My Grandmother passed away somewhat suddenly. It was a hugely difficult time for my family since she was such a massive part of it. Since I have spent the last 9 years living in her home my aunt and mother (he benefactors) decide that in the short term it would make most sense to transfer any bills and accounts relating to the house to my name. This means several hours on phone calls with Utility companies and insurance providers. Almost all of the companies we contact and sympathetic and extremely helpful. A credit card company even writes off a small ammount of debt on the account rather than asking for us to repay.
Then comes the water company… As usual it takes a long time to get to talk to someone. They initially refuse to talk to anyone but the account holder. It takes my mum shouting down the phone line.
Mum: “She is dead, deceased, not among the living, kicked the bucket six feet under YOU WILL NEVER TALK TO HER”
At this point she bursts into tears and hangs up the phone. apparently something must have flipped a switch in the reps brain however because around 5 minutes later the water company calls us back and begins the process of transfering the account.
However what they actually do is create a new account in my name… and fail to close the account for my Grandmother and since we closed the bank accounts her direct debits fail to go through and I come home to a letter for her from the water company threatening legal action if she (a person who is dead) does not pay the balance on the account within a given window.
Whilst we are intially tempted to let it play out we decide to call them again and this time we sucessfully close the account. All in all it was an awful experience thanks to one company.
One of the favorite stories of my dad’s takes place on February 11th, 1984. After being dismissed by the nurses, and my <i>very</i> cranky mother on the third day of induced labor, my dad has taken our visiting family back to our house to watch Gilbert & Sullivan’s “The Pirates of Penzance”
Due to having been gone for three days, our neighbor friend thought the influx of relatives and packages meant that I was finally born. So, hoping to meet me, she comes to visit about an hour later. She finally gets settled enough to pay attention to the movie as a major plot twist in the operetta is revealed: The contract that bound Frederick to indentured servitude was written so that he had to serve pirates until his 21st birthday, and he was born on February 29th. He’s trying to make sense of the fact that he’s physically 21, yet legally only five birthdays have occurred, so he has to remain enslaved until 1940.
Neighbor & Aunts: Oh my god!
Aunt 1: Imagine having a birthday on that day.
Aunt 2: Yeah, that’d get weird legally.
Dad: I hope <My Name> isn’t born on the 29th!
Neighbor: Why? The 1st of March be her-
Dad & Aunt 2: Because <i>today</i> is ONLY THE ELEVENTH.
Dad: <Mom> has been in labor for three days already.
Neighbor: Wow. Well, hope <My Name>’s born tonight then!
I was, thankfully, born within 24 hours of that event, and my family met me when I was four hours old, according to one of the first videos they took using their new camera. There is also a snippet of my family hearing my middle name for the first time and Aunt #1 saying that my dad was such a geek, but of course it’d be a G&S reference. My dad responded with the fact that I’d be able to spell it forwards and backwards by the time I was four. I can spell it backwards just fine, forwards was a bit of a problem until a dyslexic friend created a phonetic I could remember using computer terms.
(A tech walks into the manager’s office. He has a small cut on his thumb from some chicken wire.)
Tech: I’ve got an injury I need to report.
Me: Oh no. *to manager* Call HR.
Manager: *pretends to dial his phone then reaches into his desk* Let me get the drug-test forms.
Me: *to tech* Are you safe to drive? Do you feel woozy? Do you need to sit down?
(The tech laughed himself out of the room and went to wash his hands. Another brave soul carrying on in spite of his own crippling pain!)
*I have a long history of being bullied throughout my school life and a bit beyond. This was a long time ago, as I graduated high school at 16 and am now 30. I don’t know many of the locals personally, though I still live in the same village where I went to high school. This story happens in late January, as I’ve just walked out of a chain bakery shop with my lunch. As I crossed the road toward the bench where I usually sit an eat, two big blokes in a pick-up-truck honk to get my attention. The passenger rolls his window down to talk to me.*
Man: Did you used to hang out with *name I don’t recognize*?
Me: *removing one of my earbuds* Sorry, who?
Man: *repeats* Did you used to hang out with *name I don’t recognize*.
Me: Sorry, I don’t know who that is. I’m terrible with names.
Man: “You used to be mates, he’s a f***k up, like you!”
*The two men laugh and then drive away, leaving me standing there, wondering what on earth just happened. I didn’t think much of it, given how out of the blue the whole interaction was, though it did bring back a few painful memories of high school.*
My brothers and I, all in our late teens to early twenties, are on holiday in Germany with our aunt. We stop at an ice cream shop known for fairly large and elaborate creations, complete with embellishments like paper umbrellas or palm trees. My youngest brother gets a tree with a jumping monkey, and after discovering how it works, spends the rest of our time there playing with the monkey in wonder.
Two days later, we return to the ice cream shop. (Note, the legal drinking age is 18 or maybe even 16, and even though he’s the youngest he doesn’t look it. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, has a decent beard which he hasn’t bothered to shave in a while. All in all, I look younger at 24 than he does at 19.)
This time, my youngest brother orders an ice cream with alcohol. He’s barely finished speaking, when the waitress turns to my aunt, and (in German) says: “That has alcohol in it. Is he allowed to have that?”
Cue laughter from the rest of us, while my brother (who doesn’t speak any but the most basic German) looks confused until we translate, at which point he looks indignant for being thought younger. Our conclusion: the waitress remembers him from playing endlessly with the monkey two days before, and thought he couldn’t possibly be of age with such childlike wonder.
