This Is Already Better Than The Movies

, , , | Related | August 15, 2017

(Where I live, large residential transformers are sometimes hidden in fake houses set up by the hydro company. These houses usually have the windows blacked out or no windows at all, no mailbox, and sometimes no visible street address or driveway, but otherwise look like normal houses. I first time I notice one is when I’m seven years old and point it out to my mother.)

Me: “Mom, that house looks weird!”

Mom: “That’s not actually a house.”

Me: “What do you mean? It looks like one.”

Mom: “That’s a power building. There’s a transformer in there.”

(Not knowing that she was referring to electrical transformers and not giant robots, I walked over to the house the next day and tried to visit the Transformer. No one answered the door so I tried to open it myself but it was locked.)

Me: “Mom, he wasn’t there. I didn’t hear anything and the door’s locked.”

Mom: “Were you at [Friend]’s house?”

Me: “No, I wanted to meet the Transformer but he wasn’t home.”

(My mom went into a panic and told me what was actually in the house and that I shouldn’t try to go in there again.)

That’s A Lousy Defence

, , , , | Learning | August 5, 2017

(This is a conversation overheard after self-defence class at my local Y.)

Boy: “I’m never fighting you again. You fight dirty!”

Girl: “Hey, I told you to wear a cup and most attackers won’t be wearing cups in real life! You have to hit them where it hurts! [Teacher] said to make the fight realistic!”

Boy: “Well, realistically I think I won’t be able to have sex EVER AGAIN!”

Some Stories (Chop)Stick With You

, , , , , | Hopeless | July 14, 2017

This story takes place about 20 years ago. I own a small Chinese restaurant and every week on Sunday at 11:30 on the dot, a family comes in. The father is Caucasian and the mother is Chinese. Their daughter is about five or six and is one of the loudest and rambunctious children I’ve ever met.

Every Sunday without fail, they’ll come in, and the kid will make a mess, scream, etc., and the father will ask for a fork for himself and their daughter. The mother will constantly try to calm her daughter down and tell her to be a “proper lady” and tell her husband to at least attempt to use chopsticks — and usually fail to do so. It becomes a habit and I usually have to deal with this table because the kid’s such a pain that none of my servers want to deal with her.

One week, the family just stops coming. Most of us are thinking “Oh, good, no more brat.” Three months pass and the family comes back, but it’s just the father and the child.

Surprisingly, the child is very calm. In fact she orders the dishes, says please and thank you (I’d like to mention that half of our adult patrons don’t do that), and she uses chopsticks better than my eight-year-old.

After the meal the father comes up to pay for the bill. I ask him how he got his daughter to be so polite, because quite frankly it seems like a miracle.

He gives me the most forlorn look I’ve ever seen. Apparently his wife died in a car crash about three months earlier (at this point I am feeling very guilty about calling her a brat) and never came home. For some reason his daughter thought it was her fault and that because she was being naughty her mother didn’t want to come back. Even though the father said it wasn’t the case, she insisted on being a “proper lady” and got both of them to learn how to use chopsticks, “Because Ma Ma will come back if she sees how nice we are.”

After he paid for the bill I just went to the back and cried. I went home and hugged my daughter.

It’s been 20 years since then and they’re still regulars. She even has a little family of her own that she brings in. The little girl eventually realized that her mother wasn’t coming back, but was still the most polite customer I’ve ever had. I’m sure her mother would be very proud to see how well she’s grown up.

It still brings me great joy when I see the daughter teaching her own children how to use chopsticks.

Wants To Be The Belle Of The Ball

, , , , , | Related | June 26, 2017

(I have two children separated by two years and 10 days. We used to have a joint birthday party when they were kids, on the Saturday between their birthdays. In ’93, Daughter was eight and Son was six. When we started planning the party the kids asked for “a Disney Princess party.” Son was, I think, more excited than his sister, so we said yes. When we went to the costume store we started looking at the Prince costumes for Son while Daughter immediately latched on to Ariel because she has red hair, just like her. It was here that a store employee approaches us.)

Employee: “How can I help you?”

Me: “We’re doing a Disney birthday party for my kids.”

Son: “Disney Princess.”

Me: “So we were looking for a Prince costume.”

Son: “No, I don’t want to be a Prince.”

Me & Employee: “What?”

Son: “It’s a Princess party. I don’t want to be a Prince.”

Me: “[Son], what do you want to be then?”

Son: “Belle! She’s the most prettiest.”

Employee: “He can’t be Belle.”

Me: “Hold on. If he wants to be Belle, he can be.”

Employee: “What is wrong with you, dressing your son up like a girl? You probably wanted another daughter, didn’t you?”

(By the time the manager arrived my son was in tears sobbing, “It’s my birthday!” and the employee was yelling at me that I was trying to turn my son gay by forcing him to dress like a Princess. In the end my son got to be Belle. He has a six-year-old daughter of his own now, who has asked for a Disney Princess party for her birthday, which prompted Son to remember this incident and call me to reminisce.)

If You’re Michael Jordan Then I’m Bugs Bunny

, , , , , | Working | June 19, 2017

(I am the prospective customer. The employee in question is either working too hard, or not hard enough.)

Me: *answering phone at home* “Hello.”

Telemarketer: *heavy accent* “Hello, my name is Michael Jordan and I’m offering duct cleaning services.”

Me: “Michael, the spokesperson deals not paying enough after your b-ball career?”

Page 1/212
Next »