Auntie Dearest Created Terror All On Her Own

, , , , , , | Related | January 13, 2021

My family took a trip to Disney World back in 1997 when I was eight years old. With me were my mother, step-father, twin four-year-old half-brothers, and twenty-two-year-old step-aunt (my step-father’s sister). My parents offered for [Step-Aunt] to go as she was fresh out of college and they felt that they may need help with three kids; they even paid for all of her meals, flight, and hotel room.

My family and I had a lot of fun going to all of the parks, but I really wanted to go on the Tower of Terror ride in the park that was known then as MGM Studios. Unfortunately, the day that we went there, the Tower of Terror was having issues and closed down for the day. I was distraught when I found out we couldn’t ride it that day.

The next day was our last full day in Florida before we went home, but my parents were too tired from all the parks and wanted to relax with us kids by the pool. I was insistent that I needed to ride the Tower of Terror and asked if one of the adults could take me.

Mom: “[Step-Aunt], would you please take [My Name] to MGM?”

[Step-Aunt] appeared reluctant, but my parents reminded her that they’d paid for everything so far and this was the only time they were asking her to do this for them on the trip.

My mother got me ready to go to the park but made sure to give me some money and a list of emergency numbers in case I got separated from [Step-Aunt]. My mother then gave [Step-Aunt] specific instructions.

Mom: “You are not to turn off your cell phone, you do not let [My Name] out of sight, and please make sure to put more sunblock on her if you are gone for more than two hours.”

[Step-Aunt] took me from the hotel and we started walking to the theme park, but I soon realized we weren’t going to MGM but to another theme park, Epcot.

Me: “[Step-Aunt], this is the wrong park!”

Step-Aunt: “We are just going to get a drink and then we will go to MGM so you can ride the Tower of Terror.”

At this time, Epcot was known to be the only theme park where you could get alcohol, as they had areas themed after different countries, each with their own alcohol. I went along with it because I figured [Step-Aunt] was telling the truth, but after [Step-Aunt] got her first drink, we started walking further into the park while she was drinking. By the time [Step-Aunt] had finished the first drink, we were in a new country’s area and she got a second drink.

I tried arguing with her, but [Step-Aunt] said she just needed another one and we would get going soon, but I had my doubts. After [Step-Aunt] got her third drink from a different area:

Me: “When are we going to MGM?”

Step-Aunt: “We may not even make it there and you will just need to deal with it.”

[Step-Aunt] continued to drag me through four more country areas, getting a drink in each one. I even tried buying my own snack and water since we had been in the park almost three hours and I hadn’t had anything since breakfast. [Step-Aunt] told me no because then she would need to take me to the bathroom and that would slow her down.

At one point, when [Step-Aunt] went to the bathroom herself, I snuck over to a payphone and called my mom.

Me: “Mom? We’re not at MGM; we’re in Epcot. [Step-Aunt] has just been getting drunk, and she won’t let me buy food or water. I’m thirsty and sunburnt.”

My mother was furious.

Mom: “What store are you near? Go there and wait, and do not go anywhere.”

A minute later, when [Step-Aunt] got out of the bathroom, my mother called her on her cell phone to tell her that she was on her way to get me and that she was not to leave. [Step-Aunt] tried claiming that I was a liar and that we had gone to Epcot after we had been to MGM and ridden the Tower of Terror. My mother wasn’t buying it.

Mom: “I will meet you at [Nearby Store]. If you’re both not there, I’m going to call the police for abducting my daughter. If only [My Name] is there, I’ll tell them you abandoned her.”

[Step-Aunt] and I waited for about twenty minutes in the store in silence until my mother showed up, practically sprinting. My mother was furious seeing me so sunburnt and dehydrated.

Mom: “You have thirty minutes to get back to the hotel. [Step-Father] wants to talk to you.”

[Step-Aunt] tried arguing her case, but my mother just told her to go. Then, she bought a sports drink, water, and a snack for me and let me regain my strength. When I was feeling better, albeit sad about how I’d been treated all day, my mother brought me back to the hotel but said she would take me to ride the Tower of Terror later if I was up for it.

When we got back to the hotel, [Step-Aunt] wasn’t there but [Step-Father] said that she had shown up but had gone home early. After I rested and got an actual meal, my mom took me to MGM before they closed for the night and I was able to ride the Tower of Terror. Besides the issues during that day, I had a great time on the trip.

I didn’t find out until years later what exactly happened with [Step-Aunt]. When Step-Aunt got back to the hotel, [Step-Father] was furious with how his younger sister had treated his daughter and asked what she had been thinking. [Step-Aunt] said that she had been planning on getting drinks at Epcot that day, that she was just going to drag me around for the day, and that she was just planning on lying about going to MGM before when they got back.

[Step-Father] was so angry.

Step-Aunt: “[My Name] isn’t your real daughter, anyway! Shouldn’t my happiness matter more to you?”

This really struck a nerve with [Step-Father] as my bio-dad bolted before I was born and [Step-Father] started seeing my mother when I was just five months old. As far as he, my mother, and I saw it, he was my real father. 

Step-Father: “You have two options, [Step-Aunt]. One, I give you some money and you take the bus back home, or two, you pay for your own flight back home, because I am about to call the airline and cancel your ticket.”

She tried pleading with him, but he was so angry with what she did that after she left, he didn’t talk to her for almost two years.

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When They Think They’re The Only One Entitled To Indoor Plumbing

, , , , | Right | January 9, 2021

My husband, seven-month-old daughter, and I go to a popular furniture store. My daughter needs her diaper changed, so I let my husband know I’ll be in the bathroom while he gets a cart. The only changing tables in this particular store are in the family restrooms and there are two of those on the bottom floor: one by the front door next to the regular restrooms and one across the store.

I pick the one closest to the front door. As I start to change her, I hear this loud thud against the door, as if someone expected the door to open when it is, in fact, locked. I hear the handle jiggle, so I shout out that the restroom is occupied.

Thinking the person has left, I continue with my diaper changing duty. Not ten seconds later, there are three loud bangs on the door. Now, when I say bangs, I mean that it sounds like missiles are hitting the door. My daughter is surprised by the sudden noise and she starts crying, so I angrily shout out, again, that the restroom is occupied.

I calm my daughter down, finish her up, and exit the restroom. I expect to find this insane person hanging around but I only find my husband. He didn’t know I was in this family restroom, so he has been waiting by the women’s restroom nearby. The following is what he witnessed.

A lady with a baby and a toddler comes running up to the restroom and the lady slams herself into the door. Then, when the door doesn’t open, she bangs so loudly on the door that a worker comes over to see what all the commotion is about. And, yes, she is screaming the entire time.

Customer: “THERE’S SOMEONE IN THIS BATHROOM!”

Worker: “Um… okay?”

Customer: “GET THEM OUT! MY KID NEEDS TO GO!”

Worker: “Ma’am, I can’t kick someone out of the bathroom. You can wait for this family to finish or you can go to the family bathroom over there.”

Customer: “I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO WAIT! I’M A FAMILY REWARDS MEMBER, WHICH MEANS I GET ACCESS TO THE FAMILY BATHROOMS! NOW KICK THESE PEOPLE OUT!”

Worker: “Ma’am, like I said, I can’t remove other customers from the bathroom. Our family rewards cards do not give anyone special access to bathrooms, only special prices throughout the store. Please either wait for this customer to leave or choose another bathroom to use.”

The customer let out a fierce pterodactyl screech and ran away, with her toddler being dragged behind her.

The worker shook his head and walked away.

If my husband had known I was the one getting terrorized, he would have said something. I told him he should have said something regardless because the poor worker clearly couldn’t but definitely wanted to! We only saw this lady and her kids once more… as she was being escorted out of the building by security. Guess someone was in the other bathroom, too!

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Shields Up!

, , , , , | Related | January 8, 2021

When my great-great-grandmother began to develop dementia, she started throwing things at people when they came through the door of her room. Sometimes it was a book, sometimes a water glass — whatever was handy. Nobody was quite sure what to do about this, except my grandmother — her granddaughter — who was then a slightly cocky seventeen-year-old.

Grandmother: “Grandma, you really shouldn’t throw things at people.”

Great-Great-Grandmother: “Why not?”

Grandmother: “Well… you could hurt someone!”

Great-Great-Grandmother: “Oh. Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll warn people before I throw things!”

For the rest of her life, that’s what she did. She would yell, “Look out, look out, coming through the door!” whenever she had a visitor.

Everyone knew that when they were coming to visit her, they should open the door and step in slightly, and then step back and use the door to shield themselves. Once the thing was thrown, they would be able to come in normally.

[Great-Great-Grandmother] never did stop throwing things, thanks to the dementia, but at least she didn’t want to hurt anyone.

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The Apple Doesn’t Drive Far From The Tree

, , , , , , | Right | January 8, 2021

My partner and I stop at a motor museum on our way back from our holidays. The museum is a smaller, countryside one, where the vehicles aren’t fully barred off but staged in scenes with props.

Shortly after we arrive, a family starts following us through the museum. The kids seem disinterested, but no big deal; it’s not exactly thrilling for a group of five kids that seem about three to thirteen years old.

Then, we notice that the two older girls are touching the cars — the multi-million-pound, carefully preserved vintage cars.

Still, no big deal. Kids touch stuff; they like to push boundaries. We figure the parents will say something. But they don’t. Instead, the mum joins in, prodding and poking this and that. The dad is ignoring them all and racing ahead like he’s trying to escape.

Then, the kids start opening doors, climbing inside the cars, reaching in, and pulling out the historic props. My partner and I are exchanging incredulous looks, but being British, we’re both too awkward to say anything to them — the same as everyone else. Plus, I haven’t noticed any super obvious “Do Not Touch” signs yet, so I think, “Maybe they don’t know they aren’t meant to touch them.”

Then, one of the girls grabs an antique windscreen wiper and starts pulling it up and down. The toddler is now pounding his fist on the cars. The parents don’t bat an eye. In fact, the mum starts fiddling with a bike.

We just look at each other in disbelief. One of the kids has literally been leaning on a “Please do not touch the vehicles!” sign on top of an antique bike seat.

My partner and I look at each other, and then we hear a clink. We turn around and the father is desperately trying to re-attach a headlight to the kind of car you see billionaires driving in black and white movies. The mum is chastising the toddler, who looks utterly perplexed, and snapping at the older girls for touching things.

The dad gets the headlight to stay and they hastily rush off. We start looking for a member of the museum staff. Before they leave, we see all the kids climb inside an antique toy car and try to “make it go.”

We don’t catch a member of staff until after they have left, and I feel a little bad for not speaking up as I feel other visitors would’ve backed us up. But seriously, if you can’t behave inside a museum, how do you expect your kids to know what to do?

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Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 7

, , , , , | Right | December 31, 2020

I own a small shop in a very touristic area. As a courtesy, we will accept American money, but we give back change in Canadian money. It’s our legal currency before all, and it’s so rare that we get American money that it isn’t worth keeping a full set of change for it. Most tourists (from anywhere) will opt to use credit cards, which we accept, too.

I’m working in the back when I hear screaming coming from the front, so I go to see what’s the matter.

A lady is having a full temper-tantrum because she’s getting Canadian money back for her very precious and expensive — her words — American money. She’s contesting our exchange rate. We are not a bank, and the exchange rate changes every day, so we round it up every week or so. She keeps calling us thieves, crooks, and whatnot. Then, she starts calling our currency “monopoly money” and worthless.

She rejects paying by card, claiming we’ll clone it or something. All of this is under the eyes of a mortified but silent husband. At this point, I’m done with her; I’d rather lose a sale and have her out of here.

Me: “Okay, it seems we won’t reach a satisfactory solution here, so keep your money, we keep our goods, and have a nice day.”

I gesture to the door.

Customer: “What? No, I want those things and I can afford them! I’m not poor!”

Me: “No, we are done here. Please leave.”

Customer: “No! I’m not leaving without my things!”

Me: “Yes, you are. Bye.”

I open the door to incite them to leave.

Customer: “No! No! NOOO!”

She flails about and knocks down a nearby display, breaking multiple items.

Customer: “I want my stuff! You can’t make me leave! You can’t!

Me: “Okay, now you can stay to pay for those.”

Customer: “I ain’t paying for any broken crap!”

Me: “You break, you pay.”

Customer: “No, I want my stuff!”

She points to what she selected first; it’s still on the counter. I have had enough. I gesture to my employee to keep her busy for a few minutes while I go call the police. Thankfully, the station is only a few streets away and they make it while she’s still here.

Two officers walk in and ask what’s going on. Before I can reply, the lady butts in.

Customer: “Arrest them both, right now! They are thieves, trying to force me from my precious and expensive American money! I’m not buying anything and they won’t let me leave without giving all my precious and expensive American money to them!”

One of the officers tries to talk her down into a calmer attitude, taking her to one side. The other starts asking my cashier and me for our version. I retell him everything and show the pile of broken items with the emptied display right beside him. I also offer to go watch the security camera in the back with him. He accepts, and when we come back, both officers exchange a little chat.

Officer: “So, what do you want to do?”

Me: “I would just like her to pay for the destroyed items and leave.”

Customer: “I didn’t break anything! It’s them! They broke it all and they are trying to pin it on me to rob me of my precious and expensive American money!”

Officer: “We watched the security camera; we clearly can see you throwing that display down. We suggest you pay for the broken items, or we will have to arrest you for destruction of merchandise.”

She looks concerned and says she’ll agree to pay, to everyone’s relief. My cashier scans all the boxes of the broken stuff.

Cashier: “Okay, it’s [total], please.”

Customer: “Okay, here.”

My cashier extended her hand, but the lady didn’t put the expected money or card in it. She instead spit in her hand!

She was handcuffed and arrested for assault on my cashier and destruction of merchandise. As she was dragged out to the police car, the husband, who had watched everything from a distance, offered to pay for the broken items, so the destruction of merchandise charge was dropped.

He could not talk off the assault charge.

In the end, they went away after the officers took all our depositions, and I gave a copy of the camera footage. I also gave my poor cashier the rest of the day off.

Related:
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 6
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 5
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 4
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 3

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