In the late 1990s, my dad and step-mom decide to take a vacation to Mexico and take me. I am about seven or eight at the time and I am excited. I have barely ever been out of the state, and many kids at my school have gone overseas or to fancy destinations. I don’t have a passport, so my single mom takes the time to get one and update me on vaccinations, and also to give me my own spending money.

Fast-forward to the night she drops me off. My step-sister, who is ten years older than me, her boyfriend, and her best friend are also coming. They are not at the house, which I think is weird. My step-mom has to work until eleven, so I knew she wouldn’t be there.

Dad: “Okay, let’s get your stuff in the car.”

He starts loading everything.

Me: “Is everyone else’s stuff already in the car?”

Dad: “Sure is. Let’s go. We have to go by your grandma’s to drop something off.”

We drive about twenty minutes to his mother’s house. When we get there, he starts unloading my stuff. This upsets me a bit because I didn’t know the “something” we were dropping off was me!

Dad: “Okay, here is all of her stuff. We will be back in ten days. Her mom is out of town, too. She told me that I couldn’t take her, but she didn’t tell me until we had paid for everything. I appreciate this. I know it’s a hassle.”

I should make it clear that I am the oldest grandchild, but between her and my other grandmother, they constantly argue over who will have me. This is never a hassle for her. In fact, my grandma is acting like she hit the lottery. I seldom stay with her because she still works full-time and my grandfather isn’t a great babysitter because he has no rules.

I spend ten days at her house, in an area with no other children and with the same toys that have always been at her house. I’m bored, so I decide to take out my disposable camera and take pictures outside because we are in a rural area.

Me: “Grandma, I can’t find my camera. Have you seen it?”

Grandma: “Sweetie, why would you need a camera to come to stay with me?”  

Me: “Uh, it was for the beach?”

Grandma: “Sweetie, your dad said he told you weeks ago you couldn’t go. Maybe your mom decided not to pack it.”

Me: “No, she definitely did. I didn’t know I wasn’t going until I go here.”

Grandma: “Maybe you just forgot. Well, we can call your mom and ask— Oh, wait, didn’t she go out of town?”

Me: “Yeah, she went with her sister somewhere.”

Cue my grandma calling my mom’s house, getting no answer, and then calling my aunt’s, where she also gets no answer. I never do find my camera, and strangely, when we go to the store, I notice my tiny wallet is empty of my seventy dollars worth of spending money. My ten days are boring and bleak.

Right on schedule, my dad retrieves me and takes me back to his house. I notice that the little girl my step-sister babysits and takes nearly everywhere is at his house and is sunburned. I find out they took her.

Dad: “Okay, your mom will be here tomorrow after dinner. I just talked to her. There’s some serious traffic in North Carolina. She will get back too late to pick you up tonight.”

I pout in my room, wondering what I did to be left out. When my mom picks me up the next day, I have a bad attitude and won’t tell anyone goodbye. My step-mom is confused, and my step-sister and her boyfriend seem somewhat concerned. My dad decides to lie to my mom on the spot.

Dad: “She’s mad because I won’t let her prance around here in her new swimsuit all day long and do whatever she wants.”

My mom accepts this, but I am not giving in. I won’t talk to her, thinking she is in on it. When we get home and unpack, I find that my camera film has been developed and is in an album. Most of the pictures are of the water and beach, not of anyone on the trip. I also find a hideous green bathing suit with tags attached that is not mine. None of my money is anywhere. I go running to my mom.

Me: “I didn’t take these. Daddy took them! And my money is missing!”

Mom: “Well, did you lose it? And you know he likes cameras. Maybe he was just trying to help.”

I am fed up. I am tired of being punished for no reason.

Me: “Mom, I didn’t go on the trip! He took me to Grandma’s as soon as you were out of sight! I’m not sunburned. I always sunburn no matter what. He took [Little Girl my step-sister babysits], not me!”

My mom calls and my dad is adamant that I went and I am lying. Curious, she calls my grandma, who says my dad told her that my mom refused to let me go that far. My dad then changes the story to say I was so sick he was afraid to take me.

My mom doesn’t buy it and calls my step-mom, who tells her that my dad fed her the same line about me not being allowed to go.

When the dust settles, my dad admits he was mad at me for not agreeing to come live with him so he wouldn’t have to pay child support anymore.

Mom: “I should have known that he would do this. If he had told the truth, you could have come with me. I went to Six Flags with your aunt and cousins because I thought you were going to have fun!”

Surprisingly, she still made me visit with him. After that, things were better, and I was never left behind again.

I am a manager at a combined grocery and restaurant location; it is very well known and popular in my part of the country.

This is well into a “shelter in place” and “essential business only” situation.

This lady pulls up through the drive-thru, driving past other customers, and pulls up to the window. A secondary manager and an employee greet her at the window. She speaks demandingly.

Customer: “Go get my items from the grocery section.”

Coworker: “I am sorry, ma’am, but it is company policy that the drive-thru is for restaurant food only.”

She throws a few F-bombs and calls them a few names out of the book.

Coworker: “Again, ma’am, drive-thru is for restaurant food only, and handicapped people only have the option of calling in an order.”

She drives around to the front of the store, parks in a handicapped spot, and starts to motion the cashier out to her. The cashier walks out, points out that she does not have a handicap placard or sticker, and walks back in. At this point, she has dropped multiple more F-bombs and called the employees multiple names.

I have been doing inventory and have not seen or heard any of this until after this is all over. I come walking onto the line as this lady comes into the store, screaming and dropping still more F-bombs.

She motions to a lady with three kids at the front register, and then to another lady with three kids ordering ice cream, finally spinning around, almost hitting them as she flails her arms around.

Customer: “This is f****** why I didn’t f****** want to f****** come in here!”

I walk over as she storms into the grocery section.

Me: “Ma’am, I need you to stop yelling and cursing; there are children around—”

She screams and curses some more, moaning about how she is a caregiver and shouldn’t have to step foot in our store. I give her a second warning about cursing and walk away. The next thing I know, she is screaming at me over the shelves from the next aisle over.

Customer: “I’m not causing a scene; it’s your f****** problem!”

She’s trying to stand in line at the cashier at this point, about four customers back from the register. I walk around the shelves to her and take the half-gallon of milk she has in her hand.

Me: “You need to leave.”

She grabs her ID badge on her lanyard and literally hits me in the face with it, screaming.

Customer: “Do you see this? That means I’m essential!”

I look down at the apron I am wearing. I grab it up and fluff it in her face.

Me: “You see this apron?! This means I’m essential, too! Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here!”

The guy standing in front of her laughs, and the customer at the checkout hollers out:

Other Customer: “Thank you; she needed to hear that!”

She dropped her shopping and left.

Like a lot of people, I hate going to the dentist. My first memory of going to the dentist was traumatic and growing up I inherited my parent’s bad teeth, which made dental visits painful and embarrassing. Unfortunately, my attempts at better dental hygiene ended up ruining my teeth; it got to the point where every single tooth was rotting and needed to be pulled.

The first dentist I went to for a checkup and to discuss my options insisted on pulling my teeth that day. He went on and on about how the infection was going to spread to my brain and kill me. The staff insisted my insurance would cover it, but only the novocaine. He didn’t pull all my teeth — ten or less — and it lasted two hours. Later, I received a bill for all the little fees that the staff conveniently didn’t go over. I decided infection and potential death wasn’t too bad if it meant avoiding bills.

A couple of years later, after I had to switch insurance, and at the insistence of my therapists and case manager, I went to the dentist again — a different place this time.

The first visit was a check-up and only that. We talked about my options, and there was no pressure on what I should do or that I needed to get it done right then and there. The assistant even expressed sympathy when she saw how bad my teeth were instead of being judgmental. I set up several appointments to get my teeth pulled and get dentures.

Despite having to do everything in stages, the process was quick. My insurance would cover the surgery, but only the basics. The dentist, who had a heart of gold, gave me laughing gas anyway, no charge.

They made dentures on-site, so I was able to get dentures fitted as soon as I was healed. For the first time since I was a child, I smiled without covering my face and the staff was thrilled. I can’t thank them enough for all the kindness they showed me.

This story was included in our May 2020 Inspirational Roundup.

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I’m working night audit and I get a phone call at 4:45 am. A woman asks about the hotel and everything and makes a reservation.

Me: “Okay, your reservation number is [number].”

Caller: “Thanks. And by the way, what city are you located in?”

I work the counter at a vegan bakery. We make everything from scratch to ensure that no animal products are in our products and we offer a variety of smoothies and sandwiches, as well.

This exchange happens while I am making a smoothie for one of our regulars. My coworker — one of the bakers — takes over the register to help the next customer in line.

Customer: “There’s chocolate in these cupcakes.”

Coworker: “Yes, we have many items with chocolate in them. They’re very delicious.”

Customer: “But all chocolate has dairy in it. How can you all have a vegan bakery if there’s dairy in the chocolate?”

Coworker: “Well, we make our chocolate here, and I promise you it is vegan.”

The customer suddenly becomes very upset.

Customer: “My friends are vegan and dairy-free. I can’t bring them stuff that has chocolate because all chocolate has dairy!“

The owner of the bakery comes from the back kitchen to check out the situation. She herself put a lot of work into making all of the recipes and ensuring all ingredients are vegan and eco-friendly.

Owner: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “There’s chocolate in almost everything you have! These things can’t possibly be vegan! How dare you try to pass these treats as vegan when you are putting milk in them?!”

Owner: “Ma’am, all of our chocolate is vegan. We make our chocolate items from scratch with cocoa powder. And our chocolate chips come from certified vegan sources. This entire establishment is vegan, and we don’t let anything dairy through the doors, especially in the kitchen.”

The customer responds very matter of factly.

Customer: “Yes, but did you even care to think that cocoa powder is made of ground-up chocolate bars, and all chocolate bars have dairy in them? And you said yourself that you use cocoa powder in your chocolate, so your chocolate treats all have dairy in them.”

Everyone, including our regular, is stunned silent at this woman’s backward logic.

Owner: “Ma’am, cocoa powder comes straight from the cacao tree, which in no way produces milk. And not even all chocolate bars have dairy. If you walk into any grocery store, many of the dark chocolate bars are dairy-free. We make everything from scratch here. Everything is vegan; even all of the employees are vegan. I can assure you, there is no dairy in this building.”

Customer: “Oh… Well, fine. I’ll have six cupcakes.”

She then selects six cupcakes, most of which have chocolate.

After she leaves, our normally quiet regular speaks up.

Regular: “Hey, [My Name], this green smoothie you just made me… does it have dairy in it?”

We all laughed hysterically and spent the rest of the day warning each other not to eat anything in case it had dairy in it.

Related:
Dairy, Dairy, Quite Contrary