play!”

Oldest: *Flailing dramatically* “You’ll never take me alive!”

[Youngest] wraps her arms around [Oldest]’s foot and pulls.

Oldest: “Oh— Ouch! Hang on.”

Youngest: “Did I hurt you?”

Oldest: “It’s okay; that’s just the foot I had surgery on and I guess you pressed on the site. Here.”

She offers up her other foot, instead. [Youngest] wraps her arms around the other foot and tugs.

Youngest: “Come play!”

Oldest: *Flailing* “Never, I say! Never!


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The Eighties Went By In A Flash

, , , , , , | Right | May 26, 2021

My coworker has been a librarian for going on forty years, and between working at the reference desk, the microfiche room — yes, that long! — and the usual circulation and shelving duties, she has seen it all.

Back in the 1980s, the library was having an issue with a serial flasher. A few times a week, patrons would complain about a man with his penis out standing near them in an aisle or over in the study area, but the librarians couldn’t catch him in the act, and he looked and dressed neutrally enough that no one had been able to give a definite description.

My friend was shelving books near the back of the library, in a section where the shelves were not full, leaving space on each shelf and sometimes a gap between the books on one side and those on the other. As she was walking down an aisle with an armload of books, she looked at a shelf and saw… an erect penis, just lying there. One quick glance showed her that the man was standing on the other side of the bookshelf and had… inserted himself into the gap.

Without missing a beat, she dropped her armload of books on his appendage.

She says he made the most terrible noise, stumbled back and hit his head on the shelf behind him, and just stood there moaning. She ducked around and got a good look at him so she could describe him to the other librarians, then said sweetly:

Librarian: “Oh, I’m sorry, did you leave something on the shelf? I didn’t see anything, but I forgot my glasses today.”

There have been other flashers (always a hazard in libraries), but that one was never seen again, according to her.


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Just Sell Them The Bloody Things!

, , , , , | Right | May 14, 2021

I’m in charge of the cashiers. I call a lady forward and she’s a little quiet, but otherwise fine, until I pick up a pair of white pants.

Customer: “Those had… something on them. But I still want them.”

Me: “Oh? Okay, where is the stain? I may even be able to discount them!”

It’s one of the few powers I have, and I don’t mind helping out where I can. But this is where things take a turn. There is blood on the crotch of the pants, and a little down one of the legs. Horrified, I am stunned into silence for several moments.

Me: “I… I don’t think I can sell these. It’s a hazard to health.”

She stays silent and stares at me.

Me: “Is that… is that okay?”

At this point, I am completely at a loss.

Customer: “Yes, that’s fine.”

After she left, it took very little digging to realize she had been the one to bleed on them. I was horrified and revolted that she had let me touch the pants with my bare hands, and I wrapped them in two bags before washing my hands for five minutes straight.

 

A Not-So-Bella Notte

, , , , , | Legal | May 3, 2021

We recently got a new German shepherd puppy named Bella. We live in a decent neighborhood, but there have been several instances of pets going missing. To avoid that, someone is always with Bella.

One day, my mother was alone with Bella in the front yard, and Mom went inside to use the restroom. When she came back, Bella was missing. Mom searched for hours and we joined her when we got back. Mom cried because she felt so guilty, and we were angry with her for leaving Bella alone. 

Then, we got a call from one of our nicer neighbors saying he’d seen Bella and she was with another neighbor whom we did not like and who did not like us. 

My dad and I went to confront the nasty neighbor, and we saw Bella right away in his house, barking her head off. My dad rang the doorbell and the nasty neighbor answered.

Neighbor: “What do you want?”

Dad: “Give us our dog back.”

Neighbor: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He kept playing stupid. My dad would have punched the dude, but I held him back and called the police. A police car came a few minutes later and we explained the issue. She went to go talk to the neighbor and then asked us to provide proof that Bella was our dog. We showed her the pictures and Bella’s rabies tag, and she ordered the neighbor to give us our dog back. She asked us if we wanted to press charges, and we said yes. Our neighbor was charged with stealing our puppy and lying to police for telling the officer that the dog was his. Now he glares at us every time we’re out, and we’re more careful about watching Bella.


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