Zamboni_Rodeo posted:

Why why why is it ALWAYS loving "Bohemian Rhapsody"?

Catberry posted:

Yeah which makes locksmiths all the more disappointing. I imagine this old man dressed in steampunk gear with lockpicks hanging all over and instead I get Joe 30 something who sticks in a caulking gun looking thing and then pulls a trigger and the door opens.

chitoryu12 posted:

A minority will actually try picking a lock.

Tunicate posted:

Nah, most house locks are ANSI grade 3 'good', which are actually pretty crap and easy to pick.

Joey Freshwater posted:

$200 later all the guy did was stick these little bladder things in the door and inflate them so that the frame flexed and the door unlatched. I was furious (especially because they quoted me $75 over the phone when I told them the issue)

kimbo305 posted:

"oooh, this looks like a high quality lock in a sturdy door frame. I'm gonna have to charge a $125 difficulty fee"

ReidRansom posted:

Easy is still generous. Most home locks can be bumped as quickly and easily as using the actual key.

Aleph Null posted:

One of the Goodwill's near me seems to cater to well-off, thin people. Can't find clothes for a typical goon or goonette and they had a $50 purse. At Goodwill.

YA BOY ETHAN COUCH posted:

More like "this guy seems like a chump, I'm gonna gently caress with him"

Stoatbringer posted:

Because it's awesome.

Haifisch posted:

Are well-off, thin people the ones who live around there? There's always going to be a difference in the stuff from Goodwills in rich areas vs the Goodwills in non-rich areas, since nobody's driving more than they have to just to donate last year's pants.

r/ProRevenge posted:

EDIT: Woah! This really blew up. I didn't expect it to with the the length (new readers, this is VERY VERY long). Thanks for all the love Reddit. And to the two kind strangers who gilded this, thanks a lot.

For those hating my writing - I am sorry for the length, for my 'flowery, pedantic' prose, and bad writing. I take the constructive criticism out of this.

For those hating my personality - That's OK. I was a pesky, over smart kid in college, who should have kept to my business. Nothing much has changed in that regard.

For those who think this is fake - Of course the writing is embellished (which has bothered a lot of people I can see), but the facts and events of the story are true. Just for some context (which I did not want to mention before), this is not a story from the US or the first world. It happened in a small-town in a third world country (yes, English isn't my first language). Maybe that might help you believe. If not, I cant help you. You are free to disbelieve. I am not providing any proofs.

--------

So I chanced upon this sub (through the story about the redditor making life hell for telescammers) and I fell in love with it. This sub appeals to my instinct for natural justice, and I have a few anecdotes to share that may or may not belong here. You kind folks please decide. Here is one from my college days, 13 years ago. Settle down. It's going to be very long.

A little background. After disappointing my parents in high school with dismal academic scores and a serious predilection for teenage rebellion, I ended up in a small-town college with a close-knit Christian community, pursuing a degree in media studies. It wasn't the best place I could be, but it was fair compromise between my father's demand that I learn a paying skill and my own yearnings for liberation. Very quickly into this graduation program, I realized it was a waste and college was going to be a massive bore. So I spent most of my time courting (gullible) women or smoking pot. I am the kind of straggler who puts in the bare minimum so as not to upset the balance of the universe, and thus I made it to my final year without much of a fuss.

This is when two new characters entered my life. First was a new male professor, an external faculty, a scrawny slimy fellow (SSF henceforth). He taught a major paper and was very well connected with the local Church which had a lot of say in the college administration. On Sundays, he moonlighted as pastor for a small branch of the big church. SSF also had a reputation for acting fresh with boys. I laughed about it with my friends, until one day SSF made a pass at me. And not a verbal one. I pushed him off me, told him I am not gay, reminded him he is a teacher and asked him to get his act together. Now, I am not a homophobic. But at that point, young and freshly-assaulted as I was, I remember using profanities that would count as homophobic or hurtful. [I have nothing against gay people - go pride!] Only for those, I am sorry. Not for what was to follow.

SSF backed off, told me he was sorry. He had misread the signs. I cooled off, told him there were no signs, apologized for my abuses and that was that. Or so I thought. But more on that later.

The second entry was a new lecturer, a garrulous young woman. Let's call her Rose. She was fresh out of University, had worked a few odd jobs, and had landed this lecturing gig through some connection in the Church. She was from town, had studied in this college and knew the dean of the department well. Rose and I got off on the wrong foot to start with - a debate on art going off hand, as I found her imagining Christian motifs and theology in Picasso. She put me down, I didn't mind. I wasn't too interested either. But just to spite her, I kept turning up essays rebutting her points and she kept marking me with really harshly, supplementing the dismal marks with juicy opinions on what she thought of my intellect. It became a game between us.

Now I would like to imagine Rose had a roving eye, as she seemed to favor the young, good looking boys and really put down the girls in class. Except one. Jess had been a classmate of ours and she was a local. So, she did not shack on campus and had kept a low profile. She did not shine, but she wasn't disliked either. Suddenly, after Rose's joining college, Jess started to shine in academics. Happens often when the teacher is right for the student. Rose marked her extremely highly for a few assignments and this got a lot of nerds in class really jittery, who saw a new challenger in Jess for the crown of nerd king/queen. Some of them even read the assignments that Jess has turned in and found them highly incoherent. Nothing explained the grades she was getting. This did not bother me, as grades and nerd-drama was never my thing.

But then, by a stroke of misfortune, one of our other professors, who taught us two other papers, met with an accident and was off action for almost two months. A temp was hard to find and since most of her teaching workload in those two months was going to be practical oriented, Rose very gallantly volunteered to fill in for her. Which, it still fathoms me, she was allowed to. What it meant was that Rose was now grading our assignments and papers for three subjects and suddenly Jess' fortunes really turned. From being a challenger to the crown, she became the nerd queen, with her cumulative grades putting her on top of the pile. Jess just smiled through it all and made it out to be her hardwork finally getting recognized. A small coterie started to gather around her. It still didn't bother me. My universe was still in balance.

Then one day, one of our batchmates saw Rose and Jess hanging out after college. They were shopping in some mall. Said batchmate decided to lurk around and find out what was cooking. Imagine his surprise when he saw them walk out of the mall and take the taxi together. Imagine his greater surprise, when he followed them to find out enter the same household. Picture the pure shock for the entire batch, when a day later we were all told that Jess and Rose are sisters. loving blood sisters. Born of the same parents. All of them still living under the same roof. Somehow both sisters had conveniently forgotten to bring it up around others when they were in college. They had pulled this subterfuge for about 4-5 months now.

A bunch of nerds ganged up and approached the dean for our courses and brought her upto date to this scenario. Turns out dean knew all along about them being siblings and had actually encouraged Rose and Jess not to talk about it, so as not to fan talks of conflicts of interest. And now she refused to believe that Rose was being partial to her sister. I think she didn't want to go the trouble of replacing Rose. The nerds were heartbroken. But I was still laughing. In Rose and Jess, I saw a kind of petty evilness, that I could appreciate.

Then, for one of the papers that Rose was covering, we were assigned a practical project that required teamwork. I was put in the group with a girl I fancied and to impress her, for once I threw my minimum-effort policy out of the window. We worked on it together and our young adult rom-com had just begun taking shape. By the time we submitted the project together, this girl and I were very much into each other. Then Rose walked in and took a poo poo on the project. She made it part of our game and added those choicest expletives in her remarks for both of us, that she had so far reserved only for me. Needless to say, Jess got top marks with a lovely effort. It broke my girl's heart. She sobbed on my shoulder, my gallantry came into question, and I was finally ready to settle some scores with Rose. But nothing major. Just a little sticking it to the man.

As I have mentioned, this story is from 13 years ago. About then, the world was waking up to social media and our college was not too far behind. In fact our department had quite a chattery group on one such social media site (that does not exist anymore, but used to be named after a Middle-eastern Google engineer]. Rose and Jess were not in the group, but some of the faculty were. I started writing and posting long satirical sketches of Rose, that ridiculed her teaching abilities and poked at her extra-love for baby sister. I was hoping to get some of the faculty to take notice, but mostly I just wanted to be a dick to the sisterhood. A few days in, the posts generated a lot of laughs amongst the students on the group but the faculty stayed away. Not be discouraged, I wrote my worst stinker of a skit caricaturing Rose. Reddit I will be honest - I wasn’t kind an didn’t mince my words. It was a nasty piece of work, meant to hurt. I wrote it, posted it gloated with a few buddies who commented and forgot all about it. Here, I need to pause in my narrative -

And tell you folks about another stroke of misfortune that befell me at this point. One fine lazy afternoon, between classes, I had rolled myself a little doobie and smoked that thing in the college loo. As I stepped out, after washing my eyes – I found the familiar face of SSF grinning at me. With all the mischief and slime he could muster. The air around us reeked of weed and SSF’s grin grew broader. He told me what my options were. He could A] tell my parents; B] tell the college; C] tell the cops. OR. D] I could suck his dick and he would forget about it all together. I thought he must be joking, but SSF held that stupid grin and slunk out of the loo, stoned and slightly scared, TBH.

I had no intentions of getting anally-raped by SSF for smoking pot. But I had no time to worry about that as I started getting frantic calls from batchmates. Rose and Jess had found out about the group and my posts. Jess has made a few crying calls to people. And Rose was livid. The group's moderator - one of the our batchmates - panicked and deleted the entire thread. I was summoned by the dean for an emergency meeting.

When I arrived in her room, Rose and Jess were already there, sobbing bucket loads, calling me names, and holding up printouts of my posts. I had come prepared for this and proceeded to decimate their complaint with a well-constructed and elaborate speech on how Rose's nepotism is severely bad for the institution and student morale, and that I was only questioning her actions. Satire was just my tool to do so. Well you see, my well thought out arguments didn't appeal to the dean. She didn't even know what nepotism meant and I had to explain the word to her (I am not making this up. This dean is now a local councilwoman). She told me that I had slandered Rose's good name and brought disrepute to the college with my actions. They would have to throw me out. This I was not expecting. I had thought my speech would do the trick. I panicked. After all the effort dawdling through this course, I needed the degree. Then gathering my wits, I told the dean that my opinions weren't just mine alone. The nerds had brought it to her attention as well. The dean tried to play it down, saying the nerd issue had been dealt with, but I called BS on that. I demanded she involve my entire class to see whether they would back me up on this. Rose said they won't. Jess was sure too. The dean agreed, thinking this will sort the mess simply. No class would gang up against faculty. Like all bad managers, she did not realize that her stop-gap quick fix solution would open a can of worms.

I was playing a gamble. I had no idea what my class would say. Sure, some of them had laughed and commented on the posts, but would they really stand up for me. I had no idea I was even that liked. But I guess the class had enough of Rose. Or they just liked my satire. Bottom line is, when Dean assembled the class and called a vote on the matter, our entire class (apart from Jess) agreed that Rose was unfair and nepotistic. They backed me up. I had never been particularly attached to my class (except the girl). But now I could kiss each of them. The dean had to agree that maybe, just maybe, Rose was unfit for the job. A departmental enquiry had to be instituted, so that these charges could be heard. I wasn't going to be thrown out after all.

Rose was not happy and I think she went to Church with it. For soon I found myself in front of the President of the college, along with Rose and the dean. Rose painted it to seem like I had turned the class against her and I had inflicted psychological damage on Jess. The president consulted the dean, heard all that had happened and decided to let the enquiry make up its own mind. At this point I began to suspect the department enquiry was going to be heavily stacked against me.

As an added bonus, the president decided that the college needed an internet communication policy - a protocol on what students and teachers can say or discuss about the college and it's functioning over social media and the internet. It was to include rules on how students and teachers interacted over the internet and recommend punishment for misdemeanors. [This was still the nascent stages of social media folks. Colleges didn't know what to do back then].

Most of the college did not know about this Internet Code being formulated. I did, because the dean and Rose had both taken out time from their busy teaching schedules to inform me that as soon as this Internet Code had been formulated, I would be chucked out for my actions. My days in college were numbered. My girl cried more on my shoulder. I felt like a tragic hero, a champion of the people, who will take the fall for his brethren. My class mourned me.

In this state of mind, I returned to my dorm to find an email from SSF. He wanted to know what I had decided about his offer. In all this Rose social media fiasco, this poo poo had completely slipped my mind. I wanted to write back telling SSF to gently caress off. Now that I was getting chucked out, his threats didn't matter. But then something struck me. I started exchanging emails with SSF and realized he had no idea about the Rose thing or the impending Internet Code [he was an external faculty]. This was God-sent. You see where all this is going now.

Well suffice to say, that over the next couple of days, over a series of emails with SSF, I discussed my apprehensions about the offer and my hesitations as I was not gay. I played the scared victim here, and let him coax me into 'giving in' to his demand. Honestly, I was just baiting him. And waiting for the president's Code to roll out.

Sure enough, a couple of weeks later, our college unveiled it Internet Policy - banning social media for both students and teachers alike, and the usual set of guidelines to follow while interacting on the internet. By now I had gathered enough dirt on SSF. So, when the president summouned me for a disciplinary hearing under the new internet code, I sat down and wrote the speech I was going to give to the president. My girl was in on this and she helped me with it. Once I was confident about what to say, I printed out the email exchange, neatly bounded it all together into one file and headed to the president a little before the appointed hour. I met him and showed him the entire email exchange. I wanted to know how SSF's emails to me scored on this Internet codebook. Would it look good if I had to drag the professor, a pastor at that, and the college to court for sexual harassment? What would a good Christian town say about that? That did the trick.

His tone changed, he saw my angle in all of this and promised action. I also told the president that the dean sucked at her job which is why creep like SSF and nepotistic shits like Rose ran riot. Now I didn't want any of them - Rose, the dean or SSF - to be able to screw my career. The president assured me that they won’t be left capable to do that, but I had to keep my mouth shut about those emails. I took the deal. A week later, I signed a non-disclosure with the college, handed them all the printouts and deleted my emails under their lawyer's supervision.

SSF's contract with the college was terminated and he was expelled from his church. No one knew why. His life was destroyed, he hasn’t had a job since and last heard, he was living with and off his mother. The dean was 'let go' and she discovered a second career in politics and went onto become a councilwoman, which she still is. Rose was 'let go' as well, while Jess finished college quietly without much fuss. Last heard, both sisters together run a store in town.

I graduated with distinctions in all papers that Rose and SSF handled (thanks to the president's intervention Which put me pretty high on the merit list. And made the nerds jealous.

I don’t know if this counts as pro-revenge and I am sorry if I have wasted your time. I was just a pesky senior who screwed up, but got lucky when a professor hit on me. And yes, the college had a new Internet Usage Policy.

TLDR: Read the title.

Verisimilidude posted:

Actually kinda funny tho

ElGroucho posted:

I hope this one did happen

quote:

An Unsanitary Attitude
Medical Office | Scotland, UK | Right | May 11, 2017

(I am a doctor at a GP. I’m rather unconventional for a doctor, with tattoos and piercings. Almost everyone is fine with it after meeting me, but it does sometimes spook some newer patients.)

Me: *walking into the lobby* “[Patient]?”

(Everyone quickly glances, but no one responds.)

Me: “I’m ready to see [Patient]?”

(Again, no one. I go back into my office and wait for a short while to see if they arrive. After 20 minutes I move on. I step out of my office and hear a woman shouting.)

Patient: “I’ve been waiting! This is my first appointment.”

Receptionist: “He didn’t call you?”

Patient: “No!”

Me: “What’s the name? I could maybe squeeze you in. I’ve had a no show.”

(The patient turns and recoils at my appearance, muttering “disgusting” under her breath.)

Receptionist: “It’s [Patient].”

Me: “Ah, you were my no show.”

Patient: *agog* “He can’t be a doctor!”

Receptionist: “He actually opened [GP].”

Patient: “But just look at him! F****** horrid! You look like a junkie! I want to see someone else!”

Elderly Patient: “Good! I guess it’s my turn, then!”

(The elderly patient makes her way past me when the other patient speaks up.)

Patient: “You aren’t serious! He’ll probably stick heroin in you or something! It’s f****** disgusting! Those stretched ears!”

Elderly Patient: “Shut up! I have lived long enough to know that the time and effort someone puts into their schooling is more important than the colours and holes they put in themselves, and if you can’t see that then I pity you. Dr. [My Name], come on. This hip is killing me.”

(The patient decided to make another appointment on a day I wasn’t working and is still with us. She is forced to see me regularly now, though, as her son has started suffering from asthma, and I’m the most experienced handling the condition. He likes to ask me lots of questions about my appearance and sometimes tries to pull on my ears when I’m not looking. His mum practically faints whenever he tries, and when finished sprints to the hand sanitiser, using so much of it she gets sticky, before sprinting out of the GP altogether.)

quote:

Your Health Is Bananas
home, Medical Office | USA | Friendly | April 17, 2017

(I’m going to make this straight right off the bat. I LOVE fruit. If my friends have an apple or orange, I WILL ask them for it and if they say no, I WILL try to take it from them. My friends are all very close and they are all aware of my addiction. One day, we are all just hanging at my friend’s place, watching TV and eating ice cream while I’m eating a banana. Note: I am almost 25 years old, and my friends aren’t far behind.)

Me: *to [Friend #1]* “Dude, I swear, I love bananas.”

Friend #1: “What, is there like a rating chart for your fruit fetish?”

Friend #2: “Yeah, like, #1 is apple, and #2 is grapes, and so on?”

Me: “No, it’s because bananas have such a different taste from other fruit. It’s so tingly, and sour.”

(Cue 4 out of my 5 friends looking at my in disbelief; the fifth one is still watching TV.)

Friend #4: “Uh, I’m pretty sure bananas aren’t supposed to be sour.”

Friend #1: “Or tingly. You sure that’s a banana?”

Me: “H*** yeah, I’m sure. What is it supposed to taste like?”

Friend #3: “You may want to get that looked at…”

(At my friend’s insistence, they all drive me to the doctor’s where this following occurs:)

Doctor: “You’re allergic to bananas.”

(Yes. Almost 25 f****** years did it take me to realize that I was allergic to a type of fruit that I’ve been eating almost every day.)

quote:

Scar Still Causing You Issues
Medical Office | OK, USA | Working | February 22, 2017

(I have an I.V. scar on the inside of my arm from surgery when I was twelve. I am now thirty-two. The scar is barely visible and it should be clear to anyone who has ever had a shot or blood draw or knows basic anatomy that it is not a fresh needle mark. I routinely donate plasma at a center in my town. While the money is nice, I donate because of what I went through as a child and because my blood type is not compatible with most others but my plasma type is fairly universal. On this day I have just come from work and I am dressed quite nicely, though my hair is colored a vibrant shade of blue, which is new. I have just been called to the back for my physical exam and iron test.)

Nurse: “Hold out your arms, please.”

(I do.)

Nurse: *while poking my scar* “What is THAT?”

Me: “It’s an old I.V. scar from when I was a kid. It’s noted in my paperwork.”

Nurse: “Hang on.”

(She gets up and walks away, and I can see her talking to another nurse. She then gathers some papers and returns.)

Nurse: “Okay, we can’t let you donate with visible track marks. You’re going to be red-flagged in our system. Here is some paperwork about what that means, and the process you need to go through to be able to donate again. You will always be red-flagged, so the next time you come in with track marks or if you come in tweaking or showing any other sign of your drug use, you will receive a lifetime ban from donating plasma anywhere in the country.”

(She is very loud, especially each time she says “track marks.” Since the back of her cubby opens to the waiting room, people are now staring.)

Me: “Ma’am, this is not a track mark. It’s a SCAR. I’ve had it all the other times I’ve donated, and it is noted in my file.”

Nurse: *crossing her arms* “You can leave, or I can call security. Your choice.”

(I suddenly recognize the woman.)

Me: “Is your daughter [Name]?”

Nurse: *going pale* “How do you know that?”

Me: “You don’t recognize me. Must be the blue hair, which I assume is also why you jumped to the conclusion that I’m a drug user. I was your daughter’s eighth-grade English teacher before I moved exclusively to subbing while I get my doctorate.” *I hand the papers back to her, her face is now quite pink* “You can keep these. I won’t be back.”

Shangri-Law School posted:

Death to Patriot scum.

quote:

A Dizzying Number Of Doctors
Medical Office | Portland, OR, USA | Working | December 8, 2016

(After returning from a vacation in 2008, I had no equilibrium. I walked and felt like I was highly intoxicated. I felt a rocking sensation as if I were on a little boat on big waves, and the floor felt like a trampoline. I was dizzy and confused. After 2 months, the symptoms faded away. In 2009 and 2011, each after another trip, I had another episode. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong and bounced me from otolaryngologist (or ENT: Ear Nose Throat doctor) to neurologist and back again. In 2012, I had another episode and saw a new neurologist, hoping to finally get some answers.)

Me: *after describing the bizarre symptoms* “…and my ear sensitivity tests and [other tests] have all come back normal. My ENT wanted me to see another neurologist and see if I might have Multiple Sclerosis.”

Doctor: “MS? Obviously you don’t have MS so I don’t know why you’re here.”

Me: “What do you think it is then?”

Doctor: “I don’t know. You probably should have an EEG and an MRI, but I’m not going to order those for you.”

Me: *getting upset* “What should I do then?”

Doctor: “You should go back and see your ENT. This is clearly an inner ear problem. I don’t even know why you are here.”

Me: “I’ve had all the tests at the ENT. Everything is normal.”

(I am tired of being passed around from doctor to doctor, overwhelmed by being sick for years without a diagnosis, and the doctor is not even trying to help me. I begin to cry.)

Doctor: “It seems to me you have a problem with excessive crying. Superfluous activity of the nasolacrimal duct. Exorbitant weeping.”

(He continues thinking up as many synonyms for my crying as he can, while my frustration turns to sobbing rage.)

Doctor: “…unreasonable lamentation! Incessant lacrimal discharge!”

(I was crying too hard to even speak. He left the room and I went home. It was another year before I even attempted to see another doctor to try to get a diagnosis again. I was eventually diagnosed with Mal de Debarquement Syndrome, which most doctors have never heard of. I was paired with a fantastic neuro-otologist and have been almost two years without another episode.)

quote:

Genderalising The Cause
Bad Behavior, Grandparents, LGBTQ, Retail, UK | Right | June 28, 2017

(I work at a store where customers purchase their items and wait for them to be brought out. It is a hectic day with several staff being absent suffering with gastroenteritis, so we are a bit behind. The store is pretty packed in comparison to usual and the average wait time for collection is 20 minutes. A woman has used the self checkout and walked straight to the counter. My coworker checks her receipt.)

Coworker: “Oh, you’ve just paid. Sorry, but there is a 20 minute wait.”

Customer: “No. I will be collecting my hair dryer now.”

Coworker: “But you’ve just paid. Your order is 83, we’re just on 66.”

Customer: “I’m not waiting. Get my hair dryer NOW!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. You will have to wait, just like everyone else.”

Customer: “How dare you! This is discrimination. Just because I’m a trans woman doesn’t mean I have to be subjected to this kind of harassment.”

Coworker: “What?”

Customer: “Forcing me to wait behind all these cisgendered people, like a SECOND CLASS CITIZEN! Where is your manager? You deserve to be fired!”

Me: “What is the problem?”

(An elderly woman comes into the store at this point.)

Customer: “WHERE’S MY HAIR DRYER! WHY DOES A TRANS WOMAN HAVE TO BE TREATED LIKE THIS IN THE 21ST CENTURY!”

Me: “Madam, do you think anyone in our warehouse knows that you are transgender?”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “Or the self checkout machine you used to order?”

Customer: *silent*

Me: “Or any of us for that matter before you started mouthing off?”

Customer: “I am a trans woman, and this is discrimination!”

Me: “No, the only person who is making gender an issue in this store is you, and if you do not calm down I will have you wait outside and my coworker here will bring your purchase out to you.”

(The woman opens her mouth to speak when the elderly woman comes up and slaps her on the back of the head. The woman turns around and jumps.)

Customer: “Granny!”

Elderly Woman: “Again? You miserable, ungrateful child. We aren’t paying for your change just so you can be a c***!”

quote:

A Dress You Can Wear Once A Month
Bridal Shop, Exes/Old Flames, UK | Romantic | July 15, 2017

Woman: “I want a dress in your pastel pink collection.”

Me: Of course. Have you picked out a style?

Woman: “Well, I was wondering if you could drape it like a giant vagina.”

Me: “Umm…”

Woman: “Don’t worry, I’m not insane. But I am asking you to make me a vagina dress.”

Me: “And what is this for exactly?”

Woman: “My ex-husband’s wedding. Lord knows why he invited me. But I’m going to have as much fun with that cheating being-of-s*** as I can!”

(We did attempt the dress, but she wasn’t happy with how the period blood looked and decided to look elsewhere.)

quote:

Spoiled
Security | | Right | August 23, 2008

(On the Saturday night of a weekend-long fan-based media convention, we hold a dance for the attendees. A mother comes up to the security office and voices a complaint.)

Mother: “The music is too loud and it’s running too late. I want it shut down.”

Me: “Ma’am, our dance is scheduled until 5:00AM, and we are not disturbing any other events.”

Mother: “Well, there are kids are in there and if this thing is for kids, then there should not be a dance!”

Me: “Yes, this convention is an all-ages event, but the dance is one of our most popular events and we have no intention of shutting it down.”

Mother: “Well, I’m the customer and I’m always right! You should do what I say and shut the dance down! Where is your supervisor? I’ll get him over to shut the dance down.”

Chairman: “Ma’am, what is the problem?”

Mother: “I want you to shut the dance down! There are kids here and they should not be in a dance at this time of night! And this man is not helping. Make him shut the dance down!”

Chairman: “The dance is one of our biggest events. Closing it down would disappoint thousands of our attendees who look forward to it each year.”

Mother: “THIS IS NOT FAIR! I WANT THE D*** DANCE SHUT DOWN AND I WANT IT SHUT DOWN NOW!”

Me: “Ma’am, raising your voice will not help your case. Please calm down.”

(I figure that there is something else going on, and offer her a seat and a glass of water. She sits down calms down a bit.)

Me: “Is there something else going on?”

Mother: “My daughter sneaked out of our hotel room and I know she’s in the dance. I went in there and I couldn’t find her.”

Me: “Is that all? So you wanted us to shut the entire dance down, just to get your daughter out?”

Mother: *timidly* “Yes…”

Me: “Did you actually think that we would do it?”

Mother: “Yes…”

Me: “Why?”

Mother: “Because I always get my way!”

Zipperelli. posted:

Haifisch posted:

Are well-off, thin people the ones who live around there? There's always going to be a difference in the stuff from Goodwills in rich areas vs the Goodwills in non-rich areas, since nobody's driving more than they have to just to donate last year's pants.

Sisal Two-Step posted:

"get a poop nicely"

Sir Lemming posted:

boob hickey

Sisal Two-Step posted:

things that happened: i found a really cute pair of anne taylor pants at the value village last week. they were petites and fit perfectly.

things that didn't happen:



"get a poop nicely"

Haifisch posted:

quote:

Bananas

quote:

Elderly Woman: “Again? You miserable, ungrateful child. We aren’t paying for your change just so you can be a c***!”

BioEnchanted posted:

That happened so little I imagine I've probably played a video game about it.