In the winter of 2020, we have snow for the first time in years. My boyfriend suggests a late-night walk in the freshly fallen snow. I like snow for its prettiness, but I severely dislike the cold that comes with it; it wreaks havoc on my rheumatism, causing severe pain in my back. But I shake it off and go with him on this walk… where he continuously throws snowballs in my direction.

Me: “Please don’t throw snowballs at me. My back in particular is really bad today.”

Boyfriend: “But snowball fights are fun! Why do you always dislike fun things? Besides, it’s very powdery snow; it can’t possibly hurt you.”

Me: “That’s beside the point. I just asked you if you couldn’t throw snow at me, please.” 

Boyfriend: “But… it’s fun!”

He continues to throw snow in my direction, telling me he isn’t aiming to hit me and calling me paranoid. Then, a snowball hits me square between the shoulder blades, and it literally feels like I’m being stabbed with a huge, blunt knife, so I yell out in pain. 

Boyfriend: “Oh, come on. That couldn’t have hurt!” 

Me: *In tears* “How would you feel if I punched you in the back again and again and again and told you to grow a pair?” 

I storm off, trying to avoid further arguments and longing for a hot shower to relieve the pain. He has the house key, however, and I don’t, so I’m forced to wait by the front door for him. I’m still shaking with rage, cold and hurt, when he catches up to me. 

Boyfriend: “So, are you done with your little tantrum? I was trying to have a nice evening out, and I can’t help if every tiny little thing hurts you. It ruins things for me, you know.”

File under reason number 2978972 why he’s my ex now.

I’m an accountant. It’s early February, and everyone is getting their W2s. This is the first rush to get your taxes done, and we are fully booked. This means I’m working crazy hours doing people’s taxes. I’m working from 7:00 am to 10:00 pm. I don’t have time between clients to eat, so I eat a big breakfast and usually get something from a fast food place before bed. I usually go to marginally healthier places.

Tonight, there is a terrible blizzard. Instead of driving out of my way on the dangerous roads, I decide to visit the burger place with a drive-thru that’s near my home. It’s a bit after 10:00, and the sun’s well set, but the street lights are still on. Big huge flakes are falling from the sky, but the roads are mostly clear thanks to Minneapolis’s wonderful, overworked, but very effective snow removal people. I’m a bit low on gas, and my phone is dead.

The parking lot for the burger place is full of snow about two-thirds as tall as my tiny compact car, but there appears to be a shoveled-out line through the drive-thru, so I’m not worried.

I should have been worried. The path gets rougher and rougher the deeper I go into the line for the speaker. I’m starting to wish I hadn’t turned into the parking lot, but by the time I have finished my turn, it is already impossible to go back.

I order some food at the window… and my car becomes stuck. I can’t drive it forward any further; the wheels just spin.

I ask the employees for help. They can’t come out for safety reasons. That’s fine; I fully understand.

Could they pass me a shovel through the window with which to shovel out my car? No, they don’t have one. 

Do they have any salt I could apply? How about packets of salt for the fries? No, they can’t do that. 

What about cardboard? Do they have any old fries containers I could put under my wheels? Drink containers? Paper bags? No, can’t hand those out like that, either.

Is there someone who’s supposed to have cleared the parking lot? There’s a private company that’s supposed to do it, and they haven’t.

How are they going to get their own cars out of the parking lot? They don’t know. Their own cars are well and buried. (I feel pretty sorry for them, too, at this point.)

Could they have maybe put a sign out at the entrance saying, “Enter at your own risk.”? If I’d been warned, I wouldn’t have come through. No, that’s against policy, too.

Could one of them use the phone in there to call a tow truck? My phone is dead. Nope. They’re not allowed to use the phones inside for that purpose.

Could they call my spouse who lives with me about five blocks away? Nope, can’t do that either.

Can I leave my car here, walk five blocks back home, grab my shovel from home, and dig my car out? No. Apparently, I’m not permitted to leave my car here; they’d call the cops to give me a ticket.

Could they call the cops without me leaving the car here so I can get some help getting out of the snow? No.

What the f***?!

Could I come in out of the cold so I don’t freeze while I wait for someone to rescue me? I don’t want to leave my car running, I’ve only got a quarter tank, and I don’t know how long this could take. No, that’s too risky. Apparently, I could be a physical threat to them. Or someone could, and it’s unfair to play favorites. Fine, I understand.

So, I waited with my car turned off, in the cold, wearing a suit and a tie, until someone else got to the drive-thru and was willing to help me get my car loose with the old cardboard and pushing trick.

I drove off without paying for nor picking up my order. I did try to give the guy who helped me a twenty, but he said he didn’t want any money.

I understand that they couldn’t help me, and I understand why, but it was a very frustrating and frightening experience.

And if they can’t provide for the safety of their customers, why couldn’t they have posted a sign saying so? I wouldn’t have gone into their drive-thru had it been apparent from the street that I was on my own. I’ve not eaten there ever since, especially not on snowy days. It seems too risky.

I used to work in a fast food place. Our air conditioning went out one summer and we had to wait for a part to fix it. It was over eighty in the dining room, ninety behind the counter, and about a hundred degrees in the kitchen with the fryers, oven, and grill all going.

A little old lady walked up to the counter.

Lady: “It’s so hot in here! Could I go back and eat my food in the kitchen? Is it any cooler back there?”

Me: “No, ma’am. Not only is that a big health no-no, but our cook has been stepping outside into the ninety-plus-degree heat to cool down once or twice an hour.”

She didn’t seem concerned or convinced.

My husband and I arrive at the grocery store to get our weekly groceries. It’s cold and pouring down rain, so we’re walking as briskly as we can to get out of the weather.

As we are walking up the row we parked in, a lady in a gold sedan pulls into the yellow-lined space that is right next to the handicap spaces meant for ramps and such for wheelchairs to get in and out of vehicles.

I think to myself, “Is she really going to park there?” We keep walking and I keep glancing back. Yup, she’s parking there. Before we get to the door, I turn around and see her start to get out of the car, and somehow, I find the courage in all my anger to yell out to her:

Me: “Hey that isn’t a parking space!”

She literally growls at me.

Me: “You’re blocking the handicap space!”

Lady: “Ugh! Fine! I’ll move!”

She makes to get back in her car. I turn to start walking inside, but then, I get a feeling she is just waiting for me to leave. I turn around and, sure enough, she is waiting for me to leave. I stop and watch her. She knows she’s not getting away with it now, so she starts cussing at me and eventually — she’s drawing a lot of eyes now — says that she’ll move.

The entire time she is cussing, I just stay silent and let her dig her own grave. Then, when she says she’s moving, I yell out to her:

Me: “Then do it!”

My husband got a real kick out of that as he chuckled. He knew I had everything handled, so he stayed silent while I took care of the lady. He knows I can’t stand entitled people.

The entitled woman angrily got back into her car, struggling with her umbrella in her haste, and then peeled out of the non-space to another actual parking space literally five cars down across from her.

I get it; it was raining, it was Mother’s Day, and she was probably just running in for last-minute cards and flowers. But d***!

I finally got inside the store where the greeter thanked me and told me that, apparently, people park that way all the time and they’d given up saying anything to them and just let the police handle it from now on.

Next time, I think I’ll just call the police and watch.

I’m at my desk, listening to the person in the next office request a Florida weather report.

Coworker: “Alexa, what’s the weather in Kissimmee, Florida?”

Alexa: “But we’re just good friends!”

She tried the Kissimmee weather request a couple more times and then switched to Orlando. Evidently, Alexa doesn’t consider weather requests for Orlando come-ons.