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Ain’t Dating Just The Best?, Part 2

, , , , | Romantic | December 9, 2022

I’m also the author of this story, so let’s just get out of the way that yes, I have a weird dating life.

I meet a guy via a dating website and we get along quite well. We have three dates that all go pretty well, and I start to like him, though I’m cautious about any further advances he makes. (Turns out later that was probably my instincts warning me up front somehow.)

Before long, [Guy] invites me to what he describes as “a metal music festival for furries” at a town just across the German border. I think it’s a fun date idea — we’re both metalheads, for starters, and though I’m not into furry stuff myself, he has a pretty neat tiger fursona and I’m curious to see it — so I agree to go.

We book a hotel on the Dutch side of the border and head there first to drop off our stuff. I find out [Guy] didn’t bring his costume — which is odd since he was talking about showing it to me for days — but I think nothing much of it.

On the way there, [Guy] has a CD playing by a band that I only slightly tolerate, and it repeats about five times during the ride. I’m slightly annoyed, but I’m not going to be the passenger DJ, so I’ll cope.

An hour and a half after we pass the border, we finally arrive at a tiny town, at a party venue that is no more than a converted barn. The “festival” only has one cover band playing and about fifty people in attendance. But sure, the vibes are so far so good.

We enter the venue, [Guy] introduces me to some of his friends… and then, he promptly disappears without a trace for the following hours.

I’m feeling quite lost and awkward as I don’t know anybody. I sulk for a while, but people are inviting me to socialise, and one even buys me a drink. So, I think, “Screw it. Let’s make the best of it while I’m here.” I have a couple of drinks, hang out with some people, admire the furry costumes, and enjoy the band.

People start inquiring who I’m with, and alarms start to go off.

The moment I mention his name and the fact that he disappeared on me, people go, “Oh, no, not him again,” and, “How in the h*** did a sweet thing like you end up with [Guy], of all people?” and, “Poor girl, you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” and even, “Honey, don’t go on a date with this guy ever again. He’s trouble. Save yourself.”

I have no clue how to get out. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and as friendly as all the people are, no one is willing to give me a ride somewhere out of here. I enquire further and find out that my date is no real threat, just a notorious d****ebag with a truckload of personal issues.

[Guy] does show his face around midnight for a short time, and he looks tired and moody. I approach him and ask him if he is ready to leave, but he says no and tells me to continue dancing on my own.

Two o’clock in the morning rolls around and I’m dead beat, the high has gone, and I’m more than done with all this. I’m slumped on a sofa somewhere, just waiting for him to make an appearance. Some people are kind enough to keep me company, but most people have gone home by now. Then, [Guy] finally shows.

Guy: *Curtly* “We’re going.”

I follow him to the car. By the time we get to the hotel, that one album plays three more times, and I’m close to punching a wall.

He snores like a pig all night, so I don’t sleep a wink. During breakfast, he continues to be grumpy and doesn’t say a word, so I finally tell him he can drop me off at the nearest train station and I’ll find my way home from there.

He has the nerve to look surprised.

We get to the station, and I swear, I never want to hear this particular album again ever in my life. Before I leave, I turn to him and say:

Me: “You know, I even managed to have a bit of fun last night.”

His face lights up.

Guy: “You did?”

Me: “Yes. But obviously, no thanks to you. Never see you later.”

I slammed the car door in his face and, true to my word, never saw him again. I did meet some more people who seemed to know the guy some months after, and again, I was told I’d dodged a bullet with that one.

Related:
Ain’t Dating Just The Best?

Sick And Tired Of This Garbage

, , , , , | Working | December 7, 2022

I work in a supermarket as well as in a daycare centre. I’ve been lucky for a long time, but eventually, I do catch the dreaded [contagious illness]. I’m only out for about one and a half weeks, so I feel that’s not too bad at all, and though my energy is REALLY low, I still manage to come to work with a smile and overall do a good job.

Unfortunately, because people keep bringing their sick children to the daycare centre, and because nobody seems to care about [illness] anymore, no one’s wearing masks and everyone is coughing in each other’s faces. I get sick again about a week after I start working again. The daycare centre people are very concerned and considerate, but the supermarket is a different story.

I send a text to the supermarket to report sick on Monday evening, as is protocol. I get no response, so I call on Tuesday morning.

Me: “Hi, I’m really sorry, but I can’t come to work tomorrow. I got out of work sick on Monday, and I’m still feeling terrible. I have a high fever, I’ve been throwing up, and I can barely contain a little water now.”

Boss: “Oh. Well. Hmm. That’s really inconvenient.”

Me: “I know, I’m sorry. I’m supposed to start at ten. Someone can cover for me from two thirty to five, so that’s something at least—”

I have to throw up again.

Me: “Sorry, gotta go.”

I start puking what’s left of my guts out. About two minutes later, my boss calls me again.

Boss: “You have to try to help us out in the morning at least. It’s only for a few hours anyway. If you don’t, your coworker will be all alone.”

Me: *Taken aback* “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s not an option. I’m very sick. I still have a fever, and I can’t eat or drink.”

Boss: “Yeah, well, get some rest and call me back at three o’clock.”

I do.

Me: “Hi. Look, I know this is difficult, but my fever isn’t dropping, and I still can only drink a tiny bit of water. I’d rather not sit at a till all green and woozy.”

Boss: “Yeah, well, we can’t get anyone to cover for you, so you’ll just have to be there. Besides, you’ve been sick so much already lately.”

Me: *After a stunned pause* “Excuse me?! I’m not doing this for fun, you know! I am actually not well.”

Boss: “Yeah, yeah. Look, just try. You still have half the day and the whole night. Call us tomorrow morning at eight.”

What the h***? I’ll call them all right, saying that I’m not going to risk my own health AND THAT OF MANY OTHER PEOPLE during an ongoing GLOBAL HEALTH CRISIS. I’m NOT going to be spreading all my germs in a busy supermarket. And when I feel better, I’m gonna quit. This isn’t worth it.

And Now My Blood Pressure Is Getting A Raise, Too

, , , , | Right | December 5, 2022

I work in Social Housing. Every year, the rent rises following the rules set by the government. There is an obligated part (the inflation) and a “free” part (which is limited). This year, the CEO of our company decides that we will only do the obligated part for those with the lowest incomes, and those who have an income too high for social housing will get a raise lower than the allowed maximum. If your information with us is outdated, you can appeal the raise and we will recalculate it with the latest information. 

Woman: “I sent in an appeal for my raise; it’s outrageous that I’m getting such a big raise!”

Me: “I understand that a raise is never welcome. I see that your appeal has been received and will be dealt with in the coming days. I—”

Woman: “Well, I think you are a bunch of crooks! And why did you need my personal information? That’s private!”

Me: “The government told us your income was in scale B. We never get details, just what scale people are in. If this information is outdated, we can recalculate it for you, but we do need the correct information, then. We—”

Woman: “I’m telling you it’s wrong! Why do I need to go through the hassle of proving it? “

Note: it’s three income slips and a registration of how many people are registered at your house, which you can download or get at City Hall.

Me: “I understand, but we’re not getting that information from the government or City Hall automatically. Only you have that information or can get it at City Hall. You—”

Woman: “And when I first sent it in, you rejected it because my social security number was on it! What kind of bull is that?!”

Me: “Because, by law, we are not allowed to have your social security number in our system. We are not allowed to see it.”

Woman: “Other companies take it!”

Me: “I cannot talk for other companies. I can only talk about this company, and we are not allowed to see it.”

Woman: “Well then, you should have put that in the letter!”

She’s referring to the one that announced the raise.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it was in the letter.”

Woman: “No, it was not!”

Me: “Really? I read the letter myself. Let me look it up for you.”

Woman: “It was not in there!”

Me: “I’m reading it now — one moment.”

Woman: “Well, do that on your own time. I have better things to do. My cat wants some attention.”

Yes, she actually said that.

Me: “Here it is: page six. It’s at the header, ‘Mind your SSN’.”

Woman: “Well, that’s not clear at all! No wonder people misunderstand that!”

Me: “It’s a paragraph of about five lines, and it says you must remove your SSN. I’m sorry you—”

Woman: “Well, it’s crap, anyway. Why did you need my personal information, anyway? That’s privacy! I don’t care if you have my SSN; that’s not important, anyway! My privacy is more important!”

She went off on another tirade about how evil the CEO was and kept interrupting me over and over. Eventually, I just gave up on her and told her she’d be contacted. If I told her you can steal someone’s identity with an SSN, she wouldn’t have believed me, anyway. She ended the conversation with a comment about how this all took too long and now her dinner was burned. (It was just after lunchtime.)

We Got There Eventually, No Thanks To That First Employee…

, , , , , , | Working | November 30, 2022

My big sister is getting married and she wants me to go clothes shopping. We have a “can’t live with each other, can’t live without” relationship, but things go amazingly well between us that day… except the shopping itself. I am plus-sized — too big for “regular” clothes and too thin for the “special plus-sized stores” — and they just don’t have anything decent in my size.

I enter a boutique, and the lady behind the counter immediately states:

Employee: *Bluntly* “We don’t have anything for you here. Nothing will fit you.”

She doesn’t bother to ask about my size. After a few checks (we are desperate at that moment), nothing seems to fit, and we leave.

After seven — SEVEN — hours of shopping with no luck, we enter a store that has easy access to the mall that is attached to the train station. We just plan on going through the store, especially since it is fifteen minutes before closing.

Sister: “Wait, they have dresses here. Let me check real quick.”

I am depressed by now, but sure, let’s check things out. We end up in the cocktail dresses section.

Sister: “They have your size!”

We hurry as fast as we can, looking through the dresses, and we find a nice one. I rush into the dressing room, and other than being super long, the dress fits!

Saleslady: “Excuse me.”

We are worried the lady is going to ask us to leave, but she would have every right to.

Saleslady: “I just wanted to say that if Miss comes over here, she can have a better look at the dress. Oh, and a seamstress can easily make it shorter for you. Oh, and it’s on sale today; I thought you might want to know that.”

We still hurried, and after a thumbs-up from my sister, we got the dress. My mother had an education as a seamstress, so with joy, she shortened the dress for us.

My family thought I was completely overdressed for the wedding, but since I received a thumb of approval from the bride herself, I couldn’t care less and felt pretty for the first time in my life. The store no longer exists, but I still remember the warmth that the saleslady gave me. Even if she just did it for a sale, just let me keep my warm fuzzies.

Patience Is Not In The Running

, , , | Right | November 18, 2022

I’m watching a half-marathon in a small town. It’s cosy, and people keep their distance without the need for barricades. Police aren’t needed for traffic control, and cars can drive on the same road as the marathon at the same time and nothing ever happens. It’s been going like this for over twenty years now. 

Suddenly, a woman in her car drives up to one of the barricades there to give direction to the runners. She immediately drives onto the curb and is stopped by an older man, who directs the runners in the right direction. 

Woman: “I need to go over there!”

Older Man: “Excuse me, miss, but there are runners running in that street.”

Woman: “But I live there. I need to be there!”

Older Man: “I can move the barricade for you. One moment.”

Woman: “Yes, yes!”

The barricade has barely moved and the woman hits the gas. 

Older Man: “Mind the runners!”

Woman: “Yes, yes!” *Waves out of the window*

She was not going slow at all, and she almost hit the curb on the other side while evading the barricade that was being opened for her on that side. I think her waiting time was about three minutes?