This Turned Around In A Dash  

, , , , , | Legal | July 1, 2019

(I work second shift, so I get home around 1:00 am. It’s summer, so there’s no school, but teens still have a city curfew of 11:00 pm. I’m turning left onto my street after work, and I almost hit a teen who was crossing the street behind a stopped car, who I didn’t see until I was almost on top of him. Mr. Big Man flips me off, which I see in my rearview mirror. He must’ve watched which driveway I pulled into, because I get an unexpected visit the next morning at 9:00 am, when I’m pulled out of bed by a knock. I open the door, half asleep, to see a cop and the boy standing at my door.)

Cop: “Good morning. Is that your car outside?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Cop: “Did you hit this boy with that car last night?”

Me: “No.”

Teen: “She’s lying! Arrest her!”

Cop: *to the teen* “Shush.” *to me* “He says you did. How about we go to the station and get this cleared up?”

(The teen starts looking quite smug.)

Me: “Sure. Should I also bring along the dash cam video that shows this minor out after curfew, crossing the street in a dark area, and staring down at his phone the entire time, up until I almost hit him?”

(The teen’s smug face drops. The cop studies me for a couple of seconds, and then just gives me a single nod.)

Cop: “Thank you, that won’t be necessary. When my dear nephew here—“ *raises his hand to grasp the back of the teen’s neck* “—told me a car practically ran him off the road, I figured I’d better look into it. But I believe you, and I’ll make sure he has plenty to do to stay busy until school resumes. Have a nice day, miss.”

(They left, the cop still holding tight to his nephew’s neck, while the boy started begging his uncle to NOT tell Mom or his grandparents about this. Good luck, kid!)

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Politics Is Getting More Childish

, , , , | Working | July 1, 2019

(It is during the 2016 presidential election. I work in the office of a small trucking business. All of the office work is handled by me and an older lady with whom I get along quite well. One day, one of the truckers comes into the house to talk to her and gets on the subject of politics. It’s clear they’re both conservative Republicans; I’m a very liberal Democrat, so I keep my head down and don’t get involved.)

Trucker: “So, are you voting for Trump?”

Older Lady: “No, he’s awful!”

Trucker: “What, so you’re voting for Hillary?

Older Lady: “No! But Trump isn’t any better.”

(They get into a heated argument about Trump, with him trying to convince her to vote for Trump. She stands her ground and eventually, he leaves. A few minutes later, I come over with some documents for her.)

Older Lady: *flustered* “Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I really hope I didn’t offend you. I don’t mean to offend anyone, I just–“

Me: “Oh, don’t worry; I hate Trump, too. I don’t like Hillary, either, but Trump acts like a four-year-old child, and I don’t want a four-year-old child for president.”

Older Lady: *gasps* “Oh! That’s good! I should’ve said that!”

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A Brush With A Monster

, , , | Right | June 24, 2019

(I work in a beauty store that sells hair, makeup, skincare, and bath products. I have been complimented in the past on my friendly service and my willingness to help customers. A lady has come in asking for good-quality makeup brushes that aren’t too pricey.)

Me: *showing her our selection of lower-priced brushes* “I have had good luck with the [Brand] brushes, and they are a lower price point, as well.”

Customer: “These brushes are s***. I have used them before. What else do you have?”

Me: *pointing out another brand next to the brushes I just showed her* “These ones are nice, too. I have heard many good things about them.”

Customer: “Those aren’t what I’m looking for.”

Me: “Okay. We have many brands and types of brushes in the store, so I am sure we can find you something. What kind of brush do you have in mind?”

Customer: “Ones for eyeshadow.”

Me: “Do you prefer the fluffy ones for blending, or the stiffer ones for application?”

Customer: *getting exasperated* “I don’t know! Just show me what else you have.”

(After showing the customer all the brands in the store that are of okay-quality and cheaper than others, she still was not satisfied with any. They were either too expensive or not of good enough quality.)

Me: “Some brands are a bit pricier because they are of better quality. The same holds true with many products. I have showed you the makeup brushes we carry that are lower prices, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to splurge on a brush that you might be more satisfied with.”

Customer: “I should not have to pay that much for a f****** eyeshadow brush. That’s ridiculous!”

Me: “I know that some are out of the price range that you are looking to spend, but we do guarantee all of our products. If you try it and don’t like it, you can bring it back to us.”

Customer: “I live all the way in [City]. I am not coming back here to return a brush I don’t like!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I have showed you all the brands that are in your budget range, and none are what you are looking for. I am not sure how to help you.”

Customer: “You people are supposed to be helpful! I came in here looking for something, and you are just going to turn me away?!”

Me: “That is not my intent. I am just not sure what it is you are looking for.”

Customer: “I am looking for a good makeup brush that is cheap. Apparently, that’s too much to ask.”

Me: “I apologize, but I have already showed you all the inexpensive makeup brushes in the store, and none are to your liking. I wish there was something I could do for you.”

Customer: “You know what? Fine! This is the worst customer service I have ever gotten! I’ll look somewhere else where someone might actually be able to help me!

(She stormed off and gave me the finger as she left.)

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Not Hearing The Love Here, Mom

, , , , , | Healthy | June 21, 2019

(My mother is hearing-impaired. She’s not totally deaf, but if she’s not wearing her hearing aids, you need to speak very loudly and slowly for her to understand you. She’s been this way since she was five years old due to a case of German measles damaging her auditory nerves. Fast forward twenty years. She is pregnant with me and my brother — I’m female. She knows she is having twins because her doctor heard two heartbeats, but because this is before sonograms are a thing, she does not know what the genders of the babies are. She just assumes that they will both be the same, and she and my dad choose two girl names and two boy names. She goes into labor, but things are just not progressing. Her doctor decides she needs a C-section. This is also in the days before epidurals are commonly used, so they knock her out for the operation, having her remove her hearing aids so they won’t get lost. The babies are delivered and my mom goes to recovery. As she starts to wake up, the nurse comes up to her. Note that my mom is still not wearing her hearing aids.

Nurse: “[Something unintelligible].”

Still-Groggy Mom: “Huh?”

Nurse: “Waa waaa wa waa waa wa waaa…”

Yet Still Groggy Mom: “What?”


Mom: “Oh, they can’t be mine.”

(Rejected before she even saw me! Thank heaven it was the drugs talking!)

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This Nurse Is No Veteran At Blood Draws

, , , , | Healthy | June 20, 2019

(I have been experiencing undiagnosed depression and severe anxiety caused by a serious accident while I was in the military. As such, after being let go from my job for something I didn’t do, I end up getting admitted into the psych ward at the Veterans hospital. Before admittance, you have to get your blood drawn to test for drugs.)

Screening Nurse: “Okay, hon, this is the nurse that is going to take your blood.”

(The nurse tries to insert the needle in the crook of my arm and misses.)

Nurse: “Oh, darn! Let me try again.”

(He tries again and misses.)

Nurse: “Let me try on the top of your wrist.”

Me: “Umm… Isn’t that going to be harder? I am a very easy stick; maybe you should try on my right arm.”

Nurse: “No, I can get the vein on the top of your wrist.”

Me: “Um, okay.”

(The nurse proceeded to miss twice more on the top of my wrist. The third try, he wiggled the needle around to try and catch the vein — don’t ask me why he thought that would work — and as a last-ditch effort and with no warning, he went vertical with the needle and rammed it straight down into my wrist. I darn near hauled off and punched him, but I settled for cursing. Miraculously, he did manage to get blood… which lead to another problem. He never put the cap on the end of the tube, so instead of the blood stopping at the end of the tube, it just spewed all over me, the chair, the nurse, and the floor. Once we stopped all that nonsense and got my test results back, which were clean, I finally was admitted into the psych ward where I had to explain to the nurses that, no, I did not try and cut my arm off, their nurse just sucks at blood draws, and that’s why my arm was covered in bandages. Welcome to the VA, folks.)

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