That Went From Zero To Ten Super Fast

, , , , , , | Working | November 14, 2017

(I’m waiting in a line to be served. The current customer has a young daughter with her who has been playing silently with a number book. The cashier takes notice. She is an elderly lady.)

Cashier: “Oh, are you learning you count?”

Girl: “Yep!”

Cashier: “Can you count to ten yet?”

Girl: *innocently* “Sure! Can you?”

(The cashier’s face turns sour.)

Cashier: “F*** you!”

(Everyone gasps, including the girl and her mother. Before anyone can react though, the little girl slaps her.)

Girl: “Naughty!”

(Then, chaos breaks loose as the cashier tries to climb over the counter while the mother scolds her daughter. The cashier then starts shouting for a manager and they all head for the store’s exit. The remaining line moves to another checkout and is seen to. As I leave the store, I still hear the cashier shouting, with a manager shouting over her.)

Manager: “WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO? PROSECUTE A TODDLER?”

(I imagine the mother probably got in trouble, but hopefully the repercussions weren’t too severe.)

Rock Solid Reason For Dismissal

, , , , , , , | Learning | November 13, 2017

(My kindergarten teacher doesn’t like me, probably because I am a bit of a smart-a**, correcting her on math, grammar, and seasons. Each student in the class has brought in a bag of rocks from our neighborhoods as homework. I am partnered with a boy in my class to talk about our selections.)

Me: ”These rocks are really hard. See?”

(I tap the bag on the kid’s head, not too hard.)

Partner: “Ow. Those are hard.” *continues eating snack*

(Then, my teacher proceeds to call me inside. She takes me to the reading corner, the one spot of the room that can be completely counted on to not be reached by security cameras. She then hits me over the head with the rocks so hard that I’m surprised I don’t get a concussion.)

Teacher: “Did you like that?”

Me: “No! I’m sorry! Please don’t do that again!”

(She then emailed my mom and let her know what happened. She never mentioned how she punished me, probably because physical punishment is illegal in my state’s schools. I didn’t tell my parents what really happened until about third grade because I thought it was my fault. She was retired by then, but if I had told my parents a bit sooner, we would’ve taken it to court and probably sued her.)

Lost And Found Your Body

, , , , , | Right | November 12, 2017

(A teenage girl comes into my craft booth, who I recognize from a previous visit.)

Me: “Welcome back!”

Girl: “Did you see a cell phone anywhere?”

Me: “No, but let’s look.”

(We check all around the booth and under tablecloths, but we don’t find a cell phone.)

Me: “Have you checked Lost and Found?”

Girl: “No, but I know I used it here; I sent a picture of that necklace.”

(She leaves, upset. A while later she comes in with a man, a phone in hand.)

Me: “Glad you found your cell phone!”

Girl: “No, this is my dad’s; I’m using a find-a-phone app. The phone should be making a loud noise.”

(The man starts looking under my tables, grumbling, so I help double-check the area. The whole time, he is glaring at me.)

Man: “Well, I don’t hear it, but they’ve probably put it somewhere muffled. Where the h*** is her phone?”

Me: “I hope she finds it.”

(Suddenly he gets in my face, angry.)

Man: “Look, she had it here. You’re going to give me back my daughter’s phone.”

Me: “I don’t have it.”

Man: “I know you stole her phone. Give it back.”

Me: “Look, I’m sorry she lost it. Have you checked Lost and Found?”

(Suddenly he knocks over a display, grabbing my shirt.)

Man: “Listen, you little [gay slur]. If you don’t give me her phone, they aren’t going to find your body!”

Me: “Help! Help!”

(Luckily, one of the police officers at the event is nearby and comes over immediately. The man lets go of me when he sees the officer, but knocks over more displays. The man argues with the office, and is eventually put in handcuffs. I’m picking up my displays and assessing damages when the event organizer comes over to talk to the police and to me. When she hears the whole story, she looks at the daughter.)

Organizer: “Was it a [Phone] in a pink glitter case? Someone turned that into Lost and Found an hour ago.”

(That was it!)

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Seems To Think Fifty No’s Means A Yes

, , , , , , | Romantic | November 9, 2017

(My sister’s a very sweet girl who naturally smiles as she talks, and so she tends to make friends easily, but it also causes the following to occur during her second year of college. My sister enters a classroom and sits down at one of the nearest empty seats to the door.)

Guy: “Hi, I’m [Guy].”

Sister: “Nice to meet you. I’m [Sister]. It’s really nice to meet you.”

(The class then starts and she doesn’t interact with the guy for the rest of the class. When class is over, and my sister starts to get up to leave, the guy grabs her arm.)

Guy: “Hey, are you free now? Let’s go for lunch.”

Sister: *tries to tug her arm away* “Sorry. I have another class to go to, and I’m not really interested. Sorry.”

Guy: *angrily gets in her face, still holding her arm* “Come on! You came and sat down with me, so clearly, you’re interested in me! You can’t lead a guy on like that, you slut!”

Sister: *practically rips her arm out of his grip* “I only sat next to you because it was the closest seat to the door that was free! And I literally only said hi to you and introduced myself, so I didn’t exactly lead you on. Don’t touch me ever again.” *proceeds to run out of the classroom*

(Unfortunately, he continued to have an interest in my sister. He went so far as to follow her to her next class and attempt to enter the classroom after her, and then sat outside her classroom after she convinced her professor to kick him out. When she saw him outside the room, she grabbed the nearest guy’s arm and asked him to pretend they were dating. The only bright sides from this were that he was eventually kicked out of the university for doing this with other female students, and that my sister and the guy she pretended to date became good friends after that incident.)

A Bunch Of Regular A**holes

, , , , , , , , | Right | November 8, 2017

(I operate an ice cream parlor in a small seasonal family resort. Business is slow and the shop is intended to be run by one person. Ice cream is served in the customer’s choice of a cup or in one of three different types of cones, which are stored in plain sight, right behind the ice cream freezer. A couple walks into the shop; they are my only customers at the time.)

Me: *genuinely happy, because these are the first people I have seen in a while* “Hey, guys! How are you doing today?”

(Neither of them responds; they just walk up to inspect the different flavors visible through the glass freezer. I don’t really let it get me down; this happens a lot.)

Me: “Let me know what I can get you, whenever you’re ready.”

Woman: “Cookies and cream.”

Me: “Sure thing! In a cup or a cone?”

Woman: “Cone.”

Me: *I point to each of the types of cones on display as I say their names* “Sure. Would you like a sugar cone, cake cone, or this big waffle cone for an extra 50 cents?”

Woman: “Regular.”

Me: “Sorry, which type of cone? I have this smaller sugar cone here on the left, this flat one in the middle is the cake cone, and this big one here on the right is the waffle cone that costs an extra 50 cents.”

Woman: “I said, ‘regular.’”

(She jabs her finger vaguely in the direction of the entire rack of cones from the opposite end of the counter, but I have no way of telling which one she’s pointing at. I make a judgment call based on my best guess at where she pointed and pick up a cake cone.)

Me: “Sure, would you like one scoop or t—”

Woman: “No, d*** it. Listen to me. I want a regular cone. Regular. I’m speaking English here!”

Man: *to me* “Yeah, dude. Come on, she said it three times now. Are you having a bad day or something?”

Me: “Woah, hey. Different people mean different things when they say, ‘regular.’ I’m just trying to get you what you want. Is that the small sugar cone on the left, or the big waffle cone on the right?”

Woman: *yelling* “I DON’T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE MEAN! I’M AN AMERICAN AND I WANT A REGULAR F****** CONE. I AM NOT SOME [RACIAL SLUR]. I AM SPEAKING F****** ENGLISH. REGULAR! REEEEEEGUUUUULAAAAR!”

(My patience is wearing thin. I carry the whole cone rack over and put it on the counter in front of her.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to stop yelling. I still don’t know what kind of cone you want. ‘Regular’ isn’t one of the options, no matter what country you come from. The small cone on the left is the sugar cone. The big cone on the right is the waffle cone. Say one of those words, or point to one, or leave. Those are your choices.”

Woman: *points to the sugar cone, which is the smaller one of the two* “That one! The regular cone! We call that a regular cone in America!”

Man: “How do you work in an ice cream shop and not know that?”

(I scoop her the ice cream and try to recollect myself before handing it to her.)

Me: “There you are. Sorry about the confusion. Can I get you anything, sir?”

Man: “Yeah, rocky road on a big regular cone.”

(I guess correctly that “big regular” means “waffle,” since at least he used some sort of descriptive word for me to go by. I scoop his ice cream and ring them both up. The man pays for them both with cash, and I hand him back the change.)

Me: *in complete cheerful customer service autopilot* “There’s your change. Have a nice day!”

Woman: “F*** you.” *she grabs the man’s hand with the change, fishes through it, extracts two pennies, and slams them angrily into my tip jar* “Here’s what your customer service was worth to me!”

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