A flash flood inundated the store I worked at. Three feet of water, and the storm was still raging. The power went out, and I was running around in the dark, moving stock onto higher shelves.

A bunch of idiots forced open the doors and waded in.

Customer: “Hey! The fridges are turned off!”

Me: “What the f***! Get the f*** out of here! Are y’all insane?!”

Customer: “We wanted some Red Bull!”

Me: “We are f****** flooded. I don’t have the words to tell y’all how monumentally stupid y’all are being right now!”

The group of customers angrily wades to the self-checkouts and the tobacco desk.

Customer: “Hey! These are all closed!”

Me: *Done with my duties.* “I’m exiting the store now. Go home!”

Customer: “I can’t believe your registers are down when all your ATMs outside are switched off! Some customers wanna use their credit cards! What you gotta say about that?!”

Me: “That I have never wished for people to be struck by lightning until this day.”

I told them to get the f*** out one more time, or I would lock them inside a flooded building. I can’t believe some people!

In our town, our house was on a plot that was one of the highest elevations. The school was about halfway up the gentle hill that we sat on top of.

One morning, my dad said he would drive my brother and me to school, which was weird since it was just a ten-minute walk downhill, but hey, free ride!

Except… he drove to the bottom of the hill and told us to get out.

Brother: “What’s happening?”

Dad: “You need to learn what it’s like to walk to school uphill.”

Me: “Are you serious?”

Dad: “Yeah, you’re going to want to use the phrase on your kids someday.”

Brother: “But… Dad, we walk uphill on the way home from school.”

Dad: “And today, you’ll get to walk uphill both ways.”

This story reminded me of my own experience from the other side.

Some girlfriends and I are having a girls’ night out, leaving the boys at home playing XBOX.

Friend #1: *Looking at her phone.* “Oh my God! I got about ten missed calls from [Boyfriend].”

Friend #2: *Knowing all our boyfriends are together.* “That’s weird, I got nothing from mine. Maybe call him back?”

Me: “Yeah, it sounds urgent.”

[Friend #1] excuses herself for a moment and calls him back from the outdoor smoking area. She comes back in a few minutes later, looking frustrated.

Me: “Everything okay?”

Friend #1: “The big emergency was that the boys were asking themselves how many 2^nd graders they think they could beat up if they came at them in waves of ten. They all agreed that [Boyfriend] would be able to beat up the most, and he was so proud he wanted to tell me.”

Friend #2: “Ugh… boys.”

Friend #1: “He was extra happy because apparently this scenario involved a 5^th grader boss coming in every five waves.”

Friend #2: “I’ve seen some big 5^th graders, so that does make it more challenging.”

Me: “Stop! We’re going to fall down the same rabbit hole as the boys!”

Friend #1: “Maybe that was their plan all along!”

And just like that, we stopped talking about whatever we had been talking about and started talking about if the boys tried to intentionally sabotage our evening.

Related:
Too Boring To Believe

I had this one house I would deliver to almost every weekend. Every time I went, their order would come to something like $19.95, and they would pay with a $20.

Also, every time, they would send their young son to pay and pick up the pizza. The little guy (maybe about six or seven years old) was sent out because the adults knew they were stiffing me with the tip, and they couldn’t look me in the eye. The little guy would always say with a big smile:

Son: “Keep the change!”

I couldn’t be mad at him, as he thought he was doing an amazing thing.

One time, I’m delivering as usual, and the little guy is there to pay and receive the pizza as usual. This time, for reasons unknown, instead of holding a clean twenty in his little hands, he’s got a wallet from one of his parents. He pulls out a fifty, hands it to me, and says with his customary smile:

Son: “Keep the change!”

Now, I am very tempted to just leave with the fifty. You could call it compensation for months of being stiffed by no tip, but I don’t want this little guy to get into trouble because of me, so I say:

Me: “Thanks, dude, but the pizza is $19.95. Does your mommy and daddy know you’re using that particular bill to pay?”

Son: “Uh…”

The deer-in-the-headlights look from him indicates to me that he might not know how to tell the bills apart yet.

Me: “Maybe call your mommy or daddy and ask if you’re paying with the correct bill?”

Son: *Nods, and turns into the house.* “Moooom! The pizza man says he wants to talk to you about ‘paying with the correct bill’!”

I hear a voice, but see no one.

Mom: “You tell the man that what we give him each week is what we can afford, and that’s all there is to it.”

It’s at this point I realize that the mom (who is still hiding behind her child in shame), not aware that her son has pulled a fifty from the wallet instead of the usual twenty, thinks I’m finally calling her out on the months of being stiffed. She doesn’t know I’m calling out the payment because if unchecked, I’m getting a pretty decent tip!

The son repeats what his mom said.

Me: *Loud enough for his mom to hear.* “Well, thanks, little dude! And thank your mommy for the $30 tip!”

I turn and walk away, and just about hear his mom say:

Mom: “Wait… what?!”

But the son has closed the door, and I’m already on my bike before anything else can happen.

I know it wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but I did invite the mom to come and correct the situation, and she did specifically say that what they give me each week is what they can afford, so… 

They ordered on time again the next week, except this time the mom is there along with her son. It’s she who hands over the cash and receives the pizza. Payment is back to the regular twenty. As I take it, I say:

Me: “Do you need the five-cent change?”

Mom: *Not making eye contact.* “…No.” *Closes door.*

Ah, well, it was good while it lasted.

We’re all doing a math test, and we’re allowed to use calculators. The teacher is walking around the room, checking our answers but not really saying anything.

He sighs once, then twice, and after a third time…

Teacher: *Talking from the front of the class.* “Okay, I don’t usually give hints or tell you if you’re wrong halfway through a test, but to all those who have too much blind faith in their calculator, ‘syntax error’ is not the correct answer.”

Cue the sudden sound of pencil answers being furiously scribbled out…