When I was eight, my mother cheated on my dad. They separated a few months later, and she moved with her lover, which she eventually married after some years.
You have now to imagine the worst couple ever.
Her ? A textbook case of Electra complex, born from a very strict, macho father, first married with the most gentle, sensible man of the world (my dad) then to that man. Him ? A (worse) copy of my grand-father, left by his first wife because she was terrified by him (she happily found a much better and decent boyfriend after). Terrified isn’t exaggerating. Everybody who ever saw him angry can realize why. Black eyes unblinking, clenched fists… And these are just warning signs. I always suspected he was suffering from some psychological issue.
I was young then but I knew that this man was responsible of the destruction of my family, so I hated him from the bottom of my heart. And the feeling was mutual.
When my parents did separate, I went to live with my dad about 300 miles from my hometown, while my younger sister stayed with our mother at her lover’s place. New place, far from the place I grew up, new school – junior high school… Oh, did I mention I was a gifted child (about three decades later, I was finally diagnosed with Autistic Spectrum Disorder with high IQ… Better late than never) ?
So, I started a brand new sad and scary life with only half a family… and I wasn’t even 10 years old.
On the second day of school, I was victim of a harmless but mean prank, which made me cry like a baby right in front of all the other pupils. That day, I became the official bullying target of the whole school. For four whole years.
I tried at first to ask for help, but adults were useless. Though loving, my dad was suffering from depression and alcoholism. School administrators told me I was bothersome and probably responsible in part of the bullying (I’m not kidding). And my mother kept crying at the phone when I was calling her, but couldn’t leave her man to rescue me. Why ? Because she was too scared of him. Of course she was : the first time she ever spoke about breaking up with him – about two months after they started their affair – he jumped on the bed, screaming like a banshee and punching the walls…
So, understanding nobody would help me, I had to endure school and keep my mouth shut. Living in hell isn’t the best way to make good decisions, and unfortunately, so I did. The fourth year, an overly-strict biology teacher became my sworn enemy. I was then a smart and obedient child, but at her classes, and only at them, I became the worst ill-behaved pupil she ever knew. My dad learned – a little late – of how undisciplined I acted and decided for the next year I had to go and live with my mother… and her new husband.
So, I arrived that summer at my new place. Two years earlier, thanks to military transfer – I was an army brat – my mother had the opportunity to live closer to me (50 miles instead of 300). With her husband, she bought a house there. A little too small for the whole family. Parents had a room. My stepBad’s teenage son had a room. My younger sister had a room. None for me. For a while, I had to share my stepbrother’s room but it wasn’t the best for both of us, so… I went to live in a thirty year old trailer in the garden. I had my own place, alright, and nobody went to bother me if I wanted to listen to music very late at night, but it was cold in winter, the roof leaked when it rained too much…
That same year, the very morning of my 14th birthday, my stepBad tried to push my mother in the stairs because she wanted to leave him. I already knew my mother wasn’t a sweet and nice woman at all, especially towards her partners (that’s an understatement), but she remained my mother and I couldn’t watch her being mistreated … so I defended her.
As such, another evening they fought, once again during dinnertime, which ended with him trying to strangle her, I lived a real-life Mexican standoff: me pointing a bread knife at my stepBad’s belly to make him stop, him raising a glass bottle of vinegar directly above my head… Nice memory, isn’t it ?
Now, here’s – I guess – the most stupid and childish argument the two of us ever had at the time.
My mother usually bought candy and chocolate, mainly for us kids but for her husband too, and we were forbidden to touch his own stack. One afternoon, none remained for our teenage stomachs, so we asked my mother if we could take one of her husband’s chocolate bars. She said Okay, but she didn’t went to the grocery later that day, and as such, didn’t bought something to replace it…
At night, while I was in my trailer, I heard rushing footsteps then hard knocking at my door. I opened it and there he was, my stepBad, crazy-eyed, howling at me :
« HOW DARE YOU EATING MY CHOCOLATE ? MINE !!! IT’S MINE , GOT IT ? »
Pretty scary scene around bedtime. I think I apologized, more compelled by fear than sincerity. And away he went almost as fast as he arrived… Do I have to be precise telling you he was already 40 at the time ?
If you’d like to know what happened next, let’s do it quickly : at the university, I suffered a VERY severe nervous breakdown and failed my classes. While being in therapy the next years, I found two things which made me feel better : history of justice and music. I wrote more than twenty books about true crime, and started a life of singer-songwriter. Not the easiest ways to earn money, but I’m doing my best, and I’m quite good at what I’m doing. I’m still fragile, suicidal too but I’m surviving by myself (women seldom fancy mentally challenged men).
My mother is still married to that man. They have a love-hate relationship for thirty-three years now. Both are being close to their 70’s, and I know he definitely rubbed his ways of thinking on her.
So, she told me on three separate occasions :
« Autism can’t be an excuse for laziness. »
And last year, on January the 1st, instead of new years’ wows, I received a long phone message from her, telling me I was a failure, a deadbeat, and that when I have no money left, I wasn’t welcome at their place if I can’t find a real job.
I know these are more his words than hers. But the effect is the same. I cut her out of my life for fifteen months now.
And I don’t miss them for the whole world.

(Our pastor is giving a sermon and using customer service as an example.)

Pastor: “Because ‘The customer is always… right, right?”

Me: “Baloney.”

(The youth pastor turns around to grin and laugh at me, and I hear a few other chuckles around me.)

I work retail. I deal with NAR every day.

Around 2013 my daughter was working at a big New York university in a department that got government grants to perform special services (like disabled, autism etc). There was a woman in purchasing who was rather aloof and unpleasant, but whatever. One day she vanished without giving notice or saying anything. Turns out she was ordering expensive camera equipment, having it shipped to her house, and then selling it on Ebay. Over 3 yrs she made off with $30,000 in equipment. When she vanished she moved to Nevada but the cops found her in a few weeks. There was little need in the dept for fancy cameras and the only reason it took so long to catch her was the university wasn’t very organized.

My dad died suddenly a few months ago. Since then my mom has naturally had pretty regular phone calls sorting out details with legal stuff, banking, social security, etc. I’m almost thirty but still live at home, and with the layout of our house I’m usually just a room away and can hear her end clearly. Sometimes she’ll ask me to go to the basement or another room if it’s particularly sensitive or she’ll step outside, but usually I just ignore the calls while doing my own thing.

One day recently I was playing with our dog outside while she was on the phone talking to social security. Our dog can be very finicky about playing so it was probably less than five minutes, and I walked inside JUST in time to hear her say something like this: “This is my only marriage, one prior for him.”

Cue me sitting down on the couch wondering if I heard and interpreted that right. My mom went out into the garage for a little bit before returning, and eventually wrapped up the call, at which point I pounced upon her. And THAT is how I learned that years before my parents met my father had been married for a bit over a year, ending in a divorce when his ex cheated on him. They had never hidden it from me intentionally and had planned to tell me at some point as I got older, but it just never came up in conversation. There was never a reason to sit me down and have a “so your father had a previous marriage” talk either.

It’s a bit mind-blowing, sure, but not a bad revelation that changes my perception of him or makes me feel betrayed at having this hidden from me for so long. I told my mom they were right to wait until I was older, because as a kid I probably would have been spouting “My dad was divorced!” to everyone as a neat bit of trivia—and that summarizes how I feel about it: it’s just an interesting fact about my dad. It really doesn’t change anything and had no impact on our lives beyond the fact that my dad got to meet and marry my mom instead.

So, the reason I’m submitting this story? After my mom went into the garage, she told the worker, “My daughter walked in right as I answered your question about prior marriages, and she had no idea he was divorced and she looked at me with the biggest eyes!” The worker was of course very apologetic, even though my mom reassured her it was fine.

So if by any chance you work for social security and this story sounds familiar, don’t worry! You were not the catalyst for some horrible family drama due to some dark secret being ousted by asking some required questions as part of your job! At worst, I’m just disappointed that my mom confirmed there was zero chance of me having a secret half-sibling from that marriage. Alas, I am fated to be an only child.

Quick note before I begin the story this all happens in the span of about two minutes, if that.

I work in a medium sized grocery store in a small town. This takes place in 2019 in late Autumn/early Winter. It is close to the end of my shift and I am looking for a coworker in order to ask him a question(I forget what it was but it is unimportant anyways). I step outside and a customer with two dogs is struggling to tie her dogs’ leashes to something. She asks me to hold the leashes while she steps inside really quick, I don’t mind so I agree.

She steps inside and dog #1 really wants to go after her into the store, pulling at the leash, while dog #2 is quiet as can be. Eventually dog #1 gives up.

For five seconds.

Suddenly he bolts towards the door of the store and this time the leash snaps! He runs in and I’m left there holding the snapped leash thinking ‘What the heck do I do now?’ Eventually my aforementioned coworker comes over and we go into the store with dog #2.

Another customer has their hands on dog #1’s collar and the original customer is at the register paying, she took everything in good humour. I think the other customer offered to give her a lift because, you know, dog with no leash but I don’t know if the offer was taken.

All I can say now is that I’m glad the dog ran into our store. Why? Our store is on Main Street and it was getting dark out.