Making A Mad Dash On The Dash-Cam

, , , , , , , | Friendly | January 15, 2018

(I drive heavy goods vehicles for a company that primarily delivers farm equipment. Due to the nature of who we deliver to, we often wind up on roads that aren’t, strictly speaking, designed to accommodate vehicles that are 60 feet long. As such, a certain degree of understanding from anyone coming the opposite direction is needed, since my vehicle generally takes up so much of the road that passing is only possible via them staying in an entrance to a field, or the rare dedicated passing spot that small rural roads sometimes have. I have just completed my delivery to a large farm and I am leaving the site, followed by several vehicles from said farm. I am roughly halfway between the farm and the passing point when a twenty-something woman drives past the passing point at speed and continues down the lane to come to a stop barely five feet in front of me. I know, given the size of my vehicle and the numerous vehicles behind me, that I can’t possibly get out of her way, so I simply wind down my window and wait for her to make a move.)

Woman: *getting out of car* “You need to move.”

Me: “The lane’s too tight for me to manoeuvre to the side, and I can’t back up because there’s vehicles behind me. You’re going to have to back up to the passing point.”

Woman: “I don’t care how hard it is for you; I’m not moving, so you’ll have to.”

(Knowing that sooner or later someone in the vehicles behind me will come along to back me up, I opt to just stare her down rather than trying to argue with her.)

Woman: “Well? Come on! I have to get moving! Get out of the way. I own the f****** farm! I have right of way. Move, NOW!”

(After another couple minutes of this, someone from the convoy behind me finally comes up to support me, and it’s clear he has little love for the stroppy woman in front of us.)

Farm Man: “[Woman], what are you playing at? There’s a line of cars behind this lorry. We aren’t all backing up for you, so back yourself up to the passing point.”

Woman: “I’m not moving. I own the farm so I have right of way!”

Farm Man: “Your uncle owns the farm. You don’t even live here; you just show up to ride horses a couple times a week. We aren’t all moving for you. Back up.”

Woman: “I’ll just tell [Uncle] and get you fired if you don’t move.”

Farm Man: “There’s over a dozen people in this queue. Apart from this guy here in the lorry, all of us work at the farm. Good luck with that.”

(With this, he turns and walks back to his car, and the woman, finally realising an entire convoy isn’t going to whisk itself out of her way, gets back into her car and starts backing up. The distance back to the passing point is perhaps 1/4 of a mile with a couple mild turns; even reversing slowly it should take no more than two or three minutes to make it back. I slowly follow after her, keeping about 50 feet away from her at all times. All seems to be fine until she arrives at the first bend in the lane. After several failed attempts at getting round it in reverse, she seemingly loses all patience, slams on the accelerator, and crashes backwards through a wooden fence, all captured by my dash-cam. Before I’ve even pulled up to where she crashed, she’s out of her car and screaming at me that I have destroyed her car.)

Woman: “You f****** a**hole! You’ve crashed my car! You can f****** pay for repairs, you c***!”

Me: “You managed that all by yourself; clearly you aren’t injured, so I’ll be on my way now.”

Woman: “Don’t you dare drive off. I’ll have your job, you b******! I’ll report you to your boss!”

Me: “The company phone number is on the side of the cab. I do have dash-cam footage of you putting yourself through that fence, though, so maybe think twice before you ring up. Goodbye.”

(I then drive off past her, ignoring the further ranting, and noting with a certain amount of satisfaction that not one of the vehicles behind me makes any attempt to stop and help her. About an hour later my boss rings me.)

Boss: “I’ve just had a complaint about you from a very angry woman saying you threw her out of her car and crashed it backwards through a fence because she wouldn’t get out of your way. Care to explain it for me?”

Me: “She managed it all by herself. I never even left the cab, and I certainly didn’t fling her from her car. I’ll be back at base in about four hours. You can check the dash-cam footage, but there’s no way anyone could say it was any fault but hers.”

(I got back to base. My boss had a look at the footage, concluded that the accident was no one’s fault but the woman’s, and proceeded to rip her a new one on the phone about abusing his staff and making fake claims against them. She did then try to go through insurance about it, but again, once they’d seen the footage, they shut her down. I do have to wonder, looking back, how self-entitled someone has to be to first demand that an entire convoy of vehicles move for you, and then somehow blame me for her own shoddy driving when she backed through a fence, and THEN be so full of themselves to fabricate a story about it even after I’d warned her that all of it was recorded by my dash-cam.)

Pop Goes Their Job Prospects

, , , | Working | January 15, 2018

(I work in a school canteen. We have a new starter with us today. I induct them and set them to work. After a few minutes I hear the tell tail signs of chewing with your mouth open. I turn around and see him chewing gum.)

Me: “[New Starter], you aren’t allowed to chew gum on the job. As I said, not ten minutes ago, it’s unhygienic.”

New Starter: *stroppy* “Well, sorry!”

(I assume that’s the end of it and head out to the front to prepare the tables. I see our manager, who is rather stern and strict at the best of times, head into the kitchen. One of the shutters goes up almost immediately and she yells for me. I walk over.)

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Manager: *near shouting and turning red* “Is it true you told [New Starter] that he could chew gum?”

Me: “I most certainly did not! I told him specifically not to.”

(He shakes his head and the manager scrunches her eyes at the both of us. She’s about to speak when [Coworker] behind us speaks up.)

Coworker: “She’s right. I was there when she told him during his induction, and again when she caught him chewing.”

(We all looked at the new starter while he was in the process of blowing the largest bubble I had ever seen. It popped, and I could see bits of gum and saliva fly all over the counter. Our manager even wiped some of it from her lip. Not a good way to start your first day.)

When You’re Planning On Dating Sheldon Cooper

, , , , , , , | Romantic | January 15, 2018

(I am sat next to my male colleague, who I’m quite good friends with. I’m female and have recently realised I’m bi. I am complaining to him about my new discovery that I am terrible at chatting up women, when I realise that he has a girlfriend and ask him for tips. Note that we’re both lawyers. We chat for a bit about what he used to do and then…)

Colleague: “I think now… Okay, so, I guess if it was now, you’d want to just talk to her. And then you agree that it’s exclusive, so you know the terms you stand on.”

Me: “Are you suggesting I make her sign an exclusivity agreement?”

Colleague: “Bring it on the first date.”

Me: “That’ll go down well.”

Colleague: “Make sure you include all the relevant warranties.”

Me: “To the best of my knowledge and belief, I am not dating anyone else?”

Colleague: “Schedule five contains a list of all former relationships.”

Me: “A list of all ex-lovers who might want to kill me.”

Colleague: “Let’s go for material relationships; that’ll do it.”

Me: “Do I stick indemnities in there, as well? Like, in the event of a break up, you will indemnify me for the cost of all gifts over a certain amount?”

Colleague: “Couldn’t hurt. You see, this will be very romantic.”

Me: “Yup. Do we have to give notice to terminate?”

Colleague: “No, we’ll go for at-will.”

Me: “Very American. Also sensible.”

Colleague: “Oh, but in the event of a material breach…”

Me: “You have to remedy within ten days?”

Colleague: “Yes!”

Me: “You know, when I asked you for help, I wasn’t expecting you to advise I bring a 100-page legal document with me.”

Colleague: “Well, it could just be heads of terms. So, not binding.”

Me: “Like a lesser version of a prenup?”

Colleague: “If you keep adding terms, though, you know what it’ll be?”

Me: “…what?”

Colleague: “A relationship agreement!”

Me: “…”

Colleague: “What?”

Me: “That’s terrible.”

Colleague: “It’s true, though. It’s an agreement that governs the relationship between two parties. A relationship agreement!”

Me: “This is the last time I ask you for advice on dating.”

(For the record, the other lawyers sitting around us slowly edged away during this conversation…)

 

Related:

Dating Sheldon Cooper, Part 15

Dating Sheldon Cooper, Part 14

Dating Sheldon Cooper, Part 13

Crochet Away

, , , , , | Romantic | January 14, 2018

(I come up to the checkout with a few bundles of yarn and a crochet needle.)

Cashier: “Ooh, you crochet?”

Me: “Not really. My mum made a lot of my clothes as a toddler. I thought I’d challenge myself and see how hard it is.”

Cashier: “That’s nice.”

(She scans my items.)

Cashier: “So, my brother’s single, and he’s looking for a boyfriend.”

Me: *not really paying attention* “Is he?”

Cashier: “So…?”

Me: “Card, please.”

Cashier: “No, silly! My brother.”

Me: “What about him?”

Cashier: “Are you interested?”

Me: “Not really. I have a wife and kids.”

Cashier: “You aren’t a very convincing straight man, coming in here and buying your pretty things! I clocked the man-obsession the second you walked in.”

(I start walking to the exit.)

Cashier: *practically screaming* “Wait, don’t you want your things?”

Me: “I’ll look elsewhere, thanks.”

Cashier: “COME BACK ANYTIME! AND LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU COME OUT. MY BROTHER WILL STILL BE SINGLE!”

(I looked elsewhere, and in the end managed to make a decent looking beanie. My wife immediately stole it. I didn’t even get the chance to try it on.)

In Need Of Some Extra Credit With My Father

, , , , , | Learning | January 14, 2018

(I’m in England. I’m a Ph.D. student in who also has teaching responsibilities. I’m alone in the office I usually share with four other Ph.D. students when there’s a knock at the door and I call out for them to come in.)

Master’s Student: “[My Name], do you know where everyone is?”

(I turn around and see that it’s a Master’s student I work closely with and a younger student I don’t recognise, meaning she’s a first year undergrad. The undergrad is crying.)

Me: “The academics, admin, and techs are on an away day; there’s only Ph.D.s in, and just a couple of us. Can I help?”

Master’s Student: “[Undergrad] was looking for someone to talk to about her grade for an essay.”

(Given that I have a crying 18-year-old in my office, I offer to have a look at it for her, figuring it’s the usual issues, such as poor referencing that’s been pulled up as plagiarism. Pulling up the undergrad’s work, I frown; she’s got a 73%. It’s important to note that from her accent the undergrad student is American.)

Me: “[Undergrad], this is a very good grade for this early in the year.”

Undergrad: “My dad is threatening to pull me out because my grade isn’t good enough.”

(She explains that, unlike most of our American students, she’s actually here for the full three-year degree and her family has only allowed her to come if she lets them access her grades via the online system.)

Me: “[Undergrad], I don’t know what to tell you. This is a very good grade; it’s a First.”

Undergrad: “If I call my dad, can you explain that to him? He won’t believe me.”

(I really don’t have the authority, but she’d so distressed I can’t refuse. She pulls out her mobile phone and calls her father, then explains that she’s in with one of her tutors and hands the phone to me, which I put on speaker.)

Father: “So, what can my girl do to pull up her grade? 73% is not good enough! Is there extra credit?”

Me: “Sir, let me stop you there. From what I understand, we grade very differently in the UK than you do in the US. We do not offer extra credit, and we do not grade on a curve. Your daughter is held to an absolute standard which doesn’t change between years. We also use percentage scores differently; 90% and above is impossible on all but a few assignments, and certainly an essay. Above 70% is considered a First-class result. Your daughter has got 73% on an essay we assign to teach students how to write essays. The main note on her feedback is that her referencing is not the department standard; however, if she continues at this level then I would expect her to gain a First.”

Father: “A First?”

Me: “The highest level we award. For your daughter’s sake, please add around 25% to future results to convert UK to US grades.”

(Her father seems shocked into silence, and the undergrad takes her phone back and promises to talk to him later before hanging up.)

Undergrad: “Thank you so much. How do you know about the grading difference?”

Me: *laughing* “Television, film, and online comics! If you have any more issues, try your personal tutor.”

Masters Student: “Her tutor is [Our Mutual Supervisor].”

Me: *laughing again* “Then you can see me any time. Go and have a coffee or something and relax a bit. I think after that you’ve earned it.”

(The Master’s student stands up and ushers the undergrad out.)

Master’s Student: *to the undergrad* “Told you she’d sort it out. Have you tried the student union bar yet? I think you need a drink.”

Undergrad: “That’s why my dad is so worried about my grade; I can drink here!”

Master’s Student: *as she opens the door* “Sounds like he’d drive you to drink!”

(I went back to the paper I was writing. They were in the bar an hour later when I went past and [Master’s Student] invited me to join them. It turned out [Undergrad] had come to study in the UK to get away from her overbearing father.)

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