Sitting On A Protein-Powder Keg

| FL, USA | Health & Body, Popular

(One of my husband’s and my friends is a bartender at a place we’ve been going to for years. He’s one of those guys who looks huge and intimidating given how muscular he is, but is basically a big, friendly, sweet dork. He works out at the gym constantly. Recently, however, he’s been having some medical problems.)

Friend: “So you remember how I told you I was having all those weird pains.”

Me: “Yeah, what happened?”

Friend: “Well, I went to this once specialist and he said it was probably scar tissue and I was stuck with it, and would just have to stop working out so much.”

Husband: “Well, that sucks, but you have to do what’s best for you.”

Friend: “No, that’s the thing! So I was listening to him, but I wasn’t getting any better.” *mixing up something in his personal coffee tumbler as he’s talking* “So I went through these three other doctors, and they all told me something different! But FINALLY I get referred to this one lady, and she runs some tests, and it turns out I’m allergic to my protein powder! And I cut it out, and she was right… I just have to stop drinking that, and I have no pain at all!”

Me: “Oh, well, that’s good.” *watching him begin to stir a familiar powder into his mug* “So… uh… whatcha mixing up there, [Friend]?”

Friend: *looks at mug, looks at me, puts mug behind his back, and grins guiltily* “… nothin’.”

(Buddy, I love you, but sometimes I wonder how you’re still alive.)


Deafening Ignorance

| Devon, England, UK | Bigotry, Popular

(My sister was born deaf but she signs and reads lips. I was taught to sign from a very early age. We’re eating at a restaurant when a group of 5 women, all in their 30s, are seated near us at a table in the middle of the floor. My sister is using sign, telling me a story about work. She is facing towards the restaurant floor and I have my back to everyone.)

Customer #1: “Oh, my god! Look at that. Do you see those women?”

Customer #2: “Who are you looking at? The girls signing?”

Customer #1: “Yeah. They shouldn’t be allowed out like that. That’s really offensive.”

Customers #2, #3, #4: “What?”

Customer #1: “Shouldn’t they have a helper? What if they spaz out or something?”

Customer #3: “Are you kidding? They’re deaf. They’re not bloody gorillas!”

Customer #5: “I’m gonna say something to the waitress. I’m not comfortable with this. I’ve seen people like that go on a rampage over the slightest thing.”

(My sister and I are just sitting, eating, while all this goes on. They obviously don’t know I can hear or my sister can read (some of their) lips.)

Sister: “Is this really happening? What is the redhead saying?” *meaning Customer #5*

Me: “She wants to complain to the waitress in case we ‘freak out’ and get all Hulky.”

(My sister laughs at this which causes all the women to look at us and each other pretty shiftily. Their conversation goes on for about five minutes. They use some awful words to describe people with special needs which gets them some looks from the other diners. Eventually another customer calls the waitress to his table. I can’t hear what he says and my sister can’t see his mouth. The waitress leaves and goes about her duties. She then goes to the table of women.)

Waitress: “Ladies, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Some of our customers are very upset with the language and tone of your conversation.”

Customer #1: “What the h***! They’re the one’s causing the f****** problem.”  *gesturing to me and my sister* “Sitting there like they’re NORMAL. How can people like that even afford to eat here?”

(This woman is causing such a scene that the manager comes over. I’ve had enough by now and go over to the table.)

Me: “Hi. I just wanted to say that I and my sister won’t ‘spaz out,’ we aren’t ‘retards’ or ‘mongs.’ My sister is deaf, that’s all. Oh, and I can afford to eat here as I work for the police, courts, and county council as a private signer.”

(Customers #1 and #5 go very red and their friends glare at them.)

Customer #2: “I am so sorry. How about if my two ‘friends’ leave?”

Me: “Of course. Ignorance is so off putting when you’re trying to enjoy a quiet meal.”

(This makes my sister laugh again and everyone looks at her.)

Me: “Oh, yeah, she reads lips.”

(The two rude women got up and flounced out. The other three women were very apologetic and kindly offered to pay for our meal but the restaurant covered it for us in the end.)


Driving Down Expectations

| Winnipeg, MB, Canada | Transportation

(When my husband and I got engaged, we asked our best friends, who happened to be married to each other, to be our best man and matron of honour. They’re lovely people, but a bit scatterbrained. We’d asked, months before, if they’d mind driving us around on our wedding day — to the photograph spot, to the reception, that kind of thing. They said that would be fine. This happened the night before the wedding.)

Matron Of Honour: “What are you guys going to drive around in tomorrow?”

Me: “You said you’d drive us in your car, remember?”

Matron Of Honour: “What? Oh, no, that won’t do at all. You need a white limo.”

Best Man: “Yeah, you can do a lot better than our car.”

Me: “Um, no, your car is fine.”

Matron Of Honour: “But it’s all dirty! We haven’t cleaned it in months!”

Best Man: *nods*

Me: *thinking* “You’ve known about this for ages… but you obviously forgot.” *saying* “That’s okay. We don’t care.”

Matron Of Honour: “No, no, you need a limo!” *grabs Yellow Pages*

Me: “[Matron Of Honor], it’s currently 10:30 pm on a Friday.”

Matron Of Honour: *starting to dial phone* “So?”

Best Man: “Yeah, so?”

Me: “So… no limo companies will be open.”

Matron Of Honour: “You don’t know that. …. Huh, it’s just ringing and ringing and no one is answering. I’ll try another.”

(I finally convinced them to give up, telling them over and over that their car would be fine. MOH still kept muttering “But you should have a limo.” By the way, they weren’t exaggerating about the state of the car – it was very dirty and had loads of fast food wrappers all over the back seat. Not exactly what I’d had in mind!)


Woman Number One

| Dandenong, VIC, Australia | Bad Behavior, Popular, Strangers

(It’s boxing day, so the shopping centre is PACKED. I’m with my five-year-old sister and our mother. Our mum is next in line to try on clothing when my sister tells me she needs to go to the toilet. I take her while our mum is in the changing room. We get to the restrooms, and the line is about five women long, so not too bad, but annoying when you’ve got a young child who’s basically dancing because they need to pee. The other women in line see her dancing, which prompts this. The numbers I’ve assigned to the women represent their place in line, one being the front, five being the back.)

Woman #5: “Excuse me, how old is she?” *she gestures to my sister*

Me: “She’s five.”

Woman #5: *speaking to the women in front of her* “Can we let this little girl go before us?”

Woman #2, #3, and #4: “Of course! Look at her, she’s dancing!”

Woman #1: “No. They got here after us, they’ll have to wait.”

(One of the stalls opened, and Woman #1 ran into the stall before my sister could get a chance. My sister started to tear up because she didn’t want to wet herself. Luckily, a second stall opened up and I rushed inside with my sister to help her undo her shorts quickly. We walked out at the same time as Woman #1, who glared at us, washed her hands, and walked out of the bathroom. I understand needing to go to the toilet, but a young child who is jumping up and down because they need to go so badly should probably take priority over an adult. I may just be biased in the situation, but it’s still not right.)


Getting Cross With The Crossing

| NJ, USA | Popular, Strangers, Transportation

(I am recovering from a minor knee-injury. No crutches or cast or anything, but I still have it wrapped up with an Ace bandage beneath my jeans and can hardly bend it. I have a pronounced limp and can’t go anywhere fast. I do still have to go to the store, though, and while in the parking lot I am waiting at the cross-walk for several cars to go by. One car stops and waves me past, I just wave back. They wave again; I shake my head and indicate my abnormally-straight leg. The driver then ROLLS DOWN THE WINDOW AND YELLS AT ME.)


Me: *shrug* “If you insist.”

(I then begin limping my way across the intersection; I get about halfway across his car before he HONKS AT ME.)

Driver: “HURRY UP!”

Me: *still standing in front of his car* “You know, if you’d just gone on when I waved you off, you’d already be back on the road by now!”

(Thankfully he wasn’t road-raging so hard that he decided to run me over; I was not inclined to put any extra hurry in my step to finish crossing the street, either.)