Customers Of The Old Republic

, , , , , | Right | August 1, 2018

(I’ve finally gotten around to playing the video game, “Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic.” Since I’ve never played before, I talk to all the characters standing and walking around. In the cantina on the starting world, I have an encounter with one of the patrons.)

Woman: “Where did you get those clothes, a trash compactor in the lower city? And where are those drinks we ordered?”

Real Me: “Wow, rude little brat.”

Me In Game: “Who are you, and why are you bossing me around?”

Woman: “Why is the help here so incompetent? One word from Daddy and I could get you fired!”

Real Me: “Holy crap, it’s a virtual Not Always Right story.”

Me In Game: “I don’t even work here!”

Woman: “How dare you speak to me like that? Daddy’s going to hear about this!” *runs off*

Real Me: “Okay, this was some impressive realism for a Star Wars game.”

(Later, when I left the cantina, she showed back up and set some thugs on me. I shot down her thugs, Han-Solo-style, and she ran off screaming for Daddy. It’s a good thing most real-life stories don’t go that far!)

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I’m A Vegetarian But I Still Have Teeth

, , , , | Friendly | August 1, 2018

(I’ve been going through a rough patch, so to cheer me up, my mom takes me out to lunch at a pizzeria we used to frequent when I was a kid. Unfortunately, her clingy friend is also there and decides to sit with us. Mom is too nice for her own good, and my brain isn’t fully on when I’m hungry.)

Waitress: “Hello, are you ready to order?”

Mom: “We’ll have the meat-lover special.”

Me: “And I’ll have a small vegetarian and soda.”

(As soon as the waitress leaves.)

Mom’s Friend: “Vegetarian? Bah, silly kids and your diets. You’re already skinny.”

Me: “It’s not a diet. I don’t like eating meat, that’s all.”

Mom’s Friend: “Nonsense, humans have—”

Me: “Humans have eaten meat for thousands of years. I heard that speech before. I have my lifestyle and you have yours. I’m hungry, I’ve had a bad few weeks, and you invited yourself to what was supposed to be mother-son time. Tread carefully.”

(She was quiet for the rest of our time at the pizzeria. Thank God she didn’t come after us. I simply can’t understand why Mom keeps considering her a friend. This was mild compared to other times.)

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If Boys Will Be Boys Then They Need To Stop

, , , , , , | Working | August 1, 2018

I am 22, and have been working for my employer for over a year. At the beginning of the calendar year, I had a car accident and my car wasn’t salvageable on my budget, so I let it go.

I want a promotion, and I feel like 22 is a good time to start moving up someplace, so I start training with the manager in late summer. I am only learning the most basic things: how to use the handheld device to count stock, what frozen items to pull and when, etc.

It isn’t long in the “training” process when my manager hires a young man we nickname “Young Neil.” His name isn’t actually Neil, but we already have somebody working in our small convenience store with his same name. Young Neil was 19 — barely old enough to sell cigarettes and definitely not old enough to sell alcohol. After a few weeks, I learn he was actually hired to be the new shift lead, since he has a car.

If that isn’t bad enough, I make it clear when he and I meet the first time that I am in a committed relationship with another woman. My impression of him is that he’s a harmless flirt. Am I ever wrong!

He begins hitting on me, mercilessly. He constantly asks when I am going to take him home to meet my girlfriend, when we are going to all have a threesome together, etc. At first I write it off; I’m not attractive enough for him to be serious.

And then he starts asking me every single day. Every time we work together, this boy is harassing me.

I take it to my manager. He says, “Boys will be boys!”

I call corporate HR. They never answer the phone. So, I leave message after message. I get one call back and she basically tells me to suck it up.

The best day I ever have working there is my very, very last. I was hired the night before at a local fast food joint, so I go in to work at the convenience store fifteen minutes late for my shift, in street clothes. I owe my in-laws gas money, so I grab a twenty-cent item and ask for $20 back off my card.

The manager is at the register and asks me if I know I’m late, and if I will be returning shortly in uniform.

“F*** that. I quit!” I march out, head high. I have not gone back, nearly five years later.

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Teaching These Days Can Be Murder

, , , , , | Learning | August 1, 2018

(I am in my first semester of college, and one of my teachers for a music theory class starts showing up irregularly. I am in his first class, which meets on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. After about a week of it, I happen to run into a classmate from that class.)

Classmate: “Remember how he canceled all classes on Wednesday?”

Me: “Yeah, that following Friday he said he’d been sick and didn’t want to spread it to any of the music students.”

Classmate: “Yep. And then his car broke down on Monday, so only our class was canceled.”

Me: “And now today.”

Classmate: “About that… as I was walking by his door and saw the note, I said, ‘What did he do? Die?’ One of the other teachers said, ‘Yes,’ and walked away.”

Me: “What? Was she joking?”

(It turns out… no, they weren’t joking. Later that evening word got out. The previous night, he had apparently collected his mother from the nursing home, strangled her to death with a rope, and then hanged himself. In the meantime, the college bent over backwards getting us a substitute and creating many memorials for him. I don’t know how long that lasted, however, because not everyone was pleased with the college’s decision to honor him. As one angry student said, “The ONLY reason he’s not in jail for murder is because he killed himself!” I suspect they eventually realized it was rather… awkward to memorialize a murderer, despite how much they missed him.)

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Starter For Ten

, , , , , | Working | August 1, 2018

(I’ve got an interview at a local company at ten am. The interviewer called me to set it up, then sent an email to confirm. I walk in right at ten.)

Employee: “Hi, can I help you?”

Me: “I have an interview with [Interviewer] at ten. My name is [My Name].”

Employee: “Oh… Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, I got an email confirming it yesterday. Why?”

Employee: “[Interviewer] doesn’t get here until 12:30. Can you come back at 1:00?”

Me: “I… guess so?”

(Thankfully, I only live about ten minutes away. I head back home, eat some lunch, watch some TV, and drive back over there, walking in at 1:00.)

Employee: “Oh! You came back!”

Me: “Yes?”

Employee: “She’s still not here, and I’m not sure if she’s coming in. Do you want to come back tomorrow?”

Me: *trying not to show my annoyance* “No, I have another interview tomorrow. I’ll wait.”

(I sit in the lobby and wait. Thirty minutes later, a woman walks out of her office, notices me, and frowns.)

Interviewer: “[My Name]? Your interview was at ten.”

Me: “They said you weren’t here at ten.”

Interviewer: “Oh… Right… I wasn’t. Come on back, then.”

(She rattled off the requirements of the job, asked if I had any questions, then shooed me out the door. Time of interview: five minutes.)

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