Saved From Traffic, Not Trafficking

, , , , , | Right | June 18, 2013

(I work in the parking lot, helping customers load their vehicles and push carts back to where they belong. I am the only one out on the lot at the moment. A boy runs out into the lot next to me, into the middle of the road.)

Boy: “Die, bug!”

(I see something moving out of the corner of my eye. When I look, there’s a car driving very fast through the lot. It is heading straight for the boy.)

Me: “Oh, crap!”

(I run into the road, pick up the child, and dive out of the way. I use my body as a cushion for him. My back hits a rack of plants, knocking them over, and sending pain through my back. The boy’s mother comes rushing over.)

Boy’s Mother: “Oh, my God! WHAT THE H*** ARE YOU DOING WITH MY CHILD!?”

Me: “First of all, I’m okay, and so is he. Second of all, he just about got ran over.”

(I painfully stand up, and let the child go to his mother, who clings to her.)

Boy’s Mother: “I want to see your manager, now!”

Me: “Certainly, ma’am.”

(I go and find my manager, and explain to her what happened. The manager understands and goes to the service desk where the boy and his mother now wait. I follow behind and listen in.)

Manager: “So, I hear you have a problem with one of my employees?”

Boy’s Mother: “You’re d*** right I do! He tried to steal my baby!”

Manager: “I assure you that’s not what happened. From what my employee has told me, he saw the child run into the street, chasing a bug. He noticed a car driving at unsafe speeds through the parking lot at the child.”

Boy’s Mother: “That’s what he wants you to think!! I saw no car!”

Manager: “What happened when you noticed my employee with your child?”

Boy’s Mother: “He knocked over the plant racks out front with his back!”

Manager: “And he did this while holding your child?”

Boy’s Mother: “YES! You get it!”

Manager: “Not quite. Follow me with this, please. Why would my employee do that when he has the most chance of getting caught? It would draw a lot of attention to himself.”

Boy’s Mother: “He… He was… I don’t know.”

Manager: “The only reason I could think of him doing that is if he had to get out of the way of something fast. Or, if your child was in danger of being hit by a car going 40 miles per hour through the parking lot.”

Boy’s Mother: “Well, maybe you should control the cars speeding through your lot! Hmph!”

(She takes her son and walks out in a huff. Later on, at the end of my shift, the mother and her son approach me on the way out.)

Boy’s Mother: “There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

Me: “Ma’am, I promise you; I wasn’t trying to kidnap your child!”

Boy’s Mother: “I know that. But my son has something to say to you.”

Boy: “Thank you for saving my life.”

(He hands me a thank you card.)

Me: “No problem, little man. Promise me something?”

Boy: “Okay?”

Me: “Don’t go playing in the street. When you go somewhere, stay next to your mom. That’s the safest place you can be. Can you do that?”

Boy: “I promise!”

Boy’s Mother: “Thank you again. I can’t thank you enough. I also came back to talk to your manager. Are you on lunch?”

Me: “I’m off work now, actually.”

Boy’s Mother: “Good, then I can make it a surprise!”

(The mother walked into the store. I wondered what she meant, but I figured I’d find out the next day, and went home. The next day, I opened up the store, and found out from my manager that someone gave me a glowing review of my work ethics!)

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Mess With My Family And You Mess With Me

, , , , | Working | June 17, 2013

(I am 19 and have been in and out of the hospital for over three months. I’ve suffered two strokes and a seizure and have had to relearn how to walk. I also can not eat or drink because I’ve developed a problem with my intestines. At the same time, my brother is graduating from the Marines, so I insist to my parents that they leave to attend. My parents still stay with me to make sure I make it out of surgery all right, and then leave. A few days later, a nurse comes in.)

Nurse “I can’t believe with as sick as you are your family just leaves you here. You’re a little girl!”

Me “Ma’am, I’m 19. I am fine. It was my choice.”

Nurse “No, it is not okay. Your family should be staying here with you. I should call protective services. I can’t believe they would just abandon you when you needed it most!”

(Note: this is the last straw for me, because I’ve been in pain all day due to a combination of physical therapy and another rude nurse.)

Me “Look, lady: you don’t know s*** about my family. My mom has slept with me almost every day she could in a cot in this d*** hospital, and my stepdad has been taking me to physical therapy. They have also made sure to give my best friend a place to stay while they’re gone and a way to get here every day to hang out with me so I’m not lonely. I am the one who told them to leave and see my brother graduate because I can’t. I am so proud of them for leaving to see their only son do something great. You don’t know me and you don’t know s*** about my family, so back the f*** off before I report you for b******g about my family when you know nothing about what is going on in my life and not doing your d*** job! GET OUT!”

(After this, she just stares at me and turns to leave, but not before muttering the following…)

Nurse “Still isn’t right… little child alone…”

(I told the nursing supervisor about the incident. The nurse was fired later that week because of that and other behavior issues.)

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Too Late To Abandon Ship

, , | Learning | June 16, 2013

(My drama class is rehearsing a play. There is a scene where a boy has to dip a girl and kiss her, but he keeps messing up and dropping her. Note that in the class, there are also two guys who are best friends and everyone jokes that they’re a couple.)

Girl: “Not like that! You stuck your finger in my ear!”

Director: “No, see, you still have to hold onto her.”

Guy #1: “Are you going to get it right, or am I gonna have to grab [guy #2] and show you how it’s done?”

Guy #2: “Whoa, Whoa! I just want to say, I have no idea what he’s talking about.”

Me: *mockingly* “Reeeally?”

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Developing Arrest

, , , , | Right | June 10, 2013

(I work as a supervisor at a bar. Fargo is hosting the ‘North Dakota High School State Wrestling Tournament’ this weekend. I receive a phone call.)

Me: “[Bar]. My name is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller #1: “Hi. My name is [Caller #1]. I was wondering if you accept school IDs? I’m from out of town, and grabbed the wrong driver’s license.”

Me: “Um, well, no, because they are not state regulated. You have to have papers if your driver’s license or state ID is clipped.”

Caller #1: “Well, my drivers license is clipped; can I speak to your manager?”

Me: “I am the supervisor.”

Caller #1: *click*

(Two minutes later…)

Me: “[Bar]. My name is [My Name]. How may I help you?”

Caller #2: “Yes, my name is [Caller #2]. I was wondering if you accept school IDs? I’m from out of town, and grabbed the wrong driver’s license.”

Me: “Your name is [Caller #2]?”

Caller #2: “Yes.”

Me: “Is the license you grabbed clipped?”

Caller #2: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, you need to have your papers issued to you by the state for your clipped drivers license or state ID.”

(I then hear a hushed voice in the background. It is [Caller #2] talking to [Caller #1].)

Caller #2: “[Caller #1], what do I do now?”

Caller #1: “Ask for the manager.”

(Without letting [Caller #2] even ask, I respond.)

Me: “I am the supervisor.”

Caller #2: *click*

(Three minutes later…)

Me: *sighs* “[Bar]. My name is [My Name]. I am the supervisor here; how may I help you?”

Caller #3: “Hi, my name is [Caller #3]. I was wondering if you accept school IDs? I’m from out of town, and grabbed the wrong driver’s license.”

Me: “Are you friends of [Caller #1] and [Caller #2]”

Caller #3: “YES!”

Me: “Oh, well, hello then. I talked to my general manager, and he says to come by the bar! What time will you three ladies be showing up tonight?”

Caller #3: *in a hushed voice to [Callers #1 and #2]* “We are soooo in!” *returning to me* “We will be there at 9:30 sharp.”

Me: “Well, I hope to see you all here tonight.”

(Later that night, [Callers #1, #2, and #3] show up at 9:30.)

Caller #3: “We are here; the supervisor said you accepted student IDs!”

Me: “Hi! You must be [Callers #1, #2, #3]. Let me see your clipped drivers’ licenses, and student IDs.”

(I check them. The licenses and student IDs are clearly not theirs. The pictures in each of the girl’s licenses have a different facial structure, and one girl is miraculously missing a birth mark on her chin.)

Me: “All right, ladies, we have a VIP party in the back. Let me lead you there.”

Caller #1: *to Callers #2 and #3* “Oh, my God! VIP? This is the best [High School] trip ever!”

(I walk them around the building, with all of their IDs still in my hand.)

Me: “All right, officers, they’re all yours.”

(A couple of police officers are waiting for them at the back. As they are being handcuffed, one of the callers has a question.)

Caller #1: “Can we at least get our IDs back?”

Officer 1: “You can tell…” *reads names on all three IDs* “…that they can come pick them up at the station. We would like to have a word with them.”

(To my knowledge, they were processed to scare them, and then released to their parents. The girls on the IDs were charged with ‘furnishing alcohol to minors,’ and ‘providing identification to a minor for the sole purpose of obtaining alcohol.’)

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A Bridal Shower Of Criticism

, , , , , | Related | June 10, 2013

(My mom has a habit of being a massive control freak. My older sister is getting married, and has made it clear to my mother that she and her fiancé will be planning things the way they want to — without my mother’s input. Naturally, my mother has thrown a series of temper tantrums.)

Mom: “Oh, you need to let me know when we’re going dress shopping; I need to okay your choices. I need to know that your dress is acceptable.”

Sister: “Mom, I already picked out my dress. I went dress shopping with my friends, because they actually gave me input based on what I like, and not what they like.”


Sister: “Well, if you were chipping in for it, I’d agree with you. Since you’re not, you don’t. And once again, you tend not to respect my tastes, so I left you out. If you could respect that you and I like different things and not insult what I like, I might’ve let you come.”

Mom: “You are such an ungrateful spoiled brat!”

(Two weeks later…)

Mom: “Your sister needs to know what her maid-of-honor duties are.”

Me: “Mom, [Sister’s Best Friend] is going to be her maid of honor.”

Mom: “No, no, you are. Your sister just has to accept that she only gets so much say in how this goes.”

Sister: “Mother, you do realize that since you aren’t paying for any of this, you get absolutely zero say? If you keep acting like this, I’m going to tell the ushers not to let you in.”

Mom: “You can’t do that! I’m your mother; I have a right to attend! You have no right to keep me away!”

Sister: “See, that’s where you’re wrong. If [Fiancé] and I are paying to rent the space — and we are — then we have final word on the guest list. You might want to consider that.”

(It is the day before the wedding, and I’m helping set up the reception hall.)

Mom: “None of this is the way I wanted it!”

Sister: “Maybe you missed the part where I’m the one getting married tomorrow, Mom.”

Mom: “Well, this wouldn’t be such a disaster if you’d let me help!”

Sister: “No, if I’d let you help, then our wedding would be what you wanted, instead of what we wanted. Instead, since you had no say, it is what we wanted, and we’re going to have happy memories of the day.”

Mom: “I am your mother! I had a right to plan your wedding!”

Me: “Mom, stop it. I wanted to just stay out of this but [Sister] is right.”

(I look around the reception hall.)

Me: “And besides, this looks great. It’s classy, it’ll be beautiful, and the only reason you don’t like it is because she did it without you!”

Mom:Fine! I’m not coming!”

(She really didn’t come, and all because my sister and her fiancé planned the wedding without her. It was a beautiful ceremony and reception. Five years later, and they are still happily married.)

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