There are, unfortunately, entitled people everywhere. Anyone who has ever worked in customer service or dealt with a greedy family member could tell you that. But those people are absolute angels compared to the entitled jerks in these stories. From nasty neighbors to insane in-laws, these are the worst of the worst—so buckle in, ‘cause it’s about to get infuriating.
1. Don’t Get Keyed Up Over It
The story came flooding back to me after my partner and I had finished our shopping escapade. We decided to take a breather, leaning against our car while we each savored the final drag of our cigarettes. Just the simple act of taking this pause sparked a striking memory that had taken place quite some time ago.
Allow me to paint you a visual. In this memorable incident, my partner found himself taking a moment by his car in front of a store. He was finishing up his cigarette before facing the hustle and bustle of the indoor shopping scene.
While he was absorbed in these peaceful moments, the tranquility of his routine was suddenly shattered by the abrupt appearance of a woman. Things took a swift turn towards uncomfortable in no time.
The woman sauntered up to him without any preamble and stated, "I'm sure the owner of this car would indeed be distressed if they saw you leaning on it." My partner, taken aback slightly but maintaining his cool, assured the woman that he was, in fact, the rightful owner of the vehicle.
However, she couldn't be swayed from her belief so easily. The woman even became more assertive, brazenly expressing, "Look here, this is my car, so I would appreciate it if you stopped leaning on it." Without missing a beat, my partner responded to the seemingly surreal situation most elegantly and subtly as possible.
He remained calm, reached inside his pocket, and pulled out his car keys. With a simple flick of his wrist, he unlocked the car right there and then, in front of the bewildered woman. The sight of the flashing lights on the car—an undeniable proof of his ownership, left her at a loss for words.
She was left with no option but to shake her head as a wave of realization hit her. Then, seeing there was no room for further argument or awkwardness, the woman hurriedly retreated, disappearing just as abruptly as she had materialized.
2. First-Class Pain In The Butt
My family and I, five of us including three kids under 12, hopped on a plane from Miami to Bolivia. After finding our seats, a rather demanding woman and her husband approached us, claiming we were in their seats.
My brother, sister, and I, who were travel-savvy kiddos, showed them our boarding passes, indicating we were indeed meant to sit there. Unconvinced, they continued to insist we had made a mistake and asked to take a closer look at our passes. We didn't hand them over. Things only got more tense from that point on.
Meanwhile, my father intervened to find out why these strangers were confronting his kids. He confidently asserted, "These are their assigned seats, they know how to interpret a boarding pass." By this time, the commotion drew the attention of a flight attendant.
After taking a moment to assess the situation, the flight attendant confirmed that the seats had been booked twice. The couple threw a fit, insisting on their designated seats. While the flight attendant went to figure out a solution, the woman created quite the spectacle, going out of her way to position her bag in the overhead bin directly above us.
When the flight attendant returned, she announced, "I appreciate your patience. It turns out the seats were double-booked, but luckily we have some seats available in first class." The couple, thinking the problem was finally resolved, sighed in relief. But they were in for a surprise.
In quite the plot twist, the flight attendant gestured towards me and my siblings, "I was referring to these three. Would you all like to move to first class to sort out this situation?" I'll never forget the stunned expression on that woman’s face as we moved towards our upgraded seats, an unexpected luxury we eagerly enjoyed.
Although the food gave me a mild headache, the reclining seats, plush blankets, and sleep masks made up for it and eased our discomfort.
3. Play Stupid Games, Win Stupid Prizes
Growing up, I refused to trim my hair. So, I had this super long, blonde hair and people, often thrilled by its length and color, would always ask if they could touch it. I didn't necessarily have a problem with that, as long as they asked beforehand.
When I was six, my mom took me grocery shopping, picking up all the dinner essentials. But we discovered she'd forgotten the bread, which, conveniently, was at the other end of the shop. Being little and fast, I was dispatched on a bread run.
I got to the aisle and immediately was drawn to the baguettes we usually bought. I loved them! So engrossed in my baguette selection, I forgot mom was waiting on me. And just as I was heading back, I was hit with a shocking turn of events. Unexpectedly, someone gave a painful tug on my hair.
The tug made me wince so hard that I cried out, a shriek that sent my mother flying towards me from across the shop. I spun around to find a boy my age, led by his MOM, a woman in her 40s. She had yanked my hair so that her son could have a feel of it! Seeing her, my mom hastily instructed her to release me.
Their startling exchange went like this...
Mom: "Let go of my daughter now!".
Lady: "All my son did was touch her beautiful hair".
Me (sobbing): "But she yanked at my hair!”.
Mom: "You had no right. You could have asked. You can't just yank a child's hair. Your actions amount to assault and I can call the police!".
Her: "Who's harassing who here? I can equally call them for your harassment of me and my son!"
Mom: "You're the one in trouble here, your son grabbed my child's hair. You're welcome to call the police, but you're only digging a deeper hole for yourself."
It turns out my mom was right.
And there was an ironic twist—the woman did call the police, and when they arrived at the scene, both parties gave their versions of the story. It appears the woman's version was over-dramatized, claiming I consented to her son touching my hair and accusing my mom of bullying her.
My mom gave them her honest account of what happened. I was too shaken and exhausted to contribute much. The officers then viewed the store's CCTV, and when they saw what really had happened, they were convinced.
In the end, mom pressed charges against her for assault, and she was found guilty. She faced six months jail time and a fine for falsifying her report to the police—a sweet end to a bizarre encounter.
4. Out Of The Flowerbed And Into The Fire
Just as the groundhog, devoid of a shadow, had forecasted, spring made an early appearance. This gifted me with a golden opportunity to spruce up the garden border that serenely separates my property from that of my neighbor, Karen.
There's a fence that neatly delineates between the blossoming flora of our respective homes, ensuring peace and harmony. Given this chance to refresh my garden, I made the decision to pull out a few daylilies that were politely residing on my side of the property.
After I had meticulously completed my gardening tasks, I retreated to the indoors, ready to wind down after a busy day spent under the warming radiance of the sun. Though, certainly not expecting that respite would be interrupted by a spine-chilling, nerve-wracking scream resounding from the exterior.
Reacting to the bone-chilling shriek, I rushed outside—and I couldn't believe it. Karen, freshly returned from her daily work routine, was pointing an accusing finger at me for allegedly yanking out her lilies.
I strived to explain their actual ownership; they were my blooms and all I did was created a void to accommodate other worthy plants like tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots to grace my garden. In a fit of pique, she dialed 9-1-1, leveling allegations that I had vandalized her property.
The police soon arrived and swiftly assessed the situation, then directed her to calm down after clearly witnessing that the flowers were gardening peacefully on my side of the fence. Though, the next day took a more dramatic turn when Karen, under the influence of excess alcohol, took a step too far.
Apparently, harboring resentment over the vanished daylilies, she decided to express her anger by gathering some wood and a fire starter to take to the house on the other side of her property. What began as a couple of flaming bins near the house, soon turned into an inferno, hungrily engulfing the entire building.
Residing at the end of a rather quiet street, the hellish glow from the fire abruptly stirred me from my slumber. As I emerged from my house, witnessing the unfolding horror, I promptly alerted emergency services and offered a comprehensive rundown of the dreadful scenario.
As I processed the shocking sight, a completely unexpected revelation took me off guard. A drunken Karen, oblivious to my presence, admitted openly to her rash actions. After what felt like an eternity, the trained firefighters finally made their appearance. And, it was not until then that realization dawned on Karen.
Not only had she committed a grave crime by setting a house ablaze, but also had utterly botched her intended target. Now, she stands to face the serious repercussions of arson charges.
But the silver lining in this horribly tangled tale was everyone—a couple along with their high school-bound children—miraculously escaped the ravaging fire completely unscathed. The entire episode felt strangely dreamlike, almost like stepping foot into an unbelievable realm.
5. Blood Isn’t Always Thicker Than Water
I work as an IT engineer and my family dynamics have always been complicated. While I severed ties with my father, uncles, and aunts, I’ve maintained a connection with my cousins and their kids. Being an only child with no kids of my own, my cousins' kids were the closest I had to a family.
Prioritizing career over personal relationships, I remained single for a long time. However, over the years, I felt the need to bring up a child of my own. After some careful thought, I'm glad to say I adopted an eight-year-old kid, who typically faces challenges in staying in foster care.
Taking care of the child has been an incredible experience—but I was also faced with an unexpected problem. I've had some issues with my cousins feeling entitled. I've traditionally taken trips with my cousins and their kids, but this year I had to scale back to afford the things my newly adopted son needs.
I fully intend to go all out to provide the best for him that I can afford. I explained to my cousins that this year I needed to cut back on our vacation for this reason. Thinking they understood the situation, I arranged for them and their kids to meet my son when he felt ready.
Unfortunately, the gathering was less than pleasant. The kids were upset and refused to interact with my son. They openly stated that he wasn't family and they deserved more attention because he was adopted.
They felt they were entitled to our usual Florida parks trip that was cancelled this year. I was shocked and asked them where they got such an idea.
Their response left me astonished—their parents had told them my son was the reason they didn't get their usual vacation. Livid, I asked everyone to leave. I immediately convened a virtual meeting with my cousins. They stated their children’s needs should come first. Their response made me realize my son's needs take priority for me, too.
I decided to withdraw their college funds, private school contributions, and remove myself from their lives. After all, if my son isn't considered family by them, I don’t consider myself family either. While I've been called irrational, I believe I made the right decision by prioritizing my son.
6. Turns Out Indentured Servitude Isn’t Legal
After moving back to the US, my wife and I were on the hunt for employment and a place to call home. We initially felt like we had hit the jackpot when we were hired by an extremely wealthy woman.
I was employed as a groundskeeper and all-around handyman, whilst my wife took on the roles of a cook and housekeeper for the woman's elderly parents. As part of our compensation package, we were permitted to live in a second property on the estate at no cost.
The elderly parents were very much caught in the grasp of senility but were truly amiable individuals. Since their estate was absolutely stunning, we felt quite satisfied with our situation for a few months.
However, issues arose when we discovered that the pantry’s grocery stock was depleting, and it wasn’t being replenished by the grocery delivery company like usual. Concerned, we reached out to our employer, whose reaction was noticeably icy. She angrily informed us that managing the pantry's stock was our responsibility.
Thus, she had cancelled the usual delivery service without bothering to inform us, expecting that we would notice and take charge ourselves. When I questioned how we were supposed to purchase groceries for her parents without knowing about the cancellation, she became irate.
One thing she exclaimed still echoes in my ear: "Then what do I sign a check to each of you every week for?!" She legitimately thought we should be using our modest wages to support her parents' needs. After some heated discussion, she reluctantly handed us a credit card for the purpose of buying groceries.
This extra task came without any additional compensation. However, we lacked other options for accommodation or employment, so we decided to weather the storm. A couple of months later, she sent over some documents requiring our signatures. These papers were requests for medical reports from an insurance company.
We soon gathered that she wanted us to send our timesheets along with the medical paperwork, claiming we were providing medical aid as nurses, in the hopes the insurance company would cover our salary.
I firmly informed her that we were not providing any medical care, lacked the certifications to do so, and hence would not be interacting with the paperwork. In response, she exploded. She accused us of neglecting her parents, threatened to turn us over to immigration officials, and claimed to get us deported.
Little did she realize that I was a naturalized citizen and my wife had immigrated legally. I firmly told her that her request was unethical and illegal. I insisted that I’d rather be jobless than implicated in such a scandal. I also informed her that we would be vacating the premises in 90 days.
Following this, she began threatening us with tales of her vast wealth, her connection with influential authorities, and her expensive legal team. Undaunted, I suggested she consult her lawyers about the repercussions of insurance fraud before hanging up.
Despite everything, my wife and I persisted in our duties until we found another place to relocate, primarily because the elderly couple was truly amiable and the problematic situation was no fault of theirs. Unfortunately, they were evidently very senile, oftentimes confusing us for other familiar faces, forgetting their own offspring, and so on.
They could hardly be blamed for their daughter's recklessness as they lacked the capacity to intervene. Unfortunately, rather than receiving a paycheck, we got a bill for rent for the last eight months and a notice that our wages would be withheld until we "reimbursed her for everything we owed her, with interest."
In our contract, the cost of the house rent was supposedly greater than our monthly wages, making it impossible for us to ever clear our "debt." Indeed, it felt as though the woman was trying to turn us into bound servants, indentured to her by having to work off our ever-growing debt.
Keeping silent about the situation, we continued our duties whilst keeping a detailed log of our working hours and documenting our increasing "debts". After 90 strenuous days without a paycheck, and whilst making food purchases using her credit card which she added to our "debts," we started setting our plan into motion.
Just before the 90 day period was up, we contacted two governmental agencies: the state department of labor to report exploitation, and adult protective services to alert them about the impending absence of caretakers for the elderly couple in need.
We had a phone conversation with our employer, giving her a heads up about the upcoming flurry of calls from these entities and advising her to consult her lawyer. After a moment of silence on her end, she responded with a presumptuous laugh before disconnecting the call. At this point, we just had one more week to endure.
To our surprise, eight hours later, she showed up at the property in a rental, having bought a one-way ticket to personally report us for alleged trespassing. However, her plan backfired as she was clueless about our tenancy contract that safeguarded us until the legal eviction process was completed.
Similarly, her allegations about our immigration status lacked proof as we indeed possess the necessary ID. As she started acting irate and boasting about her influential connections and expensive lawyers, the officers only looked both amused and annoyed.
They advised her against contacting us and entering our residing property. We noticed her move into the primary property that night, presumably to fulfill the duties we had been performing.
Every morning for a week, I sipped my coffee on the balcony, exchanging smiles and waves with our fuming ex-employer who was seen glaring at us from the main house's picture window.
Despite her pride and affluence, her high-priced lawyers convinced her to pay us the unpaid salary along with interest for not complying with state labor laws.
7. Standing Up For The Little Guy
I was waiting my turn at the Costco Gas station. Given the sky-high fuel prices, the queues at Costco's economical and handy pumps are quite long. The customers are a bit agitated. The gas station staff at Costco maintain the area with regular sweeping and clean-ups, especially in case of any fuel spillage.
Whenever they need to clean a particular lane, they stop further queueing in that lane, similar to what they do at their cash registers. They attend to the existing customers in the lane, then guide the incoming consumers to other lanes, allowing them to block off the lane for clean-up. I witnessed a scene while I was filling up my tank.
A lady drove around the blockade into the lane that was being cleaned, as if the rules didn't apply to her and she could still refuel. An employee rushed over to her and calmly instructed, “Apologies ma’am, we've temporarily closed this lane. Could you please pull around into a different line”?
Upon her query, “Why”, he calmly answered, “This lane is closed…” noticing a vacant spot in the next lane, he directed her there and pointed towards it. Suddenly, she began to shrilly retort, “Your tone is unacceptable! I don’t appreciate it…” and this was followed by more ranting.
A man from the passenger side came out of the car. The employee gestured at the cones, the empty lane, his broom, trying to explain the situation. The irate lady was now using profanities against the employee. The man who had stepped out starting making rude gestures at the employee.
The employee was taken aback due to the outburst. The lady then stated that she was going to report him to the management, essentially claiming that he would lose his job, followed by more ranting. She then angrily drove away, and I resolved to set the situation right.
Finishing my work at the pump, I parked on the side. I googled the store's contact number and connected to a manager. I requested to speak with the superior at the gas station. “Apologies, but he’s not available. May I take your message"?
I responded, “Well… could I share something with you? A moment ago, one of your gas station employees became the victim of a lady's tantrum. She might call any minute claiming she was treated disrespectfully. Let me tell you the actual scenario from a neutral viewpoint. This employee didn’t do anything offensive. This might eventually be her word against his."
The person on the line responded, "Thank you for the warning. It’s good to know he was just doing his job. Actually, it seems like she’s already on the phone with another manager. I’ll convey your message too. We appreciate your call.”
8. The Best Revenge Is Petty
My dear, sweet mother-in-law seems to view our home as her personal kingdom every time she steps through our front door. She strides in with a regal air, almost as if she expects us to wait on her hand and foot, as though we are her loyal courtiers. This expectation can be quite tiring, especially after the initial novelty has worn off.
Over time, I tried to establish some boundaries for her stays with us. Specifically, I implemented a strict 'no news' policy. News broadcasts often focus on negative, saddening events, and the constant bombardment of such feelings is quite irritating and drains the lively energy of our home. Conveying this policy felt like a broken record, though.
No matter how many times we tried, the message didn't seem to land. Nevertheless, my mother-in-law protested that she simply couldn't handle being left in the dark about world events.
As a result, whenever we'd head upstairs to tuck our daughter into bed, I could hear the clear voices of TV news anchors echoing from the living room downstairs. This stubborn insistence became my unique opportunity for a bit of harmless mischief.
Our television is conveniently connected to Google Home, and I utilize my Smartphone as a remote extension of this arrangement. I made the first move in our technological game of chess by turning off the TV. My opponent made her counter-move, and so I responded by once again plunging the room into silence.
Not one to leave things half-finished, I decided to add another layer of control by blocking all news channels using the FIOS app. The old fox proved herself too clever, using Google to play news on CNN via YouTube—a clever diversion I hadn't prepared for.
Thankfully, she couldn't tell the difference between YouTube and the standard television broadcasts, which unknowingly set her up for my next trick. Using the FIOS app, I repeatedly disrupted her attempts to view the news by repeatedly pausing the broadcast, resulting in a static screen time and time again.
Inevitably, she began to grumble about the uncooperative television screen. Keeping my game-face on, I echoed a calming response, suggesting that an approaching storm must be the cause of the cable issues. I confess, observing the fruits of my little prank unfold brought me a certain sense of secret amusement.
9. Pre-Emptive Strike
Let me transport you on a journey into the past where my day-to-day trip to my job was an unparalleled ordeal. On top of the inherent distress that comes with the fear of potentially being tardy for work, it felt like a stress-filled pie topped with a sickly sweet cherry of frustration.
What was my preferred method of reaching my workplace, you wonder? Among the various modes of commuting, Uber stood head and shoulders above using a public transport system notorious for being overly crowded.
While it's understandably clear that booking an Uber every single day can be a bit on the expensive side, I managed those extra costs by dedicating a separate bank account to it. The funny thing is, my preference for Uber was less about being extravagant and more about valuing comfort over scrimping and saving.
My boss and I had a friendly working relationship, and in the course of our casual conversations, she came to learn about my reliance on Uber and my proclivity for online payments. You see, it was quite unusual for me to carry cash on my person, a habit that seemed to spark a thought in her mind.
This is where the narrative takes an amusing twist. One seemingly ordinary day, she concocted a scenario where she presumably lost her phone. She approached me, requesting if I could book an Uber for her father, after all, how could I turn down such a request?
However, this time around, I opted to shake things up a tad by choosing the cash payment option, straying from my habitual online payment method. That particular day, the Uber assigned to her embarked on a lengthy six-hour tour around the city.
Picture my shock when the next day my boss expressed her surprise that I didn't notify her about my decision to switch to cash payment from my usual digital method. In response, I merely held up the extensive route map of her lengthy joyride.
As I revealed the details about her trip, I gently insinuated that her seemingly clever plan wasn't as ironclad as she had initially presumed. My self-satisfied smirk said it all - she may not be as ingenious as she thought.
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10. Now That’s The Tea
I'm part of the marketing team in a modest-sized beauty company. I'm not in the higher ranks yet, but I'm not a beginner either. Earlier today, I popped into the office shared space/kitchen to whip up some tea (earl grey, if you're interested). As I was waiting for the water to heat up, a woman on her phone walked into the room.
Turns out, she's a recent addition to the sales team. Judging by her newness, she probably hasn't even gotten her first paycheck yet. She was pretty loud, but I didn't mind—noise is part of the office culture here.
About a minute after she arrived, she tells her call, "hold on, I need some privacy" then turns to me and says, "Excuse me, sorry, I’m on a private call, I need you to leave."
At first, I was stunned, then it started to sink in. I gave her my best shocked-but-amused smile, the one that says "are you kidding me"? I told her no. She stared at me like I was crazy. She was utterly aghast at the audacity I had to use the shared space for its intended purpose.
She didn't say anything in return, so I pointed towards the kettle, telling her that I was just making some tea. She argued that it was a crucial health-related call. I politely reminded her that our kitchen isn’t a private space and suggested she could use an open meeting room or head to her car if the issue was so delicate.
Unhappy with the comfort level of the conference room chairs and claiming it was too chill to trek to her car, she huffed. Sensing she understood I wasn't going anywhere until I got my tea, she left in a huff to a conference room.
I'm not into tattling, I just want to peacefully make my tea. So, I decided to have a word with her supervisor in sales (we know each other) about the incident. Just as I was wrapping up my story, the woman walks in, sees me, and freezes. I point her out to her boss, give him an encouraging pat and casually stroll back to my workspace.
Welcome to the team, newbie!
11. A Shaggy Dog Story
There's a special moment coming up in July: my dear brother is getting married. This joyful occasion represents a huge step in his life as he'll be promising to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, his soon-to-be wife. But there's a bit of a snag in our family's preparations for this big day.
Every single day, I'm accompanied by my service dog - a loyal and indispensable friend who helps me manage my personal challenges. When I found out about my brother's upcoming wedding, I was thrilled. However, my soon-to-be sister-in-law has expressed some concerns about my four-legged helper attending the celebrations.
Her concerns cover a variety of scenarios. She's nervous that my dog might shake himself, leading to his fur landing on her perfect wedding dress. She's also worried that he might sneak a few snacks from the tables, or worse, leap around in excitement and potentially cause damage to her expensive wedding outfit.
I've tried to express my point of view as relatably as I can. I've explained that without the support of my service dog, attending the wedding would be a real challenge for me. Backed by my mother, I've also reassured my future sister-in-law and my brother that my service dog is well-behaved, trained to perfection, and nothing like the unruly beast she seems to be imagining.
The latest contention, however, is regarding the wedding venue. She suggested that the venue might not warm up to the idea of my service dog and me attending. I quickly pointed out that laws require venues to accommodate service dogs and their owners.
Despite all these explanations and reassurances, my brother seems somewhat sceptical. It's starting to feel like they're looking for any good reason to convince me not to bring my dog. We've planned another discussion on this matter for July.
Honestly, if they don't change their viewpoint, I'm thinking about bringing my service dog along, whether they approve or not. All this stress has really got me keeping a stiff upper lip!
12. One Name To Rule Them All
My wife and I spent several years figuring out how to start our family before we crossed our mid-thirties. Now at 33, we're incredibly happy parents to our baby boy. My wife has a younger half-sister who's quite challenging, she's been pampered by her mother all her life.
Since she and my mother-in-law tried to steal my wife's heirloom jewelry, we've decided they're not welcome in our house. As you can imagine, my wife's jewelry has significant sentimental value, so we've stored it in a safety deposit box. You can understand the tension when my wife and I finally found out we were expecting.
We were beyond excited. After learning we were having a boy, I suggested naming him after my Scottish grandfather, which my wife readily agreed to. We were so thrilled that we shared the news and our chosen name on social media. And there was a catch!
My sister-in-law was also pregnant, further along than us, and also expecting a boy. She decided to claim my grandfather's name for her own son, including the middle name.
We took her to task about it, only to be told flatly that there was nothing we could do. She was, unfortunately, right. Legally, we couldn't do anything. She was stirring up trouble on purpose, believing we wouldn't use the name if she did.
I told her that despite her sneaky move, we'd go ahead with our chosen name, and she'd just have to deal with it. Her boy's father called me, claiming we were stubborn. I told him nobody "claims" names. He ended the call threateningly and soon, their kid arrived, bearing my grandfather's name.
We didn't attend because of the COVID-19 situation—and because we really didn't want to. Surprisingly, she called us expecting congratulations but we expressed our indifference. She wanted to talk to my wife but my wife was listening and firmly agreed that our son’s name wouldn’t change.
This led to countless emails with potential names that we ignored. She stopped contacting us, until after our son's birth. Two months later, when our son arrived, we named him as planned. Predictably, my sister-in-law called, accusing us of copying her son's name.
I explained that she was the actual copycat since she had no historical ties to the name, unlike us. My wife stated that after the jewelry saga, she no longer considered her a sister, let alone an aunt to our son.
Her boyfriend showed up threateningly—and things were about to get heated. Despite being notably smaller than me, he was quite fierce. I told him to leave, he left, and they obviously weren't happy about it. After more arguments about the name, which we refused to change, my wife called them out for their selfishness.
The saga ended when my sister-in-law admitted that her partner left, fed up with the drama. Apparently, he wanted their son to bear his family name instead of a name he had no ties to. As a result, they got a new birth certificate with a different name. She then had the audacity to ask us to pay her for the name change and the “emotional damage”. We refused.
As a result, there hasn't been any contact with them. In the meantime, my very cool father-in-law, who’s not married to my mother-in-law, visits often. He absolutely adores his grandson. He's shared that my sister-in-law's situation has been quite chaotic, which affirms our decision to steer clear of her. After all, it's not our problem.
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13. Fools Rush In
When I found myself witnessing a deeply distressing incident that occurred between a young 16-year-old bike rider and a truck, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. The unfortunate collision between them resulted in tragic circumstances. The adolescent bike rider was left severely injured.
Immediately, roadside medical assistance was called into action, with professionals attempting to perform emergency life-saving measures to help the teenager who was in a critical state.
As this distressing scenario was unfolding, at the same location, there was a middle-aged woman, approximately in her 50s, who appeared increasingly upset. It quickly became clear that the concerning situation was the traffic jam caused by the accident—she was petrified of missing an important appointment.
Her frustration bubbled over as she became notably troubled by the delay caused by the unfortunate incident. The local policemen on duty, who were trying their best to manage the challenging situation, kindly requested her to remain calm and return to her vehicle.
However, it seems that their assurance wasn't sufficient for her—she was not satisfied with their suggestions. She continued to disturb the law enforcement officers with her disruptive behavior, hindering their work.
Unable to contain her annoyance with the delay, she bombarded the police with a flurry of complaints, often using inappropriate language that further complicated the situation. She seemed intent on leaving her vehicle every few minutes, making it harder for the officers to manage the scenario effectively.
The only reason for her objectionable behavior was the fact that she was running late. Her disturbingly insensitive remark, "It's just one biker, how much time could it possibly take?" showed her lack of compassion towards the gravely injured teen.
Sadly, the young biker did not survive the ordeal, adding a heart-wrenching twist to an already tough situation. Her indifference towards the gravity of the accident was shocking. What's more, the distressing incident didn't end with the teen's unfortunate demise. Ironically, the agitated woman now finds herself entangled in a sticky legal situation.
It turns out that she had inadvertently blocked the route for emergency vehicles, a violation of the law. Moreover, her defiant behavior towards the officers at the scene is now under legal scrutiny.
As I was recollecting the sorrowful incident involving the young bike rider, I couldn't help but wish for some form of justice for him from beyond the grave. I wondered if it could bring him some satisfaction to see her now facing consequences for her disregard of his life-threatening situation.
I quietly harbor the hope that through this unfortunate event, the oblivious lady would learn the importance of empathy.
14. Bridesmaidzilla
My little brother was sadly born with a terminal condition. His hospital stays and costly medication requirements started when he was just six months old. To manage the massive medical bills, my mom picked up various jobs over the years, one of which included crafting custom wedding and bridesmaid dresses.
She had a couple of unbreakable rules:
Rule one: She took all the measurements herself. I've lost count of how many times I've heard her say, "If you give me inaccurate measurements, your dress won't fit right.
Rule two: All final dress fittings needed to be done at least three weeks before the wedding. This provided some wiggle room in case my brother, Dewey, had to be rushed to the hospital. He couldn't communicate verbally and required constant care.
This particular bride wanted her bridesmaids to wear pastel organza dresses (organza's a sheer fabric). The dresses had a white base with soft pastel overlays. However, the problem was there were more bridesmaids than available pastel colors. This meant one bridesmaid had to wear tan.
The bride didn't want to create conflict by assigning colors—so it was features. You picked your color when you came in for measurements. One bridesmaid, living three hours away, refused to come in for a fitting. She insisted being a size 8 was sufficient information. But bridal sizes don't align directly with regular sizes.
After much back and forth, this bridesmaid agreed a local seamstress could take her measurements and forward them to my mom. A month away from the wedding, Dewey had to be put on a ventilator in ICU. My mom now had the significant task of completing eight dresses in about two weeks.
She managed it with the help of some fantastic friends, but it was a tight squeeze. Meanwhile, my dad took on extra work hours to support us and looked after the other kids.
An ordeal occurred when the difficult bridesmaid still REFUSED to come in for a final fitting until two days before the wedding. She accused my mom of not knowing proper sizing, which I heard while picking up seed pearls. My mom had to get a friend to watch over Dewey for a day, so she could fit and adjust this bridesmaid's dress in one go.
This awful bridesmaid turned up two hours late, saw the tan dress, and threw a fit. She demanded another bridesmaid give up their dress so she could have a different color. It would have required 20+ hours of additional work.
My mom hence refused, and the bride saved the day by telling this bridesmaid that the tan color was all that was left. When it came time to try on the dress, it was obvious she had lied about her measurements as the dress wouldn't zip up.
To make matters worse, it turned out she had altered all her measurements except height before submitting them, fearing my mom would 'lie about her size'. My mom, already dealing with the health crisis of Dewey, was beside herself with frustration.
She demanded extra compensation for the dress as it required significant alterations and additional fabric. A heated argument ensued, and my mom finally said: "pay me the original amount and take your dress as it is!". The bride urged the bridesmaid to pay the extra.
She finally conceded, and my mom instructed the bride to remove her from the house. They could return after five hours to collect the dress. Despite all the struggle, the adjusted dress fitted perfectly in the end. The troublesome bridesmaid paid and left without saying a word. But the damage was done.
After Dewey passed away, my mom vowed never to make another wedding dress. In the 21 years that followed, she made only one exception—for the friend who spent the day with Dewey in the ICU during my mom's altercation with the troublesome bridesmaid.
15. Where The Sidewalk Ends
So, I've got this remarkable tale from when I was a six-year-old boy living with my family in a lovely house in a quaint city in Poland. Our house was located in a peaceful, out-of-the-way neighborhood where practically everyone knew each other.
The area lacked a proper sidewalk, save for an old, badly maintained pathway by my neighbor's place across the street. It's vital to note just how deteriorated the sidewalk was. Even today, locals are pleading the city to repair it. This story centers around a woman who lived nearby, Karen.
An elderly lady, she was notorious in the neighborhood for being a busybody and often stirring up trouble. Among the residents, it was a running joke that if you wanted a secret to spread through the neighborhood, simply tell Karen it’s a secret.
Visitors often parked in front of our home, and bigger events like bbqs and parties led to guests parking by surrounding homes as well. It never caused issues; no driveways were blocked, no one complained—well, except for Karen.
She despised it when someone parked in front of her place and would instantly fly into a rage, yelling about the "filthy cars on her precious sidewalk.” My mother, not one to tolerate such behavior, had numerous debates with Karen, clarifying that ownership stops at the fence.
Meaning, the sidewalk was public property and anyone could park there as long as they didn't obstruct wheelchair access. But Karen didn't listen. Each time a car parked in front of her property, the yelling ensued. Until one winter's day when a friend of my mother’s, Tomek, popped over for some coffee.
As a local police officer specializing in traffic law, he was the perfect person to discuss the sidewalk dilemma with. After hearing of Karen's antics, Tomek giggled because the sidewalk was so worn out, calling it a sidewalk was optimistic.
As he was about to leave, he assured my mom he'd swing by for coffee during his lunch break the next day. The next day, as my brother and I enjoyed the snow, Tomek’s car pulled up outside Karen's house.
Just as he was getting out, Karen burst from her house, beginning her usual tirade about “her” sidewalk, but was cut short at the sight of Tomek in full uniform, who politely asked, “Excuse me? I can't park here"?
Karen insisted the sidewalk was hers, he countered that if so, she must maintain it. When she reluctantly agreed, he pointed out her failure to clear the snow, which endangered pedestrians and merited a fine.
She protested that the other sidewalks were also unshoveled and claimed old age as an excuse but Tomek suggested hiring help, adding that the sidewalk wouldn't be her responsibility if it wasn't hers. Finally, she admitted the sidewalk wasn't hers.
Tomek then warned her that harassing people over parking could also invite a fine. He advised her to be careful about laying unfounded claims in the future. With that settled, he strolled over to our house for a coffee. From then onwards, Karen quit causing problems about parking, though she'd still give the evil eye to anyone who dared.
16. Nama-Stay Away From Me
Not too long ago, I found myself living out a scene that seemed like it had been ripped directly from a comedic TV show. I'd noticed that my kitchen was becoming bare of necessary foodstuffs like eggs, milk, and sausages, prompting me to hastily make my way to the local grocery store.
After arriving, I began sifting through the wide array of sausages, trying to locate my preferred brand. As fate would have it, while I was doing this, I stumbled upon a familiar face - a close friend of mine. As is customary in our Indian culture, we exchanged warm greetings with the traditional word, "Namaste".
Suddenly, our mutual show of respectful acknowledgement was abruptly interrupted by an unexpected presence. A stranger, who introduced herself as a vegan, inserted herself into our conversation brazenly and without invitation. I remember feeling quite taken aback and shaking my head in disbelief.
She looked at us with a smug smile, "Are you vegan?" she asked. Her tone suggested a certain overconfidence in her perceived superiority. Sensing our puzzled reactions, we shook our heads no. We affirmed that we were not, in fact, vegans. Then, she began her rant.
Bold and unwavering, she made the bizarre assertion that we were not allowed to use the term "Namaste," because, in her distorted understanding, it was exclusively a vegan phrase. Her argument was so laughably flawed that we couldn't help but giggle.
The ridiculous scenario of being corrected about our native language by a foreigner, who was unskilled in its pronunciation, left us tickled. After our laughter subsided, my friend decided to share some actual knowledge with her.
He explained, in a gentle but firm tone, that the term 'Namaste' was not pronounced the way she had said it and that it had absolutely no connection to veganism. She seemed to take offense to this and challenged our knowledge of our own language. With a snippy tone, she retorted, "And how would you know that?"
Without hesitation, I decided to jump into the fray. Taking a second to gather my thoughts, I clarified her misinterpretation. "We are confident because we are Indians," I retorted. "The word 'Namaste' comes from Hindi, our language, and it certainly does not revolve around dietary choices."
Unfortunately, my logical explanation didn't quite land with her, similar to a carelessly thrown frisbee missing its target. Just as she was about to spew another misguided argument, my friend, with a playful glint in his eyes, decided to close the discussion.
He lightly waved the chicken sausages I'd chosen at her. She backed off, looking as though she'd seen a ghost. Thankfully, she left us alone, allowing us to finish our grocery shopping uninterrupted.
17. How The Tables Have Turned
My mom recently started a new role at an energy company, serving customers over the phone, resolving queries, and even tackling basic issues. From the beginning, she found herself among a small, close-knit community of employees, bonding even with the casually dressed and remarkably down-to-earth CEO.
After a while, the company started expanding, bringing in fresh faces. Among them was a man carrying a sense of superiority, behaving rudely and arrogantly towards others. His frequent blunders, disregard for rules, and explosive temper became a sore spot for everyone, including my mom.
However, the lenient, or perhaps intimidated, manager chose not to intervene. This man's outbursts, typically triggered by any disagreement, were always along the lines of "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO (insert disagreement here)?!" Numerous complaints didn't stir a reaction from the manager.
Everything changed when he crossed a line one day. While misinforming a customer over the phone, he was simultaneously engrossed in a mobile game.
The CEO happened to be on a regular walk-around post a meeting, and upon observing this, he politely asked the man to turn off his phone and fully concentrate on assisting the customer. The man furiously retorted by questioning the CEO's authority to dictate his job, stomping his foot for dramatic emphasis.
Surprised, the CEO took a moment before announcing his identity to the irate man, replicating the foot-stomping for maximum effect. The smugness from the man's face vanished swiftly. As per my mom, his face turned ghostly white, a stark contrast from his prior rage-induced red.
Remaining composed, the CEO took over the call, apologized to the customer, and swiftly addressed her query. Before hanging up, he again apologized, reassuring her the abrasive employee's termination to prevent future incidents. He sternly confirmed the dismissal to the shocked employee and directed him to vacate.
In the aftermath, while the dreaded staff member disappeared, the manager received guidance on handling such situations, and the CEO was celebrated with a homemade cake for his actions.
18. No Such Thing As A Free Lunch
This story just unfolded recently. I'm employed by a security firm that provides patient transportation services from general hospitals to mental health facilities. I can't really divulge specifics due to privacy laws and company regulations. Anyway, our local branch is stationed at one of the major hospitals in town.
Feeling a bit peckish, and since there were no patients for transport at the time, I decided to grab something to eat from the hospital cafeteria. Upon my arrival, I was taken aback to find my second oldest nephew (let's call him R for anonymity) scanning the food counter with a downtrodden expression.
Curious, I approached him and asked: "R, why are you here?" He informed me that he was accompanying my parents to a hospital visit. "And why do you look so glum?" I continued. "I'm hungry, but I don't have enough cash on me to buy food," he confessed.
Putting him at ease, I replied: "Don't worry about it, pick whatever you want!" As we queued to pay for our food, I sent my mom a text to inform her that R was with me, having a meal instead of wandering aimlessly in the hospital.
Just as I was finishing the payment for our food, I felt a tap on my shoulder. A random woman casually asked, "Are you going to pay for me too?" Quite taken aback, I replied, "That certainly wasn't my plan."
Undeterred, she persisted, "Why not? You just paid for that round kid who's been loitering here for ages. How about offering the same generosity to an attractive woman?"
Feeling the need to set her straight, I responded: "First off, the 'round kid' is my nephew who's here with my parents. Secondly, why would you assume I’d buy you anything?" With a huff, she tried to threaten me by mentioning that she would report me to the hospital director and get me sacked.
My simple respond to that was that I didn’t actually work for the hospital. "But why do you have a hospital ID badge?" she inquired. I calmly pointed to the director who had been a few people behind her in the queue, and watching the entire fiasco, "He's right there. So good luck with that complaint."
I then excused myself from the awkward situation and sat down with my nephew. Though I'm not sure what transpired afterward, I did see the woman hastily exit the cafeteria empty-handed while the director stifled his laughter near the food pickup area.
19. Taking It To The Max
My mother, who is incredibly fond of her lovable dog Max, faced an unexpected issue when she moved next door to a neighbor who felt a sense of entitlement. This new neighbor became instantly attached to Max, developing a strong liking for him.
Over the course of a few years, this neighbor frequently borrowed Max to keep her company, took care of him when my mom wasn't around, and occasionally had him over for friendly playdates.
Despite eventually relocating to a different part of town, this neighbor's fondness for Max remained, and she continued to request my mom for play dates with the dog. Over time, though, my mom found it necessary to limit those visits gradually. On occasion, she still allowed the neighbor to see Max due to her constant pleading.
However, prior to one particular visit, Max had been involved in a disagreement with another dog. This made my mom understandably wary about letting Max go to the neighbor's house. Even with these reservations, the neighbor was convinced she could take proper care of Max and persisted with her request.
The very next day, the neighbor notified my mom that Max had a neck injury and had been taken to the vet. Shockingly, she declared that she was going to keep Max, falsely accusing my mom of negligence as justification.
My mom was heartbroken and immediately turned to law enforcement for help, but they could not intervene, as my mom had given permission for Max to be in the neighbor's care. With limited options, my mom decided to file a civil lawsuit.
After a grueling two-month period, my mother and the neighbor finally found themselves standing before a judge. The audacious neighbor argued for a shared custody agreement, declaring herself to achieve the title of "best dog parent."
However, the judge ruled in favor of my mom, recognizing that Max was legally her pet and commanding that the neighbor return him post-haste. Additionally, the judge determined that the neighbor should cover the vet expenses incurred.
The judge also made it crystal clear that my mom was in no way obliged to let the neighbor continue visiting Max.
20. Age Ain’t Nothing But A Number
I've been flying solo since I was 5, and by 13, my parents were okay with me not having flight attendants monitor me during layovers, as long as I let them know when I board and land. Makes sense. I was 16 when this happened.
Now, I’ve always looked younger than my age, thanks to the unfortunate combo of being short and having a baby face, courtesy of my family genes.
Flying was always challenging cause I was on my own. Add to this my anxiety and a stutter when I'm stressed, and it only made me seem even younger. Once, on a return trip from New York with a two-hour layover in Baltimore, I decided to grab a bite at Chipotle.
I was quietly enjoying my meal, scrolling through my phone, when a middle-aged, blonde lady, who for clarity's sake, I'll call Karen, interrupted me. She gave me the ick right away. With her two kids in tow, Karen asked if I was okay, and if I was alone, addressing me as "honey" all the while.
Not the first time experiencing this, I politely assured her that I was fine and appreciated her concern. However, Karen wasn’t happy with my response. Her manner quickly flipped from caring to commandeering.
She insisted I was too young to be alone and needed adult supervision. While I was indeed a minor, I did not need supervision while flying with Southwest, which permits travel without adult supervision for those aged 12 and above. I confronted Karen with this information.
Despite my patient explanations, she kept up her accusations. She even wanted to speak with my parents. Not wanting to involve her in my parents' divorce, I grudgingly explained to her that my mom was in Nashville and my dad in New York, both aware and okay with me traveling alone.
The airline too, considering my age, did not classify me as an unaccompanied minor. But Karen was relentless. She refused to believe I was 16, provoking me to pull out my driver's license to prove my age. I let her see only my birthdate, keeping the rest of the information hidden.
Even with the proof, Karen didn’t back down, saying that I might be a runaway. Frustrated, I restated the airline’s policy and suggested she verify it herself from their website or an employee if she didn't take my word. Further firming up, I warned her that I’d call security if she didn’t leave me alone.
Unfazed, she commanded that I accompany her to my parents. Seeing no other choice, I picked up my bag, broke free from her grip and ran towards my gate. The crowd was watching, her children looked worried, but I kept running until I reached my gate.
Feeling distressed, I informed the gate attendant about the incident. She reassured me and promised to alert security if she noticed Karen around. Sure enough, I spotted Karen prowling around the gates after an hour. My ordeal with her was far from over.
Karen tried accusing me again, this time of having a fake ID. The gate attendant inspected my ID and boarding pass, assuring Karen that my documents looked perfectly valid. Despite the attendant trying to calmly deal with her, Karen threatened to call in child endangerment and have the airline shut down.
Lastly, she lied to Karen about filing a complaint against her to get her name. Let's stick with calling her Karen. The gate attendant then offered to contact Karen's gate, letting them know about the incident and ensuring she stays put. Knowing that, I felt somewhat safer.
Finding out that Karen was planning to lead me to a totally different, international terminal scared me. But the reassuring words from the gate attendant and the gate staff's promise to keep an eye on Karen eventually lead to a sigh of relief.
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21. My House, My Rules
I couldn't contain my enthusiasm when I began working part-time this week, dedicating a single day each week after my maternity leave that started last October. My pregnancy journey was challenging, and we decided early on to ask for absolute privacy. Most people respected our wishes, but tragically, my sister-in-law stood out as an exception.
To make my life less complex as a new mom, I usually feed my baby at home unclothily. I often use a frozen nipple cover, either on the unused breast or when I am breastfeeding both of my babies simultaneously. The way I feed my children means that I typically don't wear a top or bra around the house.
My husband and daughters have no issues with this. But they do prefer that I cover up when their friends visit. I completely understand and abide by their preference since it's not appropriate to accidentally expose myself to their young friends who are around seven or ten years old.
Let's revisit the timeline to roughly two weeks after my delivery. I was lounging on my couch, engrossed in a horror movie while feeding my newborn and toddler sons—topless as usual.
I was jolted out of my tranquillity when I heard the front door unlocking, which I presumed was my husband returning home, as he often did around that time of day. Alas, I encountered an unexpected shock. I had entirely overlooked that my sister-in-law also had a backup key to our house, strictly for emergencies only.
Deeply immersed in tending to my sons, I was taken off guard when I heard an abrupt, loud gasp from the entrance. Instead of my husband, it was my sister-in-law standing there, with a horrified look on her face. She descended into a panic, with a hand over her husband's eyes, and the other trying to drape me with her shawl.
Remarkably, she had the boldness to criticize the state of my place, blatantly disregarding the fact that I was single-handedly taking care of a toddler and a two-week-old infant. She went on to make unwarranted assumptions. She supposed that my topless nursing was potentially detrimental to my children and awkward for her husband.
Fed up with her critique, I told her if she wasn't comfortable with the situation, she could leave. Though she simmered down and left, she managed to toss out some unkind words before she went.
Despite all this, she held her stance that I must apologize to her because I was breastfeeding my children without a shirt when she unexpectedly dropped by. She had completely overlooked that she was the one who intruded into my space without notifying me beforehand.
22. Master Of Her Domain
I call a six-unit building home. Just last month, the unit above mine was listed for sale and shortly was snagged by a new buyer who settled in rather quickly, just a few days ago. Today, as I stepped out to toss the trash, I was surprised to find a note pinned to my door.
My initial assumption was a basic "Hello, I'm your new neighbor" message. Boy, was I off base!
The note started innocently enough with, "Dear tenant, I'm your building's newest property owner and wish to introduce myself. My name is blah blah blah (obviously not sharing her real name) and I believe I am a just proprietor. However, I do enforce rules..."
The rules set a strict curfew of 9 PM for all tenants and banned pets entirely. It threatened inspections, evictions and even calling authorities to seize the pets!
Hold up! Twist in the story—all residents in the building OWN their units, including me! The mention of her pet rule made my heart pound, as a cat parent. Then I recalled, I purchased my unit right before last Christmas. While it still kind of feels like a rental since we purchased it from a friend without moving, it's actually mine.
Outraged by the note, I stomached my usual confrontation jitters and marched upstairs to have a word with her. Sure enough, just as you'd expect, answered a "Karen", radiating "I-wanna-speak-to-the-manager" energy right from her bleached hair to her vivid nails.
I introduced myself and raised the issue of her intrusive note, only to be talked over in a condescending tone, being told I could vacate if I couldn’t handle her simple guidelines. Stunning.
I wonder how people can be so vain, but as a retail worker, I could answer my own query. I pointed out that I actually OWN my unit and she had no authority to dictate these terms but she flipped, raising her voice and insisting she had bought the whole building.
Things were escalating and I was beginning to question myself when another neighbor intervened. He simply asked her to lower her voice, informing her he worked night shifts. I filled him in and he told her flat out, "Are you stupid?"
He then enlightened her about the ownership scenario and that he was part of the strata committee (a governing body of sorts for the building). There was no way she could enforce these rules, he said. She huffed off, and I expressed my gratitude to him. He admitted he'd never met anyone so entitled in all his years there.
23. Party For One
I work with one person on my team who tends to be quite scattered when it comes to organizing and planning their work. They have a knack for arranging tasks at the last possible moment, usually.
It's something that consistently results in them scheduling meetings extremely late in the workday—like 4 pm on a Friday—which inconveniently falls outside of my usual eight-hour shift ending at 3 pm. In turn, this forces me to extend my work hours for the day considerably often exceeding 10 hours.
Even though these meetings are obligatory, and I do receive overtime for it, I find myself longing for that personal leisure time instead. Their lack of organization isn't confined to just scheduling either, it tends to permeate into the meetings themselves too.
We routinely find ourselves going over tasks that ought to have been completed beforehand, such as putting together an agenda for the meeting. Despite having a guideline in place which requires that we're given a week's notice for such meetings, I find myself compelled to attend them even if they've been scheduled last minute.
If I haven't been notified about a meeting the Friday before, I normally arrange for other activities to fill up my weekend—activities like hiking, biking, or just heading out for the day.
There was this one incident where this team member tried to slot in a meeting at 4:45 pm on a Friday, only deciding to inform me at 3:05 pm, well after my workday had come to a close. I responded, explaining how the extremely short notice was inadequate for setting up a meeting that falls so far out of my usual working hours.
Thankfully, my boss was kept in the loop about the situation. This lack of foresight landed my colleague in a bit of a sticky situation as they were essentially cornered into conducting the meeting on that very day to prevent it from spilling over, something our boss had expressly forbidden barring extenuating circumstances.
They had been aware of the need for this meeting for a good two months, but they had simply dropped the ball on planning it out. In the end, my boss and I had a brief discussion and decided to proceed with the meeting without my colleague who was away on personal leave. We wrapped it up quickly in about 20 minutes.
There was a bit of a fuss that included some complications with a birthday party that my colleague was trying to plan, as well as a few unsettling text messages that rolled in later. But my boss and I navigated through it all and managed to tie things up effectively and efficiently.
Ironically, the most entertaining part of it all was discovering later that my colleague had forgotten to send out invitations for their own child's birthday party.
24. That Takes The Steak
Every time I recall this story, I can’t help but laugh, albeit a bit annoyed. It happened last year, on my mum's big 60th birthday. During lockdown, we couldn't throw a massive party, so instead, I organized a small, safe dinner—just her, my dad, and myself. Her request was a hearty steak meal.
A few days prior, I popped over to the local grocery store, famous for their special cut, vacuum-packed steaks on offer, at 3 for £10. Looking to choose the best steaks, I noticed another lady nearby, loading up quite a few of these. I grabbed my three, popped them in my cart, and moved on to fill up the rest of my shopping list.
At some point, I briefly stepped away while deciding to grab something else—only to return to an unpleasant surprise. The same woman I had noticed earlier was leaning over my cart. When I called her out, her response was as bizarre as it was audacious: “I know it's yours, but I’m taking one of your steaks,”
She needed one more to round up her 14 to 15. Reacting as calmly as I could, I stated, "I only have three of those. I can't let you take one,” and I immediately moved my cart away.
Undeterred, she insisted that she needed it to take advantage of the discount offer. My response was straight to the point: "I need it to feed my family. No." Visibly upset by my refusal, she threatened to bring the manager. I welcomed the idea and continued with my shopping.
Fast forward a few minutes, and I was at the checkout when she returned, bringing along a manager. They approached me, and the manager asked me if I had, bizarrely, somehow stolen one of her steaks. I clarified the situation, mentioning that she had attempted to snatch one from my cart under the guise of the multideal discount.
The manager’s response was both hilarious and relieving. “I knew it, she has a history of this,” he confessed, apologizing for the inconvenience. As I wished him luck dealing with her, he guided her away from the checkout area. As I was leaving, security was being directed to the meat aisle over the supermarket's announcement system.
The steaks I took home that day were delightful but certainly not worth stealing from someone else's shopping trolley. Always an eventful trip to the supermarket, I guess.
25. She Said Yes To The Dress—Twice
In 2016, my brother John revealed he was engaged to his long-term girlfriend, Jane, and they were planning their wedding for the following year. They gave everyone plenty of notice—nine months to be exact—and even shared the color theme: purple. I ordered my dress from an online store in London in the interim, well in time for the big day.
2017 finally rolled around, marking the arrival of the wedding. Since my mum and I had relocated to a different state in 2013, we had to cross the ocean to hit the mainland for the wedding. The wedding was stunning. There was sunshine, sea air, and laughter.
Seeing my somewhat gruff brother looking so blissful as he tied the knot with the mother of his children brought tears to my eyes. John and Jane already had three kids together, and their two eldest daughters played the role of flower girls. John is a half-brother to me, as we share a mom but have different dads.
However, my dad raised John exactly like he did me. Before marrying my mom, my dad was married to another woman, and they had a few kids together, including Susan. Susan has always been a source of tension for John and me. Despite being only my half-sister, she was invited and attended the wedding as a family member.
In the thick of the wedding activities, it had escaped my notice that Susan was not donning purple like the rest of us, but was in a white dress. A white wedding dress, to be precise.
John and Jane were irate, especially Jane. At the reception, some people had changed outfits. As a wedding novice, I hadn’t thought that far and was still in my lilac dress. Most of the guests were engrossed in the usual wedding activities, but not Susan.
She was visibly upset and seeking attention because no one was interacting with her: the woman wearing her wedding dress at someone else’s wedding—shocking, right? This attention-seeking behavior peaked when she started crying during the reception.
Being the decent person I am, I decided to sit with her and ask what was wrong. She complained about no one paying her any attention, having difficulty connecting with John and Jane. I couldn’t help but shake my head internally at her lack of perspective, and I set the record straight for her—it was John and Jane's day.
Hiding my frustration, I managed to steal away and spent time with other family members. In a confessional moment afterward, Jane told me how infuriated she had been with Susan's audacity to wear a wedding dress. Apparently, Susan defended herself, stating she had no other dress to wear, which only fueled our indignation.
Years later, the anger lingers. I’ve since cut ties with Susan as our relationship was anyhow strained. John, Jane, and our mom still hold resentment as well. John and Jane now maintain minimal contact with her as they live in the same city, while I enjoy the peace of an ocean between us.
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26. When You’re Here, You’re Family—As In, Annoying
Picture this scenario. It's almost ten o'clock in the evening and we're about to wrap up for the day in 15 minutes. Suddenly, a group of three individuals stroll in and they are led to a table within my area of responsibility. Despite the ticking clock edging us closer to our closing time, I greet them with a warm smile and get ready to take their order.
On tonight's menu, they're leaning towards our "Tour of Italy," a truly delicious combination of fettuccine alfredo, lasagna, and chicken parmigiana. Unfortunately, there's a small kink in the plan. Earlier in the evening, we completely sold out of lasagna.
When I gently informed them of this, I proposed alternative dishes that they could consider. One lady from the group whispered something that sounded suspiciously like expecting the meal to be on the house due to the absence of lasagna, but she did begrudgingly opt for a replacement.
Fast forward 30 minutes, their food arrives at their table and everything appears to be running smoothly. Or at least it did, until it was time for the much-anticipated soup tasting. The group had also requested our soup/salad combo and we have four delectable varieties of soup to offer.
As fate would have it, we were completely out of the final soup choice, minestrone, which led to a display of utmost disappointment on the woman's face. To add to her dissatisfaction, she asked for an extra portion of alfredo sauce to carry home, unfortunately, our stocks were depleted for the day.
By now, we were 40 minutes over our usual closing time. Quite understandably upset, she demanded to meet with my manager. I found my manager, shared a moment of mild amusement about her reaction, and he proceeded to handle the situation. But let's just say, she was less than thrilled.
She voiced out her frustration explicitly, stating we should close the doors if we aren't capable of providing the complete menu. It seemed to have slipped her mind that we were still accommodating her needs almost an hour past our closing hours.
Furthermore, she insisted that her bill should be annulled since we failed to deliver a few dishes. My manager, maintaining his composure under her unreasonable request, opted not to offer any reduction in her bill.
As I neared the end of the night, taking care of her change, I couldn't help but overhear her moaning about the "dreadful service" she experienced and even as she vowed never to visit us close to our closing time. Mentally, we waved her goodbye with a declaration of, "Please, feel free to stand by that promise!"
27. Over There, They Call Her Karine
I'm currently working in the sole UK branch of a large international company that operates in more than 300 regions worldwide. My team consists of 22 dedicated professionals. Not long ago, I found myself invited to a conference call with my colleagues from various parts of Europe.
This was largely due to my fluency in German and a working knowledge of Italian that is relevant to our business. Participating in this call gave me the opportunity to communicate with my colleagues from different cultural backgrounds, with attendees conversing in an array of languages such as English (my language), Greek, Turkish, Romanian, Italian, German, Spanish, and French.
The attendees were mostly branch managers who were quite capable of speaking English. As the discussions began, I served as an interpreter, providing translations from German and Italian without encountering any significant difficulties.
My colleagues and I are quite familiar with one another since we often visit each other's offices. However, there was a new face from the French branch named Karen, who often craved a larger share of attention than most. Karen had been conversing in flawless English for the entire call.
As I continued my translations in German and Italian, she suddenly decided to switch to French. Eager to avoid increasing the complexity of the multilingual discussion, I confessed my inability to understand French. This kicked off an unexpected conversation with Karen.
She expressed her dissatisfaction by challenging me, saying that I should be a professional translator. To clarify my role in the call, I told her, "I’m a chemist, but I know German and Italian, which is why I'm helping with translation during this discussion".
But Karen didn't seem to understand this, and queried, "Why should I have to switch languages, when you're able to translate everyone else's?" I followed up by explaining that my intention was to help the company avoid the expense and inconvenience of hiring a professional translator.
Karen became defensive and assumed, “So, it’s because I'm a newcomer and a woman”, without thinking that I, too, am a woman who simply has not learned French. The situation went from bad to worse when Karen angrily accused me of racism.
I calmly replied, "Given your excellent English proficiency, there’s no need for further translation or disproportionate attention". Unfortunately, instead of resolving the disagreement, a frustrated Karen ended the call abruptly and lodged a complaint with HR against my supposedly discriminatory behavior.
However, she seemed to forget that the entire conversation had been recorded. I promptly forwarded the recording to HR, which doesn't bode well for Karen. This incident could greatly affect her standing with our firm given that she's still in her six-month probationary period, which she is only halfway through.
Accusations like these, if proven baseless, could have serious implications on her job security.
28. Finders Ain’t Keepers
As someone struggling with autism and severe PTSD, I also juggle having a myriad of medications for depression and migraines, and living in a section 8 apartment that I've recently moved into after waiting for years.
It's important to mention that I don't like being touched or exposed to loud noises, and I especially hate the thought of anyone stealing my possessions. I relocated to this city for section 8 accommodation, and shortly thereafter I received a gift from a friend: a shiny, new razor kick scooter for commuting around my new neighborhood.
I absolutely adore it: a black color, slightly more robust than standard ones for adult usage, and characterized by larger wheels. From what I can tell, stores here don't carry it, although they do have similar-looking ones in their bike sections.
Let me be clear, I don't just carelessly leave it outside while shopping. I fold it and place it in my cart. Since my nervousness keeps most people away, everything usually works out fine. However, touch me without permission or take my belongings and you'll meet a very unpleasant side of me.
One particular day, I was shopping and enjoying browsing canned food when I suddenly found my scooter missing from my cart. I quickly spotted a lady and her kid attempting to make off with it! I called out, but they ignored me. I left my cart and dashed off to confront them.
What followed was a very public spectacle: the child screeching, me getting shoved by the lady, a whirlwind of commotion that attracted the attention of the manager.
Before I'd managed to get a single word out, the woman had already started accusing me of being a miscreant, and demanded my immediate expulsion. The manager separated us, and I was sent to an office. On asking about my scooter, I was told that it had been "sold" to the woman and that I was out-of-order for having tried to retrieve it.
Feeling panic rise, I whipped out my phone to show him an image of me with the scooter taken soon after I received it. The manager’s ensuing reaction was launching out of the room, only to return later to inform me the woman and her child had already left. In desperation, I called 9-1-1.
The manager tried to block the call and awkwardly offered to buy a similar scooter from their stock, causing me to react strongly to his touch. As it happened, the 9-1-1 operator was already on the line, trying to get my attention. All I managed to communicate was that I needed help because my property was stolen.
All I could do was hold my breath—an agonizing wait followed while authorities showed up and went through the store's CCTV footage. The footage unquestionably showed me entering with my own scooter and the woman and her child taking it from my cart.
The officers were able to identify the woman from cameras in the parking lot and I followed them to her apartment. At her apartment, the situation became heated once more with the woman reluctantly handing over my scooter. The officers asked if I wanted to press charges for assault due to her shoving me earlier.
As she started sobbing and pleading, I could only muster strength enough to lay down my terms—I wouldn't press charges if she agreed to avoid any future contact with me. All the while, my attention was also on the store manager who had allowed this to happen. The officers advised me to drop the matter and I reluctantly agreed.
When I visited the store a few days later, I was updated about the aftermath: the manager had been fired, the woman was banned from the premises for six months, and they gave her a replacement scooter since she'd paid for one already. The store also generously handed me a $50 voucher for groceries since I'd left mine that day.
From that point on, the staff began to know me by name, they also actively ensured that I wasn't troubled by anyone in the store. I've since learned to keep a closer eye on my items and even got a name tag fixed on my beloved scooter.
29. Where There’s Smoke, There’s Fire
Last night I found myself caught in a strange scene fit for a movie, as the street behind my home was ablaze with whirling lights of red and blue and blaring sirens echoed through the quiet night. Well, today I discovered just what caused the commotion and to say I was struck by surprise would be an understatement.
You see, I used to have these neighbors. They were the kind of people who wouldn't hesitate to call the cops if something piqued their cautious nature. I remember one time they reported me to the local authorities because I had casually brought up their unprotected wi-fi during a friendly conversation.
Not long after, however, they packed up their bags and left the neighborhood. Just days ago, a new family filled the empty house. Their actions, however, have made our former occupants seem like a congregation of saints. Their house stands roughly two hundred feet from mine, separated merely by some naturally occurring shrubberies.
These new faces sought me out last week and I got a good look at their problematic behaviour. Their issue, it turns out, revolves around my nightly cigarettes. Apparently, they were upset with the smell of smoke wafting over their yard when I casually light up a cigarette or two before going to bed.
Now, for context, I'm hardly a chain smoker. I enjoy just a few smokes on my screened-in porch, maybe once every couple of days, each lasting only a couple of minutes. Given the healthy distance between our houses, plus the fact that we're in the open air, the odds of my sporadic smoking actually causing them distress seem incredibly low.
I tried to be considerate and offered to keep the ceiling fan of my porch running to better disperse any lingering smoke. But, I have to draw the line at pock-marking myself with bug bites simply because some people can't stand the occasional whiff of my cigars in the confines of my own property.
After all, I do have a screened porch for a reason. Unfortunately, my goodwill fell on unappreciative ears. In a rather peculiar attempt at retribution, they initiated a smoke-war last night. They dug a hole in their backyard, tossed in some green pine wood for extra smokiness, set it ablaze, and even placed a box fan next to it, setting the direction towards my porch.
After their spectacle, they retreated back in their house. Can you guess what followed? Their brilliant plan spun out of control and led to a genuine house fire. A concerned neighbor saw the flames and quickly pulled out their phone to dial 9-1-1.
The degree of damage inflicted upon their residence is still unclear to me, but what I do know is that they were quickly swept away by the responders and hit with serious penalties for their negligent actions.
I suppose I should also let you know that our county is currently under a fire warning, which only means the fines they received were magnified. It is quite the unexpected turn of events, wouldn't you say?
30. Turning The Tables
My spouse and I, you could say, are gracefully journeying through the "golden years" of our lives, having spent many memorable decades together. That's right- we're steadily sailing on the serene sea of our later years.
The woman I've been fortunate to call my wife is not just your ordinary type, she possesses a spirited demeanor marked by a 'can do' attitude and an unwavering stance towards taking control, which I absolutely adore in her.
This dynamism of hers keeps me alert, spurs me on to become an even better version of myself, and she truly is the vital cog in all the successes I have achieved, however humble they may be.
She is an intricate bundle of brilliance, brimming with wit and a certain dose of sarcasm, and she even masterfully weaves sailor's slang into her daily discourse. It is remarkable that as years have passed, it seems she's discarded the last vestiges of her verbal filter altogether!
A few months ago, we decided to give ourselves a little bit of indulgent luxury, a break from our conventional dinner setup. We planned to dine at a high-end restaurant, boasting an ambiance that exuded elegance from every nook; a place where maître d’s, sommeliers, and top-class wait staff were at your service.
She may be in her early 70s, yet radiates the vitality of someone in their mid-50s. An attribute largely due to her luxurious hair, that defies her age by lacking any tell-tale signs of gray. For our planned dining extravaganza, she chose to dress up in a beautifully tailored white blouse paired with slimming black trousers.
Accentuating her already stylish ensemble were a pair of comfortable black ballet flats. She looked absolutely radiant and breathtakingly chic. Upon reaching our planned destination we were surprised to find, on one hand, no queue outside the restaurant.
On the other hand, we couldn’t spot the maître d’ at his usual station, waiting to welcome the incoming guests. As we patiently waited for someone to attend to us, my wife decided to stand near the vacant podium whereas I chose to take a seat.
Before long, another couple walked in, and to our amusement, the gentleman mistook my wife for an employee and informed her about his booking. Exhibiting her usual grace, my wife assured them that someone would be with them shortly, but her response was met with an irritable demand for immediate seating.
Being the quick thinker that she is, my wife came up with an ingenious way to handle the situation - she took them on a guided tour of the restaurant, eventually leading them right back to the entrance. With dramatic flair, she gestured towards the bench, instructing them to "TAKE A SEAT!"
Seeing the bewildered expression on the men's face was priceless. My wife then made it crystal clear that not only was she a fellow customer like them, but she had merely carried out their request.
Just as they were trying to regain their composure, the actual maître d’ made his appearance, we were shown to our table, and the awkward situation was diffused without any ensuing drama or threats.
Admittedly, the meal was on the steeper side, price wise, but we thoroughly enjoyed our evening. The other couple maintained a safe distance from us, although we did notice occasional glare in our direction throughout the evening. In the end, it certainly was an amusing night to remember.
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31. Time Isn’t On Your Side
I'm currently a receptionist at a health clinic, not exactly what I'd call my dream job. But I do take it seriously as it involves the health of other people. Beyond that, it's my responsibility to do my best at work and avoiding unnecessary extra work later is a big part of that.
I've encountered my fair share of unruly patients, including an elderly lady who attempted to whack my colleague with a cane. We all got a chuckle out of that one for weeks.
But there was one patient who takes the cake. They came in with three pages worth of tests to be done--that's a long list, but not the longest I've seen. I got to work entering each test into our system. Remember, that's only a part of the process.
It's often necessary to send additional requests and enter codes into the health insurance system, depending on the insurance plan. The patient was on the phone for a while, so it started off fairly quiet.
But as soon as they hung up, they erupted into a loud tirade about how I was taking too long and how they couldn't afford to spend all this time here. In the most professional manner possible, I calmly explained what I was doing.
I was entering their order into a set contract and waiting for a response from the insurance company. When they asked to speak with my supervisor, he was already on his way over to see what the fuss was about. My supervisor, being experienced with irate patients, understood that these procedures simply can't be rushed.
Still, he had a go at explaining the situation to the patient. Despite his patience, the customer wasn't having any of it and demanded that my supervisor take over the creation of the record.
My supervisor, in his role as the area manager, had to step in. Here's what the customer didn't understand: all the forms must be completed by the employee who initiated the request.
That meant I was off the hook. I erased everything that I'd spent nearly two hours working on with a big smile. Bonus? I had the satisfaction of canceling their request for health insurance. They were in for another long wait for their paperwork to be completed.
Plus, they'd have to wait even longer for their tests to be approved by the insurance company. Enjoy that!
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32. The Man In Me
Let me share with you a rather interesting story about what happened to me the previous weekend. Just as a bit of background, I work part-time as a delivery guy for DoorDash during the weekends. It's a convenient way to earn some additional income alongside my regular job.
Now, last Saturday was typically like any other day until my wife, knowing I would be out running about town, sent me a text requesting me to stop by the store to pick up some tampons for her before I came back home.
She was thoughtful enough to send me a picture of the exact box she wanted which was a great help, considering I had never purchased a box of tampons before. So, imagine me in the feminine products aisle, looking slightly bewildered. Even with the photograph for guidance, I was struggling to find the right box amid the sea of products.
Then, out of the blue, I overheard a woman—and she made quite a derogatory comment: "No matter how you dress, you're still born a woman." Confused, I looked around trying to figure out who she was referring to when I realized she was glaring right at me. She was your quintessential difficult person.
Based on her appearance, I'd say she was in her late 40s, not really much older than myself. Unsure of what was happening, I asked her politely, "I beg your pardon, were you addressing me?" as I took a quick look around to verify there was nobody else in the aisle but the two of us.
Without expressing any hint of apology, she rolled her eyes and proceeded to make an unfavorable speech about transgender individuals, throwing offensive comments about anyone who identifies as such. At the end of her tirade, I just couldn't hold back my laughter.
At my reaction, she grew increasingly flustered—her face turned as red as the DoorDash bandanna on my head. She was gearing up to yell when I interjected.
Given that I'm fairly tall and broad, standing at 6'1" and weighing 280 pounds, I voiced out quite firmly, "Please wait a moment, ma'am. If I were a woman, wouldn't I know exactly what box to grab without breaking a sweat? Isn't it quite commonplace to see a man purchasing tampons? I'm simply fulfilling a husband's duty.
My wife requested tampons, and I am fully committed to returning home with them." I then showed her the picture on my phone of the product I was supposed to buy, even asking if she could spot it on the shelves anywhere.
The transformation of her expression was instant: her face blanched as she backtracked quickly, the shock palpable on her face. She hastily scampered away, looking rather flustered, and almost cried as she disappeared down the aisle.
Left to my own devices again, I eventually found the desired box, checked out, and headed home to my welcoming and thankful wife.
33. Keeping It OUT Of The Family
It's a complex situation that I find myself in. You see, my family—my mother and father, and most importantly, my sister, have been expressing their disapproval of me taking up an exciting job offer that would have us uprooting and relocating to a different country. Their primary concern revolves around my little girl.
Now, this is where it gets a bit complicated. You see, my daughter has a unique relationship with us—while she is biologically my sister's daughter, I adopted her and am now her legal guardian. The same sister is now trying to dissuade me from pursuing what could potentially prove to be a great opportunity, work-wise.
Things took a particularly troubling turn when I got a call from my daughter's school. They told me an unidentified woman attempted to pick my daughter up from school before the regular time, claiming to be her mother.
To add to the confusion and concern, this woman put forth an alleged "family emergency" as the reason she needed to take my daughter home. Now, in my arrangement with them, only I, her father, and my best friend are authorized to pick her up. None of us were this mystery woman. Alarm bells were instantly ringing in my head.
When the school asked this woman for proof of identity, she attempted to dodge their request, saying she had forgotten her ID at home. When they stood their ground, informing her that she wouldn't be allowed to take my daughter without any ID, she created quite a ruckus before finally storming out in anger.
The fallout from this incident has had me tangled up in numerous phone conversations with my legal team and my boss throughout the entire day. My initial plans have been thrown into disarray. I had wanted to give my daughter a final Christmas celebration in the only home she has known so far.
However, after this incident, it's quite clear that cannot happen. We're not safe here anymore. So now, we're speeding up the moving process. I've been speaking with my company, and they're immensely supportive. They're going to put us up in a hotel until we find our footing.
And in the meantime, they're going to assist us in securing a more permanent and safe home for us.
34. A Crown Vic And A Clown Sib
I have a brother named Dave, whose destiny seemed to be a constant nuisance in my life since we were both kids - only a year apart. Dave has always cherished the opportunity to tease and torment me, transforming my life into something of a rollercoaster.
He would often hide under the guise of 'brotherly love,’ leaving me to grapple with his antics. Is it any wonder that I bolted from home as soon as I turned eighteen? I found solace with my uncle, a retired cop with a heart of gold.
One of the highlights of moving in with him was the time he passed down his retired Crown Victoria to me, a gift that I've held close to my heart ever since. Strangely, this car—sturdy and reliable—became an object of spite for Dave, possibly because his cars seemed to have a knack for falling apart while the Crown Vic remained unscathed.
One day, after Dave's third car met a predictable end, he had the audacity to ask if he could borrow mine. The request filled me with dread. A chill ran down my spine at the prospect of my lovingly maintained car in the hands of notorious Dave.
Despite his insistence and his argument about needing a car for work, I stood my ground and refused him. Not even my parents' persuasive calls could get me to bend. After all, Dave wasn't the only one with a job to get to.
Soon after, I woke up one night to find that my car had somehow gone missing. Calls to Dave's phone rang into oblivion, and my parents were left to spill the beans: Dave had defied my explicit refusal and taken the car anyway. To make matters more complicated, they admitted they had procured a spare set of keys from an online seller.
I sternly warned him of the potential legal consequences if he were to pull such a stunt again. Fast-forward to the merry holiday season, on a crisp Christmas Day. I was enjoying the festive decorations, the smell of mulled wine, and the company of my loved ones when I realized my car was missing from its usual spot.
I tried to remain calm as I pulled up my car's tracking app, a security measure my wise uncle had installed. Looking at the app painted a clear picture: Dave was at it again, joyriding with my treasured car. I tried to confront him via a phone call, but he audaciously dismissed my concerns and abruptly hung up.
The car's status on the app soon changed to 'parked,' and it remained unmoving. The realization was bitter: Dave had crashed my car, unable to safely navigate the icy winter roads with the vehicle's rear-wheel drive. Add to that, it soon came to light that he had been drinking.
My parents attempted to cover up Dave's reckless behavior, but thanks to the officers recognizing my uncle's car, the truth quickly began to unravel. Compounding the situation further, it was revealed that Dave was driving with a suspended license. Fortunately, my Crown Vic sustained only minor damages.
It was a heartening discovery that a new bumper, headlight, and grill could restore it to its former glory. After this ordeal, Dave had little choice but to offer me an apology, promising to fix the damages he had caused and pledging to respect my boundaries in the future.
My parents, true to their previous form, chose to sweep the entire incident under the carpet. Not surprisingly, they were in denial, continuing to live in a world where it hadn't actually happened at all.
This entire episode provided Dave with a much-needed reality check, while I was left more convinced than ever about the validity of my initial distrust of entrusting my precious vehicle to him.
35. I Do & You Don’t
To begin, I'm getting married in April, a spring wedding which is something my fiancé and I have always dreamt of. However, there's a hiccup – my older brother. Last weekend, my parents invited me over, refusing to divulge the reason until I arrived. After being seated alongside my brother, I was told that he planned to propose to his girlfriend during my wedding.
Safe to say, I was livid. I refused strongly, only to find myself cornered as they all teamed up against me. I then made it clear that if they chose to go ahead with this, they'll be uninvited and the financial support I have been providing them would be cut off, too.
To provide context, I've been assisting my parents with their mortgage payments ever since they took out a second one for my brother's education. Because I landed a good, well-paying job, I've been able to send them $500 every month to help out, all out of goodwill without any expectation.
However, the following day, my brother confronted me, blaming me for spoiling his proposal plans. I retorted that my wedding day was not about him and that he would be firmly escorted out if he tried to propose. His hurtful words merely met with my calm resolve.
This led to my brother narrating a twisted version of events to our grandmother, the only surviving grandparent, who, unsurprisingly, took his side. Even after I explained the actual situation, her insistence on my brother's proposal plan at the wedding led to me losing patience.
The fallout reached my irate parents who were upset at my reaction. Yet, I defended my actions, stating it was necessary in face of their persistence to let my brother hijack my wedding. They had to concede albeit grudgingly, but not without calling me obstinate.
My fiancé is rightfully angry and won't hesitate to exclude my brother if his antics continue. I should say my temper is usually well-controlled, but past instances of favoritism, especially from my grandmother, have left a bitter residue which is re-emerging now.
I've had to caution my brother again, threatening to inform his girlfriend about his proposal plan. He reacted badly, calling me selfish. Though our parents were present, surprisingly they backed me. My father confessed to spoiling him and set clear new rent terms for him.
If he disagreed, he'd have to leave and find elsewhere to stay. Stunned, he turned to our mother, but she agreed with dad. In response, he decided to move in with our grandmother who welcomed him wholeheartedly. My brother read this action as our collective dislike for his engagement plans.
But, in reality, it was his choice to attempt proposal at my wedding—a point my parents highlighted. He stopped talking to them, and even my grandmother tried, unsuccessfully, to convince me once more. I firmly stated that he wouldn't have the opportunity to propose at my wedding.
I called out my grandmother's favoritism, leaving her in tears. Despite her pleas, I maintained that both she and my brother would be uninvited from the wedding if they continued their ways. My brother further complicated things by ranting and raving about this situation, resulting in his girlfriend discovering my Reddit post.
She ended their relationship, leaving him blaming me for their breakup. In the wake of this chaos, my parents decided to cut their ties and support, planning to rent out his room to make up for the financial strain he had added to. Confronted with this sudden change, my brother decided to boycott my wedding and left.
As of now, we've heard nothing from him since.
36. The Bad Wedding Hall Of Fame
So, this crazy thing happened yesterday. In 2018, I popped the question to my girlfriend, making her my fiancée. Apart from settling on a venue, we hadn't furthered our wedding plans and with COVID, we delayed all future plans until the situation improved.
So, I was on a Zoom call catching up with some cousins when one cousin's wife just takes over the call. She's not a favorite in the family, so the call ended abruptly after her intrusion. Shortly after, she called me.
Without letting me greet her, she started prodding about our wedding plans. When I said none had been made, she enthusiastically suggested we use the same venue, caterer, DJ as her wedding. She even offered her playlist and promised to handle everything.
But if there was an award for a wedding disaster, hers would be the winner. The venue was in the middle of nowhere; guests got lost trying to locate it. And it wasn’t accessible to our older family members and those in wheelchairs, including her brother.
There were also no restrooms nearby—guests had to trek for thirty minutes to find one. To top it all, cats roamed the guest tables freely and left embarrassing "gifts".
The wedding food was horrendous—smelly dishes and awful desserts. Many guests complained of stomach issues afterward. Then, the decision to hold a lengthy ceremony in the summer heat without providing water and closing the bar was a terrible call.
The staff was unprofessional. Fans were removed, leaving the folks frying in heat. And it gets even worse...The music? Loud with a misplaced playlist more suited to a child's pool party. Eventually, her friends were the only ones left on the dance floor.
After my fiancée got sick—thanks to the bad food—we ended up spending our night in the emergency room. In the present, my cousin's wife convinced me our wedding would be fabulous if we followed her plan. I cut her off right away.
In a polite way, I shared my criticism and distaste for her suggestions. I pointed out that her guests had gotten food poisoning, and that some even sued the venue. Then, I told her we had chosen our venue and preferred to seek advice from those who knew us better.
Predictably, she was upset and sent her husband to confront me about her tears. I told him she self-appointed herself as our planner, which I rejected. There was drama about calls being recorded and a fall-out on social media, but eventually, the truth came out.
Please tell me I'm not the only one who's faced such a wedding planning dilemma!
37. Not Such A Mystery After All
In case you didn't know, a mystery shopper is someone hired by a company to check out the customer service and overall good order of a store, all while blending in like any other regular customer. They're supposed to keep a low profile and not act disruptively.
Well, one lady didn't seem to remember that. It was a busy lunch period and I was alone on the shop floor while my boss was on her lunch break. I was juggling a rush of customers when this woman walked in. Even as I attended to other patrons, I gave her a quick greeting—albeit slightly distracted because of hunger.
She grumbled about the lack of eye contact and started becoming increasingly irritable while I steadily worked through the line of customers. Eventually, she stormed off in a huff. She seemingly expected me to abandon my queued customers to cater to her.
Finally, with just two customers left, she joined the line with only two items, audibly complaining. She continued to vent her frustration, murmuring about the absurd service. The till froze and needed a few minutes to restart.
I apologized to my customers who were understanding, but this woman didn't let up. Finally, I snapped. With the best customer service smile, I told her that I was in the middle of serving others, I was alone on the shop floor, the till was not cooperating, and considering her horrible attitude, I was well within my rights to refuse her service. She angrily stormed out.
The other customers expressed relief saying they were on the verge of confronting her themselves. We shared a laugh and I thanked them for their patience. They both worked in a nearby store.
Just then, my boss finished her lunch and came in, casually mentioning that a mystery shopper was expected. I swiftly briefed her about the unpleasant encounter. Just as we wrapped up the conversation, in came the Regional Manager for the company.
He summoned me to the back office and I braced myself for a reprimand. Despite my nerves, I calmly recounted the incident to him in detail. He paused, then to my disbelief, surprisingly confided that the difficult customer was his wife.
He apologized and not only assured me that there would be no adverse consequences, but also offered me a £20 gift card for my meal, stating that it was time to rethink his wife's employment.
That made for the tastiest coffee and chicken/bacon club sandwich I had ever had.
38. The Ballad Of Officer Nephew
I'm settled in a small, sweltering desert town—it's the kind of place where everyone knows everyone. Living's cheap: you can buy property for a steal, and vintage cars are a regular sight since they don't rust that easily.
After high school, I worked tirelessly at a local job until I could afford my own small home with a trailer on it, bought from a fellow local. I'm a car buff and fell in love with an '87 Monte Carlo, thanks to the sentimental attachment I had for it from my childhood.
Buying it cheap since it lacked an engine or transmission, I spent two years restoring it and by 2019, the Monte Carlo was road-ready and a joy to ride.
However, things took a turn for the worse involving the local law enforcement, which by the way, has always been questionable even before this incident. Imagine a bunch of guys not really qualified for the job, with a couple of exceptions, including my friend, the sheriff.
Enter "Officer Nephew," fresh on the force, and eager to make his mark in our small town. I was aware of him but we'd never crossed paths, until one weekend when a chance encounter with an unpleasant woman had my pride and joy stolen.
After a cancelled meet up with a friend, I stopped by a local burger joint for a quick meal. As I leave, a woman, let's call her Karen, is admiring my car. I tried to initiate friendly banter, but she decides to ridicule my look.
She audaciously doubted I could possibly own such a car. Responding with my usual sarcastic wit, I showed her the key and started to open my car. She obviously didn't like this and attacked me.
To make matters worse, Officer Nephew arrived at the scene after hearing Karen's screeching. Karen quickly spun him a tale of me trying to steal her car and before I could refute, Officer Nephew was cuffing me. Trying my best to explain, I was promptly shut down with an offensive term and things started spiraling from there.
Karen was handed my keys by Officer Nephew, who was just high on his amped-up hero act. My car sailed down the road with Karen at the wheel, while I was dragged to the sheriff’s office.
With the sheriff out for lunch and Officer Nephew in charge, I was helplessly stuck. I sat through an agonizing hour when the sheriff finally arrived, surprised to find me in detention. Stating my innocence, Officer Nephew kept attempting to dismiss me, until the sheriff had to shut him up.
Upon hearing my side, the sheriff was livid—Officer Nephew had handed my car over to a thief, resulting in possible trouble for the entire department.
I was released and the nightmare of investigating the case began. After what felt like an eternity, my car was found, totaled, a few miles out of town. The lady’s random act of destruction was a heartbreak, and Officer Nephew couldn’t look me in the eye that day.
With my insurance refusing to cover my auto, I had to receive compensation from the sheriff's office, equal to my totaled car’s value.
Officer Nephew also pitched in, emptying most of his savings as part of the compensation. Karen was eventually traced and charged for grand theft auto among other crimes, landing her ten years in prison with no parole.
Despite my letdown by Officer Nephew, I decided not to sue him, given the Sheriff's plea. Instead, I requested him to take professional training. He’s now on desk duty and has improved after mellowing down a bit.
As for me, I found a replacement Monte Carlo project car that, after a year of labor, looks identical to my old car. This time round, I’ve learnt my lesson and secured a good insurance. Lesson learned: never let a Karen near your car again.
39. Now That’s What I Call A Secret Weapon
When my daughter was nearly three years old, we had established a monthly tradition of a family dinner. We'd browse the local second-hand bookstore before dining in a nearby Mexican restaurant, which was conveniently close to McDonald's for the kid's meals. This particular evening, with our son away at a sleepover, only three of us were present.
Post-dinner, we visited the bookstore as usual, and our daughter was happily seated in her stroller, prepared to relax or doze off while we browsed. I was checking out cookbooks while my spouse explored the children’s section with our daughter, when I noticed a red-haired lady engaged in conversation with him.
Taking a short break from my rummaging, I saw the woman was still conversing – more towards than with him, and he was visibly uncomfortable. His awkward gestures and the way he pointed out his wedding ring made it obvious to me that she was flirting with him. I decided to let this roll on for some amusement later.
As I observed, my daughter, never lacking in audacity, had wound her arm around her father, giving the woman a stern look. Fearing she was about to say something cringe-worthy, I walked over.
Before I could reach them, my daughter warned the woman that "her daddy" already had a mommy, and threatened to be sick on her if she didn’t back off.
My daughter had always had a unique talent for effective, purposeful gag reflex control. Unaware of my arrival, the woman retorted, arguing that a daddy needed a mommy. My daughter exchanged glances with me, a clear signal she wanted this woman gone.
I joined my husband and daughter, placing my ring-adorned hand on his chest. Despite my obvious possession, the stranger continued by starting an absurd rant about how she could replace me, both as a wife and a mother. Amused, I asked my husband why he always attracted such peculiar characters.
The redhead escalated the drama, threatening a physical fight. I reiterated that I had no interest in fighting – he was already mine. Irrationally, she started yelling about me wanting to harm her. That was the last straw for my daughter.
She approached the woman, and as the lady bent down to her level, my daughter was sick all over her, in a calculated move of defiance. The bookstore staff, who were already on route due to the commotion, were filled in about her flirting and subsequent threats. All while my daughter got herself cleaned up.
Back at home, my husband rewarded my daughter with ice cream. When questioned about her bold decision, her reply was unforgettable.
She reasoned we'd wasted enough time talking to the redhead to no avail, so she decided to end it (in a rather thrilling way). True to herself, she once more demonstrated her knack for cutting through life's nonsense.
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40. My Drinking, Not Your Problem
I've always been one to appreciate the simple things in life. I enjoy the taste of a cold drink, savored in moderation, and always consumed responsibly. The concept of consuming alcohol and then climbing behind the wheel of a car is baffling to me—it simply never enters the equation.
I live out my days with tranquility at the forefront of my personality. I hold down steady employment, maintain a lively and vibrant social calendar, and have the good fortune of residing in an inviting, cozy apartment. To my knowledge, my actions have never led to harm beingfalling on others. This is an important thing to note.
My preferred method of spending my evenings usually involves sinking into the cushions of my comfy couch, drink in hand, and letting the worries of the day melt away.
So it's quite a common sight to spot me making my way back to my living quarters, usually clutching a pack of beer or perhaps something a little stronger, depending on my mood for the night. Sometimes, while riding the elevator to my floor, I bump into this woman.
She's presumably in her middle age; we tend to cross paths just as I'm returning home. A little while ago, I found myself on the other end of a phone call that was initiated by my landlord. Here's how the conversation unfolded: "Hey there, Ray, how's it going?" I asked.
A hesitant reply followed from his end. "This might be a bit uncomfortable, but..." "Go on, Ray," I encouraged him, "What's the matter?" The response stole my surprise. "There's been a complaint lodged against you." Taken aback, I managed to ask, "Really? What seems to be the issue?"
Turns out, our elevator companion has deduced from my routine appearances with alcoholic beverages that I host an unruly drinking habit. Worse still, she's demanded my eviction on account of this supposed issue! Well, I didn't know whether to be amazed or amused.
Such a wild conclusion based on such limited observation! After a moment of shared bemusement, the landlord and I exploded into laughter. But the cherry on top? She threatened to involve law enforcement if she saw me bringing home alcohol again. I couldn't help but chuckle. "Sure, let's see how that plays out," were my exact words.
So, with all the good humor in the world, let me set the record straight for you, dear elevator-mate. A quiet evening spent at home, accompanied by a drink, is neither illegal nor inappropriate. It's simply a man enjoying his downtime, harmlessly and peacefully.
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41. Playing Favorites
My younger sister has been the apple of our mom's eye, but not our dad's, ever since I could recall. Our parents split up when I was a teen due to mom's infidelity with an old flame from high school. Unfortunately, she's a controlling, manipulative woman. And my sister had grown to be her spitting image.
Mom always behaved as if I was under her thumb. She'd snap her fingers and boss me around as one would a pet. It was embarrassing. My sister usually sided with her, so it came as no surprise when I chose to live with my dad full-time post-divorce while my sister stuck with mom.
The two seemed to be cut from the same cloth. They barely communicated with our father unless finances were involved. But I'm more like dad, who was a successful businessman. He trained me in his line of work from my mid-teens, and after a dozen years under his mentorship, I became a partner in his firm.
Life was good until we were hit with a tragedy around eight months ago. Dad, a lifelong heavy smoker, contracted COVID-19 and, with his weakened immune system, unfortunately passed away aged only 60. We attended a virtual funeral due to social distancing, my first interaction with my mom and sister in years.
Dad was cremated posthumously and laid to rest in a local graveyard. My sister seemed sorrowful, but mom was otherwise apathetic, which hardly was a surprise considering how she'd been with dad.
She had argued for more money despite dad fulfilling all legal obligations regarding alimony and child support, including contributing $30K towards my sister's education.
My sister, who'd been scraping by on the salary of a part-time online job and her boyfriend's dwindling income, got pregnant. I was oblivious to this news as we had little to no contact.
So, it was quite a shock when one day, I answered an unexpected knock on my door to find my mom and sister. They didn’t hesitate to make themselves at home in my living room, completely ignoring my confusion. My sister excitedly examined my house while mom demanded refreshments from her spot on my new sofa.
Before I could ask why they’d arrived uninvited, my sister shouted from another room, “Mommy, it's perfect!” My heart sank. I knew exactly what was coming next. My mother launched into an outrageous plan: the house rightfully belonged to her, and I should either hand it over to my pregnant sister or share it with her while bearing all the expenses.
I was flabbergasted, but I knew where this was heading. I asserted my refusal to be pushed around only for my mother to respond with her finger-snapping and grand instructions, culminating in a comical declaration of her formal eviction notice for me. I retorted by insisting I'd call the police, leading to an unfortunate physical altercation between us.
Next came the onslaught of crocodile tears from my sister and threats from my mother of defamation. However, the entire scene had been recorded by my quick-witted girlfriend, revealing the dubious intentions of the frantic duo. I delivered a final ultimatum, asking them to leave my property for good, following which they left reluctantly.
Their unjust plot continued as they painted me as a greedy villain on social media, an act which unfortunately found support in some quarters. However, armed with the evidence on hand, I threatened legal action forcing them to retract their false accusations and apologize publicly.
42. A First Class, One Way Ticket Back To The Gate
Let me share a personal anecdote with you. Being an airline pilot is my line of work, and this tale revolves around one typical day when I was getting ready to go to work. I reside in the vibrant city of Atlanta, however, the base where I'm stationed for work is located in Houston.
Therefore, my routine often encompasses travelling by air to work. Pilots, by the virtue of their profession, are typically fortunate enough to secure a 'jump' seat located within the cockpit. On this particular day though, luck was not on my side and that preferred option was not up for grabs.
To add to my predicament, the empty spots on the plane were only within the first-class area and not in the economy or coach class, inhibiting me from making use of my employee benefits. There's a rule worth noting here; as employees traveling on the house, we can be asked to surrender our seat if there's a requirement from a revenue-generating passenger.
Rather than risking the chance of not reaching work on time, I chose to purchase the solitary remaining first-class seat using my credit card. As I get comfortable and await the plane's departure, a woman approached me, insisting that the cushy seat I was occupying was rightfully hers.
In an effort to maintain decorum, I double-checked my boarding pass before politely conveying to this lady, “I apologize for any confusion, but it appears that this is indeed my designated seat”. She hit back, arguing about how, as an airline employee, I should forfeit my place.
Suspecting that there may be a potential confusion, I asked if she wouldn't mind showing her boarding pass. Her refusal was accompanied by the insistence that she had claimed an upgrade to the coveted first class and asked that I accommodate her by vacating the seat. That's when I decided to put my foot down.
The agitated woman left, only to return with a flight attendant in tow. The attendant confirmed that I was indeed in the correct seat after inspecting my pass, a fact that did not sit well with the woman. She irrationally demanded that I be removed from the flight, arguing that her supposed ‘upgrade’ to first class overpowered my purchase.
The spectacle escalated when she steadfastly refused to produce her boarding pass for verification, all while arguing her importance over an airline employee. The commotion summoned the captain from his cockpits, who skillfully intervened in the argument.
The captain informed her that a gate agent had a boarding pass and a travel voucher waiting for her, and asked her to retrieve them. Under the false impression that she had emerged triumphant, a gleaming smile stretched across her face as she left to collect her passes.
Seizing the moment, the captain instructed the flight attendant to close the aircraft doors and proceed for departure. As the aircraft was moving away, I glanced at the glass next to the gate. There she was, the woman who had earlier believed that she had won the argument, thumping on the glass in visible frustration.
The remainder of my journey to Houston was serene and uneventful, with the first-class coffee adding a memorable flavor to the experience.
43. Susan Steals Spanakopita And Succumbs To Shame
A few years ago, I used to share my workspace with a co-worker named Susan. Susan was quite an interesting character - she saw herself as superior to everyone else, and her attitude showed it. She had this peculiar routine of arriving at the office earlier than everyone else, which at first seemed like a diligent work habit.
However, a few months into working with her, I discovered her real motivation: she liked to snatch other people's snacks from the office refrigerator. Moreover, she didn't stop at just raiding the fridge! She would slyly steal cans of soda from the pack that a colleague sitting next to me kept at his desk.
She had a particular taste for my chocolates or my high-quality granola bars. She would take them straight out of my desk drawer, depending on what I had on hand. Despite her knack for thievery, her misdeeds eventually caught up with her during our annual office Christmas party.
One of our colleagues, famous in the office for her superb Greek cooking skills, always managed to outshine everyone else. For that year's party, this culinary whiz had prepared a large tray of delectable bite-sized spinach and feta cheese pies—also known as spanakopita.
These phyllo pastries, each about the size of an Oreo, were beautifully stacked in two layers and were the star attraction of the buffet. Enter Susan, prepared with her unusually large Tupperware container.
You might find this hard to believe, but she had the audacity to systematically load up nearly a quarter of the whole tray into her Tupperware. She did this while scanning the room, wary of anyone who might dare to challenge her audacity.
Once she had had her fill, she brushed off the crumbs off her fingers, snapped the lid onto her Tupperware, and strutted away from the buffet table—leaving behind a trail of shock and anger on the faces of her colleagues.
Among the crowd, our office manager—the same brilliant Greek cook who had brought the delicious spanakopita—was incredibly incensed. She could not contain her fury, pointedly shouting at Susan, "WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!" The room went dead silent, followed by an awkward moment of foot-tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Arm akimbo. Susan then found herself at the receiving end of the manager's accusatory finger, exposed as the culprit in her little game of thievery. She was now known as the 'Spanakopita Scavenger'.
Red-faced and stammering, Susan reluctantly opened her Tupperware and returned the majority of the 'stolen' spanakopita back to the tray. The manager's anger abated, and from that day, Susan was forever known as the Office Thief.
44. Leaves A Bad Taste In Your Mouth
It was roughly around this time last year that I was employed as a hostess at an upscale dining establishment. We had recently thrown open our doors again after temporarily being shut due to the Covid outbreak, and let me tell you—the feeling was absolutely exhilarating.
We had come up with a new routine for me to follow as I was now stationed outdoors, tasking with carrying out temperature screenings and asking visitors a series of compulsory health-related questions, all in adherence to the strict guidelines implemented due to Covid.
One sunny afternoon, a couple walked up to me and I began by asking them the standard set of questions, followed by taking their respective body temperatures. The man, he looked to be in his 30s, showed a quite alarming reading of 104°F on my thermometer. I could already feel the tension rising.
I couldn't help but wonder if the intense heat, as it was a scorching 100°F outside, was skewing the results. However, upon repeating the checks several times, even with an indoor thermometer, the readings were consistent— disturbingly high. The woman accompanying him also had an elevated body temperature, recorded at 102°F.
I slowly broke the news to them with a heavy heart, informing them that under the circumstances, they could not be granted entry inside the restaurant and recommended that they should really be at home, given their high temperatures. The man was adamant and insisted that I check his temperature again, to which I obliged.
It’s important to mention that while I was wearing a mask during this interaction, they were not. However, since they were still in the open air, I let it slide. On taking his temperature again, the reading was still high. Upon seeing this, the man flew off the handle and started swearing loudly and quite inappropriately, much to my dismay.
Noticing the commotion, my manager started to make his way towards us. But before he could reach us, the man, in what I can only describe as a very malicious act, spat forcefully in my face. The events that followed were unbelievably worse than anything I could have ever imagined.
In a state of complete shock and panic, I made a hasty retreat inside, with my manager quickly closing the door behind me for safety. That day, I left work early. However, within the span of four days, my health took a nosedive. I felt genuinely unwell. I decided to get tested for Covid and, as anticipated, the results came back positive.
In accordance with the protocol, I immediately went into self-isolation at my home. During my time in isolation, I faced a rather harrowing experience when I completely lost my sense of taste and my ability to smell. When I eventually recovered and returned to work, I found that my basic senses were only partially restored.
Everything I tried to eat had a strong, unpleasant aftertaste—akin to rotten meat. This went on for about a year in which I was forced to subsist on a monotonous diet of bell peppers. Consequently, I shed about 20 lbs of weight.
I sought the help of specialists and had to go through a series of surgical procedures to try and undo the devastating effects Covid had imposed on my body.
In addition to my impaired sense of taste and smell, I am now also grappling with a thyroid disorder, which is believed to be a repercussion of Covid, all thanks to that reckless couple who vehemently resisted being denied entry.
45. What’s Mine Is NOT Yours
I'd been on the government's waiting list for housing for a little over eight years. Waiting for your name to be called and finally having a place to call your own can be a test of patience, but there I was, crossing that bridge. One beautiful day, out of the blue, I got a call for a flat viewing. It was a major deal, to say the least.
The place was on the small side, consisting of one bedroom, bathroom, sitting room, and kitchen, among other things. Modest by most standards, but it was key to note that it had central heating—something my previous lodging, a single room with high ceilings and a general chill, sorely lacked.
After giving it a quick thought, a wave of excitement washed over me and I was ready to sign on that dotted line. Fast forward a week, there I was, the proud owner of the keys to the flat, and I slowly began the process of moving my stuff in.
I have this so-called "friend", who, in an arrangement more out of convenience than enjoyment, I used to occasionally spend my weekends with. She put forward a request to see my flat before it was filled to the brim with my personal belongings.
Given that her living quarters were not far from mine, I thought it would be nice to invite her over. No sooner than she walked in, she started to paint mental images of how she envisioned the place, decorating it with her particular taste. Odd, wasn't it?
She seemed intent on me having a bedroom adorned with Hello Kitty themes, to which, unsurprisingly, I declined. Then, she suggested a Victorian flair for the bathroom by way of lacy wallpaper. Again, my response was a resilient rejection.
Even odder, she put forth the idea of a bed-linen changing routine to be conducted every Friday, before 5 pm and enforcing an unjust curfew of sorts where the bed was to remain unused till Sunday night or Monday. Then the truth came rushing out. I had misjudged the situation all along.
She revealed her intense aversion to her own flatmate, a mutual friend. Elaborating further, she uncovered her grand plan, which in essence was to strategically invade my lovely flat from Fridays to Sundays, under the guise of escaping her irksome housemate.
Apparently, I should be fine with this, as in her eyes, spending the weekend on her couch was something I was accustomed to. To top it all off, she proposed a full-time move into my flat, graciously paying my rent while I occupied her more expensive couch. How kind of her, really!
All the while, she was bursting with enthusiasm about "appropriately" decorating my place and ruled that no item should be moved in until it had her stamp of approval. A bit too much to stomach, wouldn't you agree? So, to cut a long story short, I showed her that the door works both ways.
I chose to cut ties with her, blocking her number, social media contacts—the whole shebang. As expected, she took the opportunity to malign my reputation, spreading an unpleasant narrative about me. However, those who know her eccentricities were quick to brush off her tales, and likely, they still do.
46. Telling On Yourself
The heart of the organization that I am part of is situated in the technological sector. We are a relatively small outfit, but with broad horizons, we have committed ourselves to the noble effort of charity. Attached to our humbly-sized department is an area which we affectionately refer to as a “break room”.
The space serves as our semi-official sanctuary, a place where we can escape for a few moments from the constant humming of our servers, the bluish glow of our monitors and the relentless grind of our daily tasks. This comfort zone that we’ve carved out comes with a few simple, yet thoughtful amenities.
We've taken care to ensure that a warm cup of coffee or a calming tea is merely a couple of steps away, available to anyone in the team who is in need of a momentary respite. Additionally, milk and sugar are also generously available to suit a variety of drink preferences.
However, the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic turned our daily routines upside down. Our once buzzing tech office descended into a ghostly silence as we scrambled to adjust to a work-from-home routine. The break room, a site of daily hustle and banter, now lay unused, its comforting aroma of fresh coffee fading with each passing day.
As days turned into weeks and then months, some normalcy began emerging from the chaos. A few brave hearts, including me, started making our way back to the once-familiar paths of the office, carefully threading the line between fear and an undeniable yearning for the old ways of working.
However, the return to office also marked the return of Karen, a character who can modestly be described as challenging, someone I, admittedly, find difficult to accommodate. Karen and I have a history that is richly dotted with clashes and disagreements.
A week or so after our return to office, she decided to mark her presence in a rather grand manner. An email composed by her landed in everyone’s inbox, the office manager being the central recipient. Her primary grievance in the email?
The break room, the heart of our communal sanctuary, had been sorely neglected during our hiatus from the office. Karen did make a valid point, acknowledging the reasons why the break room, in particular its consumables, might have been overlooked during the lockdown.
But then she launched into a tirade, a vocal outcry that lamented the absence of luxuries like bread, bagels, and yogurt for those who had dared to venture back into the office ecosystem. Our office manager stepped in, addressing her concerns using the inter-office email as her platform.
Casting a wide net and ensuring that the message stayed transparent, she copied the entire team on her response. The manager calmly reminded Karen of the established norms of our break room, reinforcing the fact that free coffee, tea, milk, and sugar were the only provisions the organization ever committed to providing, and all these had already been restocked.
Astonishingly, she also brought to light a fact that left everyone, and no doubt Karen herself, aghast in surprise. We have never, at any point, pledged to supply delicacies like bread, bagels, or yogurt, or any other food items for that matter.
In a revelatory twist, the manager pointed out the undeniable truth: any additional food items spotted in our shared fridge were always personal belongings of staff members. With that simple, straightforward statement, Karen's entitlement took a backseat, revealing her true colors.
She was the one who had been pilfering food from the common fridge all along, the secret office burglar who had remained, until that moment, unidentified. The return to office had brought with it much more than anticipated: not just a silly squabble over food supplies, but a revelation that stirred a wave of surprise and indignation among office comrades.
But as we say in the tech world, it was not a bug, it was a feature—a new chapter just beginning to unfold in our shared office tale with Karen at its epicenter.
47. Bad Samaritan
Around ten months ago, I happened to be at a strip mall when a man collapsed. His medical alert bracelet indicated a heart condition. Instantly, the paramedics were on the scene with their truck, all red, blaring siren and flashing lights, announcing their emergency nature.
Not wasting any time, they began their procedure, attaching him to a blood pressure monitor and prepping him for CPR. Suddenly, this woman who we'll refer to as Karen, decides to create quite a scene. She accuses the paramedics of cutting her off despite the obvious emergency. She's getting increasingly agitated and demands attention, even as the paramedics are trying to do their job.
Karen doesn't stop there. She blocks the paramedic trying to access the truck, forcing him to physically move her. Then, out of nowhere, she whips out a pepper spray, aiming it at both paramedics, and incredibly at the man suffering a heart attack too! This was where I felt the need to step in, seizing her spray and pinning her down with help from others; all the while some people tried to assist the paramedics.
In the suspenseful backdrop, the law enforcement officers arrived. Immediately, Karen was handcuffed, yet she still put up a struggle, kicking and biting, which resulted in her getting restrained even further. Funnily enough, she asked the officers if they knew who she was while being arrested.
In the end, Karen faced multiple charges of assault and resisting arrest. Also, the heart attack victim, who thankfully survived his ordeal, is suing her for $10 million. With her upcoming trial, it'll be quite a spectacle to see how her brilliant lawyers will defend her. I, for one, can't wait to stand witness, new suit and all.
Her punishment has already begun as her husband, a bank executive, refused to bail her out. It took two weeks for her family to cover her bail. Boy, what an ordeal!
48. Safety Last
I experience severe allergies—ones that hardly a lot of people understand. These allergies are triggered by anything that contains alcohol. Yes, you read that right. Even the commonplace items like hand sanitizers, alcohol-based wipes, and any product with an alcohol content can result in severe allergic reactions in me.
The intensity of these reactions is so high that I always need to carry my own soap because I even react to the ones you find in public restrooms. I also can't consume alcoholic beverages. Just to give you an idea, a small sip could make my lips balloon up instantly.
Now, this wasn't much of a problem when my cousin was my supervisor at work, especially during the early days of the pandemic. But when he was promoted and transferred to another office, we got a new boss in his place.
Our new manager, determined to ensure absolute safety in the office, sent out a comprehensive email delineating the revised safety protocols, which primarily included the mandatory use of hand sanitizers and antiseptic wipes.
In an immediate response, I contacted Human Resources and provided them with all the medical documents certifying my condition. I was touched by their swift understanding. They agreed that I was exempt from these specific antioxidant guidelines, and this exemption was officially recorded in my employee file.
However, things took a rather unexpected turn—the same email was forwarded to my new boss, whose reaction was far from empathetic. He rigidly insisted that every employee must strictly adhere to the new protocols, no exceptions whatsoever.
Although I gently stressed the fact that following these protocols could potentially hospitalize me, he surprisingly threatened me with termination due to non-compliance. In the wake of such a hostile reaction, I elevated my concerns to our union representative and the HR department.
They assured me that they would address the issue with my boss and asked me to disregard his threat unless he actually proceeded to take any irrational step of termination. However, the ugly face of his cruelty was fully exposed on my first day back at work.
As if putting my health at stake was some sort of a sport to him, he was eagerly waiting for me at my desk with a bottle of hand sanitizer in hand. He then demanded that I sanitize my hands in front of him to prove my stance.
Though I politely declined, not wanting to risk my well-being, he forcefully grabbed my hands and rubbed the sanitizer on them. A nightmare unfolded right in front of my eyes. He did not just force sanitizer onto my hands, but he also cruelly massaged it in all while defending his actions by claiming it wasn't unbearable.
When I tried rushing to wash off my hands, he stubbornly obstructed my path, directly causing a severe allergic reaction. Thankfully, I had been cautious enough to keep an EpiPen in my desk. While I was being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance, he continued to insist that I was merely 'acting'.
Despite the horrendous experience, the silver lining was when a representative from HR visited me in the hospital. I believe it was certainly to avert any potential legal hassles. She shared with me that my manager had been let go and that the incident was reported to the pertinent authorities.
She added that I could expect an imminent visit from these authorities as well, this certainly brought a degree of relief amidst all the chaos.
49. If You Can’t Take The Heat…
While my brother Kyle and his buddy Josh were out catching waves, Josh's girlfriend Luna and I decided to work on our tans at the shore. Given the sweltering hundred-degree heat, Luna and I donned our bikinis and settled down to chat on the warm sand.
Suddenly, I noticed a young lad, probably about 15 or 16, casting furtive glances our way. Pretending not to notice, Luna and I carried on with our beach day till the kid started getting uncomfortably close to us.
Luna, despite her petite height, sports a solid, muscular build from countless hours at the gym. This gives her an air of intimidation that many find daunting. When the kid got too close for our liking, I felt it was time to address our silent gawker, since he'd been staring for a good 15 minutes.
But he just couldn't seem to tear his gaze from my chest, never once looking me in the eye. Sure, we were clad in bikinis, but we weren't exposing ourselves. The kid's mother—a typical Karen—came striding over to Luna and me, then demanded we cover ourselves.
Luna offered Karen an incredulous look, while Karen practically radiated entitlement. "It's only fair. You're drawing my son's attention, I fear you'll lure him with your provocative attire," she declared. Luna and I exchanged amused glances before breaking into fits of laughter.
I mean, who would expect a "cover up" reprimand at a beach amid a heatwave? Anyway, Kyle and Josh returned at this juncture, and Josh promptly inquired if everything was alright. Foreseeing a showdown, Karen accused Luna and me of deliberately exposing ourselves to her son.
To which Luna promptly retorted, "Only in your son's fantasies, lady. We weren't flashing him." Karen seemed ready to lash out, but Josh quickly stepped in to keep the peace.
Seeing a cop patrol nearby, Kyle flagged him down. Sporting a red hair like my brother and I, the officer recognized his family and jogged over. After ensuring we were okay, he asked what the trouble was.
Karen smugly alleged we tried to tempt her innocent son and demanded our arrest for indecent exposure. The officer simply glanced between us and Karen.
His response was priceless, "Ma'am, my cousin is not a loose woman, your son is no baby, and more importantly, you should teach him to respect women, not objectify them during a heatwave. And, just so you know, we're on a beach.
She's free to wear what she likes." Karen stood there, mouth agape, and then pulling her son along, she hurried away. While Kyle, Luna, Josh, and I couldn't contain our grins.
Not only did I manage to get a nice tan that day, but I also reveled in sheer pride for my on-duty cousin!
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50. Sharing Isn’t Caring
A couple of years ago, I had a peculiar experience with my sister that still baffles me to this day. We had a common childhood experience of sharing practically everything, which wasn't unusual at all. When you add the fact that I was also the "second mom" to her and our younger brother, you can see how closely knit we were.
From candies and playthings to time together, she was part of everything in my world. But remember, I'm older by four years. So as puberty set in, my desire for privacy soared. It didn't happen, though.
My sister would breathe down my neck at every chance she got, even if it meant banging on the bathroom door only ten minutes after I started using it.
When we were about 15, we got separated from our brother and went into foster care. It was tough. Despite this ordeal, I didn't really mind my sister's constant company. But when I turned 16, my craving for some private items and personal space returned and she didn't take it well.
Arguments about MY stuff became the order of the day, as did typical sibling squabbles. She even developed a "the-world-owes-me" mentality over time, which was seriously grating. As a human, I sometimes lost it despite doing my utmost to suppress my irritation.
A few years later, after my daughter's birth, my sister and I had a falling-out over my decision to dedicate most of my resources and time to my child. On one occasion when we reconciled temporarily, she visited and our chit-chat somehow led to her bizarre demand to take away my daughter for a week. She called it "her turn".
I stood my ground, explaining to her, "That's not how it works. She's MY child, not some toy we take turns to play with". This stirred up a tumult, with her threatening to leverage her supposed "parental rights" to fulfill her wish.
Apparently, she believed social services would back her. I found it hilarious, kicked her out, and banned her from coming back. Frankly, I still can't wrap my head around why she thought she had a right to my daughter.
Shutterstock51. Oh, Vivian
In the city of Millington, there lived a woman named Vivian Kensington. She was the epitome of entitlement, a walking storm of demands and expectations that rained on everyone unfortunate enough to cross her path.
Vivian, with her perfectly coiffed hair and designer outfits, was so self-absorbed. She believed the rules should always be bent to accommodate her desires. She strolled into shops with an air of superiority, as if she were a queen. Her favorite place was a boutique that catered to the upper class of society.
One morning, Vivian decided she needed a new wardrobe. With her entourage in tow, she swept into the store, the tinkling bell announcing her grand entrance.
"Darlings, we have a shopping spree today!" Vivian declared, a flick of her wrist indicating that her minions should follow her lead.
Roxanne, the store manager, recognized Vivian immediately. The mere thought of dealing with her again sent a shiver down Roxanne's spine. The last encounter had involved a lengthy complaint about the store's lighting being insufficient for Vivian's delicate complexion.
As Vivian perused the racks of designer dresses, she snapped her fingers impatiently. "Roxanne, darling, I need assistance. These garments should practically leap into my arms, and I expect nothing less."
Roxanne plastered on a smile, forcing herself to remain composed. "Of course, Ms. Kensington. I'll be right with you."
For the next hour, Vivian pranced around the store, dismissing outfits with a mere glance and demanding alterations on the spot. Her entourage flitted around her, carrying bags laden with purchases and cowering at her every command.
As Vivian approached the checkout counter, she eyed a pair of diamond-studded earrings displayed under the glass. "Those earrings! They will complete my ensemble for the gala tomorrow. Add them to my bill," she ordered imperiously.
Roxanne hesitated, knowing that those earrings were the last pair in stock, reserved for a special customer who had been eagerly awaiting their arrival. Summoning her courage, Roxanne explained the situation.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Kensington, but those earrings are already reserved for another customer. We can, however, offer you a similar pair or check if we can source more."
Vivian's eyes narrowed, and her face contorted with displeasure. "Reserved? How dare you deny me what I want! I am the queen of this city, and I demand those earrings. Now!"
Roxanne, though intimidated, held her ground. "I apologize for any inconvenience, but we have a policy of honoring reservations. We can explore other options or assist you with something else."
Vivian huffed, clearly unaccustomed to being denied her desires. "This is preposterous! I insist on those earrings, and I don't care who they're reserved for. Money talks, my dear, and I have plenty of it."
As a tense standoff ensued, a middle-aged woman named Mrs. Thompson, the reserved customer, approached with a warm smile. "Oh, Roxanne, there you are! I've been looking forward to picking up those earrings."
Vivian's eyes widened as Mrs. Thompson continued, oblivious to the brewing storm. "You see, my daughter is getting married, and these earrings are a gift for her. I'm so glad they finally arrived."
Vivian, realizing she couldn't strong-arm her way into this situation, retreated with a forced smile. Mrs. Thompson thanked Roxanne and left the store, leaving Vivian fuming in her wake.
Undeterred, Vivian resumed her quest for the perfect ensemble, determined to make a grand entrance at the gala. As she departed, whispers of her entitled behavior echoed through the store, weaving tales of a woman whose demands exceeded the bounds of reason.
As days turned into weeks, Vivian's reputation as an entitled diva spread beyond the confines of the boutique. Other shopkeepers shared stories of her outlandish requests, and soon, a collective eye roll accompanied her name in social circles.
One fateful afternoon, Vivian decided to dine at an upscale restaurant known for its exquisite cuisine. The maitre d', having heard tales of her antics, braced himself for the encounter.
"Table for one, darling. Make it a window seat, and ensure the chef knows to prepare something special for me. I have discerning tastes," Vivian demanded.
The maitre d', suppressing a sigh, guided her to a table with a view. As she perused the menu, Vivian snapped her fingers at a passing waiter. "I'll have the lobster, but make sure it's fresh. I won't tolerate anything less."
The waiter nodded, accustomed to such requests, and hurried to convey the order to the kitchen. However, Vivian wasn't done.
"And a bottle of your finest champagne, of course. I deserve nothing but the best," she declared with a flourish.
As the waiter scurried away to fulfill her wishes, a server named Jake observed the scene from afar. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at Vivian's theatrics.
Vivian, unaware of the eye rolls and exasperated sighs that followed her like shadows, awaited her meal with a sense of entitlement that bordered on delusion. When the lobster arrived, perfectly cooked and presented, she inspected it with a critical eye.
"Is this the best you have? I've had better at my personal chef's table," she complained.
The waiter, maintaining his composure, apologized and offered to replace the dish. As Vivian indulged in her culinary pursuits, Jake couldn't resist approaching her table.
"Excuse me, ma'am, I couldn't help but overhear. If you're not satisfied with the lobster, I'd be happy to recommend something else. Our chef is known for his culinary expertise," Jake suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.
Vivian, offended by the suggestion that her tastes could be anything less than impeccable, scoffed. "I'll have you know that I am well-versed in the culinary arts. I don't need your recommendations."
Jake, unfazed, offered a polite smile and retreated, leaving Vivian to her meal. As she finished, she summoned the waiter again, this time with a demand for the bill.
"I trust you've deducted the cost of the subpar lobster. I shouldn't have to pay full price for such a lackluster experience," she declared.
The waiter, diplomatically navigating the situation, explained that the chef had graciously replaced the dish at no extra charge. Vivian, unsatisfied with this response, insisted on speaking to the manager.
The manager, well-acquainted with Vivian's reputation, approached the table with a practiced smile. "Is there anything I can assist you with, ma'am?"
Vivian launched into a tirade about the purported inadequacies of the lobster and the overall dining experience. The manager, keen on preserving the restaurant's reputation, offered a sincere apology and assured her that steps would be taken to address her concerns.
Satisfied with the attention she garnered, Vivian left the restaurant with an air of triumph. Little did she know that her entitled behavior had become the talk of the town, with the restaurant staff sharing tales of her demanding ways with neighboring establishments.
As the weeks passed, Vivian continued her journey through the city, leaving a trail of eye rolls, sighs, and exasperated service workers in her wake. From boutique owners to restaurant staff, everyone had a Vivian story to tell. The once-feared socialite had unwittingly become the subject of mockery and amusement.
However, the turning point in Vivian's story came during a charity event where she sought to cement her status as the city's philanthropic queen. The event, organized by a local community center, aimed to raise funds for underprivileged children.
Vivian, always eager to be at the center of attention, arrived in a gown that could only be described as ostentatious. She fluttered from group to group, offering condescending remarks about the event's organization and subtly implying that her presence alone should be considered a significant contribution.
The event organizers, a group of passionate volunteers dedicated to making a positive impact, observed Vivian's behavior with a mix of amusement and annoyance. Unbeknownst to her, they had a plan to challenge her entitlement and redirect her focus toward the true purpose of the event.
As Vivian mingled with the city's elite, sipping champagne and posing for photographs, a charismatic young man named Alex approached her. He was a spokesperson for the community center and possessed a knack for turning uncomfortable situations into opportunities for change.
"Ms. Kensington, it's truly an honor to have you here. Your support means the world to us," Alex began, his words dripping with sincerity.
Vivian preened under the attention, nodding graciously. "Of course, darling. I'm here to grace this event with my presence and, of course, my generosity."
Alex smiled, leading her toward a corner where a makeshift stage had been set up. "We have a special announcement to make, and we thought it would be wonderful if you could join us."
Intrigued, Vivian followed, the spotlight now on her as a hush fell over the crowd. Alex took the microphone, addressing the gathered guests.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us tonight. We're truly grateful for the support we receive from our community, and it's heartening to see so many compassionate individuals here."
Vivian, momentarily captivated by the attention, smiled with satisfaction. However, Alex continued, subtly steering the narrative.
"We believe in the power of giving back, and tonight, we want to highlight the true spirit of generosity. Instead of focusing on individual contributions, we'd like to come together as a community and pool our resources for a common cause."
Vivian's smile wavered, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Alex gestured toward a large donation box placed prominently on the stage.
"If each person here contributes what they can, no matter the amount, we can make a significant impact on the lives of underprivileged children. Together, we can show that generosity knows no bounds."
The crowd, caught in the moment, responded with enthusiasm. People reached into their wallets and purses, placing bills and checks into the donation box. The atmosphere shifted from one of individual grandstanding to collective generosity, and Vivian found herself in the midst of a movement she had not anticipated.
Alex turned to Vivian, his smile unwavering. "Ms. Kensington, would you do us the honor of making the first contribution? Every little bit counts, and your generosity can inspire others."
Vivian, cornered and unable to refuse without revealing her true colors, reluctantly pulled out her checkbook. As she wrote a check for a substantial amount, the crowd erupted in applause. The focus had shifted from her entitled demands to the collective effort of the community coming together for a greater cause.
The event continued, infused with a newfound sense of unity and purpose. Vivian, though initially resistant, found herself caught in the current of genuine philanthropy. The evening marked a turning point in her story, a moment of self-reflection that would either lead to change or further entrench her entitled ways.
In the days that followed, the impact of the charity event rippled through the city. Vivian's check, though a reluctant gesture, had contributed to a significant sum that would support education, healthcare, and other essential services for underprivileged children.
The local media, initially drawn to Vivian's presence, shifted their narrative to highlight the generosity of the community as a whole. The once-entitled socialite became a symbol of transformation, a reminder that even the most seemingly self-centered individuals could be swayed by the power of collective goodwill.
Embarking on a journey of self-discovery, Vivian began to reassess her priorities. The stories of her entitled behavior, once whispered in hushed tones, became a cautionary tale for those who believed that wealth alone could command respect and happiness.
