Children Of The Damned

, , , , | Related | October 17, 2019

(I grew up obsessed with vampires from a very young age because of the movie “Queen of the Damned” — my favorite character being the beautiful and alluring Queen Akasha. As a result, my mom had offered to make me — and later, my best friend — costumes based off the character’s two iconic outfits, complete with blood and various bite wounds for Halloween. Mind you, my friend and I were at the tender young age of six or seven, and while my mom in all her visually-impaired, duct-tape-and-cardboard glory made the costumes a little more modest than the original outfits, the costumes still showed off enough skin to be deemed “sexy.” When my friend and I won a huge costume contest, apparently, the other parents had an issue with this. Years later, I find pictures of the costume contest with my friend and me holding up our buckets of candy prizes.)

Mom: “Yeah… the other parents didn’t like me because, apparently, I just let you dress like a slut all the time. One mom even tried to get you disqualified, which didn’t work since the judges were actually teenagers and they loved it!”

Me: “Seriously? Did they not see that I even took the costume off to skate and that I was wearing jeans underneath? Did they not know that little girls have belly buttons or…?”

Mom: “Oh, no. I let you express yourself a lot growing up and God forbid I let you believe that you were beautiful and have confidence. I even laughed in the face of a parent who told me you were going to be a teen mom. It’s a good thing I’m blind. Ignoring the angry looks I apparently got made them even angrier.” *wistfully* “I’m such a bad mommy.”

(My asexual self, thinking back to my cringy cosplay days in high school and how I never cared to even date until I was 21, “Oh, if only they could see me now…”)

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Unfiltered Story #172068

, , | Unfiltered | October 17, 2019

(I work at a commercially owned deli within a large chain store, where we get the weirdest customers. One day, I was waiting on a customer when another approached in the middle of the conversation. Keep in mind, Customer 1 was a very pasty gamer/nerd kind of person, almost stereotypical and very obviously white. He was also wearing a shirt that said, “I wish every day was Taco Tuesday.”)
Me: Oh, you must really like Mexican food!
Customer 1: Heh, yeah. I really do.
Customer 2: Hey! That’s really rude and rather racist of you to say something like that just because he’s Mexican!
(I was rather taken aback by this and couldn’t respond before the first customer turned to the woman.)
Cust. 1: Lady, I don’t really know what you’re talking about… I’m pretty sure she was just commenting on my shirt. And I’m definitely not Hispanic.
(Customer 2 gawked for a bit before awkwardly walking away, not even getting her deli order in. I haven’t seen her since.)

Unfiltered Story #169004

, , | Unfiltered | October 8, 2019

I’m on a city bus when all of a sudden the driver slams on the breaks. All eyes go to the front of the bus where a biker has planted himself in the middle of the lane, facing down the bus. We’re nowhere near a scheduled stop, the road is busy, and the guy must have swerved across two lanes in order to face off with our bus.

Driver: * throws his hands up in the air* Seriously? What is your problem??

Biker: *motions that he wants to get on the bus*

Driver: Seriously? No. No! *shakes his head vigorously because the guy can’t hear him*

Biker: *smiles and gives a thumbs-up, then starts putting his bike on the rack*

Driver: NO! *shakes his head and waves his arm, but the biker isn’t looking*

Biker: *has secured his bike and looks to the driver with a grin*

Driver: *shakes his head again*

Biker: *frowns and goes back to his bike, but instead of taking it off the rack, he just turns it the other way, then gives the driver a thumbs up and moves to the door*

Driver: *scowls at him*

Biker: *motions for him to open the door*

Driver: *Shakes his head.*

Biker: …

Driver: …

Biker: *mouths through the door* Seriously??

Driver: Seriously. *Gestures for him to leave*

Biker: *dejectedly gets his bike off the rack and pedals away*

Feel Free To Argue

, , , | Right | October 3, 2019

(I overhear the following at my local comic shop.)

Customer: “Where are all the comics at?”

Worker: “Well, our comic racks are over on that wall. Are you…”

Customer: “No! The free ones!”

Worker: “Uh, free ones? We do sometimes have sample comics, but we don’t…”

Customer: “There was a big table full of free comics just last week! Where are they?!”

Worker: *in a tone of realization* “Sir, are you talking about Free Comic Book Day? That was over a month ago, and it only happens once per year.”

Customer: *after several moments of silence* “So, where are they?”

Worker: *in a tone of exhaustion* “We don’t have any free comic books.”

(The customer kept glaring for a bit before stomping out of the store.)

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These Online Filters Have Seeped Through To Real Life!

, , , , , , | Working | October 2, 2019

(I work at a company that requires you to use an ID badge to get through the front doors. However, rather than having an automatic reader you scan, there is instead a manual, hand-held scanner that the person behind the reception desk will use to scan the ID. If they get the green light, they’ll then hit a button behind the desk to open the doors. On this particular day, I get to the desk while I am still trying to pull my ID out of my pocket. The lady behind the desk is someone who I’ve never seen before.)

Receptionist: “You need to present your ID.”

Me: *cheerfully* “Yep, sorry. It got stuck in my pocket.”

Receptionist: *rolls her eyes* “If you don’t have an ID, you aren’t getting in.”

(At that moment, I manage to pull it free of the fold it was stuck on, and hold it out.)

Me: “Right, sorry. There you go.”

Receptionist: *not even looking at my card* “You need a card to get in.”

Me: *slowly wiggling it back and forth* “Yes, it’s right here.”

Receptionist: *turns away and starts fiddling with her computer* “I can’t just let you in without an ID.”

Me: *frustrated at this point* “I know, which is why I have my ID right here.”

(She doesn’t respond, leaving me standing there with my ID out. After a moment, one of the security officers for the building comes over.)

Officer: “Is there a problem?”

Receptionist: *wheeling around* “He’s trying to get in without an ID.”

(The officer looked between the card in my hand and the receptionist, before reaching over and picking up the hand scanner. He didn’t say a word as he scanned my card, the light flashed green, and he then reached around and hit the door-open button behind the desk. Throughout all this, the receptionist kept looking at him, continuing to not even acknowledge that my card existed. I left at that point, and I haven’t seen that woman at the desk since then. I’m still not sure if this was some sort of weird power play on her part, or if her brain really was filtering out the existence of my ID card.)

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