Police Work Is Child’s Play

| Working | September 9, 2013

(I am 26 years old. I am 5-feet 1-inches, and my boyfriend, who is also the same age, is just under 6-feet. We stop off on a road trip to our hotel, and I decide to go into a bakery. I have no makeup or formal clothes on, just jeans and a sparkly top.)

Me: “Can I have three gingerbread men, please?”

Cashier: “Sure. $3.”

(I have them in a plastic bag, and my boyfriend comes in.)

Boyfriend: “Finished, sweetie?”

(I smile, and he leans down and kisses me. We leave but I hardly notice the cashier on the phone. When I am at the hotel, and we are checking in, a police car draws up outside.)

Boyfriend: “Has anything happened?”

Receptionist: “No, not that I know of.”

Officer #1: *entering, going to my boyfriend* “Sir, is your license plate [license plate]?”

Boyfriend: “Yeah. What’s going on?”

Officer #1: “Were you at [Bakery] at 4:50 pm today?”

Me: “Yeah, we were.”

Officer #2: *to me* “Could you give me your name?”

Me: “It’s [My Name].”

Officer #1: *to my boyfriend* “Could you come down to the station, please?”

(We are very confused, and I ask why. The officer then takes me into a bathroom the manager offers him. Inside, he kneels down in front of me and looks serious.)

Officer #2: “Now, Mr. [Boyfriend] has gone to the station. We need your name, address, and parents’ telephone number, sweetie. Everything’s gonna be fine now.”

Me: “Has something happened to my parents?”

Officer #2: “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay now. Now, where did you meet [Boyfriend]?”

Me: “Two and a half years ago at my brother’s college.”

Officer #2: “And where are you from?”

(I give my address, name, and telephone number.)

Me: “Can you please tell me—”

Officer #2: “Do your parents know you’re with Mr. [Boyfriend]?”

Me: “Yes. Look, just tell me: has something happened to them?”

Officer #2: “Not that I know of.”

(Officer #2 goes to Officer #1 at the door.)

Officer #2: “She keeps asking about her parents. Apparently they know she’s with him. I don’t know if they have any idea.”

(Officer #2 comes back in to talk to me.)

Officer #2: “Now sweetie, we need to go to the station and a nice doctor will check you up. No need to be frightened. And we need your DNA. It’s going to be fine.”

Me: “Why are you talking to me like I’m a child?”

Officer #2: *surprised* “Because you are one?”

Me: “I’m 26!”

Officer #2: “Really?”

Me: “Yes! Listen, my passport is at my home. You can check it out! I promise my boyfriend hasn’t kidnapped me or raped me or whatever you think is going on, but I am NOT a child!”

(It turns out the cashier called the local police saying a man in his late 20s had kissed a girl between 11 and 14 and drove off with her. The police get my passport from home, as well as my driver’s license and car purchase papers confirming I am 26. After 40 hours since we stopped at the bakery, they let my boyfriend go from prison and drop all charges.)

Officer #1: “We are so sorry for that! It’s just we had a call about a kidnapper or pedophile in town, so we had to do what we needed, and we had to check if anything was wrong.”

Boyfriend: “I understand, officer.”

Officer #1: “Although, I have to say, she does look rather young.”

(I began wearing suits after that.)

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Getting The Raw Deal

| Working | September 8, 2013

(Near where I live, there is a popular Amish market. We buy their baked goods a lot. We buy a six-pack of cinnamon buns. Once we cut one, we realize they are raw inside.)

Me: “Yes, I’d like to return these, please.”

Baker: “Why?”

Me: “They’re raw on the inside.”

Baker: “But they’re already open.”

Me: “Yes, I cut one. That’s how I realized they were raw on the inside.”

Baker: “But you can’t return it. It’s open.”

Me: “I can’t eat it. It’s raw. You’re not allowed to sell it that way, either. It’s a health hazard.”

Baker: “Well, what do you want me to do?”

Me: “I’d like a refund. I can’t eat these, and I had no way of knowing they were raw when I bought them.”

Baker: “…”

Me: “Well, could you finish cooking them at least?”

Baker: “But you opened it! One’s cut!”

Me: “Yes. Now think about it. Do they look raw on the outside?”

Baker: “No…”

Me: “Excellent. Now, are they raw on the inside?”

Baker: “Yes…”

Me: “Good. Now the big one: How could I know they were raw on the inside?”

Baker: “…if you cut one and saw.”

Me: “Yes! So there’s no way I could’ve known without cutting one.”

Baker: “Oh. Well, I don’t want to give you a refund.”

Me: “Well, you do realize you’re not allowed to sell them like this? There are laws. There are health regulations. I could report this—”

Baker: “—fine! Here’s your refund!”

Me: “Thanks!”

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Driving The Sale

| Working | September 7, 2013

(I work for an email and software company. My two bosses, a pair of stereotypical cowboys from Texas, ask me to go with them to the Ferrari dealership to help select new cars. They are sitting on the steps of the lot’s main building looking at the cars.)

Boss #1: “Hey, [me], did you want a beer?”

(They have brought a six-pack with them.)

Me: “No, I am good, but that sales guy there is eyeing us.”

Boss #2: “Bet he is going to steal a beer. So, which one of these is most expensive?”

(I point out two Ferrari, one black and one red. At this point the sales rep comes up to them.)

Sales Rep: “Gentlemen, may I ask you move on? You’re scaring the other customers!”

Boss #2: *ignoring him* “[Boss #1], you want the red or black?”

Boss #1: “You know what? I’ll get both. We can sort it out later.”

(Boss #1 then hands a Platinum Amex card to the rep. He stands there, mouth agape for a few seconds.)

Sales Rep: “Uh… right away, sir!”

(A few minutes later they are both driving off in new Ferraris, and possibly still a tad tipsy!)

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Don’t Discount The Waitress

| Working | September 6, 2013

(My dad and I are out to dinner at a pub, where we have one waitress for ordering while other people bring the food. We order two burgers. Almost 40 minutes go by.)

Dad: “Look, we should get our waitress.”

Me: “Yeah, this is taking way too long.”

(Our main waitress comes by, and we don’t even have to say anything; she stares at our table in shock.)

Waitress: “They haven’t brought you your food yet? That’s ridiculous. I’ll go talk to the cooks.”

(She leaves and comes back with a long-suffering look on her face.)

Waitress: “So, you’re not going to believe this. Apparently they messed up the order of another table, and since their order was similar to yours, they went ahead and gave that table your food.”

Me: “What? Are you serious?”

Waitress: “Right? I handed them your ticket, and they just laughed. So I told them, ‘This isn’t funny. They’ve been sitting there for a long time waiting for just two burgers.’ So hopefully they will bring out your food soon. I’m going to get you guys a discount.”

(The burgers finally arrive, and are quite delicious. The waitress returns with our check.)

Waitress: “So they finally came!”

Me: “Yeah, they were really good. Thanks.”

Waitress: “Yeah, except the timing. So I got you $10 off. He almost only gave you $5 off, but I said, ‘Dude, no way. Take off more.'”

Me: “Dad, please give her an amazing tip.”

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Making A Meal Out Of It

| Working | September 6, 2013

(It is the late 90s. It is the time of the Beanie Baby rush, and the latest kids meal toys are mini Beanie Babies. They are in such huge demand people will buy the meals and leave the meals behind, taking only the toy. It’s the night shift, ten minutes to close, and there are no Beanie Babies left except for two that got torn open and can’t be sold. A tired-looking customer steps up to order.)

Customer: “I guess it’s bad to ask if there’s any kids meals left, huh?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Customer: “Been a rough day, hasn’t it?”

Me: “Oooohh yeah.”

Customer: “I’d like a kids meal, but the meal, not the toy. My daughter’s been sick with scarlet fever and is only just now well enough to eat food, and she wants your kids meal.”

Me: “Did she want the toy too?”

Customer: “Kind of, but she wants the food too.”

(I reach under the counter to where we are keeping the two already opened Beanie Babies.)

Me: “We actually have two left, but they’re opened so we can’t sell them. Does your daughter want a bear or a lion?”

Customer: “Oh, wow, thank you so much! This will mean so much to her!”

Me: “I have a daughter too, and was planning on bringing the ones we couldn’t legally sell to her, but your daughter should get one too.”

(The customer takes the lion, and my daughter still has the bear nearly fifteen years later!)

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