Some people think that having a kid means that they become the most important members of society, and that deserve some kind of special treatment for it. Well, they don’t. These Redditors shared their stories of the most entitled parents they’ve ever encountered—including strangers, neighbors, in-laws, and sometimes, their own moms & dads—and they’re so deranged, they’re impossible to forget.
1. Like Taking Candy From A Baby
This happened about an hour ago. I was grocery shopping and decided to pick up a few bars of chocolates, which is when I heard the ear-piercing scream of what can only be an entitled kid. He looked like he was somewhere between five and six years of age. He began to violently pull on his mother’s arm, pointing at my chocolate bars and yelling at her to buy him some.
Then the mom says to me, “Did you have to pick that up in front of him?” Me: Ummm…What??? Mom: Can’t you see it’s upsetting my child? Me: Well, that’s a you problem. Mom: (In between trying to get her demon spawn to act like a human being) You need to put them back. My son only started demanding chocolates when he saw you take them. Just put them back. Now! You can get some later. You shouldn’t make kids jealous!
I just smiled at her and approached the chocolate shelves. But instead of putting them back, I actually took a few more. It earned me a glare from her and earned her another round of tantrums from the kid. Petty? Yes. Satisfying? Heck yes!
2. Giving New Meaning To “Food Fight”
I can finally air my uncensored frustration about the night my engagement was single-handedly corrupted by my entitled mother-in-law. Let’s call her “Ellen.” Ok, so my girlfriend and I were really engaged to be engaged. We’d both agreed we wanted to get married, but I hadn’t done the formal proposal yet because we wanted to meet each other’s families first, since neither lived nearby.
I always thought the old trope about meeting the in-laws being a big fiasco was a myth, both because I was younger and more naive then, and because I’m lucky to have easy parents. My girlfriend met my parents for a few hours. Once we were alone just me and them, I told them my intentions and my mom asked, “Does she have any kids already?”
My dad asked, “Does she have a good solid job?” And they both asked, “You really love her?” And that was that, I had their full support for the marriage. I thought meeting her parents would be the same. Some grilling was to be expected, but as long as I was honest and respectful, it would all be fine. I have never been more wrong in my entire life.
Relevant fact, my girlfriend’s parents had her when they were teenagers, by surprise, so they later had a “do-over daughter” (their words, not mine!!) who was just six years old. My girlfriend and I made the trip up to their city and I met them for the first time over dinner at a steak house. It was pretty upscale, and we’d scheduled the dinner for 8:00 pm, so I was surprised to see they’d brought the kid along with them.
I met everyone at once and the initial awkwardness settled once we’d sat down. We were making great small talk when the six-year-old said she was thirsty. No big deal right? Well, all of a sudden, my girlfriend’s mother Ellen starts screaming. “Water? Water! WATER?!” A waiter came rushing over to see what the commotion was and, without even making eye contact with the poor guy, Ellen went, “We’ve been here forever and no one’s even gotten us any water. My daughter’s been asking.”
We had been sitting for about 15 or 20 minutes without service, it was true, but they were visibly behind, and there were no circumstances that would’ve warranted that shouting. I should’ve realized from how unfazed everyone else at the table was that I should be bracing myself for a long night, but I couldn’t imagine what was to come at that point.
The waiter rushed over with water and apologized for the delay, explaining a few very large parties had arrived all at once. The guy was seemed sincere, and quite affable, so I thought the water would just be an anomaly in an otherwise pleasant night. Then Ellen kicked into full gear. “We’ll need a kid’s menu.” She informed the waiter.
He said that they didn’t have a kid’s menu, but that the chef could simplify most dishes. “What do you mean you don’t have a kid’s menu?” Ellen replied in total disbelief, as though he’d said they didn’t have a fire exit. He explained they didn’t get too many child visitors and that there were enough plain foods on the menu that no separate menu had ever been necessary.
Ellen sighed dramatically and waved him away. Literally, without saying a word, waved him off from the table. I tried to give him an apologetic glance but, understandably, he didn’t look back our way. I was so glad the poor guy left and didn’t have to be subjected to her anymore. Meanwhile, she turned her attention on me, and I almost wished he’d come back.
At least he was getting paid to be here. She was like, “So you’re a screenwriter?” And I explained, “Well, yes and no. I want to be, but it’s hard to get a job in that field that you can support yourself on, so I’m working at a non-profit right now. There’s a screenwriting component to the job though, so I’m really happy there.”
Ellen turned to her six-year-old and went “Hear that? You want to be sure to snag a man who works for profit. Learn from this. It’s not too late for you.” I couldn’t tell if she was trying to be funny or not. So, I just let it pass, looking over to my girlfriend to see if she was even considering speaking up on my behalf. Nope. The waiter came back, visibly nervous.
That hurt, because he was so relaxed and personable at the start of the meal. He asked if we’d like to hear the specials before we ordered and Ellen said sure. Here’s how that went. Waiter: First we have a lightly seared strip stea— Ellen: Next! Waiter: Oh… uh, ok. Then we have a broiled leg of grass fed— Ellen: Next! Waiter: Uh, we, uh, we have a pasta primavera mixed with—
Ellen: NEEEEXXXXTTTTTTUHHH And on and on until he’d gone through all seven or 10 specials, even though she ultimately ordered off the menu, a plain rib eye, well done. She tried to order her daughter the same, but the kid said she just wanted plain mashed potatoes, so Ellen let her get mashed potatoes alone for dinner. Then…she sent the waiter away! The rest of us hadn’t even ordered yet!
And everyone else just sat there like it was entirely normal! I waited for someone to say something, thinking it was more her older daughter (my girlfriend’s) place or her husband’s, but when no one did I couldn’t help myself. “I, uh, was the one steak and potatoes going to be for all of us, or?” My girlfriend explained, in the tone you’d use for a tourist violating a sacred local taboo, “My mom always has the waiter put the kid’s food in first, so it can get started right away. We’ll order once the kitchen has hers.”
I thought she was joking, since Ellen didn’t just order her kid’s food, she also ordered her own dinner, too. So I laughed. “Something funny?” Ellen asked. Then I realized she was serious, and I shut up. Thankfully, her dad at least recognized that what was normal for them might not be as regular to me, and tried to lighten the mood with a change of topic.
But not even 10 minutes after she and her daughter had ordered, Ellen started in again. Another table, that had been there long before we were, got a side order of mashed potatoes with their meal. Ellen threw a total conniption. She was sputtering so inaudibly that none of us could figure out what was wrong at first. Finally, she managed to flag down some busboy who barely spoke English and began laying into him like he’d just side-swiped her on the freeway.
He kept trying to explain he wasn’t a server and he could go get one, but she wouldn’t stop to breathe long enough for him to find someone who could actually help. All the while, I kept looking at my girlfriend for signs of embarrassment, or at the very least irritation, but you wouldn’t have known if she was even hearing any of this.
Our waiter came over, somehow still feigning a smile despite knowing what he was walking into, and Ellen actually goes, “Why did that table get mashed potatoes and ours haven’t come yet?” The waiter kindly but concisely explained, “Well Ma’am, those people ordered potatoes before your party had placed their order.” Ellen looks this man in the eye (finally) and says, “Well it doesn’t matter when they ordered it. My daughter is the youngest one here! Her food should come out first.”
You could tell the waiter was working hard to restrain himself at this point. He explained it was a first come, first served, policy and age didn’t help one way or the other. He offered to go check on the potatoes, Ellen agreed, or more specifically she said, “Yah, you better!” but I was clocking him and he went right back to his server station…because we had only just ordered a few minutes ago.
Three or five more minutes passed, during which we could have no other discussion at the table except how awful this restaurant was, how hungry the poor baby was (who hadn’t said a word about being hungry this whole time and was contently playing her loud iPad game, without headphones, disturbing all the other diners around us), and how America has lost all respect for motherhood because it’s just a “me, me, me” culture now.
I chimed in, “I’m with you on that last part.” And to my utter shock, instead of laughing at my joke, my girlfriend seemed annoyed with me! So after a few minutes, the waiter comes back and says the potatoes will be out very soon. Ellen then goes and does something that, again, I thought was just a myth. She took three singles and a five out of her wallet and put them on the table in full view of the waiter.
Then she took one single away and said “Every table I see getting potatoes before us is a bill gone.” I was absolutely mortified. The waiter, to his unending credit, just took a deep breath and said, “I don’t have control over the order in which the kitchen fires tickets, but what I can tell you is it should be out any minute.” And he left without saying anything disparaging.
I had been holding my tongue all night as well, in the name of my relationship, but once the tip hit the table (the $8 tip for a $100+ bill, on top of everything else) I figured if my girlfriend was half the woman I thought she was, then she wouldn’t mind my speaking up at this point. If anything, she’d be supportive, right? So I scooted my chair back a bit.
Then I said, “Listen I know what you’re doing with the cash on the table, but that kind of thing makes me really uncomfortable, and it’s just not called for. Please put the money away or we can just continue this some other time.” My girlfriend’s dad spits back, “What? How cheap do you have to be to not believe in tipping service workers?”
Before I could process whether he was serious or yanking my chain, Ellen shocked me with, “No, you know what, you’re right, this isn’t necessary.” I should’ve known better than to be relieved. I still can’t believe what she did next. She folded the bills back into her wallet, patiently waited for the next plate of mashed potatoes to be carried out, and when it wasn’t delivered to us, (it was a very common side dish at this place, a steak house) she went right up to a stranger’s table and picked it up off their table.
She half explained something about her daughter “starving” as she was walking away with the stranger’s food, but unsurprisingly, that wasn’t convincing enough for them. The old lady she took it from followed her right over to our table and tried to take it back. I was already searching for my coat tag in preparation to go, but a shoving match was beginning to unfold between Ellen and an elderly woman with a tennis ball walker, and far be it from me to sit through all that had happened only to leave just as the night was getting interesting.
The elderly woman was like, “Give me back my potatoes!! Who are you??” And the poor little girl was like, “Mommy, it’s ok, don’t take someone else’s potatoes…” But it all fell on deaf ears. Ellen yelled at the old lady, “How could you sit there and eat these when my daughter hasn’t even been served yet? She’s sitting here hungry, just a little girl, and you’re over there stuffing your face? Come on, other potatoes will be out any minute.”
And the old lady, got to love her, was like, “Great, if they’ll be out any minute, then what’s the [bleeping] problem?!” To which Ellen still found holier than thou ground, gasping, “Language, please!” Finally the waiter, and this time someone higher up as well, I think the manager, thank God, came over to separate them, as they had begun to raise their voices and cause a disturbance.
Now, staff had already asked Ellen to turn down her daughter’s iPad multiple times without heed, and I’m guessing the waiter informed management about the “tip on the table,” stunt she pulled, because this was their final straw. They told us we were going to have to leave the restaurant. “But we don’t even have our food yet!” Ellen complained at the guy.
This was clearly not the manager’s first rodeo. “You can take the food that’s already been served free of charge, everything else will be canceled. Please leave immediately.” The old lady didn’t miss her chance to knock the potatoes right onto the floor so we couldn’t try to take them with us. Nothing else had been served yet, so we had to leave without any food. But the worst was yet to come.
When my girlfriend and I were finally alone in our car she said, “Can you believe that?” And I said, “Not at all. And I really can’t believe you didn’t warn me!” And she went, “How could I have known about any of that?” Confused, I asked, “Is she not usually like that?” Even more confused than me, my girlfriend asked, “Who?” “Your mom!” “What’s my mom got to do with the terrible service at that place?”
That was the beginning of the end of our relationship. The fact that she didn’t see anything wrong with her mom’s behavior, and that I’d be marrying into that situation, shook me too deep. We both dodged a bullet in more ways than one. In hindsight, we weren’t right for each other, regardless of who her family was. Her mom saved us both a lot of time and heartache, helping me realize in one night what would’ve probably taken us years otherwise.
Within a month we’d moved into separate apartments and gone on a “break” that ended up lasting forever. I’m not sorry I won’t see you again, Ellen. I am sorry any wait staff ever will, though.
3. Grow Up
So my sister and her husband flew up to come visit the family in Canada and introduce their newborn daughter to everyone over the Easter weekend. It wasn’t a long visit, and they went to the airport this morning to check-in for their flight. My train back to my apartment didn’t leave for another three hours, so I tagged along to help with the stroller and bags.
Basically, I was an extra pair of hands so they could focus more on the baby instead of trying to juggle bags and everything. So we’re standing in line (there was an issue at the check-in kiosk), and I feel my small rolling weekend bag get extremely heavy all of a sudden, to the point where it almost yanks right out of my grip. I turn around and there’s a girl, anywhere from 7-10 years old, sitting on my bag.
Me: Excuse me, please get off my bag. Girl: My feet hurt and I wanna sit down! She then bounced in place and actually yanked the bag handle out of my grip, causing both it and her to fall to the ground. Her Mother: Don’t drop my child like that! Me: She was sitting on my bag and yanked it out of my grip. It’s barely 6:30 am at this point, and I had zero patience for this stupidity.
So I just hold my bag in my hand, out of the way for the girl to sit on. My niece starts getting fussy (as young babies will), and my brother-in-law jogs off to go grab a bottle of water to make her a bottle. They thought they would be through security at this point, so they weren’t prepared to make her a bottle. No big deal, I tell my sister to take care of her baby and I’ll manage the bags.
But behind me, the kid was just getting started. Girl: Mooooooooommmmyyyyyyyyyy, my feet huuuuuuurt and I wanna siiiiiiiiiiiit. I kid you not, this kid dragged out her words exactly like this. Mother: Hang on sweetie. My sister was adjusting the baby in her stroller in an attempt to calm her down, but from behind her it looked like she was taking the baby out.
Mother: See, she’s taking the baby out of the stroller, go sit there. My sister hears this, and she just about loses her mind. Sister: Uh, no, she can’t sit here. Mother: You’re taking the kid out, she can sit there! Sister: No I’m not, and no, she can’t. She’s a grown child, she can stand like the rest of us. Mother: Her feet hurt. Take your brat out of the stroller and let her sit there.
My sister gets this look on her face that I know very well, it pretty much promises that she’s going to ruin your life with just a few words. Sister (to me): Take the baby out of the stroller please. My husband should be here with the water for her bottle in a minute. I get confused, but I trust her and take the baby out of the stroller. The mother gets this look of absolute triumph, only for it to drop off her face as my sister then grabs my weekend bag and the diaper bag and put them right where the baby was sitting.
Sister: As I said, your child is grown, and she can stand. My child is nine weeks old. She can barely hold her head up on her own. You need to get some sense in your head. At this point in time, a check-in attendant has noticed my sister’s situation with the baby, who was still fussing, and pulled her to the front of the line to get her through.
My brother-in-law reappears right after that to help sort out bags while I feed the baby. I looked for the mother and the kid, and the girl was on the ground throwing a massive temper tantrum, worse than any tantrum I’ve seen in children half her age. The mother just looked like she was sucking on a lemon.
4. Everybody’s Got A Story
This encounter happened about seven months ago. About a year ago, I was diagnosed with cancer of the nasal cavity (stage 2). The tumor was quite large, but thankfully hadn’t spread. To get it removed, I first had to undergo aggressive chemotherapy to make it smaller. Thanks to the chemo, I had severe alopecia (hair loss), which made most of my hair and even eyebrows and eyelashes fall out.
At some point, I had to go bald, but I wore a wig, because I didn’t want to look scary. I’m 6’4″ and pretty muscular, so I thought people would assume wrong things about me. So once, after a long chemo session in the hospital, I took the bus home. There’s only one bus that goes from the hospital to where I live, so I took that one, only to see it was absolutely packed.
I felt like garbage thanks to the chemo, so I asked a middle-aged dude to let me sit. He was very understanding and gave me his spot without complaining. Two stops later, enter entitled mom, a lovely whale with an “I demand a meeting with the CEO” haircut and a 12-year old kid. It took her roughly five seconds to see the bus was packed.
At this point, she started looking for a free seat, spotted me, and started marching to me. When I saw her, I knew I was screwed. She then stood next to me and decided to talk to me. This is the conversation that followed: Her Hey, could you let my kid sit down? Me: You mean me? Her: Who else? Me: Oh, I’m sorry, but I’m on my way from the hospital and—
Her: (cutting me off) So are we (nonsense, the stop was a few kilometers away from the hospital), my boy just broke his leg and we’re coming straight from the ER. Let it be noted, her kid was standing next to her, without any support, clearly embarrassed. Me: He’s standing next to you, completely fine Her: Look here, my kid DESERVES to sit down
Me: Look madam, I’m sorry, but I just got back from a chemo session in the hospital and I need to sit down and rest (I then moved my wig a bit to let her see my bald head). At this point, she then straight up started yelling in my face Her: STOP MAKING EXCUSES AND GET OFF THE SEAT YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE. At this point, I was baffled. I didn’t know what to say. The kid was trying to make his mother stop and we had the attention of the whole bus. But she was nowhere near done.
She then grabbed me and tried to yank me from my seat. I held on tight and thankfully didn’t fall off. Now, enter my savior. The middle-aged man nearby stood up and started defending me. Him: WILL YOU SHUT UP YOU DUMB COW?!? Her: WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO?!? Him: (with ice-cold voice) Stop assaulting other passengers or I will be forced to step in. Also, every dumb moron could see that the dude has cancer.
Her: NO, HE’S JUST A GANGSTER. Him: He’s got NO EYEBROWS, YOU MORON. Seems like that REALLY offended her, because she spun around on the spot and threw a falcon punch in the guy’s face. I was shocked and in disbelief. The whole bus was flabbergasted, and the kid probably wished he’d never been born. The man then said something unbelievable and a golden karmic moment followed.
Him: Ok, that does it. Harassing passengers on the bus, physical assault against a passenger, and now assaulting an officer. You’re in deep trouble lady. She then pulled out a badge and told her to stay where she was. Then he pulled out his phone, called someone, and told her she was being detained. I couldn’t believe it, he was a bloody police officer.
At this point, she was as white as a wall. The bus had just come to a stop, so she decided she’d make a run for it, but other passengers blocked her way. She then also got charged with resisting thanks to this. Three stops later, a patrol car was waiting for her. The kid told me he was sorry for his mother’s behavior and I felt really sorry for him.
He wasn’t a bad child, but his mother was a demon. The officer then talked to me and asked me if I wanted to press charges, to which I gladly said yes. He took a statement and thankfully was kind enough to let me solve everything on the phone, so I didn’t have to come to the station for questioning. In the end, she got some time behind bars, I think it was a few months and some community service.
I, in return, got a good story to tell and the sweet taste of instant karma. Right now, I’m riding the same bus home, as I just got back home from the hospital after a check-up, which reminded me of this. I should also note that the surgery went well, and I was declared cancer-free in November. My hair is slowly returning. Also, I don’t need to wear a wig anymore.
5. A Prickly Problem
I currently don’t speak to my mother, nor have I for many months now, but somehow she still finds ways to butt into my life and the decisions I make for my child. My husband and I both come from anti-vax families. His side is against it but doesn’t shame us for vaccinating our daughter. My mother, however, really has a lot to say about it.
Since we both were raised to not believe in science, it was pretty natural for us to be against vaccinating our daughter when she was born. I had a home birth so it was easy to avoid everything. We would lie to pediatricians about it and just did what our parents did when we were kids. But eventually, I decided to do some actual research on vaccines as a whole.
My husband and I made the decision to get vaccinated as well as getting a schedule started for our six-month-old baby to catch her up. We went in this morning to get her first shots. Everything went smoothly and so far she seems fine. She has been fussy and sleepier than usual, but the pediatrician said that’s normal and will go away in a day or two.
We left feeling proud that we were able to educate ourselves effectively and set our baby up for success. Then I get a call. It’s my grandpa. Or so I thought. I answer and the first thing I hear is, “When you wake up and she isn’t breathing, you’ll be sorry!! I can’t believe you did this to MY little girl!” I hang up immediately and start to panic.
I eventually traced it back to a family member that is a doctor. I was asking her questions about vaccines and I told her we were going in today. I guess she told my grandpa how excited she was for us, and then he told my mom, and then BOOM, end of the world! My mother-in-law found out later and seemed supportive, given her opinions about vaccines.
She told us, “It’s your decision, and I trust that whatever you do is what is best for her.” So I’m glad we have her to help reassure us a bit. But now I’ve been getting texts and calls from my mom, through my grandpa’s phone, absolutely freaking out. Saying that she hopes something happens to her so I will see the consequences of my actions. Also that she is praying for her, whatever that means.
Ultimately, we are confident with our decision and will continue with her schedule. But my mother seriously needs to chill out!
6. Sit Down, Lady
I saw this today and I can’t stop laughing. I was traveling in my city’s metro. It wasn’t too crowded at that time, but all the seats were occupied. Still, you could freely stand without being humped by a stranger. There was this kid sitting in the reserved seats—the ones for people with handicaps, pregnant women, and old people, definitely not for moms of two-year-olds.
He was probably 14 or 15 years old. He is the hero of the story here. At one, our entitled mother comes in. She has this cute little child who was trying to keep up with his mom’s pace. She instantly sees our hero sitting at the reserved seat and just stares at him. I guess this was her way to make people automatically give away their seats or something.
The kid didn’t move, though. This probably irked her a lot I guess, because she moved towards the kid with heavy steps. She comes near him, stops, and again does the stare. The kid doesn’t budge. Then she starts screaming. If she didn’t have the whole compartment’s attention earlier, she had it now. She starts berating the kid for sitting in a reserved seat and not giving it to someone more deserving like a mother.
I don’t know what her logic was. The seats aren’t reserved for them anyways. She just keeps shouting and screaming and tries to get others’ opinion on it, and for a while, people were on her side. Then the kid, out of nowhere, rolls the right side of his jeans up, detaches his artificial leg, and keeps it in front of her. The look on her face was priceless.
She just backed away silently and got off on the next stop. I don’t think that it was her stop.
7. Getting The Vapors
I’m a cocktail waitress, and I’m also seven months pregnant. Now, obviously, I don’t drink while pregnant or drink on the job ever. A woman, the Karen, comes in with what I’m assuming was her husband and son and daughter and asks to be seated for lunch. We’re not really a restaurant, but we do have a small appetizer menu with sandwiches and wings and stuff.
I give them menus and Karen says, “But, wait, do you work here?” “Yep.” “But you’re pregnant, you can’t work here if you’re pregnant.” “I work here, I don’t drink here,” I say with a laugh, trying to keep the mood light. The woman looks me over and says, “Have you taken any prenatal courses? Do you really think that’s responsible to have your unborn baby in here?” This is where I made an error.
I get defensive about anyone asserting I’m a bad mother, obviously. So I said, “Well, you’ve brought your kids in here.” “Yes, and what kind of example do you think you’re setting for them?” I’m still collecting my thoughts at this point when they grunt and wave me away. I figure I can kiss my tip goodbye but hopefully that’ll be the end of the discussion.
I see them flagging down the bartender after a few minutes and figure they’re ready, so I go over. Karen asks to speak to a manager. Now, they haven’t even gotten drinks yet, so nothing about my abilities could really be wrong yet. I just ask if there’s anything I can help them with, and her husband (Mr. Karen) says really sternly, “No, just a manager, didn’t you hear my wife?”
The place is too small for a manager, it’s just servers and bartenders and two co-owners. The one who’s working is in the back on a phone call and will be MAD if I go and bother her. I realize they’re probably still uncomfortable with my being pregnant so say, “Maybe Ella (The only other server) can help?” But Karen just gets up to physically look for the manager.
I admit defeat and go back to drag her off her call. The owner tried not to let on how mad she is about being disrupted and goes over with a big smile to ask if there’s anything she can help them with. Karen informs her, as though it’s urgent breaking news, “Your server is pregnant.” The owner says she’s aware and asks if they’d prefer a different server.
Karen: No no no, she can’t be a drink girl if she’s pregnant. Owner: I assure you, none of our employees drink on the clock. Especially not our pregnant ones. If you’d prefer I can have Ella serve you…Mr. Karen: I don’t want my kids seeing this! Owner: Maybe I’m missing something. Seeing what, exactly? Mr. Karen (talking really slowly and condescendingly): A. pregnant. woman. around. all. this. alcohol.
Me: I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I would never drink during pregnancy. Then the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard comes out. Karen: Look honey, didn’t you take a health class in junior high? With a drink right under you half the time, vapor is absorbed into your blood through the air and then that blood goes to the fetus and poisons it.
The owner and I exchange a look and realize we won’t get anywhere with her. Owner: So, we can have Ella serve you, or I’m afraid there’s not much else we can do. Mr. Karen: We’re not leaving until she’s placed on maternity leave. Or better yet, fired! Owner: We can’t help you. Mr. Karen: I’ll call the authorities! You’re an accomplice to child endangerment!
Owner: There is no child endangerment to speak of sir, please leave. Karen (getting crocodile teary): YOU MAY NOT THINK A FETUS IS A CHILD BUT I WAS TAUGHT TO BELIEVE LIFE BEGINS AT CONCEPTION AND I WILL STAND UP FOR ALL LIVING THINGS BIG AND SMALL BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT MY LORD AND SAVIOR WANTS ME TO DO! The entire time she’s delivering this tearful speech she’s looking around expecting others to, I don’t know, join in with her? Applaud?
Owner: You’re disturbing my customers and if you don’t leave you’re trespassing and I’ll have to escalate this, which I really don’t want to do. Karen: JESUS IS LOVE AND JESUS SAID THIS IS NOT OKAY. JUST BECAUSE YOU THINK IT’S OKAY TO HARM A CHILD IF IT’S SMALL ENOUGH—This is an Irish pub and the owners are devout Catholics, but she wasn’t having any of this. Owner: HEY. I don’t need anyone to tell me what Jesus said. I need you to please leave.
Mr. Karen: I’m calling the authorities. Owner: You do that. We just stop trying to service their table. As we all wait for the officers to arrive, Karen keeps trying to give her sermon, but there was a game on that people had come to watch and eventually everyone yelled at her until she piped down. Enter Officer 1 and Officer 2.
Officer 1: We received a call. Is there a Mr. Karen in here somewhere? Mr. Karen: Right here officers! Officer 1: You said you were witnessing child endangerment—are the parties involved still in the bar? They point me out. I pretend not to notice because I’m worried the officers will take them outside and I won’t be able to watch any more fireworks.
Officer 2: So what exactly was going on? Karen: That woman was drinking! She’s pregnant, you can plainly see she’s very pregnant. Before I can go over and tell them she’s lying about my drinking, the officers look at each other and look back at the Karen family. Officer 2: That’s not against the law. Karen: WHAT?!?!!!!!??! Mr. Karen: Look here—
Officer 1: It’s definitely not recommended, but it isn’t against the law. Now, do you know the woman, is she a friend of yours? Family? Karen: She works here. In a bar. And she’s pregnant! Mr. Karen: I want to see this place’s license revoked. Officer 2: So, listen, she isn’t doing anything wrong. What I can do is talk to her, but we can’t take any action beyond that. Is there anything else you observed that you’d like to report?
So the second officer comes over to me and takes me to a quiet spot while the first is getting their personal information and taking the rest of the statement. Karen is crying again and I assume bemoaning being the last bastion of good Christian morality in this bar. Officer 2 introduces himself and congratulates me on the pregnancy and says I probably overheard why they were called.
He starts to offer me some public resources for new mothers, parenting classes, etc. I didn’t want to interrupt him, so was waiting for the right moment to interject with my plea of innocence. That’s when other patrons come over, thinking I’m in trouble and start defending me. We have plenty of regulars who know me and they would not let this stand.
Some even complained to the officers that the owner had asked the Karen party to leave and they’d continued to make a scene. So both the officers go talk to the owner, who said she was just about to call them herself on account of the trespassing, but sirens outside are bad for business and she was hoping the Karens would eventually leave on their own.
The officers tell the Karen party they need to leave. Mr. Karen: This is a public place. I have every right to be here if I want! Officer 1: No sir, this is a private business, and the business owners have asked you to leave. It sounds like more than once, but at least once since we’ve been here. Karen: THIS IS A DISGRACE. THIS IS AN AFFRONT TO…TO…TO SCRIPTURE AND CHILD SAFETY AND—
Officer 2: I understand you’re upset. Let’s talk about it outside. (He places a hand on Mr. Karen and gives him a firm look.) This next part was said as Mr. Karen walks out backward so he can keep yelling at us, but bumping into things every step of the way. Mr. Karen: I’ll be contacting the authorities about your license. Bump I happen to be close personal friends with the mayor! Crash And you two, I want badge numbers. Don’t think we’re done here because we haven’t even bang started!
So the officers took them out and as it was told to me by a regular who left around the same time, walked the Karens to their car, which was improperly parked in a handicap space. For which they were ticketed. They did make a complaint to the liquor authority, claiming, among many things, that we served minors. We were investigated but obviously came up fine.
8. Make Yourself At Home
I have two young adult children living at home, ages 18 and 19. They both work and go to college. I trust my kids, and I trust their decision-making skills. When they graduated high school and turned 18, new rules went into place. No curfew, just call me and let me know if you are going to be out all night so I don’t worry. You can call me at any time for a pick up, no questions asked, just don’t be stupid and drink and drive.
Yes, your significant others can sleep over or come over for the weekend, just let me know what’s going on. Pay a small rent during the summer when you are working full time and pay your part of the car insurance. You have your chores, I have mine. We all work together. I tell them if they aren’t being jerks and they listen, in turn, I listen to them.
There is very little fighting or arguing in my house. This is their time to spread their wings and learn how to be a responsible adult and have me as a safety net. Lately, one of my kid’s boyfriends has been spending a lot of time over at my house. He is here pretty much all the time. Two days ago, I got a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize and when I answered it was my daughter’s boyfriend’s mother. And she…was a real piece of work.
Me: Hello? Her: You need to tell my kid he isn’t allowed over to your house anymore!!! Me: Who is this? Her: This is “Tommy’s” Mother!!!!! Me: (I already know where this is going) OH! Tommy’s mom! I have to say you have raised a great kid! He is always polite and respectful. In fact… Her: LOOK! I don’t care WHAT you think about my kid!! He is never at home!! He isn’t spending any time with meeee!
Me: Okay? There isn’t much I can do about that… Her: Yes there is! Tell him he can’t come over to your house anymore!!! I WaNt HiM hOMe!!! AND YOU!!!! YOU SET A BAD EXAMPLE FOR MY SON!!! YOUR DAUGHTER HAS NO CURFEW AND I AM SICK AND TIRED OF HEARING HOW nIcE IT IS AT YOUR HOUSE! I miiisssssss him and want him home!!! Me, speaking very low and basically growling into the phone: Are you done yelling at me?
Her:……… ( I think I stunned her into silence) Me: I will take that as a yes. Do you trust the way you raised your son? Her: What??? Me: It’s a simple question. Do you trust the way you raised your son??? Her: OF COURSE I DO!!! What does that have to do with anything??? Me: Do you trust him to make good decisions? Her: YES!!! Yes of course. (She is starting to calm down now)
Me: Mother to mother, I know things are not okay at your house right now (her husband drinks a lot). I am trying to give your child a safe place when things are not okay at your house. (She starts to cut me off at this point but I won’t let her) It’s not your fault. Her: ……. Me: He throws your son out for days at a time sometimes, doesn’t he?
Her: Yes (I can hear her choking back the tears) Me: Do you need someone to talk to? Would you want to go out to lunch? That way you can feel safer knowing whose house your son is at and that he is safe? Her: That would be ok. We were on the phone for about an hour after that. What started out as an entitled mother was just a scared woman feeling very, very alone.
Sorry there wasn’t any righteous retribution, but I think it turned out ok. I am going to try and get 19-year-old Tommy’s curfew changed from 10 pm to midnight and maybe he can stay over for a weekend.
9. Safety Last
I am at the park with my daughter and girlfriend, helping my daughter play on the slide. Meanwhile, this crazy kid is running around. Now, I am trying to make it a personal habit to always carry my gun with me wherever I go. I fully conceal it as much as possible, but I’m guessing when I reached up to put my baby girl on the slide, the movement must have revealed it.
The next thing I know, I feel a tug at my shirt where my piece is, so I quickly turn around. It’s the crazy kid. The conversation goes as follows: Me: What’s up little buddy? Kid: Let me see your gun. We are playing cowboys and he doesn’t have one (points to friend) Me: No, no, sorry pal. No one can have this but me. It’s dangerous.
Kid: (looks angry, pretends to shoot me, and runs off). Over? I hoped so…but no. Soon I hear an “ahem.” Good lord, it’s his mother. Me: What? Mom: Why can’t my kid play with your toy? Me: What toy? Mom: The toy on your hip. Me: Um no sorry, this is real and dangerous. Mom: So just take the bullets out and let him play with it.
Me: How about NO. Mom: (baffled look) Well, I never. What’s the harm of him playing with it if it’s unloaded? Me: I’m sure you haven’t. Loaded or not, I’m not letting a child play with a weapon you halfwit. Don’t you have someone else’s business to mind? What an annoying encounter that put a damper on my already sour day. Some people…
10. The Good Father
I used to work in a small chain of bookstores/stationery shops. We’d sell books, pens, paper, and so on. It was a quirky little store, straight out of a romantic love novella. This happened a few years ago and I’m reconstructing it from my memory. This entitled mother walks into the store with her little girl. It’s rather early in the morning.
The mom looks around and asks me if I could watch her child. Me: “Oh no, I’m terrible with children, sorry.” She tells me that it’s not for that long and I shouldn’t be such a fuss about it. I still politely refuse. It’s not my job to watch children, and I’m afraid to do something wrong. What happens? She leaves the store, and who do I find hidden in the corner?
The little girl who seems to be rather shy and fearful. This happened back in a time before everyone had smartphones. The kid obviously didn’t have a mobile on her, and I suspected the mother also wouldn’t. Wasn’t too surprised that the girl didn’t know the number of their landline, either. I sigh. What are you gonna do? If something happens to that kid while being in the store and you being the only present employee, you’re gonna have a bad time.
I introduced myself, and asked her name. She told me it in full. Now this rang a bell. I had a good customer with the same surname. It turns out that it’s her dad. I didn’t get paid enough to babysit. In fact, I didn’t even get paid enough to do my normal work. I call her dad at his workplace since we saved that number in our system. The call went along those lines:
Me: “Hi, it’s bookstore XY.” Him: “Oh hi, how’s it going? I don’t remember having any open orders.” Me: “Yeah, erm, look, listen, do you have a daughter?” Him, confused: “Yes why do you ask?” When he finds out the story, he quickly apologizes for the woman’s behavior and tells me he’s gonna pick the kid up as soon as possible.
While waiting for him, I picked up one of our sale books, which was a picture book from Disney. The girl tries to read a little, I read a little. The dad arrives, and the girl runs to him and hugs him, crying that mommy was mean to her. The dad soothes her and thanks me for babysitting her. He gives me a bottle of red and buys something small from the store.
Him: “If the mom shows up again, could you not tell her that I picked up our daughter?” Me: “What. Why?” Him: “If you don’t feel like it you don’t need to. It’s rather complicated and you already did so much for us.” He leaves. In the evening, the mother shows up. Just to point out—she dropped the girl at about 09:00.
It was 5:45. A whole freaking day. Her: “Where’s my daughter?” This is where I get my revenge. Me: “Your WHAT?” Her: “My daughter. I dropped her in this store and you were here.” Me: “YOUR WHAT?” Now she was on the edge. Thus I did what I thought was the smartest thing to do. Me: “A guy came into the store and picked her up. He seemed nice. Gave me some gifts for her.”
At this point I expected her to attack me, but she just left the store. A few weeks pass and the dad and girl come to the store, both happy to see me. The dad asks me if I’ve got a few minutes. An excuse not to work? Obviously I took the time for…customer service. I gave the girl the same book we read the last time and had a talk with him.
The whole story was a doozy. The mom and dad were in the middle of a divorce when she dropped the girl at our store. One of the reasons he wanted a divorce was because the mom “wasn’t nice” to the girl. Now, in my country as a man it’s rather hard to get custody for your child. No matter what. So the mom dropping the girl in our store was a gift of the heavens.
The dad took the daughter to his sister’s overnight, and the mom pretended that she was sleeping at one of her friend’s. The dad wanted to call them just to ensure that she is fine. When he did and the friend didn’t know where the girl was (obviously), the dad faked panic and involved the police. Meanwhile, the mom starts insisting that the friend must have kidnapped the girl.
The dad had proof of it being otherwise since he already called the authorities when he dropped his daughter at his sister’s house. In court, the dad apparently said something like, “She can have all she wants, even my wine collection. I just want to be with my daughter.” The daughter ended up with him, with the mother paying alimony.
When the mother dropped the daughter off at my store, she was shy, seemed small, and now she has such a big smile on her face and is curious about everything. She seemed like a bird taking off to fly towards the sun. I absolutely hated my job, but situations like these make me a little bit nostalgic.
11. Let The Music Play
This just happened to me and I’m both shocked and laughing hysterically. I was on a bus on my way into college, listening to a punk band I’ve recently got heavily into, a band from Brixen in the German-speaking region of South Tyrol in Italy called Frei. Wild. The bus is fairly packed, so I’m right at the front of the bus where you’d park a stroller or a wheelchair.
A woman with a stroller gets onto the bus and sits in the only free seat, next to me. She looks down at my phone (why? I still can’t work it out) and sees that I’m listening to a song called “Sieger Stehen Da Auf, Wo Verlier Liegen Bleiben” (roughly translated, rather aptly, to “Winners Stand Where Losers Fall”). She then yanks one of my earphones out. “You live in Scotland, stop listening to your awful Polish music. God, all you Polaks are all the same, refusing to be decent citizens and speak English.”
Now, I’m Scottish. Born and bred. Apart from a week in Amsterdam, two weeks in Morocco, three weeks in the States, and a week in France, I’ve stayed very much in the UK my entire life. Never been to Poland, or Germany for that matter. I eventually had enough of her, so I tried to put her in her place: “This is German Music. Also, I was born here. To Scottish parents.”
Karen tried to make her rebuttal, but I got there first. “Also, how does me listening to some punk rock that happens to be in German effect you? I have my headphones, you can’t hear it.” Karen’s eyes lit up as if she’d won the Karen lottery. “Why are you listening to that sinful, demonic music in public? You’re gonna scare my kid.”
I look in the stroller. “Firstly, your child is sound asleep. Secondly, I have my headphones in, you can’t hear it, I can’t hear it. Screw off and let me listen to my music in peace. Maybe Polish people aren’t the problem in this country. Maybe it’s stuck-up judgmental witches like you.” As I called her out on this, she whacked the stop button, and yeeted herself and the stroller right off the bus at the next stop. Thank God.
12. The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far
My neighbors have three boys all under the age of seven. In my first encounter with the mom, she promptly tells me (not asks) that her kids wander. I naïvely thought that meant there might be the odd rogue ball episode or something so don’t protest at the time. Our yards are unfenced, and we share a driveway. Oh boy, was I wrong.
My yard, back deck, front garden, and even the inside of my house were seen as an extension of their space. The boys would even have sword fight tournaments on my back deck, off my kitchen. The parents would literally do nothing. I was put in a position many times to ask for more privacy as it was affecting my work and a general sense of well-being as I am a very private person.
It took some pushing, but finally, things got a bit better. They still “wander,” however to a level I am not willing to cause drama over. This past early winter, I decided to put in security cameras. I live alone in a not-so-great area and I wanted some peace of mind. I also wanted to document encroachment in case it got bad again. In that time, the cameras have picked up a lot of encroachment from kids, but I did not raise the issue.
The relationship with the parents is peaceful, and I wanted to keep it that way. Fast forward to yesterday, my camera picks up a clip of the middle kid peering into my window with a pair of binoculars. I send the clip to the parents, explaining one of my cameras picked it up and that I am not comfortable with this behavior. It is inappropriate and an invasion of my privacy. Their reply blew my mind.
They send a note back saying he was only trying to see if I was home so he could say hello. Then they insisted on knowing more about my security cameras, what they can see, and if they pick up the kids playing in their yard. I explained that they don’t…as they only pick up motion in my yard. But, if the kids are in my yard, which they are…a lot…they are recorded.
The parents are now insisting I take the cameras down. The lesson is, entitled parents raise entitled children. I am frightened to see what kind of adults these kids will turn into. Who knows if I will be here long enough to find out.
13. Queen Of The Karens
Long ago, I worked for one of those bulk warehouse club stores. My trade was simple: I was a wrangler of the silver buffalo, and dutifully retrieve the ol’ shopping carts I did. The job in and of itself wasn’t the worst I’d ever had; I got plenty of exercise, got to be outside, and generally didn’t have to interact with the “members” (calling them customers was taboo) for the most part.
For the most part. The thing about this job is that the company I worked for had a reputation for being cheap. Thusly, more often than not, I was on my own out in the parking lot. “Big whoop,” you might say. “You gathered carts? You should see how hard MY job is!” Yeah, well… Shut up. This is my story, jerk-o. I digress.
The reason that being alone sucked is that this store didn’t have just one kind of cart. Heck, they didn’t even just have TWO kinds of carts. You had your classic garden variety cart, the kiddie-cart with the plastic facade to make it resemble a car, the electric scooters (which weren’t supposed to leave the store, but did so with alarming frequency), and finally, the bulky, hard-to-control flatbeds.
On top of that, whenever someone needed help loading their haul into their minivans, I was the guy they called. You know, because the greeters, cashiers, and managers were all busy. As you might expect, one man cannot be in multiple places at once, and as a result, on some of our busier days, it became incredibly difficult to keep enough carts in the vestibule. Our story begins on one of these days…
So there I was, chugging along like a good worker drone, struggling to keep up with the sheer volume of people coming in to buy cheap bulk goods. Sure enough, I get a call on the radio: Manager – “[sktchh] We need you to help some members load their purchases. [sktchh]” Me – “Uh, I’d love to, but I’m barely able to keep up out here as is…”
Manager – “[sktchh] Just do it. You can afford to stop gathering carts for two minutes. [sktchh]” *Ron Howard voice* – “He couldn’t.” However, I didn’t want to push my luck, so I complied. After spending 20 minutes loading people’s purchases because when one person needs it, suddenly they ALL need it, I came back to find my vestibule a near-ghost town, save for a single line of carts that was half-gone, and…the Karen.
I won’t waste time describing this specimen. She was the prototype. You know what she looked like. There she stood, menacing, tapping her foot with such speed that it could make any metal drummer green with envy. You could collect the contempt in her gaze in a jar. Karen – “Where are the big flat ones?” I blanked for a moment. Me – “I’m sorry?”
Karen – “Ugh. Mexicans…” For the record, I’m very much white. Karen – “WHERE. ARE. THE. FLAT ONES.” Me – “Oh, you mean the flatbeds. I’m sorry, I was just helping some other members load their merchandise and haven’t had a chance to—” Karen – “OH MY GOD, I don’t care about your excuses, you have ONE JOB, and a TRAINED. MONKEY. Could do it!”
I just want this lady out of my face, so I don’t fight it. Me – “Sorry ma’am. I’ll grab one from the parking lot for you…” Karen – “You’d better…” So I go back out to the lot and find a whole line of flatbeds sticking out of a corral blocking several parking spaces. I push them all into the vestibule where she waits, huffing about how I’m wasting her valuable time.
I separate one from the rest and bring it to her. Me – “I’m terribly sorry about the wait, ma’am.” She leers at me with utter malice. Karen – “Hmmph. Unbelievable…” And with that, she dismisses herself into the store, where she will be someone else’s problem. I shake my head and return to doing what I’m paid to do. I wish I’d never seen her again…but I did.
About 15 minutes later, I’m returning a line of carts when I see her pushing her flatbed to her Miata and jawing about “stupid people” (most certainly referring to me) on her cell phone. You know what she had bought? What she had insisted on having a flatbed for? A cake. This wasn’t even like, a big cake. It was one of those little circular numbers.
Anyways, I witness as she continues to yammer on about how I nearly ruined—RUINED I TELL YOU—her precious baby’s birthday party, when the most glorious thing happened. Still clutching her phone with those jai-alai scoop claws of hers, she attempts to pick up the cake with one hand, the plastic topper pops off, and she spills the cake all over her undoubtedly expensive designer outfit.
Seething with white-hot rage, she locks eyes with me. Karen – “YOU! GET ME ANOTHER CAKE! NOW!” Me – “Terribly sorry ma’am. I’ve got one job, and these carts won’t gather themselves.” I walked away, grin plastered on my face as her shrieks faded into the distance behind me. I’ve had my share of nasty customer interactions before, but this one…Really took the cake.
14. A Light At The End Of The Tunnel
I am a 28-year-old woman who just recently went fully blind. When I was a teenager, I volunteered with my local youth group to help rebuild Mississippi after hurricane Katrina, and while down there I picked up a fungal parasite called Histoplasmosis that, over a decade, migrated to my eyes and slowly caused blindness. I’ve been totally blind for about a year now, so I’m pretty new to it.
When I first went blind, I barely left the house and was afraid to go in public. I felt like everyone was staring at me and in all honesty, I barely knew what I was doing. The transition had been difficult and I didn’t have any support group to teach me. One day my husband asks if I can take an Uber down to the bank and deposit a rent check and I reluctantly agree.
While out, he messages again and reminds me that we’re out of a few crucial groceries. There was a Wal-Mart grocery literally across the street from the bank, so I figure everything in life is an experience and I’ll have to learn how to shop alone eventually, so why not. Everything was fine at first and I was only grabbing a few things so I didn’t need a cart.
I was using my cane and what little echolocation skills I had at the time to get around, but was still bumping into things as we blind tend to do sometimes. My cane suddenly hit something a bit softer and I figure maybe I had whacked someone’s leg and apologize. Cue Entitled Kid (EK) and Entitled Mother (EM). Me: Shoot, I’m sorry—
EM: Hey! You just hit my son!! Me: I’m so sorry, ma’am, I didn’t see him there. EM begins yelling: HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE HIM, HE’S CLEARLY RIGHT HERE!! Now, again, I’m fully blind, but I don’t wear sunglasses. Mostly because I can’t afford a good UV blocking pair, but also I’m not ever looking for pity or to ”play the part” of a generic blind person.
I just want to be treated like a normal person, but I do understand her confusion as blindness is a spectrum, so I try to calmly explain. Me: Ma’am, I’m blind, I can’t see anything, let alone your son. That’s why I have to use the cane, so I can get around without— She cuts me off: If you’re blind, why aren’t you wearing big sunglasses?
As a blind person, I get a lot of stupid questions, but I understand a lot of them are just people who don’t know better, so I try to happily answer as many as I can. Me: Those are really expensive (around $200 for a good pair), and I really don’t need any inside. Here is where my blood starts to boil. EM: You’re not blind, you’re faking it!
I can’t think of any reason someone would want to pretend to be blind, and nothing makes me angrier more than when someone calls me a liar when I’m not. Just as I’m about to respond, I feel a tug and before I blink, I realize this little demon spawn has snatched my $100 cane from my hands. For those of you who don’t understand, that’s like if you’re shopping and suddenly the power goes out and you can’t see a single light.
Without my cane, I can barely move at all without crashing into anything. My voice gets shaky as I begin to panic: Please give that back! I REALLY DO NEED IT!! EM: No you don’t, you liar. My son deserves to play with this more than you! I hear her shuffle away and my expensive cane cracking into metal displays and such as they leave.
I start crying and waving my arms in front of me to grab onto something, anything, and end up crashing and falling into a center aisle display, making a loud scene. I somewhat curl into a ball and cry. I’m alone in public, in the dark, and I had no idea what to do. Suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and a man’s voice. We’ll call him AG for awesome guy.
He asks if I’m okay and to stay right here. I do, but begin to at least sit up and listen. This man must have been tall and built like a tank because his footsteps sounded like a giant and I felt a suction of wind when he took off. Maybe about 30 or 40 feet away, I hear this loud bellowing like an angry lion and a loud crash, then before I know it the man is back and helping me to my feet.
He takes my hand and puts my cane into my palm and helps me pick up the items I dropped when I fell into the display. Me wiping tears from my cheeks: Thank you, thank you so much, I didn’t know how to handle that. AG: Don’t worry about it, some people are just monsters. This guy restored my faith in humanity and even helped me finish shopping and helped me out of the store.
As we’re leaving, I can hear the familiar screeching of EM, something about AG grabbing the cane and pulling hard, flinging her little devil child into a shopping cart. I don’t know if she was exaggerating or not but it would explain the crash I heard. It’s easy to feel alone in a world without sight, but even through the sheer terror of being stripped of my cane, at least I know now that there are people willing to stand up for me when I need it.
15. For Better Or Worse
This happened to my best friend who I will call JJ, and it happened about two years ago. JJ came out to his family when he was about 27 years old. At that point, aside from them, everyone else in his life knew he was gay. And there was a good reason for it. As he expected, his parents reacted horribly to the news, and basically disowned him right then and there.
They later told both extended families and his uncles and grandparents to cut him off too. His maternal grandmother went as far as to try to take him out of his dead maternal grandfather’s will. She failed, due to the will’s conditions: No one could modify it, not even the main representative AKA grandma, and homosexuality was not listed in the conditions that could made the inheritance void.
Whether grandpa didn’t expect it to happen or he just didn’t care, take your guess. JJ was the partial owner of some properties and also got a substantial amount of money, which got even bigger when he reclaimed in cash his corresponding share of the house. This forced his family to buy them from him. JJ didn’t need the money actually, as by this point he was a moderately successful professional and lived in his own apartment.
Still, it severed any binding he had with his family that could become a problem in the future. He still kept good relationships with his sister and most of his cousins, but even if they invited him to family gatherings, he always declined. Fast forward three years and JJ is getting married to his long-time boyfriend Sky, whose family was the polar opposite of JJ’s.
When they found out, they made “Royal Wedding” style plans for their elopement. They were (well, are) very wealthy, and JJ contributed to the whole extravaganza with a portion of his inheritance. He invited as his guests his friends (including yours truly as his best man), some co-workers, his sister, and the cousins he still spoke to. It was a lot of people!
The wedding was amazing, done in an underground (literally speaking, it was a freaking cave!) venue. His sister took him to the altar, there was an orchestra playing, etc. Fairy tale style. And the after-party well…I can’t remember half of it, but it was from another world. They said go big or go home, and they really went BIG. But enough of the context! You came here for the juicy part.
JJ told the “good cousins” not to tell anything to his parents or other family members about the wedding, because he didn’t want trouble. But obviously, the next day, their social media accounts were full of pictures and word spread like wildfire. At first, it was small things. He started receiving calls from some aunts about why they weren’t invited, the “bad” cousins complained via Facebook, and other nuisances.
He just ignored them and blocked numbers and accounts. He did not want or need to give explanations when they had all made clear their position years prior. But one day, Satan came directly to his door. His parents, his maternal grandma, and his paternal grandparents—all the “heads” of the families—came to visit. How they found out where he lived is still a mystery to him.
Sky was working and JJ was alone in the house, so there was no one to help him against the crook squad (his name, not mine). It seems at first they tried to be “gentle,” asking how he could leave them out of such an important event that directly affected the family (dudes, really?) and things like that. His mom even used the, “You took away my chance of seeing my only male son marry” argument.
He pointed out that they were the ones that expelled him from the family and that they hated everything gay (half of that wedding was an LGBT crowd if you are wondering). They classified his exile as a “misunderstanding.” The bickering between the six continued for a long time until he got tired and asked what they wanted, as he could not “re-do” the wedding.
One of the grandmas spilled the beans: “Ungrateful brat, at least compensate us for not inviting us to a wedding WE paid for!” That was the problem! They were mad he had used the “family” money on the ceremony. He told me they actually thought he paid for everything and had burned out all the inheritance when it was more a 30-40% of the deal,
They wanted the money back, and they had brought all the grandparents with them as additional emotional leverage. As I told you earlier, JJ had made sure that money had no bindings to his family anymore, but for some reason, they still believed it was theirs and were mad he had spent it. He confronted them, and they threw away their facade.
What came next was a serious fight in which both JJ and his father ended up hitting each other until the neighbors called the authorities. Charges were pressed on both sides but it didn’t go anywhere really. However, he was able to ask for restraining orders against all of them. To this day, JJ is shaken about the event.
He had prepared himself for years knowing that his family would hate him because of his sexuality, but he still retained some hope that far in the future they could mend things. He lost that hope after they tried to emotionally scam him.
16. A Beautiful Thing
So, back in high school one of my closest friends got pregnant and gave birth to the sweetest baby boy. She stopped going to school for a while to take care of her kid, but still did online school so she could graduate with her class. One thing we would do is go to one of the local food places near the high school on Fridays. On this particular day, we decided to go to this nice Chinese place that I frequent regularly.
The little old Asian lady knows me by name. This Chinese place has a sticker on the front door that says something like “Breastfeeding will always be allowed,” which is great since that’s what my friend is more comfortable doing for her baby. After we ordered our food, we hung out in this little waiting area when the baby gets all fussy.
She takes out the little cover and covers her baby and her chest as she starts to feed him. We keep talking until this woman and her son, who had to be around 10, comes in. I recognize the kid as one of the kids I looked after when I use to volunteer at a youth center. He comes up to me and starts talking to me, and then asks my friend what she’s doing with the baby.
Before my friend could answer, the boy’s mother cuts in. “A disgusting thing is what she’s doing. Don’t you know better than to do that in public? And why are you even doing that if you’re only a kid?” My friend has an attitude sometimes, so I try to jump in before she would start to throw things. “It’s not disgusting, and the owner, Mrs. L is fine with it. She has a sticker on the door.”
Mrs. L was just ogling the baby a second ago. She smiles at us and continues to write some stuff down. The mother wasn’t happy about this and continues with her rant. “I’m sorry but I’m just not okay with a baby breastfeeding another baby. Can you please just stop,” she says in frustration. Mrs. L finally cuts in and in her broken English, she says, “Nursing baby is a beautiful thing. You have problem, you leave.”
She then taps the order on the window that leads to the kitchen and apologizes to my friend for the woman’s nasty behavior. She then looks at the boy who is still next to me and says jokingly, “Your mother, she dummy right?” This makes the boy laugh and the mother just grumble in her seat, trying to stay as far from us as she could.
When my friend finished and we grabbed our food, Mrs. L threw in an extra order of egg rolls, since they were my friend’s favorite.
17. The Joys Of Motherhood
My boyfriend’s cousin has four children. Each of her kids is the personification of the word bratty. The cousin refuses to discipline them and constantly makes excuses for their behavior. She’s also very judgemental of our decision to not have children. She has often made some snide comments towards me, implying that I’m a selfish jerk who is depriving my boyfriend of the “joys of raising children.”
For these reasons and for her generally entitled behavior, my boyfriend had cut ties with her. However, when he and I visited his parental home three days ago for his parents’ anniversary celebration, we ran into her again. My boyfriend’s dad had urged him to use this occasion to mend bridges with the cousin. So we both tried to make nice and engaged in small talk with her. I’ve never regretted an action more.
During our conversation, my boyfriend mentioned that we were leaving for Melbourne for vacation in a few days. At this, the cousin’s eyes lit up. “Oh that sounds like so much fun,” she said, “My husband and I haven’t gone anywhere since our honeymoon.” She whined some more about how hard it is for them with four kids, if only they could afford such luxuries, etc.
I could tell where this was going almost immediately. My boyfriend probably felt sorry for her and, being the kind and generous soul that he is, he offered to buy them a weekend in a resort in Mt. Abu, a hill station in the Indian state of Rajasthan. Cousin (face scrunched up): “That’s nice, but why can’t you just take us to Melbourne with you?”
BF (getting a bit annoyed, but still patient): Well, we want to spend some time alone together. Plus we’ll be meeting some close friends there. Besides, Mt. Abu is a beautiful place. Your kids will love it. Cousin (in the annoying “Karen” tone): I still don’t see why you can’t take us to Australia. You’re being so selfish, going on this great trip and sticking your family with a cheap weekend getaway.
BF’s Mom: He’s making a very generous offer. Either take it or leave it. Cousin (wearing the expression that morons wear when they think they’ve had a bright idea): Oh I know! Why don’t my husband and I go to Mt. Abu and you can take our kids to Melbourne? Me: What??? Cousin: It’s a great idea. The kids can have fun in Melbourne with you two and my hubby and I can enjoy a peaceful weekend. This way, the kids can actually spend some time with their uncle. You never make time for them!
BF: I’m offering for the last time. It’s either the weekend in Mt. Abu or nothing at all. And why the heck would we ruin our vacation taking care of your kids? Cousin: How can you say that? My kids are so well-behaved. You’ll have so much fun spending time with them. Besides, my husband and I could really use some quiet time together. You two don’t have any responsibilities. You have no idea how hard it is to raise four kids. You can afford this trip. I don’t see why you won’t share with family……
BF: One more word and you’re losing my Mt. Abu offer. On hearing this, the cousin finally shut up. We all had dinner together and she was mercifully quiet. If only her kids had followed her example. You’d think this would be the end of it, but NO! We had seriously underestimated her dedication to her Karenness. This morning, the cousin showed up at my apartment with the kids in tow.
I was shocked to see her, of course, and asked if something was wrong. She smiled and said, “I’m just here to drop the kids off. You’re leaving tonight right?” After taking a second to recover, I asked, “Did you fall and hit your head on something? We told you we weren’t taking your kids with us. What part of that did you not understand?”
She then tried to convince me that my boyfriend had called her later on and had agreed to take her kids. I knew this was a lie and called it as such. The cousin became enraged and asked if I was going to break her kids’ hearts. I called my boyfriend, and after telling him what was going on I turned on the speaker. My boyfriend proceeded to chew her out brutally, telling her he would no longer pay for their weekend getaway and that this is exactly the kind of behavior that had made him cut ties with her.
She tried to get a word in but he wouldn’t let her. The cousin took her kids and stormed off. My boyfriend and I are having a laugh over this and are still wondering what made her think that this plan would ever work.
18. (Don’t) Just Keep Swimming
So let me tell y’all about how this mother tried to have me be her free babysitter/lifeguard. We just got one of those above ground pools you set up yourself that is 4 feet deep and 14 feet round. We spent the majority of two days prepping and filling it and letting it warm. Finally yesterday it was ready, and my daughter asked if she could invite a little girl she is semi-friendly with from down the street to come swim with her.
Since they are eight and they are tall enough to stand with heads above water, I said ok. Well, her little friend brought her toddler sister, who is probably on the younger side of two. definitely too small to stand with her head above the water. I tell the friend that her little sister can’t get in the water unless her mom is here to watch her, and send her home with the message. They both come back and she says, “Mom said she’s fine in her float and I can watch her.”
And I said “No it’s not fine, I don’t think an eight-year-old is responsible enough to watch a toddler in a pool, and I am not going to be the one watching her either. You need to tell your mom either she comes to watch your little sister or she is not getting in the pool.” They both go home and then BOTH COME BACK!! At this point I am livid.
I walk back to their house with them and pound on the door. No answer. I keep knocking, and then the garage door starts to open with this woman backing her car out!! I quickly went and stood at the end of the driveway with all the kids in tow, both of hers and both of mine. She gets out of her car all angry and asks me what my problem is?!
I tell her my problem is that I’m not her babysitter, and that I am definitely not going to be responsible for keeping her baby from drowning in MY swimming pool on MY property! Her reaction was chilling. She then proceeds to start baby-talking her own kids, saying, “I’m so sorry babies the mean lady isn’t going to let you swim, I’m so sorry princesses” and on and on. Of course, the toddler bursts into tears, and then the mother screams at me.
“Look what you’ve done!! You’ve made her cry and ruined her day! Hope you are proud of yourself!! She then snatches up the little sister, who is screaming, tosses her in the car, and screams at the friend to get in too. The friend is red in the face, and you can tell she is so embarrassed. She just mumbles sorry while climbing in the car. The mother then proceeds to peel out of her own driveway and we walk back home. Witch.
For what it’s worth, I was NOT planning on leaving the kids wholly unattended. I was right beside the pool doing yard work and planned on continuing once all the kids were in the pool. I just did not want to watch a small toddler in the pool, as she would require extreme supervision. Like sitting and staring directly at her kind of supervision.
19. Living Your Best Life
I lived in Melbourne, Australia for about a year. While there, I met a gorgeous gay couple, Brian and Derek (names changed). They were both bisexual, and they lived in the same building as me on the floor directly above mine. I soon entered into an intimate relationship with both of them. We would have threesomes, and sometimes more.
Besides the awesome bedroom stuff, I also became really good friends with them and we’re still in touch. It was tons of fun for all involved. Among my neighbors was a middle-aged couple with two children. They lived right across the hallway from me and were quick to judge us after seeing Brian and Derek exiting my apartment early in the morning on more than one occasion.
The woman, Karen, asked me in the elevator what I was doing with “those two gays.” I politely told her it was none of her business. When she kept on pestering me, I told her “If you must know, I’m friends with benefits with them, now leave me alone.” I still remember the look of shock on her face. I don’t think she expected me to reply so brazenly.
When I told Brian and Derek about this, they shared their own experience in dealing with them. This couple had tried to talk to the property manager about “gays moving into a building with families and children.” They were told to screw off but any time either or both of these guys were in the elevator with them or ran into them in the parking lot, the husband (Let’s call him Todd) would stand between them and his kids while giving Brian and/or Derek angry looks.
They must’ve been trying to prevent their kids from catching “the gay.” HA. In the weeks that followed, the entitled couple continued to give me the stink eye any time they saw me. I just smiled back at them sweetly, which annoyed them even more. On one occasion, their teenage daughter said “good morning” to me and tried to make small talk, before her mother dragged her away by the arm while berating her for talking to “that woman.”
Interestingly, their kids seemed very well behaved and nice and I truly felt sorry for them. My next-door neighbors (another couple with kids with whom I got along very well) later told me that Karen had tried to get them to file a noise complaint against me. According to Karen’s logic, since I shared a wall with that family, they could probably hear all the “ungodly” noises coming from my apartment and they should complain in order to protect their children.
The nice couple told them they would do no such thing as I had never bothered them and they had never heard any such noises coming out of my apartment. One night, Brian, Derek, and I decided to have a foursome that would involve the three of us and Brian and Derek’s friend Dean. The next morning, Dean asked if he could come back to my place with me.
As it was a Sunday morning and Dean was hotter than Hades, I agreed. As he and I were walking down the hallway to my place, Karen was just getting out of hers. She saw Dean and I smiling and talking with his arm around my waist. She approached me, asking angrily if I was “selling my body.” I told her she was insane and asked her to kindly screw off.
Later that day, I received a terrifying call from the property manager. She wanted to let me know that Karen and Todd had complained that I was “a prostitute” and that it was dangerous for their children to be in the same building as me. They told her in great detail about how I was bringing home different men. The property manager had gotten to know Brian and Derek quite well and had an inkling that I was “friends” with them.
So she contacted them and they told her all about Karen’s crazy behavior and accusations. They said that the man they had seen me with was a mutual friend. The property manager dissuaded the family from filing any sort of false complaint against me as it could cause a world of trouble for them. I thanked that kind lady and later had a good chuckle over it all with Brian and Derek.
The blatant harassment from Karen and Todd had stopped, but of course, the hateful looks continued. On one occasion, when we were in the elevator together, Karen made a pathetic attempt at shaming me by condescendingly asking if I was going to have any men over that night. What she didn’t realize is that shame about my promiscuity is something I’m entirely incapable of feeling.
I proceeded to tell her in great detail about all the acts I was going to engage in that evening. I mean, she’s the one who asked, right? After this fun little interaction, she and her husband avoided me completely. Good times.
20. Eat My Dust
I recently had an emergency appendectomy, and recovery has been slow. I had to take time off from my own athletics, but worse, from coaching in the kid’s sports program I’m involved with. The experience made me step back and realize I really built my whole identity around being active and healthy, so the hit my physical abilities took as a result of being sick and the healing process has made me feel lost.
I’ve been working to regain the joy I used to experience from exercise, without going “Oh, you used to be so much faster with that,” or “Your technique used to be so much stronger,” or “You don’t fit in anymore,” or whatever else and just enjoy myself regardless of the level I’m at. But ironically, the anxiety about not being able to do what I used to has made regaining those abilities difficult.
It made me self-conscious about exercising in public spaces, but I was starting to finally get over it as friends convinced me the source of the concerns was all in my head. There’s no way to get back to it other than training, so despite the anxiety, I started running again, as soon as the doctors approved it. I went to the local track and just did a few slow laps each morning, building up speed every few days.
I’ve only just been authorized to add some sprints and bodyweight strength training to the mix. Occasionally there were other people at the track, but I didn’t really notice because I run with headphones on and try to zone out in these lighter sessions. But little did I know, my friends were wrong. It was not all in my head. I was being watched, and more than that, I was being judged.
This was my absolute catastrophe-level worst nightmare at this stage of building back my strength and speed. On Friday, I was setting up for practice at the kid’s program and the head coach asked me into his office because a parent had a complaint. A parent I didn’t know too well, Karen, was there and he said she had specific complaints about me.
I was a bit nervous, as anyone is being called to meet with their boss over a complaint, but I figured it was a classic case of “My kid should start more,” or “I know my kid tried out as a midfielder but I want him/her to switch to defense,” that kind of “rules don’t apply to me” thing. But instead, I sit down in the office, and Karen is playing my boss a video of me running on the track.
That she filmed from afar; it’s surrounded by stadium-style risers. I was horrified, both because no one is ever totally used to seeing themselves on video, and because I was just embarrassed about how slow I was. But most importantly because why was a virtual stranger (I’d met her personally maybe four times, ever) filming me while I ran on my own time at a private facility?
She then went on to explain that her eight-year-old son, one of the players on my squad, was lapping me in the video. She was insisting the coaches need to hold themselves to higher athletic standards than the young players if they want to prepare them for college teams. (Again, her son is eight.) Apparently, her son would sometimes be running on the track while her older child was practicing on a nearby field.
I never noticed, the kid is still relatively new, and again, I don’t pay much attention to the other people on the track. My boss patiently but firmly explained to Karen that my physical abilities are not the parents’ concern, and all personnel are closely managed by the head coaches who understand each unique situation and what’s appropriate, and that her son wouldn’t be impacted.
But she didn’t stop there. Karen then went on to say my being out of shape was probably connected to why I’d been taking so much time off lately. Uh… technically yes, it is, because I was in the hospital. She was complaining that the personnel changeover isn’t good for the kids. My boss again reiterated that the head coaches hadn’t changed or taken any time off and that I was still one of the most skilled in the area I instruct, so this was not her concern.
She asked if there was someone else she could speak to, but he explained that he was the owner and founder of this program, so, no there was not. I knew my boss was intentionally avoiding saying what had happened to me or even alluding to a health issue, to protect my privacy, but I figured maybe being transparent with her would show her how ridiculous she was being—and keep her tuition dollars in our program.
But when I explained, she just turned to the boss and said, “Well maybe you should furlough her until she’s healed and bring on a healthy coach in the meantime, because my son needs someone out there who can keep up with him.” My boss respected what I was trying to do, but made clear we weren’t going further with that strategy to avoid setting a precedent of sharing coaches’ personal circumstances.
Telling her why people take time off or what their health status may be is not her concern because the program manages that and makes appropriate decisions. She kept kicking up a fuss, but the coach finally told her he had to get back out on the field, back to her son and everyone else’s kids. She started physically leaving but continued fussing about how she was not satisfied and would not be recommending us to other parents.
Pro tip—this is not the way to conduct yourself with the people who make recommendations to scouts concerning family culture/team interaction. The coach wasn’t preparing to leave, instead, he stopped her in her tracks to tell her if she was found to be surveilling or otherwise harassing any staff members again, she would be perma-banned from the program.
No games or practices, no team social events, no presence in our buildings, and no clemency. So, that was pretty satisfying. Her son is a good, average, kid and I’m glad the consequences were focused on booting her out rather than limiting his opportunities to have fun playing. So then we went out and had a great, happy, safe practice.
This was still a pretty upsetting event for me personally though, and I’ll never unsee that discouraging video of me running, but it was ultimately reassuring to know the other staff has my back. Leaving Karen in the dust is just another step on my road to recovery!
21. The Family That Fights Together…
I just recently had a new family move into my neighborhood. The neighborhood is relatively small and close-knit; it’s the kind of neighborhood where everyone knows each other and we generally all get along well. We have big block parties and shoot off fireworks together on holidays. The new family is a middle-aged couple with their four children.
The kids’ ages range from around 14 to two, and this incident is just the first of several problems that I have had with this family since they moved in. So I was hanging out in the living room just relaxing and watching TV. From the couch, I have a clear view of my backyard. That’s when I noticed the retractable cover of my swimming pool begin to roll up.
I was home alone and no one else has access to my backyard. For insurance reasons, I have a lock on my back gate because of the pool. The gate always remains locked as we would be liable if anything was to happen in the yard. I rush outside and see what was going on. That’s when I see this Entitled Mother standing next to my pool with her four children.
They are dressed in their swimsuits and the mom is rolling up the cover of my pool. Me: Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing in my backyard? Her response shocked me to the core…EM: My kids have been well behaved today and they want to go for a swim. I saw that you have a pool so we are going for a dip. Me: This is not a public pool and you are on my private property. I need you to get out of my backyard now. I never told you that you are allowed on my property without permission.
EM: WHO THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? IT IS A VERY HOT DAY AND MY KIDS WANT TO GO FOR A SWIM AND THEY WILL. Me: Not in my private pool they will not. How did you even get in my yard anyway? The gate is locked. EM: SCREW OFF! IN MY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD WE DID THIS ALL THE TIME. MY KIDS ARE GOING FOR A SWIM NOW AND YOU WILL NOT EVEN KNOW WE ARE HERE. YOU ARE JUST BEING SELFISH AND I WILL NOT ALLOW MY BABIES TO SUFFER BECAUSE OF YOUR BAD MOOD.
Me (Now angry): I will not ask again. You either get off my property now or I will call the authorities. You are not using my pool and that is final. EM (finally gets the cover off): Okay kids jump on in. Don’t listen to this stupid witch. Kid: Yeah you stupid witch. We are going for a swim now and you can’t stop us. Me: THAT’S IT! I AM CALLING THE AUTHORITIES.
EM now sees that I am serious and tries to the “reason” with me. EM: You would really not allow four kids to go for a swim on a hot day. What kind of heartless person are you? Just let us go swimming for an hour and we will leave. Don’t you want to be a good neighbor to us? Me: No I do not. You just broke into my backyard without permission? Please get off my property now.
She starts to mumble something to her kids and then she grabs her two youngest and starts to walk out of my yard. I then turn around and see her two oldest boys still standing by the pool. I start to walk over to tell them to go with their mother, and that’s when I see what they are doing. Her two oldest spawns are PEEING into my pool.
Kid: MAYBE THAT WILL TEACH YOU TO BE A BETTER NEIGHBOR, YOU STUPID WITCH. Me (grabs the arms of the two oldest and pushes them out of the gate): GET OFF MY PROPERTY YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE BRATS. EM: DON’T YOU DARE LAY A HAND ON MY BABIES OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE ON YOU. WHO DO YOU THINK THEY WILL BELIEVE? A GOOD MOMMY OR A PATHETIC LITTLE WITCH LIKE YOU? YOU JUST GOT WHAT YOU DESERVE. ENJOY SWIMMING IN YOUR PEE POOL.
They then all walk off laughing as they went back to their house. I was in complete shock and I didn’t know what to do. I now wish I called the authorities after this first incident, but I sadly did not and things have since escalated with this family. Remember how I said that I had a lock on the gate? I later found it broken on the ground. I have no idea what they used to smash it, but they were successful. I have since purchased a much more heavy-duty lock.
22. An Unwelcome Visitor
Buckle up everyone for this bumpy ride. Okay, so I was chilling in my living room around 3 am playing some video games. My parents are out of town visiting some friends and I decided to stay home, house to myself and all. So here I am, in nothing but a bra and panties, when there’s a knock on the door. “What the heck?” I think to myself.
I scramble to get my clothes on and I answer the door. It was a family acquaintance with her already whiny little brat. She’s also visibly pregnant, and we’ll get to why that part is important later. Me: Hey, what’s going on? Her: My car broke down and the tow company can’t come to get it until tomorrow, think me and my kid can crash here tonight?
Me: Sure, you guys can sleep in the living room. Once I let them in, I asked if she wanted anything and went to get the coffee she asked for. As I go get it, I see the little brat picking up my controller. Me: Hey little guy, please put that down. Her: Oh, can’t he play a game? Me: Sorry, no. I’m in the middle of something, plus he wouldn’t know how to play the type of game.
Her: But he reeealllly wants to, don’t you? Him: I WANT TO PLAY!!!! Me: No, you can’t play. Him: I WANT TO PLAY I WANT TO PLAY I WANT TO PLAAAAAAAAAAAAAY AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. He then throws the controller at the TV, shattering the screen. Me: WHAT THE HECK? I rush over to the TV. Her: Hey! Don’t you yell at my child! Me: YOU JUST LET HIM DESTROY MY TV LIKE THIS. Her: You’re the one who didn’t let him play the video game.
Me: I said no, and you have to teach your brat that he isn’t owed ANYTHING. Her: How dare you! Just wait until I tell your mother about how you treated him, you’ll make a terrible mom. Me: I’m not having kids, but if I did I wouldn’t let them be spoiled little brats! Her: YOU are being the brat right now! Just get a new TV and quit whining.
Me: Yeah, I’ll get a new TV with the money you pay me for the broken one. Her: WHAT?! But YOU are the one who instigated it. Me: You know what? Just get out of my house. You and your brat are no longer welcome. Her: What is wrong with you? I’m preeeegnant and have a toddler and have nowhere to go, you can’t just kick out a stranded pregnant mother and her toddler at 3 am in the cold.
Me: OH YES I CAN, YOU INSUFFERABLE WITCH. Get OUT of my house before I call the authorities. Her, picking her brat up and heading towards the door: Just wait until I tell your mother about this! Me: Yeah, I’ll gladly tell her about what the little brat to the TV and that you refused to pay for it! Her: You’ll regret this! Thankfully, though, she left.
The next morning I called my parents and explained what happened. They were very understanding because I was never raised to be a spoiled little jerk and the mom got an earful from my mom that if she didn’t pay them back we would take her to small claims. She tried to play the “Woe is me” card but it didn’t work and she forked over the $500 for the new TV. Then we cut contact with her.
23. Adventures In Babysitting
Years ago, this new neighbor of mine kept trying for the better part of a summer to use me as a free babysitter. It started when her kid, who was really a cute, well-behaved kid about seven years old, showed up at my door at 7:15 in the morning. We were all just waking up and getting around so I told him that my boys weren’t ready to play yet and to come back in a few hours.
That is when the kid told me his mom had gone to work. This seemed a bit odd to me so I brought him in and tried to call his mom. Sure enough, she was gone. So I brought him in and fed him breakfast. He stayed with us the rest of the day and he got along well with my two boys who were five and 10. I had only talked to his mom about two times, so I had no idea why she would think this was a good idea.
When his mom came home, I walked him over so I could talk to her. I told her not to do that again, though I did say that I would be willing to watch him on occasion if asked first, but not every day. Her response was: “Well, what else do you have to do all day?” This kind of took me by surprise. I tried to tell her that I work at home on commissions.
She rolled her eyes and told me that being an artist isn’t a “real job,” and besides I was married so I didn’t need to work. I should have pointed out to her that she was married and working, but I felt myself getting angry and I didn’t want to argue with her. “Just don’t do that again.” I said to her. “You have teenage kids home for the summer, have them babysit.”
She frowned at me and said, “They work.” I said, “So do I!” Then I went home. The next morning at 7:15 the kid sheepishly shows up again. Once again I bring him in and feed him breakfast and later lunch. Once again I took him to his home and once again told his mother to please not do that again. She actually tried to tell me that it was my neighborly duty to watch him and I told her that if she sent him tomorrow I wouldn’t be there because of a doctor’s appointment. Her reply blew my mind.
She said that as a babysitter I should have given her several day’s notice about this. I angrily told her I was NOT a babysitter and then went home. The next morning I made my 7 am appointment. I did some grocery shopping afterward and it was about 10 am when I got home. The poor kid was waiting for me on my porch. He had been there for nearly three hours and the little guy was scared and hungry.
That night when I took the kid home, I was angry. I told her how the kid was scared and alone. She actually said that she had told me I hadn’t given her enough time to find anyone else and that his being alone was my fault. I pointed at her and said: “I am NOT a babysitter! Don’t send him over again!” That night, this woman had her adult nephew call me to scream at me for not being home when his poor aunt dropped her son off.
How dare I leave a small child alone like that? I told the nephew that his aunt KNEW I wasn’t home so it was HER that left a child all alone. I said that I had repeatedly asked his aunt NOT to send the kid over anymore and I was NOT a babysitter. This nephew freaked out at me when I said that. I hung up on him while he was still screaming at me.
This worked for two wonderful, quiet days. Then right back to it. I tried everything, but this woman insisted that it was my neighborly duty to babysit and would tell me as much. Finally, I decided that to solve this problem I would just get a job outside of my home, and that way she would have to stop. (I was too much of a pacifist back then. I no longer am). I landed an interview for a position at the local library and I was ecstatic.
I told the woman to keep her son home because I had arranged for my kids to stay with their grandmother while I went to this interview. The next morning, I drove to my mother-in-law’s house and took my kids inside. When I went to leave, I found this woman’s kid waiting for me in my car! She had actually followed me there and put her son in my unlocked car and then zoomed off while I was dropping off my boys.
My mother-in-law wasn’t the most flexible person in the world and she adamantly refused to watch an extra kid. I had to cancel my interview. I was livid. I toyed with several ideas at this moment. I could take the kid to her job and leave him with her…or I could call CPS. I really wasn’t sure how stable this woman’s job was and I didn’t want her to get fired, and when I went to go call the CPS I chickened out because it really wouldn’t be fair to the little boy.
Besides, I had heard really scary stories about CPS. In the end, I just waited for her to come home. I left the boy at my house with my husband (I planned on doing a lot of cussing) and I stomped over to her house and met her before she even got out of her car. I shouted at her. I told her she was dense, stupid, moronic, and crazy. I told her that she had lost me my job interview and if she sent her kid over to be watched again I was going to call CPS.
I told her that she was violating my space and if it took going to court to get her to knock it off, then so be it. She then put her hand on her hip and in her most snotty tone she said: “Well if you didn’t want to sit with him, all you had to do was tell me.” I really do not know how I kept from punching her right then and there, this comment was so asinine.
I turned on my heels to start stomping home when I saw her husband pulling up. Now, this was the first time I had ever met her husband. He worked at a job that only allowed him to be home on weekends. (I can’t blame him, I wouldn’t want to be around her either), but when she saw him she turned tail and RAN into her house. He saw that I was upset and asked me what had happened.
I told him. Told him all of it, especially the incident at my mother-in-law’s. The poor man was shocked. He had been told that I was being paid and he had been giving her money to pay me! He had no idea all this had been going on and he was very, very apologetic over the whole thing. In fact, he apologized again to my husband when he came over to pick up his little boy.
Finally, FINALLY, she stopped sending her kid over! Later I heard from others that she was badmouthing me and warning folks about what a horrid babysitter I was, but I took that as a favor. I didn’t want to babysit any kids other than my own and I still hate doing so. I don’t hate the kids, I love kids. It’s dealing with the parents that I don’t like.
The kid came over only once in a while after that to play with my kids, after he called first to get permission, exactly the way it should be done. I’m sure his dad had something to do with that because the kid only came over on weekends. This is one of a few stories I have involving this crazy lady. Her only entertainment in life seems to be seeing how bizarre she can act in this neighborhood.
I’m luckier than my other neighbors in the fact that she leaves me alone now, and I’m very happy with that.
24. Misplaced Anger
Yesterday afternoon, I got a call from my older brother and he told me that my mom had a miscarriage. This is hardly surprising, as she’s in her 40s. But I have a dark confession. I actually felt a huge wave of relief wash over me—because this way, my siblings’ lives would not be worsened by my parents’ insistence on adding another mouth to feed on an already tight budget.
My sister would not be asked to give up her inheritance so they could have money for their new baby. My brother told me my mom had been crying and while I did feel bad for her, I was still glad to hear about the miscarriage. I feel like we all dodged a huge bullet. My brother asked me to move back in for a while, to help comfort my mom.
I told him I wasn’t going to move in because first, my college would reopen in a few days, and two, I’m done with all the family drama. However, I did agree to come to visit my mom, if only out of courtesy. In the evening, I went over to my parents’ place. I took chocolate chip muffins for my mom, which I know she likes. My sister greeted me at the door and told me mom had been in bed all day.
After greeting my dad, I went into their bedroom. Mom was sitting up on the bed. I told her I was sorry about what happened and placed the muffins on the bedside table. Her reaction floored me. She looked at me angrily, then threw the muffins at me. She screamed at me that she had “lost her baby” because of me. She said I had caused her stress and it’s what caused her to miscarry.
She said I was probably glad her baby was gone (which is true, but of course I didn’t point that out). She called me a witch and said I had wished this upon her. She was screaming so loudly, all my siblings and my dad came rushing to the bedroom. She yelled at me to get out. I did. I hugged my older brother and sister. Before I left, my dad told me my mom was right, that my “cruelty” caused her to miscarry.
I told him that was a grossly unfair accusation and reminded him that at mom’s age, it was quite common to miscarry. Then I walked out. I’m so done with my parents and their stupidity. I can only hope they won’t try for another kid.
25. A Wild Ride
When I was 16, I worked at the amusement park in my city. It wasn’t a big one, but it wasn’t small either. Most of our rides were aimed towards elementary school-aged children, though we had a few for the older kids as well. Anyways, I was a rides operator, and that day, I was assigned to a ride designed for older kids. We had to measure the kids, and they couldn’t go on if they were under the height requirements no matter what, even if they had a parent with them.
It was a ride that only had a bar that went across your stomach, so someone too small could easily fall off. Entitled Mother and her entitled brat are in line, and I can already tell the kid is gonna be too short to ride without even having to measure him. He’s pretty far back, so I know it’s gonna be one or two runs before he makes it on.
So after I’m done loading, I tell the mom that her kid is too short for the ride and that they should go try the smaller version of it on the other side of the park. She looks at me with the dirtiest stare ever and just says: “We’re gonna wait here.” Now, I have to run my ride because I need to meet certain times, so I don’t argue. Time goes by and she’s finally at the start of the line.
I measure her kid, and of course he’s like 6 inches shorter than the height requirements. Me: I’m sorry ma’am, but your child is too short to ride this ride. I would recommend going over to the smaller version near the entrance of the park, though. He: No, it’s fine, I’m with him. I’ll hold him. She tries to shove me out of the way, but I’m standing my ground.
Me: I’m really sorry ma’am, but we don’t allow people under the height limit to ride this ride. The safeties we have on it just won’t hold someone too small, and your kid could fall off. She then asks to speak to my manager. I get asked that quite a lot by entitled parents, so I give them a call and tell her to wait on the side while I load my ride.
She gets very offended, saying that she shouldn’t have to wait longer for her kid to ride this ride because I couldn’t do my job, and at this point I just kind of ignore her and move on. Ride runs, my team lead gets there and talks with her. He tells her that he’s really sorry but that I’m right, her child can’t ride this ride. Now at this point, the brat is throwing a tantrum.
I mean, he’s rolling on the concrete like a piece of bacon in a frying pan. I’m trying my hardest not to laugh at this point. Anyways, my lead apologizes, offers her a “skip the line” ticket for the ride he’s allowed to go on at the entrance, and leaves. The mom is trying to calm down the kid and starts talking to him. He gets up, all smiling and happy, and stands next to the gates, watching me.
Now I’m not thinking too much of this at this point, so I start loading my ride again, which has a significantly less busy line and I have a couple of empty seats on it. As I’m doing my security checks and getting ready to run it, the mom taps me on the shoulder and thanks me for my help, which I found extremely odd. I turn around to tell her that it’s really no problem, and she starts apologizing and telling me that she shouldn’t have acted the way she did and blah blah blah.
I’m completely stunned, not really sure how to react, but I tell her it’s no problem and to enjoy the rest of her day. I look back at my ride, and realize the brat isn’t standing next to the fence anymore. I’m starting to get weird vibes. I look around for him and he’s not anywhere to be seen. I look at the mom again, who has her phone out with her camera pointing at the ride, and that’s when I knew.
I take my keys out of the ride and start walking towards it. It’s kind of a “swing” type of thing so I couldn’t see the back from where I was standing, but I knew darn well the brat had snuck on. The mom starts panicking, asking me what I’m doing and why I’m not running the ride. I completely ignore her and walk to the back of the ride, and lo and behold, the kid is sitting there.
He almost pees himself when he sees me walking towards him. He didn’t have the bar properly locked AT ALL and would’ve flown right out as soon as I started the ride. Now I’m mad, and I mean mad. I mean, I could’ve gone behind bars for manslaughter right then and there. I just look at him and very sternly tell him to get off my ride.
He tells me he can’t and he needs help, which is fair. I don’t even know how he managed to get on in the first place, but I grab him and put him down, and he starts sprinting towards his mom, crying. As he’s running, he trips and falls down on his face. When he gets up, his nose is all bloody and his knees are skinned, which is when I knew I was completely and utterly screwed.
The mom starts screaming like a banshee at the sight. As I’m running toward the kid to make sure he’s okay and to help him up, she runs towards me, slaps me hard across the face, and starts yelling for security. I’m absolutely and completely stunned at this point. Some security guards must’ve heard her screaming at the top of her lungs because they come running.
The exchange goes something like this. Guard: What’s going on here? Mom: This girl attacked my son! She threw him off the ride into the pavement! Me: Excuse me??? Brat: It’s true!! She punched me too. Guard: Do you want us to call the authorities? Mom: Yes! You need to arrest her!! She’s mentally unstable. I’m just dumbfounded at this point.
My lead gets to the ride and asks what the heck is going on, and I tell him everything that happened in between sobs. There’s one thing the mom forgot to take into account, though. There were like 15 people on the ride who saw everything. So they tell the officers and the security guards and my lead and everyone else what happened.
The mom quickly realized her error, as she just started running with her kid in tow as soon as she saw people asking the other guests questions. They caught her pretty quickly, and I pressed assault charges against her. Needless to say, I handed in my resignation that same day.
26. Child’s Play
My company sets up a booth at a carnival and we engaged several part-timers to assist at the carnival. The part-timers are required to go around the grounds to distribute flyers, share information, and direct visitors to our booth. On the day of the carnival, after setting up, I met up with the part-timers to prepare them for the day.
Out of all the part-timers, only this one woman was late. She mentioned she would be 15 minutes late, but it was closer to an hour. As we couldn’t wait, I briefed the others and deployed them for the day. When she arrived, she had her kid in tow, who was about five or six years old. Due to the nature of the job, we can’t have her lugging her kid while working. She knew this.
Her: My husband couldn’t handle the kid, so I had to bring her along. Me: I can’t have you working with your kid. Her: It’s not my problem. If you don’t like it, get someone to watch over him. My colleague who was watching this unfold offered to watch over her kid. He was only required to help out during the start and end of the carnival, so was entirely free during the event.
I thought alright, since he was free. Colleague: I can watch over her, get her some food, watch some shows, play some games. But you’ll need to pay me. Me: Whatever. But I’m not paying you for your time, only for the kid. Colleague (grinning): Sure. I was flabbergasted, but he told me not to worry—because he had an ingenious plan.
Once the woman started working, my colleague brought her kid systematically through every single booth throughout the entire carnival. It was the kid’s dream come true and, I believe, her best day ever. Whatever she wanted to eat, my colleague bought. She saw a lot of the shows and won many prizes. Since my colleague had a staff pass, he didn’t need to pay for the shows, only for the kid.
At the end of the carnival, when we were clocking the hours worked, the mother had the nerve to insist to be paid full even though she was late for almost an hour. She said that because of various reasons (mainly due to her kid), she would have been early. She was ranting and I didn’t really pay any attention, but it was about how I will never understand as I don’t have kids and how she deserves it because she was a mother.
My manager nearby winked at me and took over. He said he was very pleased with the day’s sales and how we are very supportive of her and we should give kids the best. He told her not to worry about the hours she worked and she will be paid in full. After hearing this, not even a single thanks from this woman, she declared in a loud voice: “At least someone understands.”
She had this condescending and victorious look on her face. Thankfully, It didn’t last long. The sucker punch for her was that her kid spent roughly $100, and with her pay at $15/hr for 8 hrs, she made a whopping $20 for the whole day. My colleague made it a point to keep track of the expenses (receipts, tickets, stubs, etc.) and took tons of photos.
Of course, she threw a fit, but with the amount of evidence and her daughter vouching for all the fun she had, it was tough to have a leg to stand on. She had no case except to yell “I’M NOT PAYING FOR THIS!!” and then she grabbed her daughter and stormed off. We look forward to payday when we issue her a cheque for $20 for her time.
27. For Karen And Country
I joined the army right out of high school. During basic training, I volunteered for a unit known as The Old Guard, which is responsible for ceremonies in the DC area and funerals in Arlington National Cemetery, amongst other duties. It consists of units you may have heard of, such as the US Army Drill Team and the Sentinels of the Tomb of the Unknowns.
So it’s the 4th of July in DC. Big celebration, all kinds of stuff going on. I’m sure you can picture it. Most of the celebration goes on in front of the Capitol on the National Mall. As part of the festivities, my unit, the Presidential Guns Salute Battery, fires the bass line for the performance of the 1812 overture. Only the more seasoned guys in the platoon get picked to do it, so the rest of us are given a cordoned-off area in the very front.
We bring some food, some chairs, our families, and we have a cookout during the day and watch the show when it starts. During the earlier parts of the day, it isn’t too crowded, but as evening draws near it becomes packed, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. Fortunately, as I mentioned before, we had our own area at the front roped off from the general public, giving us ample room to have our cookout.
Throughout the day, we would have people politely ask if they could join us, we said no but were always respectful. We weren’t in uniform, but we had our unit T-shirts on so we were still representing the army. Enter Karen. It’s midway through the afternoon, still a few hours before the show. We’re enjoying the weather and the time off.
I happened to be near the edge of our area when I hear someone behind me. I turn around and there she is, pinched face and a haircut that says “I want to speak with your manager’s manager.” Karen: Excuse me young man, could you ask your father to take this rope down? This is supposed to be a public area for everyone and my kids can’t see the Capitol.
Mind you, there are signs hanging on the rope every five feet explaining the purpose of the rope. Me: (with my best PR smile) I’m sorry ma’am, this area is reserved for members of The Old Guard and their families. If you’d like to come back a little closer to dusk, we’ll be taking the rope down around then. Karen: The Old Guard? I’ve never heard of that before.
Me: (always happy to drop knowledge) Ma’am, We are the primary ceremonial unit for the US Army and escort to the President of the US of A. Karen: I don’t see the president. Shouldn’t you be escorting him or something then? rolls eyes Me: Uhh…. (I had no idea how to respond to that, fortunately, I was saved.) Platoon Sergeant: (Places hand on my shoulder) Good afternoon ma’am, I’m Sergeant First Class Guyincharge, what seems to be the problem?
As I knew this was my cue to get out, I went back to my chair and observed their interaction. Couldn’t hear anything, but the interaction concluded with Karen walking away looking annoyed. Didn’t think anything else of it…until about two hours later. We’re cleaning up our trash, breaking down the chairs and tables, and such. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Karen approaching again.
This time she has two Capitol officers in tow. My sergeant must have noticed too, as I heard him mutter “What in the heck?” under his breath as he walked to intercept the trio. Again, I didn’t hear all of the conversation, but we all heard about it later. Sergeant: Officers, what seems to be the problem? Officers: (Obviously exasperated by the situation) Sergeant Guyincharge, we received a report that you and your group were making lewd gestures and comments towards this woman’s family. Is there any truth to this?
Sergeant: Absolutely not. I’ve been supervising them all day, nothing even close to that has happened today. Offices: (nodding as though this was what they expected) We had assumed that, but we had to follow up. Sorry to bother you. Karen: You mean you’re going to just let them sit there and hog up all of the space!? I drove my kids nine hours to see this!!!!!
Officers: Ma’am, these men are here with the express permission of the District of Columbia. There are signs there (points to a sign not three feet away) that explicitly state that. Sergeant: (trying to diffuse the situation) Ma’am, we’re cleaning up our area right now. As soon as we are done we will be removing the rope to let everyone in. If you can be patient and wait, we can get you and your family right up front here in about 20 minutes.
Karen proceeded to stare at them, much like a cow stares at an incoming train. Then she spun around and walked away without another word. We think it’s all over, we go back to what we were doing. We were wrong. We’re just finishing up, taking the ropes off of the pylons and stacking the pylons in the arms of another dude in the platoon.
Out of nowhere, here comes Karen, trailed by her four children and obviously stressed spouse. “It’s about time! Get out of my way!” Karen all but screams as she goes barreling right through Private Anotherguy. Now, to be in The Old Guard, you have to be between 5’10” tall and 6’4″ tall and maintain the army standard of physical fitness. To add to that, we are an infantry unit.
If you aren’t aware, the infantry is generally the front-line combat, and we are trained for just that. So, suffice to say, none of us were small, nor weak. Karen was probably around 180ish. So when I say she barreled through this dude, I mean it. She put some force into it. Anotherguy goes sprawling to the ground, steel pylons fly in every direction.
A couple hit him in the face, and he chipped a tooth and split his eyebrow open. One pylon bounces off the ground and hits one of Karen’s children in the leg. The kid, probably 12 or 13, starts wailing like he lost a limb. As we are helping Anotherguy to his feet, Karen is losing every last ounce of her mind. Red-faced, screaming about how she’s going to sue us for assault, how we’ve ruined her family vacation blah blah blah……
At this point, the sergeant is done with her. If Karen thought she was being loud, she quickly learned there are few things louder than a ticked-off senior NCO. With a single word, he quieted everyone within 50 feet of us. Sergeant: STOP! (paused for dramatic effect) THAT IS ENOUGH. YOU HAVE BEEN HARASSING ME ALL AFTERNOON. WE HAVE TRIED TO BE NICE, WE HAVE TRIED TO BE RESPECTFUL. YOU HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT RUDE. NOW YOU’VE INJURED ONE OF MY MEN. THIS. STOPS. NOW!
I think Karen might have had a small stroke right then. She stood, mouth agape, not able to utter a single word. And then, as if right on cue, here come those two Capitol officers. They hadn’t been far away and had seen the entire incident. I didn’t think Karen’s eyes could get any wider, until the first officer pulled out a pair of cuffs and said, “Ma’am turn around and put your hands behind your back. You are under arrest for assault and harassment.”
She tried every excuse she could think of, but the officers were having exactly none of it. They talked to Anotherguy, and he wanted to press charges, so they carted her off. I don’t know what the father did with the kids, they disappeared when the officers took Karen. Come to find out after Anotherguy comes back from the court hearing that Karen had been carrying three bottles of pills that weren’t hers, plus two credit cards that weren’t hers either.
No idea what kind of time she got, but it wasn’t enough. After all was said and done, we watched the 1812 overture and laughed about Karen for weeks afterward. Anotherguy was fine, a chipped tooth and a little bit of bruising. Nothing major, fortunately.
28. Fun For The Whole Family
This took place a couple of years ago, when I was 17 and I used to spend part of my summers helping out in my grandpa’s restaurant. The restaurant was located on the bottom floor of our family house in a little village (30 inhabitants) and my maternal great-grandparents lived on the upper floor. In the restaurant, my great-grandmother and my grandma were in charge of cooking and my great-grandpa and granddad were in charge of attending the tables.
It was kind of small, as it had like eight tables of four on the inside, and we could set another two outside if the weather was good. As the restaurant also served as a bar, it was filled with locals. Since many of them were retired, they used to spend the whole day playing cards and drinking, so although it was a small location, in summer usually it was full of people.
Also, my great-grandparents founded this restaurant in the year 1941, therefore it was well-known and had a good reputation among the locals. I’m also proud to say that my great-grandparents were very loved in their community as they really were great people. Although it was a quite remote place, in summer we used to get like four or five groups of tourists per week.
The rule was that my brother and I were in charge of serving their tables as we were the only ones who knew any other language than Spanish, our native tongue. Our opening hours at the time were from 12:00 to 22:30 but the kitchen was only open from 13:00 to 15:00 and from 19:30 to 21:00. We only served one menu, composed of a starter, two main dishes, dessert, and cider or water.
So now the story. It was around 16:00, therefore most of the customers had finished eating and were chatting over a cup of coffee or some pints. My grandparents and great-grandparents were still eating as they waited until everyone was finished. Meanwhile, my brother and I were in charge of serving the tables just in case anyone wanted something else to drink.
Suddenly we hear a car outside, and I can hear a woman loudly speaking in English. As soon as they enter, this happens. Her: We would like to have a table, X from the Y Hotel told us this was a great place to eat. Me: I’m sorry ma’am, but the kitchen is already closed as it’s kind of late. Her: Yes, it’s late because we got lost in these stupid roads! Is it so difficult to put proper signals? Also, we have a little kid who is hungry.
Me: Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, let me check If I can do something for you. I then went inside and explained the situation to my grandma, who told me to attend them as everything was already prepared and it would be just heating the food. Her: Well, are you going to give us a table or not? If the kitchen is closed, how is it that those people are eating.
At this point, she pointed at my grandpas. At the moment, I thought she was behaving like that because she was kind of hungry. I wasn’t really used to dealing with rude people, as the majority of tourists used to be really respectful. Me: Well those are the owners, so they can eat whenever they want. (I said this while laughing a bit). Anyway, I have just asked them and you will be able to eat too, so please follow me to your table.
They follow me to the table and I explain to them that there is only one menu. They give me a strange look but they seem OK with that. I serve them the bread and I put a bottle of water on the table. They start devouring the bread so my “They were a bit rude cause they were hungry” theory seemed to be confirmed. I was so, so wrong.
As soon as I bring the starter, the dad demands to have the Wi-Fi password. Him: Hey, we see that there is a Wi-Fi network, what’s is the password? Me: Yes, there is one. However, the Wi-Fi is for the staff’s personal use. (We had a measured and reeeeally slow connection that my grandpa used for checking some newspapers and my brother and I used for sending Whatsapps to our friends). Him: That’s ridiculous! We are paying customers and we deserve to have access to your Wi-Fi!
Mom: Yes, our little angel wants to watch some videos. We don’t have any kind of internet access here! Me: Sorry, but as I have said it’s for personal use. Mom: That’s not right, this would be unacceptable in America. Me: Well, I’m sorry to inform you that we are not in America. The mom tells something to the kid and he starts running around the restaurant, stomping his feet and shouting
My great-grandpa comes to me and asks me what is happening, I explain the whole situation to him and he asks me to please translate what he is going to say. Him: Please lady control your child, or I will have to ask you three to leave. Her: DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME HOW TO RAISE MY CHILD YOU DINOSAUR! Father: DON’T GET CLOSE TO MY CHILD YOU OLD CREEP! By this point, everyone is of course looking with disbelief to these morons.
I hesitate for a second, but translate all of this to my great-grandpa, expecting a not really nice reaction. Instead of saying anything, he slowly turns around and asks two men who are sitting at a table to take the whole family out of his restaurant. I proceed to explain to the family that if they don’t get out, those two men, who also happened to be police officers, would be taking them out.
They don’t seem to believe that those two men were officers and they refused to leave until we served them. Finally, both men stood up, showed their plaques, and asked them (in their best English) to leave. They finally stand up and leave. However, as they were leaving the officers realized that they had parked in front of our garage, blocking it.
At that point, they decided to ask for their rental car papers while taking a couple of photos and giving them a fine for blocking a private property garage.
29. Born This Way
My best friend and I were on a beach, just chilling. Now, my best friend is on the big-breasted side of the spectrum. So, bikinis are a nightmare to her. She is always stared at, and that makes her really uncomfortable. Anyway, we were in a more secluded part of the beach, and we had already swum and decided to sit a bit. When we come back to our chairs, a family has settled down near us.
The mom was in her late 30s and the dad was in his early 50s. They had a child with them, a boy about nine years old. We didn’t pay any mind to them, we just sat on our chairs and talked for a bit. I noticed the dad of the family looking at my friend, but shrugged it off. Soon, I decide to pick something to drink (there was a bar nearby) and I asked my friend if she wanted something.
She asked me for a lemonade. I go to the bar and see the mother of the family coming near me. I waited in line until the woman comes to talk to me. Her: “Hi, I saw that you and your friend are nearby me and my family.” I just nodded to her. Her: “I think your friend is really beautiful, but she is showing too much cleavage.”
I looked at her, trying to think of how to respond to this. Me: “Well, she can’t be faulted for being born with big breasts can she?” She looked at me like she was expecting me to agree with her, and was now shocked. Her: “Well, she could try not wearing a bikini that small!” She said this with a somewhat annoyed voice. Me: “She can do whatever she wants, lady.”
She turned red at that. I don’t think that this woman had ever heard someone disagree with her before. Her: “My child will be traumatized!” I looked back to where my friend is sitting, and I have a clear view of her and the family. This woman’s child is making sandcastles, while her husband is staring hard at my friend, who was putting on sunscreen at the time.
So, the problem was not her child, it was her husband. Me: “Well I can’t do much lady, now please leave me alone.” I picked up my drinks and ignored the woman. She wasn’t happy about it, though. Her: “Don’t you dare ignore me young man, I’m not finished.” I just look at her and took a sip of my drink before saying, “Lady, your kid isn’t even looking at my friend, your husband on the other hand…”
I pointed at her husband who was staring at my friend with hungry eyes. She looked shocked. I go to my friend, give her her drink and sit beside her, all while watching as the wife comes back and furiously whispers to her husband. Not long after, my friend and I decided to leave. I didn’t tell my friend about the crazy lady, she has enough confidence issues. At least I didn’t see this family ever again.
30. Something’s Fishy
I’m allergic to fish/seafood. It’s not the anaphylactic type of allergy, thank goodness, so I’m not going to die if I eat some, but I do throw up, have a stomach ache, and a massive headache for a few hours. Enough fish/seafood and I break out in small red hives over my arms. My mother didn’t believe it and as a child, I couldn’t stand up to her properly.
She’d force me to eat stuff with seafood or fish in it to “prove” I wasn’t allergic, then ignore me as I was sick. One day, she held a dinner party. I was dressed up beautifully and trotted out to parade before the guests. At the time, I was about nine, precocious for my age, and absolutely fed up with my mother making me sick from food.
When she held out a fish cutlet (fish cooked with vegetables, rolled into a ball, covered in batter and fried) for me to eat, I saw my chance. Me, loudly: “I can’t eat that, I’m allergic to fish.” Mother: “No, you’re not. Eat it.” Me: “I am allergic! I’ll throw up!” No Asian mother will back down in front of guests for fear of looking like she can’t discipline her child.
So my mother grabbed the fish cutlet, shoved it to my mouth, and said in her most firm voice of command, “EAT.” So I ate it. Cut to about ten minutes later. I go up to my mother and tug on her sari to get attention. Me: “I don’t feel well—” BARF. I vomited on her, on the expensive carpet, and in full view of all the guests. My mother has a reputation for being a kind, generous, charitable, and very religious woman, so in front of all the guests, she couldn’t do anything except act sympathetic and send me off to bed to recover.
She never made me eat fish or seafood again.
31. A Pregnant Pause
My pregnancy was okay up until the last month. It was 95 degrees outside, I was retaining so much water, my sandals hardly fit on the biggest setting, and I was constantly in pain. It sucked. I run (waddle) to the store for a couple last-minute things for baby, and I was sooo relieved that there was a parking spot for preggos and parents near the entrance.
I pulled in and took a few moments to chug water and gather my things when I notice a car pull up to my left. They were half in the handicap parking stall and yelling something out the window. I rolled my window down and hear “you shouldn’t be in that spot, you don’t have kids. My son shouldn’t have to walk from the back of the parking lot.”
It was something to that effect; I was a little stunned to be honest. I calmly told her that I was VERY pregnant, and this stall was for pregnant women, too. She kept talking to her son, but at me, you know what I mean? “Sorry son, you have to walk in the heat, because this lady parked in our spot.” So, I opened my door and hoisted my giant, land-whale-esque body out of my car.
She was still turned around “talking to her son” and when she finally saw me, I was about three feet away from her window. I bent down (ha, no, I tilted my head down) and said “Do you see how pregnant I am? I think you and your son will be okay walking.” And then I saw the son…and he was like seven?!? The kid can walk. She just sighed and drove away.
32. Adults Only
I attended an adult-only wedding for a co-worker a few days ago. The actual ceremony was in a very small church, so it was mostly family and close friends but the reception was for roughly 250 people. The reception was at a very elegant hotel ballroom. Not child-friendly in any way. Crystal stemware, expensive linens on the table, etc.
About 1/2 hour into the reception, a commotion started that made everyone stare. This entitled mother is arguing with the wedding planner loudly. Me being the nosy broad that I am, I inched closer to hear. It turns out this woman brought her four young children to the reception even though the invitations clearly stated Adults Only.
The entitled mother insisted that her kids—the oldest one looked eight and the youngest was under a year old—were super well-behaved so it was fine. Now keep in mind this was around 7:30 pm. The planner was having none of it. She insisted that children were not allowed and she had to leave. In a last ditch effort to get admitted, the mother shouted at the bride.
The bride went over and listened to her for a moment, and then said in a syrupy sweet voice, “Of course you can come in, but your children cannot.” Then she turned on her heel and went back to her new husband. The mother flipped a nut, yelling about how she was invited, couldn’t find a babysitter, etc. Three of the groomsmen escorted her and her kids to the door.
33. Bottling It Up
My daughter had a friend over for a sleepover last weekend. They’re both 13-year-old girls, and it was all fairly standard stuff. Watch bad movies, stay up too late, eat too much junk food, you know the drill. Both kids seemed to have a nice time, and the visiting kid was nice enough for someone else’s teenage child, and I really didn’t think too much more about it.
Until… the friend’s mother called me Sunday night, absolutely outraged over what I had done while her child was in my care. Was it allowing them to stay up too late? Was it the junk food? Was it the choice of film I allowed them to watch? No, it was far worse than that. Imagine the mother’s horror when she discovered I had allowed her child to…wait for it…drink tap water.
Turns out, only bottled water is acceptable for her family. Now, I know some places, there are issues drinking tap water. We live in an area with excellent tap water quality, so I was kind of baffled by what the issue was. I told her, “Um, our tap water is fine, and your kid didn’t say anything at the time,” but oh no, that wasn’t good enough.
You see, tap water has toxins in it, it’s not safe and her family only drinks bottled water, and she is “frankly shocked and disturbed that her child was associating with the child of such an awful, awful parent.”
She finished by saying that I could “rest assured she would be calling CPS first thing Monday to have my child removed from such a harmful environment.” I was just kind of stunned and didn’t really say anything, and she hung up on me. I’d love to know where she thinks bottled water companies get their water from, and second, we’re in Australia, and CPS isn’t a thing here. So yeah. They’re out there.
34. What’s Mine Isn’t Yours
This happened about five years ago. My fiancée and I have been together for seven years this month. We were reminiscing about some old stories yesterday when this one came up, and she suggested I share it. She was my girlfriend at the time, and at the time I was fully aware that her mom was a few fries short of a happy meal, but this was the pinnacle of her behavior.
My girlfriend Ellie and I weren’t living together at the time, she just stayed over from time to time when she could. I took her home after she had been staying with me a couple of days and was heading to work. But shortly after, just before getting to work, I get a phone call from her and I can tell she is in tears. Apparently, when she got inside her house, her mother immediately blew up on her about being gone for SOOO long.
It was only two days and she TOLD her mom she was going to be gone and kept in contact with her while she was gone. But Ellie just sort of brushed it off and went to her room. The house was pretty much your stereotypical crazy cat lady house. Badly decaying, cats all over the place, going to the bathroom in random places and whatnot.
When Ellie gets to her room, she realizes that while she was gone, the cats peed and pooped over a pile of her clean clothes. But whatever, Ellie decided to just bag them up and she would wash them next time she came to my place. Her mom didn’t have a functioning washer at the time. Apparently, that REALLY set her mom off.
Her mom apparently thought Ellie was bagging her clothes because she was planning to go BACK to my place that night to stay another few days. So she stomped into her room, grabbed the bag, ripped it open, and flung the clothes all over the room along with the cat refuse while screaming at Ellie that she’s not going anywhere. That’s when Ellie ran outside and called me.
She was so upset and didn’t know what to do. Her mom had been doing crazy stuff to Ellie since I’d been with her, but up until then I just helped her however I could while not getting involved and not saying a word to her mom. I told her to go ahead and get the things she needs, and I’ll take her to my place. She said she would love that.
I told my work I was gonna be late due to an emergency, and turned around to go pick her up. When I pulled back up to the house, Ellie was in the driveway crying. I went and hugged her, told her it was gonna be ok and that she could stay with me as a long as she wanted. So she went back inside to get her things. As I was standing outside waiting, I heard the door open again and went to help Ellie with her things…uh-oh…it’s her mom.
She comes stomping out with her hair crazy and frizzled, wearing an old nightgown. She beelines for me and gets right in my face. Her (with an extremely thick high pitched southern accent): My daughter said I need to come out here and ask what you think of me! (I knew that was a blatant lie as Ellie would NEVER instigate this.)
Her: You got something to say?? Huh?? You think I’m trash don’t you huh?? That’s what you think, isn’t it?? Again, up until now, I’d COMPLETELY kept my mouth shut, and was trying to maintain that. But this woman was up in my face, freaking out, and was tormenting the woman I loved, so I finally looked at her and broke my silence.
Me: Why do you treat her like this? Her: *GASP* WHAT DO YOU MEAN?? THAT’S MY DAUGHTER AND I WORSHIP THE GROUND SHE WALKS ON!!! Me: Oh really? So calling her names is worship? Her: *GASP* I WOULD NEVER SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT! Me: (getting rather irate) Lies! I’ve HEARD you say things. Her: *EXPLOSION* YOU GET OFF MY PROPERTY!!!!!!!!
Ok, I almost never find myself in situations like this, so I’m not used to it. I say that because after she said this, I pretty much saw red. I’m not proud of it, but I just started shouting every curse word in the book I could possibly think of at the top of my lungs while she went back into the house. But thankfully, that only lasted a few seconds and I immediately calmed down.
So finally Ellie comes back out with her stuff. We put it in the car and I assume it’s over…but Ellie turns to me and says, “I’m sorry but we can’t leave yet.” Me: Why not?
Ellie: *Sigh* Mom called the authorities. I sort of had a feeling that would happen, no big deal. So we just sat and waited for the officer to arrive. After about 10 minutes or so, a patrol car pulls up.
Right when he does, her mom comes out of the house, and…Oh my god. Yes, she was doing EXACTLY what you think. She INSTANTLY puts on the fragile brittle old lady act. Hunched over, walking slowly, the whole gig. And of course, when the officer asks her what happened, she has to pitch her entire medical chart to the guy. Ellie will tell you this woman has been “terminally” ill for 12 years, ha.
So when she finally gets done trying to milk this poor guy for sympathy, she tells her version of what happened. Her: Sir, he came onto my property and verbally attacked me! He’s awful to me sir and I’ve never even done anything to him! He’s turned my daughter against me and is trying to convince her to leave!! At first, he seemed somewhat sympathetic to her…until he turns to Ellie.
Officer: Ma’am, this is your boyfriend? Ellie: Yes sir. Him: Ok, and how old are you? Ellie: Sir…I’m 23. This was my favorite part because the officer looked up from his notepad with a look of “Wait, what?” Obviously, he was thinking Ellie was a minor or something based on how her mother was acting, but quickly realized just what he was dealing with.
Eventually, he turns to me. Officer: Ok sir, please give me your version of what happened. I did so. Funny side note, at one point the officer looks up at me and says, Officer: You look really familiar…do I know you? It actually turned out the officer and I had gone to high school together. Once we recognized each other, we laughed and shook hands very briefly.
This was hilarious because out of the corner of my eye, I see the mom has a big scowl on her face as she sees me getting friendly with him. Anyway, the officer puts his notepad away and turns to me. He says the following with this heavy tone of “I know that you are fully aware of this and I don’t believe you are in the wrong at all, but I have to say this as a formality.”
Officer: Well, she doesn’t want you on the property, so be aware that if you come back here you technically can be charged with trespassing. Do you understand this as I’ve explained it? Me: Absolutely sir. Mother: But sir, I want to press charges! Officer: He didn’t do anything wrong, ma’am. Mother: But he verbally attacked me!
Officer: I understand that, and while that was ill-advised (he slightly turns to me and gives me a small gesture with his hand, and I nod in agreement), it’s not something I could detain him for. He agrees he will not come back on your property without your direct permission. Mother: Ugh! Ok fine, whatever! Ellie, come back inside!
Ellie: What? No! Mother: You heard the officer, he is leaving and you’re staying here! Officer: Whoa, ma’am, I didn’t say that at all. Mother: BUT…BU— Officer: Your daughter is not a child ma’am, she is a full-grown adult, and she has every right to go wherever she wants. Mother: I’m her mother! She lives under my roof! I told her she needs to stay here, so she needs to stay!!
Officer No ma’am, that’s not how it works. If she wants to go stay with her boyfriend, there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop her. She now starts the fake crocodile tears and stomps into the house in defeat. Ellie and I thanked the officer, got in the car, and left. We’ve been living together ever since. The best part of all is that this has a happy ending.
Believe it or not, the entitled mom isn’t really much of an entitled mom anymore. Over the years since that day, she has actually decided to make an effort to try and improve herself. I guess she realized that if she didn’t make changes, she would lose her relationship with Ellie. So she started taking advantage of her medical coverage and went to see her psychiatrist and got medicine for the mental illness she actually had, as opposed to the ones she would make up.
Since then…well, she has actually gotten WAY better. She takes her medicine regularly and has a boyfriend who is an EXTREMELY kind man and treats Ellie as though she were his own daughter. We actually get along very well and we see them frequently, and we help each other out whenever we can. We actually look back on the early years when she WAS in fact entitled, and laugh.
So not only is everybody getting along well, we can actually share the cringe stories and happily laugh about them.
35. Phoning It In
I’m a half-black woman who grew up in a ghetto and worked hard through high school to earn a scholarship and full ride through college. I now work a very decent job and make a reasonable amount of money, which I’m not afraid to show off, though I do maintain my ghetto heritage. Naturally, racism is a touchy subject for me. So here I am minding my own business in a local coffee place answering some emails on my new Samsung note 10.
It’s my day off so I’m not dressed particularly well. Hoodie, sweatpants, you know the deal. I noticed that this entitled mother and her kid are staring at me. Not a big deal especially since this is an upper-class area and I’m, well me, and with my demeanor. Eventually, they walk over to me and the mother says, “You! Where did you get that?”
ME: “Um, I bought it?” HER: “How?” ME: “How do you think?” HER: “People like ‘you’ can’t afford phones like that, you must have taken it.” At this point, I’m sort of in shock and speechless. She follows up with: “I should report you to the authorities, but I’m willing to let this go if you hand the phone over to my precious baby son, now!”
ME: “Why would I do that?” HER: “Because you took it and don’t deserve it!” ME: “You’re not getting my phone.” At this point, the manager walks over after noticing the situation and tries to calm everyone down. Manager: Ma’am, I need you to keep it down. This is a coffee shop.” HER: “THIS WOMAN TOOK MY SON’S PHONE. Manager: “Wait what?” HER: “I want a full refund, my phone back, and some compensation.”
Manager: (to me) “Ma’am, you need to give her the phone back or I’m calling the authorities.” ME: “But it’s my phone.” HER: “THAT’S MY SONS PHONE.” Manager: “Ma’am, that’s clearly not your phone.” At this point, the kid is screeching. I can’t really make out what he’s saying but he’s reaching for my phone. Having dealt with this stuff all my life, I began to go off at all three of them so naturally officers were called.
The officers immediately apprehended me (and only me) and confiscated my phone. They also took the mother’s kid’s, and manager’s statements before taking mine last. All three of them told the officer an exaggerated version of events. At this point, you’d have thought I was some homeless Black person who’d just mugged a 13-year-old if you believed the story they told.
I gave them my statement and told them I would refuse to cooperate any further until they checked the security footage. The coffee shop refused to let them check since as far as they were concerned, it was clear I was a thief and I’d been apprehended, so what’s the point? Eventually, the security footage was checked, and everything became very awkward after that.
The officers awkwardly apologized and even went out of their way to make excuses. None of the coffee shop staff actually said anything to me once I was apprehended. Guess I’m not going back there now. The kid never stopped screeching even as I left after being released, and the mother seemed completely unfazed by the security footage and continued to claim that I must have taken it from someone else because “my type” can’t afford those phones.
So that was another day off ruined by entitled parents and racial profiling. I wish I could say I was surprised by the absolute gall of that woman, but to be honest, I’ve experienced so many of these situations nothing surprises me anymore.
36. Grand Theft Grandma
I am currently pregnant with my first child, and both my mom and stepdad have been terrible to me and my partner the entire time. They told us we would be unfit parents because we aren’t married yet, and legitimately screamed at my partner for “knocking up their little girl” even though we planned the pregnancy. They would call him every day and harass him, and even show up to his work.
They try to convince him to leave me so I would have no choice but to move back in with them. It got worse as time went on, and I finally decided to cut contact with them. Having a child can already be a stressful time, and having them around to make it worse was not something I was okay with. My partner and I have gone through a lot with family drama the past couple of years and having this baby has been one of the most exciting things for us.
If my parents can’t be nice to my partner, then they don’t get to see our baby. One day I sent my mom a very detailed email of why she is not allowed to be a part of my life anymore and will not be seeing her grandchild. To make things even better, I also noted that we will be moving across the country shortly after she is born to be closer to other family members.
So not only is she cut off, but we are literally moving far away and never coming back. Her reply chilled me to the bone. She responds by showing up at our house at 11 pm, screaming outside our door about how it is her baby and she deserves to be there for it. I tell her to screw off and eventually, she leaves. Months go by and she will text me randomly asking about technical problems with her Wi-Fi router or something.
Little things like that don’t mean much to me, so I sent her the info she needed. My cousin also had a virtual baby shower and sent my invitation to my mom’s house accidentally, so my mom came by to give it to me. Things slowly came to a point that we were fairly amicable with each other, but I still stood my ground about our boundaries and nothing else had changed.
She knew this. Then she sends me a video today that blew my mind. She redecorated her entire guest room to be a nursery. Crib, changing table, $400-worth of newborn clothes, toy chest, stroller, a car seat for her car, and the list goes on. In the video, she is in tears saying “I can’t believe my baby is going to be here soon, this is where she will sleep, where I will change her little diapers, these will be her toys.”
Is she psychotic!? HER baby?? Sleeping and living at HER house?? What!? So I call her up immediately and I reiterate that we are still moving across the country soon and that she will have no contact with the baby before that. Her response? “Oh okay, we will see about that!” Genuinely confused. What part of “you will have no contact with this baby” does she not understand or thinks will change in the next few weeks when she is born?
Is she planning on taking her from us? I am at a loss for words.
37. The Queen’s English
This story took place five months ago. So my stepmom is British. Welsh, to be exact. For those who don’t know, Wales is the little hump west of England and north of Cornwall. It’s a beautiful place known for sheep. My stepmom is ethnically Welsh, but raised in England. Despite this, my Nain and Taid (Welsh for grandma and grandpa) insisted on her and her brother learning Welsh to preserve their heritage.
The Welsh are a proud people, and so they wanted to ensure their children were as immersed as they could be. So she grew up bilingual, went to university, got a job working for a certain tech giant, and moved to the US to help train their staff. A few years later, she met my dad and joined the family. At the time I was still getting over my mom, so her presence was less than welcome.
Despite this, my stepmom never pushed me or tried to buy her way in. She gave me the room I needed to grieve, and, when I was ready, showered me with enough affection to make up for the lost time. She has my eternal love and respect for it and has become my second mother. Now, we live in a large town in the mid-west, being west of the seaboard but east of the Mississippi, so while most people are open to outsiders, there’s the usual few who just want to ruin everything.
Around Christmas time, I was visiting home from college with my girlfriend, Charlie, enjoying some quality girls’ time with my stepmom. We were in the mall, searching for some place that sold plastic modeling glue for my dad (he’s really into Warhammer). During this, my stepmom is on the phone with her brother, who still lives in the UK, catching up and sharing some laughs.
They were speaking Welsh to each other, which happened to offend a woman who has since earned the title of Karen. We were standing in front of the mall map, trying to find the hobby store when I heard a loud scoff from behind us. I turned to see a woman dressed in a rather nice-looking business suit corralling her kids away like they’d just encountered a streaker.
Now I was ready to let it go, but Charlie can get very defensive of people she likes, so she ended up calling her out. “Something offend you, ma’am?” The woman seemed to ponder her next move before responding with that oh so stupid phrase. “You’re in America! When you’re here, you speak English! Not Muslim! My kids don’t need to hear that!”
Now, I’ve met some pretty stupid people in my life. Even dated one. But never, ever have I heard of someone confusing Welsh for Arabic (which is what I assumed she meant). They’re two very different languages from two very different cultures. The only similarity between them is how little I understand them. However, for someone to be so offended by someone speaking another language, they probably also didn’t immerse themselves too much in other cultures.
To her, the world probably began in New York and ended in Los Angeles. It was at this point that my stepmom hung up. “Now, I know that Americans get a bad rap and all,” she said in an obvious British accent. “But it doesn’t help when you actively conform to the stereotype.” “Oh my God,” Karen said with righteous indignation. “Your accent is awful! Where did you even learn to speak English?”
My stepmom held the most deadpan expression she could: “England.” I swear I could smell the smoke coming from the flaming mess inside Karen’s skull. She looked at Charlie and I (a pair of shockingly Caucasian college brats) and then my stepmom (our even paler chaperone), took a moment to process what she was doing, and then walked away, dragging a group of embarrassed looking tweens with her.
I have to give her credit. At least she knew when to quit. My stepmom chuckled, muttered an offensive-sounding Welsh phrase, and then helped us scan the map for the hobby shop. The rest of the day went well, and we had a funny story to tell my dad when we got back. To all the people out there who get offended when someone speaks another language: get over yourselves.
The world doesn’t revolve around you. To all my bilingual friends out there who speak their native tongues: good for you. It’s important to keep your culture alive. And to Karen: next time you try to accost someone for speaking something other than English, at least get the right continent.
38. If You Know, You Know
I’m home from college, and my parents require me to have a summer job. I’m blessed enough that I get to keep all the money I earn, my parents just like me to work to gain experience. This will be relevant later, but I’m not a skinny girl. I wouldn’t consider myself large either, I’m 5’6” tall and weigh about 140-145 lbs. right now and carry most of it in my hips and thighs.
The freshman 15 did hit me hard though, as I used to be 120ish. So today after finishing my last online final, my dad called me. He told me that one of his friends who runs a company texted him that they were looking for girls to work in the office, answering phones and stuff. I got excited because that’s exactly what I wanted, so I put on a dress, printed a copy of my résumé, and drove down.
The ladies inside were super nice and asked me to fill out an application, so I sat down to do so. We’re in the South which might be relevant, because typically for jobs like this they’re looking for a “pretty face” to sit behind the counter and talk to customers. This is unspoken, though. Yes, it’s awful but hey, I needed a job. So, as I’m filling out an application, this entitled mom enters with her teenage daughter.
She announces that she’s here about the opening and her daughter would like to apply. The one receptionist explains that she’ll need to fill out an application and hands her one and a pen. They come to sit in the lobby, right beside me, which I thought was weird but I didn’t say anything. Mom (to me): “Are you here for the job as well?” Me: “Yes ma’am.” Mom: “Hmph.” You know, that little cocky sound people make? I ignored her and went up to ask the receptionist a question about the application.
When I returned and sat back down, the mother walked up to the desk. Mom: “Does my daughter even really need to fill this out?” Receptionist: “It’s protocol. The boss will look at all the applications and decide who to call for an interview.” Mom: “Is he here? I’m sure if he could see my daughter, he’d know who he wanted to call, ha!”
Receptionist: “He is, but he isn’t seeing visitors right now.” Mom: “How will he know who to hire if he doesn’t know what the girls look like?” Receptionist: “Well, he will need to see their references and will make a few calls before he—” Mom: “No. My daughter is an aspiring model. She won [insert local pageant] in 2019. He needs to see her to know she’s the face he wants to see behind the counter interacting with customers.”
Receptionist: “I’m not sure what you mean? This isn’t a modeling job, looks don’t really matter…” Mom: “Oh I know, but they do. And let’s face it, your boss isn’t going to want” —at this point, she leans in closer— “a chubby girl up here, is he?” This whole time, the daughter is smirking at me in glances as she fills out her application.
This caught the attention of the second receptionist as well as me, and we both looked up at this point. Other receptionist: “Ma’am, I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Mom: “Oh, no disrespect, I just know the boss personally and know he’d prefer a new pretty face around the office. Maybe I’m a little biased, but I think there’s no question between my daughter and, well, this young lady for example. No offense honey, just trying to save you some time.”
At this point, I’m in tears. I don’t know if it was rage or the sting of her insult, but either way, I was NOT going to let her see me cry, so I quickly got up and handed my application to the first receptionist before trying to leave. Second receptionist (who is a plus-sized woman): “Sweetie, wait.” (talking to me) (turning to the mom) “You say you know the boss personally, right?”
Mom: “Oh, yes, we went to high school together.” Second receptionist: “And you know him so well that you know he’d prefer a skinny woman behind this desk?” Mom: “Well, I didn’t say that, but I’d assume so.” This is when the hammer dropped down. Second receptionist: “Great. Well, I’m his wife and I’ve worked behind this desk for almost 15 years now, and as you can see I could probably drop a few, and I take personal offense to what you’re saying about my husband and this young lady, so I’d like you to wait in the car while your daughter fills out her application.”
Both the mom and the daughter stormed out at that point, with the daughter taking her application, so I don’t know if she’ll apply or not. But, both women behind the counter told me that the mom was a witch and they’d vouch for me with the boss, so I’m hopeful that I got the job!
39. Mommy’s Little Monster
I was playing on a Minecraft server with five friends at the time this happened. This new kid joined our game and our Skype call. He kept breaking our builds and demanding we give him stuff. We originally decided to ban him, but we wanted to have some fun, so we kept just killing him. The Skype call was basically six guys laughing and a little kid screaming, calling us hackers.
We were talking on Skype when his mother called. “LET MY SON PLAY ON THE SERVER, YOU UNGRATEFUL JERKS.” “No,” we all said at the same time. “MY HUSBAND IS A LAWYER AND HE WILL SUE YOU AND I WILL CALL THE AUTHORITIES FOR HARASSMENT!” “Shut up, lady!” “DON’T YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT! MY SON DESERVES ALL YOUR ITEMS MORE THAN ALL OF YOU COMBINED!”
“Screw off, woman!” “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO SWEAR! ONLY ADULTS ARE ALLOWED TO USE THAT KIND OF LANGUAGE!” One of us makes a Christian Minecraft server meme and she gets really angry. “HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY RELIGION! ALRIGHT. WHERE DO YOU LIVE?” We start making up addresses. “THAT’S IT! I’M LEAVING!” “About time.” She left and blocked us. We still joke about that incident.
40. In The Dog House
So I’m a 20-year-old woman and I work as a dog groomer. I’ve been one for four, almost five years. The big thing in dog grooming is reputation, quality, and time management. Yesterday, we were expecting a girl to come in at 10:00 to try out as a dog groomer. She was promising, 23 or 25 years old, and had worked as a dog groomer at other places.
She didn’t show till 4:30. No call. No nothing. She apparently had a hair appointment and friends from out of town came in so they got their nails done. She asked if she could groom now. I said no, I don’t think so. When she pressed, I said (and I might be a jerk for saying this): “We don’t want or need you. There’s no need to reschedule your try-out.”
I went back to get my last two dogs done. Apparently, she cried and I was starting to feel bad. Then came the entitled mother. Her mom came in this morning demanding we give her a second chance. I told her, “Your daughter was six and a half hours late. That’s not something that works in dog grooming.” The mom replied, “She was with friends. I’d think someone your age would understand that.”
Me: “Not when there’s a job interview. She didn’t call or anything.” At this point, I was ticked and over it. I have five dogs to get done. She said, “Well, there was no reason to make her cry!” I said I disagree and got back to work. Apparently, she stayed up there and demanded we give her another shot. As head dog groomer I said, not gonna happen. She left eventually, saying her daughter was too good for us.
41. Money Isn’t Everything—But It Helps
I’m 39, successful, and am quite well off. My siblings, sadly, are not. My brother, who is 42, has three children. My sister, 35, also has three, with another one on the way. My youngest sister, who is 28, is married and pregnant, but she had nothing to do with the events of this story. We were all raised to believe that money doesn’t matter and all you need is a happy marriage and lots of kids to live a happy life.
Being poor and having lots of kids was somehow glorified. Maybe because that’s the way our parents lived and wanted to convince themselves that they didn’t screw up. Fortunately for me, I didn’t buy into that nonsense. I always knew I never wanted children. I focused on my career and on achieving success. Today I have my own house, wonderful pets, and a loving boyfriend.
My family, however, seems to think that there’s something wrong with my lifestyle. My parents have often commented that my 5-bedroom house is empty without any kids running around. My siblings often tell me I’m selfish for not having kids and actually enjoying my life. However, their disdain for my “selfish” lifestyle doesn’t stop them from begging for money.
My brother and sister have called me and asked me to help pay their bills. Now, if it’s something serious like clothes or school supplies for their kids, I’m willing to pitch in. But I always refuse when I’m asked to pay for trips to amusement parks, etc. I also paid for my parents to stay in a high-end assisted living facility. They’re my parents, I felt that I owed them this much.
Still, I couldn’t help but feel insulted when they sang praises for my siblings for breeding and following in their footsteps and how they wish I had done the same. As if, among all their kids, I’m the biggest disappointment. For this reason, I’ve distanced myself from them. I only call or visit to check up on them and don’t let them be a part of my life.
The other day, I got a call from my sister asking if she, her husband, my brother, and his wife could come over. I said OK. At this meeting, they made a stunning request. They asked me to leave my fortune to their kids, in equal portions. And if I did, they would stop asking me for financial help. They said this as if they were doing me a favor.
“You don’t have kids, so who are you gonna leave it to?” asked my brother. I told them I was going to leave my money to charities and that I don’t owe them anything. When they went on the “you’re selfish” route, I told them to get lost. The next morning, I got a call from my dad telling me they were disappointed in me. I simply hung up.
The one family member who has stood by me is my youngest sister. She actually has her stuff together and I could not be more proud of her. After the altercation with my siblings, my parents tried a different strategy. They tried to sweet talk me and suddenly their tune had changed from “You’re so selfish” to “Aww! We didn’t mean it. Let’s talk.”
So, after they kept pestering me to have a word with them in person, I invited them over. Now my parents know darn well that chocolate is bad for dogs, but my mom has tried to give them some on many occasions. When I tell her off she always comes back with “but maybe they like it” and “I was just being nice.” This time when they came over, I left them in the living room and went to the kitchen to get some refreshments.
While I was there, one of my dogs came over to greet them. I could see them from the kitchen. My mom petted him for a while, then reached into her purse and pulled out a bar of chocolate. She broke off a piece and was about to give it to him when I stormed over and knocked it out of her hands. My parents looked shocked. I was enraged.
Even after being told repeatedly that chocolate is bad for dogs, they just didn’t get it. When I asked my mom what the heck she was doing, my dad actually started yelling at me and told me I was being rude. I told them either they were complete idiots or they were intentionally trying to hurt my dog because of the recent conversation with my siblings.
I told them I was sick of their lies and that they were on very thin ice with me. When they tried to argue back, I grabbed my dad by the arm and walked him out the door. My mom followed.
42. Holy Roller
I’m in a DnD group with a couple of friends from nearby, and one of the members of the group was a kid who was about 15 years old. He’s a really sweet kid, likes helping other people out, and he’s a BIG fan of Dungeons and Dragons. He also has cancer in both of his lungs. He’s from a religious family that basically forces him to act pure while he’s in their sight.
The mom is practically rabid, while the dad is just a sensible person who just tries to get him to be a good kid. When he’s out of sight of his parents, he just does normal teen stuff. Because of his mom, the only books he was allowed to own were Christian books and bibles. He joined our group mainly as a way to escape his home life and his mom.
A couple of weeks ago, the cancer in his lungs started to get to him, so he was taken to a hospital by his parents. He contacted me about this a day after he was taken to the hospital, stating that he wanted a Monster Manual as his last wish, and saying that he was tired of reading the same things. I bought him the book from Barnes and Noble, but considering that he’s a dying teen, I got him Volo’s Guide to Monsters and Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes stacked on top of that.
The next day, which was his birthday, he was still in the hospital, so I brought him the books as a gift. After he blew out the candles, we had cake and he started opening gifts. Mine was the first to be opened. Seeing what they were, he immediately got this humongous grin on his face and hugged me. Meanwhile, his mom stared down at the books with a look of pure disgust, with her husband staring at her with this wary look in his eyes.
She picks up one of the books, relights one of the candles, and HOLDS THE BOOK over it to try and set it on fire. I manage to stop her and demand “What are you doing?! He asked me to get those books and I’m not going to let you take them away!” His mom simply stared me down and said something along the lines of the books being “sinful,” “satanic,” and full of evil and that her son had no business with them.
I retort and say that her son can read what he wants and that she shouldn’t have to force him to be Christian. She starts getting red in the face and yelling at me about essentially forcing children to believe in God from a young age. I state that I’m a Baptist (which I actually am) and say that faith in God is a matter between God and the individual.
She turns red all over and actively starts to try and destroy the books again, with me, my friend, and her husband trying to stop her. At one point, I shouted “WOULD GOD WANT YOU TO DO THIS? TO RESTRICT YOUR DYING SON’S FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION?!” right in her face. This just sets her ablaze. She tosses the books aside and starts trying to STRANGLE her son.
Her husband calls security immediately when she does this. Security gets there within about a minute of the two of us trying to pry her off of her son and drag her away, with her shouting that we’re all “catamites to the devil.” Both her husband and my friend charge her with assault and attempted murder. The trial’s still going.
43. Bend Over Backwards
This happened about 3-4 years after I moved out of my parents’ house and had been living independently. Then one day, I get this string of texts from my mom. Mom: “Hey, how have you been doing? What are you up to two weeks from now?” Me: “I’ve been doing alright, I’ve started lifting weights and exercising more. I don’t think I’m doing anything too exciting next week. Why you ask?”
Mom: “perfect! Me and <boyfriend> are going on a trip and need you to house sit and watch the dogs for us.” Me: “Sorry, but I can’t just leave for a week.” Mom: “Please, the dogs miss you and I’d really hate to put them in the kennel.” Me: “Sorry but I have a job, I can’t just go missing for a week.” Mom: “Why can’t you drive to work from my house?”
Me: “Because it’s a 2.5hr commute each way.” Mom: “You have vacation days, right? Just use them.” Me: “No.” Mom: “please. I’d feel really bad about putting <dog’s name> in the kennel. You know how much she hates it.” Me: “You obviously don’t feel that bad about doing it.” Then I hear nothing from her until the day before they have their trip.
Mom: “Hey, we’re leaving for our trip today and I was wondering when you were going to be here? I want to show you some things before we leave.” Me: “What part of our last conversation gave you any idea that I agreed to this?” Mom: “That’s very rude of you and no way to speak to your mother. Now, can we expect you here by 5?” And at that point, I just put my phone on silent and stopped talking to her.
44. Meet Ugly
So for some context. I’m a 17-year-old male and I work at a Segway tour company. It’s actually really fun, I get to ride Segways around the city and talk to people, and get paid to do it. So anyway, there was a tour booked a couple of days ago and I came in about 20 minutes early to answer emails and get everything ready. The group shows up, mother and daughter, and that’s when things get interesting.
I check them in. ME: Alright I have some waivers for you to sign. Daughter, how old are you? D: Uh, 16. ME: Ok, then you don’t need to sign a waiver. I ask this because if kids are younger than 18, their parents sign the waivers for them, but the mom only heard me say the first part, not when I said the girl didn’t need to sign a waiver, so she thought I was just asking her daughter how old she was.
This was probably what started it all. We go on the tour, and while I’m giving my spiel, the mom keeps interrupting me to tell me stuff about the daughter and find out if we are compatible. ME: …and so this non-profit organization opened in— MOM: Are you in college? ME: No, I’m a junior in high school. I’m usually pretty free with information about myself on tours because it helps keep people relaxed and initiates conversations during lulls in the tour.
Plus it helps with tipping. MOM: Oh, my daughter is also a junior, she is an artist. Stuff like this keeps happening throughout the tour, and every time, the daughter gets redder and redder. My mom does this too where she just tells random mall attendants about me, so I know what the girl is going through and I feel her pain. At the end of the tour, I tell the two of them that they have 15 minutes to go around the town, and then they can meet me back at the Segway place.
I get back and start getting things set up for their return. They roll in (pardon the pun) and I take their Segways to start charging them. MOM: So what do you think of my daughter? ME: Pardon me, what? MOM: I saw you checking her out during the tour, are you gonna ask her out? D: Mom, stop! ME: Um, ma’am I just recently got out of a relationship and I’m really not looking for anything right now.
MOM: What!?!? ME: Huh? MOM: Is my daughter not good enough for you!? ME: No, that’s not it, I just said that I just got out of a relationship. Then it all took a very wild turn. MOM: You are going to date my daughter and that’s final! ME: You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not your kid, and if I don’t want to date your daughter, I don’t have to! Besides, you haven’t even asked her if she wants to date me.
D: Yeah, I don’t want to date him. ME: SEE?!? MOM: I’m going to call your boss and tell him about your terrible customer service! You’re never going to work here again! ME: (pulling out my phone) Alright, you want to call him and explain this situation? How you’re trying to force me to date your daughter and get me fired for saying no?
Then I guess the absurdity of the situation finally sunk in, and her face transitioned from pure rage to slight confusion. MOM: Wait, maybe I don’t want to— ME: No, let’s call him. (Start to go through my contacts, and press my boss’s name). Let’s have this conversation. MOM: I don’t think that’s a good idea— (Phone starts ringing)
MOM: Daughter, let’s go! She runs out the door, and the daughter turns to me and says “I’m sorry,” and then follows her mom. I hang up the phone before my boss answers and start cleaning the Segways.
45. Age Before Beauty
I was traveling on a train yesterday afternoon, back from seeing some friends. I was basically traveling the entire length of the route with a journey of around nine hours going over 450 miles north, so a long time. I had a reserved seat for the whole journey, with the seat next to me switching from being reserved for some of the journey for an hour or two, then being vacant.
At around hour 6 of my journey, the train was becoming very busy with families going home from day trips out. The next stop saw the person sitting next to me depart, and a woman—who was looking and acting as if the group of scraggy students (like me!) and families with little ones were far beneath her—got on with a woman who looked my age.
They were both looking around for a seat. The older woman saw the space next to me and made a beeline for it, with the other woman in tow. This is the conversation that followed: Older Woman: Hi, I think you’re in my daughter’s seat. Me: Oh, really? I’m pretty sure this is the seat I reserved, doesn’t it say so on the display up top?
Older Woman: No, the screen’s gone off, but these are the seats for me and my daughter, now move. At this, I got out of my seat to look at the screen, which still said it was reserved and quickly sat back down. Me: Nope, it still says it’s my seat. The seat next to me seems free for a while if one of you wants to sit down. Daughter: Why can’t you just move? We’re probably traveling further than you anyway.
Me: Sorry, but I’m really not going to move. Older Woman: [Raising her voice to attract the attention of others] I can’t believe you won’t have the dignity to let me sit next to my child! She can’t just go and sit on her own! Me [to the daughter]: How old are you? Daughter: 23, so probably older than you, you really should do what I say.
I’m 21 and look it. Me: Seriously? I won’t move from my reserved seat, your “child” is 23 and doesn’t need to sit with you! [I was feeling petty and so rose my voice to mimic the mom when saying this] Older Woman: That’s it, we’re getting the staff, I will not be spoken to like this by a child! With that, they both left the carriage, and I didn’t hear anything from any member of staff or anyone else, though a lovely little old lady who was sitting across from me said that she would probably have sworn like a sailor at them if they’d spoken to her like that when they’d gone out of earshot!
The icing on the cake was when the train stopped around half an hour later, I saw them both getting off and walking up the platform—it took everything in me not to give them a little wave as they skulked past!
46. Surf’s Up
I’m a surf instructor at a surf school on the beach. It was the end of the day, and I had just finished my final class. I’d done five hour-long classes in a row and I was covered in water and wet sand. Basically, I just wanted to get the thing off me and maybe go for a swim before I left the beach. I was in the surf shack we’re based in with three co-workers, who I’ll call Sam, Joe, and Mick.
Names changed but Sam in real life has an equally gender-neutral name. I texted my boyfriend, who confirmed he was five minutes away. I’d already finished my part of the closing up process, so while Sam put the closed sign on the door and locked up the filing cabinet and Joe and Mick sorted out the wetsuits and put the boards back in their holders, I left the boys to finish up and went to the changing area to strip off my wetsuit.
I’d gotten down to my tankini when I heard a loud, nasally, American-accented voice. EXCUSE ME? HELLO? SERVICE PLEASE? Seeing the boys were occupied, I pulled on my skirt and went to the door. This woman did not look like a stereotypical Karen. Long hair, tan, wearing a bikini with a big floppy beach hat and a sarong around her waist.
Her daughter was with her, looked around 10-12 years old, and like her mom’s Mini-Me, but she didn’t speak once during this encounter so I don’t know if she’s entitled or not. Me: Hi can I help you? Woman: You could start by putting some clothes on. My tankini is covering about the same amount of skin as a one-piece would, aside from a strip of exposed skin by my waist.
I’ll admit that the neckline is kind of low, but this woman is literally wearing a bikini, with way more exposed skin than me. And we’re in a surf shack. Me (customer service mode activated): I am very sorry, miss. Sam? Can you grab me my shirt, please? (he throws my tank top at me and I pull it on) Better? Woman: Not really. Is there anyone else who can take care of us?
Me: Sorry, my co-workers are a little busy right now, we’re closing up. Woman: Fine, I want to sign my daughter up for classes tomorrow. I start to talk her through the availability slots, when we can fit her kid in, prices and requirements. While I do this, I’m gesturing with my hands and leaning over the counter to point out some stuff on the sign-up sheet.
Woman (interrupting me): I’m sorry, don’t you have a sweatshirt or something? Keep in mind, it’s the middle of summer, in a heatwave, on a beach. Me (clinging to my customer service smile because I’m still technically on the clock): I’m sorry, no, I don’t. Would you like me to carry on? Woman: Is there no one else I could speak to? You’re making my daughter feel self-conscious.
Me (giving up on being polite): You’re making me feel self-conscious. It’s summer, it’s a beach, and it’s a heatwave. I do not have another shirt. Everything that needs to be covered is covered, and with all due respect, you’re wearing less than I am. Sam, wearing a t-shirt and denim shorts, hears all this and recognizes my tone as my “I’m about to snap” tone, so he looks at me, I nod at him, and he jumps in.
Sam: I’d be happy to help you, miss. My name is Sam. Why don’t you go— Woman: Sam is a guy? Sam: Last I checked. Woman: I thought you were a girl. Sam: Sorry to disappoint. Woman (to me): Do you think it’s appropriate to wander around like that when there’s a young man nearby? (to Sam) You should report her to HR. Sam: It’s a beach. People walk round in less all the time.
Woman (repeating): It’s inappropriate. Sam: You’re wearing a bikini. Woman: I’m not working, she is. Me: You do know this is a surf school? Meanwhile, Mick and Joe hear the noise. She hasn’t raised her voice or yelled or anything, but they can hear the tone of the conversation and decide they should step in just in case. Mick and Joe are both wearing board shorts and flip flops, and no shirts.
Mick (coming up behind me): Is there a problem here? Joe (at Mick’s side): Anything we can help with? Her eyes go wide. She looks between me and the three boys in shock and horror. Woman (recovering herself): I was just saying tha— Me: She was just telling me to put some clothes on. Mick: You know this is a beach, right? If anything, she’s overdressed.
The woman can see she’s not going to persuade me to magically summon more clothing to wear, and you can tell from her eyes she knows the boys won’t agree with her. Then a thought hits her like a brick to her hollow head. Woman: Just WHAT were you four doing back there? Joe: Closing up. Woman: I’m not stupid (I beg to differ).
Woman: You’re telling me she answered the door practically naked and y’all are wearing barely anything, but nothing’s going on here. Mick (jokingly to me): Now, we’ve told you not to answer the door naked. I laugh. Woman: Don’t you laugh at me, you little skank! I know what’s going on here you…perverts! Sam, who is gay, is in all-out, doubled over, peals of laughter.
The woman’s daughter looks really embarrassed and is now bright red with her face in her hands. Sam: You—You think that (trails off mid-sentence in favor of more laughing) Woman: Oh, sure, everyone protects the office skank! (Joe literally falls to the floor clutching his stomach laughing) Mick: Yeah, now if you don’t mind we’re in the middle of it, so get in or get out.
It’s just then that my boyfriend shows up. Boyfriend (sees me, Joe, Sam, and Mick beside ourselves laughing, the woman looking homicidal and the daughter bright red with her face in her hands): Everything okay here? My boyfriend comes over and gives me a hug, and I get the frankly genius idea to pull him in for a kiss in full view of the woman.
She screeches, some demonic noise that only dogs can hear, and stomps off, her poor daughter in tow, and that’s the last we ever heard from her.
47. You Never Forget Your First
This happened when I was 13 and was attending a male friend’s birthday party—I’m a girl. We attended the same school and a lot of other kids from our school were also there, along with their parents. As I gave my friend his present, I wished him a happy birthday with a hug. When he was cutting the cake, another boy from our school, who was a notorious jerk, stood right next to me.
He kept trying to touch my breasts since I was already quite developed. I kept telling him to stop but he wouldn’t listen. He kept trying to put his arms around me and trying to grope my chest. His friends were standing around us and I could hear them snicker. Finally, I’d had enough. I yelled at him to get away from me and my friend’s mom, the hostess, asked me what was wrong.
I told her what the guy had been doing. She sternly told him to apologize and to stop harassing me, otherwise, he would be asked to leave. Except now the jerk’s horrible mom stepped in. She asked my friend’s mom why she was scolding her son, and my friend’s mom explained what he had been doing. This horrible mom’s response was something like, “I don’t see what the big deal is. This girl hugged your son, why can’t she let my son touch her?”
Then she turned to me and said, “You need to stop being so stuck up and learn to be friendly. If my son just put his arm around you, what’s wrong with that? Stop complaining.” I told her I didn’t like her son and didn’t like him touching me. My friend’s mom told her to stop making a scene and that her son needs to apologize.
This woman acted indignantly and as she stormed off, she again said something like, “If that girl is okay with your son touching her, she’s probably okay with all boys touching her. You’re just being rude to us.” My friend’s mom was absolutely wonderful. She asked if I was okay and told me I had done the right thing by telling the boy off.
This was my first encounter with an entitled parent—outside of my own family, that is.
48. A Blessing And A Curse
I’m a 19-year-old girl, and I’m my parents’ second child. I have three brothers who are 21, 13, and 7, plus a sister, who is 16. We grew up poor and our parents were often dependent on financial help from relatives, friends, etc. for raising us. This is because even though my dad has a mediocre job and my mom doesn’t work, they just kept on popping out one kid after another.
My parents are very religious and believe that children are a gift from God. Personally, I think that’s total garbage. My parents’ reproductive choices wouldn’t bother me…if it hadn’t caused mine and my siblings’ lives to turn into a nightmare. While growing up, we never had new clothes or toys, we had to accept handouts from family members who were better off.
We never went out or did anything fun. To top it off, we were well aware that the rest of the family looked down on us for constantly asking for handouts. Now, my older brother and I have managed to get into good colleges and are looking forward to a future that would be better than our parents’ lives. He and I were staying at our parents’ place for a while.
One morning, my parents called all five of us into the living room. Mom said she had great news. The smile that was forming on my face instantly fell when she said, “We’re pregnant!” I lost my temper. I asked them how they could be so stupid and irresponsible. Do they not have enough financial troubles already that they have to bring in another mouth to feed?
My older brother tried to calm me down, but I was livid. After a lifetime of scarcity because of my parents’ stupidity, they still hadn’t learned their lesson. I asked them how they planned to provide for the kid. My dad told me I would have to give up the money our great uncle had left me. He had left all five of us some money which only we could access when we turned 18.
I said “Heck no!” That money would help pay for my college expenses. He called me selfish for not being there for my family. I told them if they couldn’t provide for the kid, they should get an abortion. My mom started crying and called me a heartless monster. Dad told me he was disgusted with me. I told them there was no way I was going to pay for their stupidity and the ONLY thing I would be willing to pay for is a termination.
What I was really worried about was my siblings’ lives getting even worse. My older brother and I have escaped our parents’ clutches but the others, especially my younger sister, WILL be expected to help take care of this baby. No teenager deserves to have their adolescence ruined by diapers and a screaming baby. I know what it’s like, as I had to go through that.
It was expected of me to be an unpaid nanny to my younger brothers and sister. My older brother could go out with his friends and have fun, but I had to stay home and help give baths and feed the toddlers. I decided to get some family members involved so they could talk some sense into my parents. I called my mom’s maternal cousin, who’s one of my favorite people and who is basically my aunt.
When I told her that mom and dad were having another kid, she reacted with “WHAT? AGAIN??” I told her everything and how they expected me to hand over my inheritance, and she said she was going to speak to my parents and told me not to sign over anything. I promised her I wouldn’t (of course I won’t). I also called two of my first cousins, one of whom is an accountant, so she could explain to my parents how much of a financial liability this baby is going to be and try to convince them to either abort or give it up for adoption.
I moved out of my parents’ home a few days ago. I just can’t bear to listen to my mom’s nagging about how “this baby is a blessing” and that I “want to kill it.” I’ve moved into a friend’s house for minimal rent. My mom’s cousin paid them a visit about a week ago and tried to tell them they weren’t doing this child any favors by bringing it into a life of poverty.
My mom was very rude to my aunt and told her that “a woman who chose to remain barren will never understand a mother’s love.” My aunt never wanted kids nor had any, which is one of the reasons she’s my favorite. My dad told her to get out. My aunt told me there was nothing she could do, but she did try. I didn’t blame her.
The cousin tried to explain the economic impact this kid would have and my mom cried about how “everyone was trying to take away her baby.” The “intervention” didn’t do anything. So now I’ve decided to cut contact with my parents, since I just can’t watch my family slide further and further into a hole. I’ll be maintaining contact with my sister (16) just to make sure my parents can’t brainwash her.
My older brother is going to stay in touch with all of them, which is a good thing as he can act as a link between me and the other siblings if my parents ever forbid them from talking to me. Otherwise, I’m done with these people.
49. It’s The Little Things
So today, my husband and I were feeling bored and adventurous and decided to make a pilgrimage to a posh “Coffee Bar” in our city. We’ve been meaning to go for months but never got around to it. We pull in the lot and it’s packed. 10:45 am on a Sunday, so we expected it. As I’m getting out of the car, the mombie next to me is struggling to get three kids out of their seats while her husband (?) stood by the front of the car watching, not helping.
I hop out and excuse myself and walk into the café with my own husband. Huge line. Two more people come in after us, then mombie and her horde. She immediately starts complaining about the line. She talks loudly to her husband at first, but when he’s clearly ignoring her, she decides to just complain to thin air. “Why is this line always so long? God, why don’t they have more staff? Why does every person have to come at the same time? UGH!”
She eventually asked the couple in front of her if she can go ahead because her kids are really, really hungry. These saints begrudgingly say sure, so now this delightful family is directly behind my husband and me. She then says to me, “Excuse me miss? May we have the spot before you in line? My children have been waiting a long time and are very hungry.”
With the nicest voice I could find, I said, “I’m sorry ma’am, we’ve been waiting a while too and are also hungry. The line is moving faster now at least!” I gave her a smile even though she was glaring at me. I turn back around only to hear her mutter, “Wow what a witch. Can you believe some people? How rude.” It took all my effort to not react.
My husband is a conflict avoider, I am not. But I respect his wishes enough to not cause a scene in public when I’m with him. Eventually, she starts telling her husband how they’re always out of the Mediterranean Spinach Breakfast sandwich she wants and she better get it this time or she’s gonna so mad. This is when I concoct a seriously evil plan.
I check my watch; it’s 10:55. A minute or two later, it’s our turn. Husband orders his Soy Chai and I sloooowly order my vanilla nitro cold brew…with cream….no, not cream, sorry, with soy. And an extra pump of vanilla. Barista rings us up as I check my watch. It’s 10:58. I ask to add a Mediterranean Spinach Breakfast Sandwich to the order.
She says sure, no problem. Gives us the total. I’m digging in my purse for my wallet, darn, just can’t seem to find it. More digging. Oh! There it is, finally. Hand her the card, wait for the receipt, and slowly sign. Pack purse back up, say thank you, and walk away. Husband says, “You’re hungry? We ate breakfast an hour ago.” Me: “No, I’m not hungry. Just had to do this.”
Him: “Do what?” I nod towards mombie. Husband looks over. She orders her coffee and some juice things for the kids, doesn’t even ask if her husband wants anything. Then it happened. “And one Mediterranean Spinach Breakfast Sandwich.” Barista: “Oh I’m sorry ma’am, we stopped serving breakfast at 11. We have all our lunch options today though.”
Mombie looks at her watch and yells “WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!? IT’S 11:02!” Barista: “I’m sorry ma’am, company policy is to stop breakfast at 11. Is there anything else I can get you?” Mombie: “GET ME YOUR MANAGER! THIS IS RIDICULOUS. YOU JUST SOLD ONE A MOMENT AGO! THIS IS ABSURD!” The manager came over, explained the situation, apologized, but refused to give that witch a sandwich, bless her heart.
Mombie retracts her entire order and stomps out, red-faced and yelling all the way to her car. My husband was trying to hold back his laughter. Our order came up. We grabbed it and went back to the car. I’m unwrapping the sandwich and take a bite exactly as I’m trying to scoot around her trying to strap her kids in again. I say, “Oh excuse me ma’am, just gonna sneak by ya real quick!”
She’s glaring at me, the worst stare I’ve ever gotten. I get in the car and unwind the windows ever so slightly. It’s hot today, right? I slowly unwrap the rest of the sandwich and take a few more bites, passing it to husband and back while she’s screaming and struggling with her kids, getting no help from Daddy. As soon as she pulled away, we burst into laughter. Today was a good day.
50. Taking Me For A Ride
I’m a single parent, and I have a beautiful girl who is turning five in August. The past year I have been fighting with the ex that tried to keep my kid away from me. Lawyers aren’t cheap, and being single doesn’t exactly help with my finances. A couple of months ago, I won the lawsuit and I finally got to have my kid at my home again.
For the past few weeks she was saying she wanted a bicycle, but as I was still recovering from the lawsuit bills, I wasn’t able to afford it. This past week, I got my summer bonus which finally gave me the financial boost I needed. So yesterday I finally was able to buy my little girl her bike she wanted so badly. I enjoyed my time with her riding our bikes, but then it was getting time for dinner, which I still had to make.
So we head back home and park the bikes in the backyard. We go inside and I start making dinner. After about 10 minutes, I spot movement in the corner of my eye through the kitchen window—and my heart dropped. I see this kid just casually strolling by with the brand new bike I just got today. I ran to the front door, hoping I’d catch him before he rides away.
I was lucky I did. I yanked the bike out of his hands, and freaked out to him, saying it was mine and he had no right to just walk into other people’s back yards to take things. I was so mad. I forced him to get off my property, and set the bike inside my front hallway, thinking it’s over. Boy, was I wrong. After comforting my little girl, I return to the kitchen to continue making dinner.
15 minutes later, the doorbell rings. It’s the kid and his Evil Mother. EM: You give my boy this bike back! He found it! It’s his! Me: He “found” it in MY backyard! I got it for my MY kid today! You should try teaching your kid some manners, he shouldn’t trespass on other people’s property to take their things. EM: Don’t tell me how to raise my kid! Give me the bike back or I’m calling the authorities!
Me: (laughs) Call them! And I slam the door in her face. By this point, my kid is crying her eyes out, and I get to comfort her again, as she’s thinking she’s losing her brand new bike. Her sobbing finally over, I try continuing to make dinner, yet again. Preparation’s done, I’m about to put it all on the stove, doorbell. I flip out, storm to the door, violently open it, and get ready to just explode into her face.
Guess what, she actually called the authorities. I instantly calm down when I see it’s them and invite one of the two officers inside while the other stays with the evil woman. I explain the situation and show him the box the bike came in, along with the receipt that has my name on it. He shrugs and apologized for the inconvenience, and assured me I won’t be bothered again.
I let him out and close the door with a smug smile on my face. I check the front window to see what’s happening, and I see her go into a full tantrum. It ends with her in handcuffs and in the backseat of the patrol car. Bye Felicia! Don’t know what happened to her, and I don’t care. I finally finished dinner, and my kid still has her bike. That’s all that matters to me.
51. Do Not Disturb
My crazy entitled aunt had an annoying habit (one of her many annoying habits) to just storm in when I was changing my clothes. The door would be closed and if it wasn’t locked, she would just let herself in. My protests that I may be in a state of undress fell on deaf ears, as did any insistence that she knock before entering, like a civilized human being.
The following incidents happened when I was either 18 or 19 and my aunt and her husband were over for a visit. I was in my room, changing my clothes. My bedroom door had a small defect and it wouldn’t lock properly. So anytime it was closed, my dad, stepmom, and stepbrother would either knock or ask if they could come in.
Not entitled aunt, of course. She considered herself above such frivolous courtesies. She could come into rooms as and when she saw fit, and mere mortals would just have to live with it. Unfortunately for her, this mere mortal had had enough of her privacy being invaded. My top was off when I heard the door begin to creak open. I yelled “I’M CHANGING. WAIT OUTSIDE!”
As expected, my aunt didn’t listen and was about to stick her head in when I swiftly reached the door, pulled it back a little and slammed it hard into my aunt’s thick skull. Not enough to crack her skull, but enough to hurt. My aunt let out a howl that instantly brought a smile to my face. She went downstairs whining. I followed.
She yelled at my dad about what I had done. My dad and uncle were drinking at the time and were uncharacteristically chilled. Dad just looked at her, then looked at me and said something like “Yeah…..don’t do that.” My uncle just burst out laughing, as if his wife getting her head banged was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
Such dismissal of her grievances was too much to bear for my aunt, and she demanded that they leave immediately. My uncle told her he was in no condition to drive. Besides, he and my dad were going to watch a cricket match, so leaving was out of the question. My aunt then dialed my cousin’s number, believing wholeheartedly that her son would come to her aid.
But judging from her end of the conversation, my cousin was out with his friends and wasn’t going to drive all the way over to deal with her and her need to get into unnecessary squabbles. My aunt had no options left. She just sat down on the couch while holding an ice pack against her head. Her anger was boiling over but was completely ignored by my “happy” dad and uncle. It was a lovely evening.
52. No Means No
This all happened around 10 years ago and takes place over the course of the absolute worst months of my life. I had just turned 18 at the time, and thanks to my mom’s gambling addiction we lost the house that I had lived in my entire life. Almost right after we lost the house, a family friend offered to let us stay at her house with her family, since she and her husband had a few extra rooms.
We move into their very large house, and at first, things were great. The family consisted of the parents and their kid, who was the same age as me. All of them were understanding and nice at first, offering to let me and my mom stay for as long as it would take for us to get back on our feet. The mom even got me my first job working as a volunteer at a bingo hall.
It was all under the table kind of money, but I didn’t care since it was money in my pocket that my mom couldn’t/wouldn’t provide me. The parents had been family friends for a very long time and were absolutely enamored with the idea of me and their son getting together, and have been ever since we were little. They constantly made comments like “look at the beautiful couple,” “you two look so great together,” or “we’ll give you lovebirds some privacy” whenever we were in the same place together.
Despite me stating several times that I didn’t like him in that way, they were determined to try to get us to work, like some kind of arranged marriage. I think that really fed into the boy’s ego, because about a month into my stay there is when the first incident happened. We were walking down the hall when he smacks my butt from out of nowhere.
I really freaked out and went off on him, yelling, cursing, and giving him a few shoves. Our parents came upstairs to see what all the yelling was about and we end up getting separated. I tell my mom what happened, and she responds by telling me “it wasn’t a big deal” and to “not rock the boat” while we were living there. The boy eventually gives some half-baked apology to me at dinner.
His dad made some joke about how he’s relieved that he’s finally taking an interest in girls since they were starting to think he was gay. Things escalate from there. Any chance he got, he would make lewd comments or find some way to grope me. Every time I went to his parents it was always hand-waved away as “boys will be boys” or “he probably didn’t mean it that way.”
They said that he was a really sweet guy deep down and I should get to know him better. On one occasion, the dad told me that I “should be flattered.” My mom was content to not do anything, enjoying the freeloading that got to feed her addiction too much, and telling me to “stop playing hard to get.” One day, he puts a hand down my shirt as I’m sitting on the couch.
I started yelling at him about how I’m sick of him doing stuff like this and to never do it again. His reaction was chilling. He gave me the most terrifying glare and told me “Shut up! You live in MY house.” After that, I was so terrified of being alone with him that I would stay after school for as long as I could until l was asked to leave, and if I ever had to go back to the house for any reason, I would just hide in my room with the door locked and wouldn’t come out until I knew other people were around.
I just didn’t know if one day he was just going to force himself on me. Fast forward a few months and I’m told, not asked, that I’m going with him as his date to his senior prom, which is in a week. The parents are super excited and tell me that we’ll have the whole house to ourselves that night after we come back from the dance. I very quickly shut that down.
I tell them that I’m not going because of how he treats me, and they spend the rest of the day doing everything they can to compel me. First, they try telling me money isn’t an issue, how they’ll pay for my dress and ticket. When that doesn’t work, they try to guilt-trip me, telling me how they ask me for so little, and how this is the least I can do, and how much he would love it.
Finally, my mom eventually hears about it after she comes home from the casino, and she’s angry. She tells me how I need to go, how it’s such a big opportunity for the both of us, and how I need to tell them that I changed my mind. I refuse, and the day after the prom is over, the parents sit me and my mom down for a talk. They start implementing new rules.
They are all about how they now expect us to pitch in for all the amenities, how we’re expected to buy our own food, and how they’re going to start charging us for rent. Before all this, they were very adamant about us not paying for anything, wanting us to save money to get back on our feet. Even without my mom spending half or all of her checks at the casino, there was no way for us to afford what they were asking. It all went downhill from there.
They subsequently gave us a month to find our own place and move out. We ended up moving out to live in a sketchy neighborhood with some guy my mom was dating, who she’d met at the casino. My mom blamed me for the entire thing, saying I “blew a golden opportunity for both of us.” How I basically threw away a great future that was all laid out for me because I “wouldn’t dance and put out.”
That cut me pretty deeply, and I still get angry thinking about it to this day. A few months later I graduated, but my mom didn’t show up to the ceremony. I come back to the house and I make a horrifying discovery. All my stuff is sitting on the curb next to the trash and had been thoroughly picked through. I found out my key doesn’t work anymore, and nobody is picking up their phone.
I end up waiting till about 3 in the morning for them to come back from the casino, and my mom tells me in so many words that I’m on my own now. Nothing I say changes her mind, and I eventually pack what little of my stuff is left into my car. I spent the next month or two couch-surfing or sleeping in my car, while trying to pick up as many days as I could at work.
Eventually, I managed to save up enough to move into my first apartment with a roommate. I haven’t spoken to my mom or those parents since then, but recently my mom left me a voicemail asking if we could talk, since she didn’t like the way we left things. Since then, she’s been blowing up my phone every day. I don’t plan on ever taking her call.
53. Crash And Burn
I work IT for a small company, and I support about 25 people in total. Anything tech-related is owned by the company, and I am involved in it. I like my job. Most of the folks working here are good people, even though some of them are very difficult to train on computers. This entitled parent is a middle-aged woman who, as far as I can tell, gets paid more than I do to do about 45 minutes of work a day that she stretches into a full 8-hour shift.
She can’t really even do that 45 minutes of work correctly most of the time and I’ve had to come and retrain her on the software we use several times a month. She also refuses to listen when I am helping her with tech issues and has something new to complain to me about every week. I’m told she only got the job because her dad and the owner of the company are old drinking buddies.
Well, as annoying as she is, I was able to mostly ignore her until this incident last week. I am in my office working on something when she comes in with a laptop, some cables, and an iPad. She sets them down on my desk and just looks at me without saying a word. Me: “Uh…what’s all this?” Her: “My son’s laptop and my iPad are having trouble. Can you fix them?”
Me: “Sorry, I don’t work on personal devices. If it isn’t owned by the company I won’t work on it. You’ll have to go to a shop or something.” Her: “Oh come on! You fix this kinda stuff all the time. I bet it takes you 5-10 minutes tops to get them running. Then you can get back to whatever else you wanna fix.” Me: “Sorry, not happening.”
Her (turning several shades of purple and red at this point): “What the heck is wrong with you?! You sit around all day doing nothing, and when you finally come out of your office, it’s to fix things that you obviously screwed up because you’re incompetent! Just fix the things so I can take them home and use them again. I don’t know why the boss even keeps you around, you are so useless!”
Me: “Yeah I’m gonna have to ask you to leave my office so I can get back to work.” I go back to working on things and she grabs her stuff and storms out, slamming my door behind her. I get a call about 20 minutes later from the owner asking why she was demanding I be fired. She had told him that I had laughed in her face and refused to help her.
She even said I threatened to never help her with IT problems at work again because I was mad. She called me out on being lazy. I explained what actually happened and offered to send him a copy of the camera footage of the entire incident since there is a camera overlooking my entire office. The owner requested the footage so I sent it to him.
I get in the next day and I realize the entitled woman isn’t there. I ask around and apparently, the owner called her into his office and spoke with her about the incident. She tried to double down on her lies when he showed her the footage, including audio. It sealed her fate and caught her in the lie…He then offered to let her take some time off to cool her head before coming back to work, but that he’d expect her to make an apology to me for her behavior.
This enraged her. Everyone could hear her even through closed doors, screaming about how awful a person I was. She then stormed out of his office, grabbed her things, and shouted “I QUIT” before leaving. So, she’s gone for good. She is so unwilling to own up to her own poor behavior and apologize to me that she threw away a cushy job making way more money than she is likely to make anywhere else around here.
What an idiot. On the plus side, without her here constantly complaining, I am getting a bit more work done each day.
54. Here’s To You
Now, for a bit of context, last weekend was liberation day in Holland, and many cities were having festivals to celebrate. Most of these festivals have free entrance, so they tend to crack down on people bringing their own food and drinks, to increase profits from beverage sales. A friend of mine lives within the area where the festival is taking place though, so usually we drop our booze at his place and retrieve it during the festival.
Since it didn’t seem like a terrific idea to walk around with a bottle of JD, I mixed it into a 1L Coca Cola Vanilla bottle with just enough coke that it looked like coke, and went onto the festival grounds. While walking around with the bottle of “coke,” I feel a tap on my shoulder. Festival etiquette is to move over to the side to let somebody pass, after which I move along.
I suddenly feel a hand grabbing my shoulder and trying to pull me back, so I turn around, and I’m faced with a typical Karen. Her: Where’d you get that? pointing at the bottle Me: Brought it from home. Her: Can my kid have some? Me, not wanting everybody to know I had booze on me: They sell coke over there, you can buy your kid a fresh, cold one. Her: They don’t sell vanilla coke there, and he doesn’t like the regular one. He wants yours. holds out hand
Me: If he doesn’t like the regular one, I’m pretty sure he won’t like this any better… Meanwhile, the kid has started squealing about how he’s thirsty and “wants THAT one,” and the mother starts giving me a demanding stare. Me: …Okay lady, I’m going to be honest with you. Half of this bottle is Jack Daniels, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to give it to the kid. Her response made me want to scream.
Her: You’re lying! You just made that up so you wouldn’t have to share with my baby! Now give it to me! While I turn away in an attempt to disappear into the crowd, the kid grabs the bottle with both hands, wrenches it from my hand, and makes a run for it, his mom in tow. I follow them, and I find them just in time to see the kid take a few massive swigs from the bottle.
After, this he starts violently throwing up almost immediately. Figuring the best move for me would be to not further pursue the now vomit-covered bottle of Jack and coke, I decided to head over to my friend’s and mix a new one. In passing, I throw the mom a “Told you” and make my way into the crowds. Within seconds, she charges me and starts attempting to take a swing at me.
“YOU POISONED MY BABY!!! SECURITY!!!” We’re separated by bystanders, and a stallholder gets security, who questions both me and the woman. Her: He gave my baby this bottle of poison and told him it was coke! I want him detained. Guard: Sir, what’s in this bottle? Me: A premixed JD and coke, somewhat on the generous side with the JD.
Guard: And why did you give that to a kid? Me: I didn’t, sir. I was mostly planning on getting smashed myself, to be fair. They thought it was coke, wouldn’t believe me when I told them it was booze and snatched the bottle from me. What you’re seeing here is just the result of the kid taking a drink before I was able to stop him.
At this point, a bystander chimed in, confirming that he saw the kid snatch the bottle from my hand, although he hadn’t heard the conversation. Security tells the mom to not pull that ridiculous stuff again and to take her still crying kid to the first-aid post. He then instructs me to be more careful with the next batch I’m “inevitably about to make.”
55. Room For One More?
As a child I was enrolled in a Washington DC private school, so kids of politicians, diplomats, lawyers, doctors, etc. all went there. The school charged an insane amount for tuition, expected parents to pay thousands extra in fees/donations, and took the kids on their choice of four two-week trips: Art in Europe, Skiing in New Hampshire, Scuba Diving, or Biology in Australia.
These were every year and cost tens of thousands. One girls’ mom bought a darkroom and camera equipment for the school so her daughter could learn photography. Long story short, these parents and their kids were beyond entitled. My parents could afford my tuition, but that was a stretch for them so we weren’t viewed as being especially valuable to the school.
My school was taking each grade on a three-day trip that got us psyched up all year. The teacher asked each child to list their top five choices for roommates. The week before the trip, my mom got a call from the principal. I was nosy so I picked up too and listened in on the conversation. What I heard broke my heart in a million pieces.
Basically, she said: “None of the kids want your daughter in their cabin. They don’t like her. We suggested that it would be a nice thing to do, but the parents didn’t think their children should be forced to be with someone they dislike. We don’t have enough cabins to put her in one by herself, so you should just keep her home.”
Just to clarify, I was not a bad kid. I got fairly good grades. I was shy. I was quiet and dressed like a nerd because I didn’t know better. Girls in my class were already wearing makeup and had a very clear-cut “code of coolness” that I just didn’t understand. I was devastated. Nine years old, completely heartbroken, in tears. They “didn’t want their children to be uncomfortable.”
But it’s ok for any nine-year-old girl to know that no one likes her and her school doesn’t care how she feels? I refused to go back to school. I was so ashamed, I felt shattered and stupid and worthless. That was the beginning of a downslide into depression. Those kids had told me for years that I was worthless, stupid, ugly, and one year I did a report on being adopted, and let me tell you, the kids had a field day with that.
But the realization that not one single person was in my corner, not even the teachers—it just broke me. I believed them all, I was worthless. At age 12, my parents put me in an intense residential treatment program for depression, anxiety, and other things. I am now 35 and I have a good life, wonderful friends, great kids, and I foster all kinds of abandoned and unwanted animals.
I know the value of kindness and try to help others every chance I get. Life is good, I am loved and I am happy, but I still get choked up thinking back to that phone call.
56. Falling On Deaf Ears
This is about my adoptive mother. My adoptive parents are British citizens who moved to my country in the EU. They adopted me actually expecting mental disabilities, but I was just profoundly deaf. You would think that would be easier. So I grow up, and I get enrolled in deaf schools where I learn sign language. But my mother decides it’s too hard for her to learn sign language…and actually bans me from using it in the house.
I had to mime or point at things until I could start writing, upon which time I carried around a notebook everywhere. If I did try to sign, I was called disrespectful for not including her in the conversation. In a strange way, this made my written language skills very good, as well as my lip-reading skills, which many deaf people have challenges with.
It was very difficult and upsetting living with her. My adoptive father was nice but he just listened to whatever she wanted, so he became a bad parent too. I went to university and limited contacting them. The one time I tried to visit them for the holidays, I got a terrible surprise. When I rang the doorbell, a strange family answered. See, my adoptive parents had moved back to Britain without telling me. Who does that?
57. No Laughing Matter
I have seen a lot of crazy people in the course of my life, but my potential mother-in-law is the absolute worst person I have ever met. I have been with my boyfriend for eight months now, and we’re both in our 30s. For the first few months, everything was amazing. He is the sweetest and most caring man I have ever been with, bar none.
He likes to surprise me with fun dates and flowers for no apparent reason. The biggest surprise of all, though, was when I met his mother. I met his parents for the first time a few months ago. The first thing his mother said to me when I walked in the door was “Are you Jewish?” I am not and I am not particularly religious, but I was raised Catholic.
Once I told her this, it was the beginning of the madness. She immediately stopped talking to me and acted as if I didn’t exist. I was extremely nervous about meeting my boyfriend’s parents, so this broke my heart. I was determined to make a good impression, so I kept trying to connect with her. This was a huge mistake and I should have just let it go.
Once we were all seated for dinner, she finally decided to try and make conversation. I have naturally red hair and she asked me if my parents have the same color. I told her that I have the same hair as my mother. She then had the audacity to ask me, “Does the carpet match the drapes?” I had no idea how to respond and just sat there, stunned.
Seeing my reaction, she said, “Don’t worry I will just ask my son about it later.” I looked over at my boyfriend who seemed equally as shocked, but he didn’t say anything. She then started to go on about my hair being “too curly.” She told me that I really need to learn how to run a brush through my hair and think about my appearance more when I am out with her son.
Then when I didn’t eat much at dinner, she gave me her version of a compliment. I was told it was good that I am watching what I eat because it would be a shame if I got any bigger. This was just my first meeting with this woman. As soon as I got into my car, I burst into tears until I got home. My boyfriend was texting me and apologizing for his mother’s behavior, but the damage was done.
I told him I needed time to think. He went into apology overload after this and started sending flowers to my office every day and leaving me messages begging me to talk to him. I finally agreed and we went out to dinner. He told me he spoke with his mother about her inappropriate comments and he swore it would never happen again.
With this reassurance, I decided to give it another chance. Fast forward two weeks to when he invited me to come to a family birthday party. This time I would also be meeting his sisters and grandparents. His grandparents and sisters are awesome people. They asked me normal questions about my job, family, and friends. His mother seemed to be avoiding me throughout the evening and honestly, I was okay with that.
I went to grab something from my purse and noticed that it was not where I left it. I looked everywhere but I could not find it. I went and asked my boyfriend and he began to help me look. He then got a strange look on his face and he quickly went upstairs. I could then hear a lot of yelling begin upstairs. He came back down holding my purse after a few minutes and told me that we were leaving.
Once we got in the car, I asked him what was going on. Apparently, his mother had taken my purse so that she could see my driver’s license. She intended to try and run a background check on me. He told me she had told him this earlier but honestly had thought she was joking. I thought that it was best if I avoided any of his family functions for the time being.
This worked out great for a while and he went to any of his family parties alone. He would ask me each time before leaving if I was sure that I didn’t want to go, but I always declined. Last week, his family had their family reunion and he asked me to please come with him. I was very reluctant but considering there would be so many people present, I didn’t think she would pull anything.
When we got there, everything was going great. I met his extended family and got to catch up with his sisters. His mother did seem to be shooting me glares all night, but I brushed it off. Soon she came over and joined a table I was seated at with his sisters and some cousins. The conversation was pleasant as we were talking about his sisters’ children.
His sister has a daughter who is 12 and is the same age as my niece. I then showed his sister a picture of my niece on my phone. His mother took a look at the screen and began to laugh. She told me she hopes that if her son and I ever have children that they don’t look like my niece. My niece is beautiful by the way, and she is only 12 years old.
What kind of monster attacks a 12-year-old child’s appearance? This was my breaking point and I went off like a volcano. I started to scream at her and told her she is the evilest person I have ever had to misfortune to meet. I told her if I ever did have children with her son, she can be certain she will never meet them, I’d make sure of that.
I am not 100% certain of exactly everything that I said, but from what his younger sister later said, “It was epic.” His mom began to play the victim and wailed that I had just misunderstood her joke. My boyfriend came rushing over at this point and she threw herself into his arms, telling him I am a horrible woman and he needed to throw me out right now.
He told her that wasn’t going to happen and to stop making a fool of herself. She seemed to accept this for a moment and sat back down. She just kept sobbing that I just didn’t understand how to take a joke. Then something in her snapped as she noticed something that my boyfriend was holding in his hand. She began to have another meltdown.
I didn’t understand what was happening at this point and just stood there watching a grown woman pitch a fit like a toddler. None of what she was saying made any sense to me as it was mostly just incoherent screaming, but I did pick up on many derogatory comments directed my way. My boyfriend then told me we were leaving and to grab my things.
As I started to get ready, she made a lunge for my boyfriend’s hand and grabbed the small box he was holding. She looked me in the eyes and said, “You will never have this ring you little witch.” She ran outside and threw the box down a storm drain. Turns out that my boyfriend was intending on proposing to me. He had just obtained his grandmother’s ring while we were at the reunion.
His grandmother is completely heartbroken because now her ring is down a storm drain instead of continuing on in the family as she had always wanted. I don’t know where to go from here. I am devastated, confused, and exhausted.
58. Adulting 101
Last week, I was traveling for work. It had been a long two days of meetings, and I was exhausted. I had just arrived at the airport for my evening cross-country flight home when I got the dreaded text from the airline saying my flight was delayed two hours due to mechanical problems. I decided to pass the time by getting something to eat.
I found one of those airport restaurants and sat down to order at it. I ordered my food and pulled my phone out of my bag to catch up on e-mails and browse the web while waiting for my food to arrive. While I was waiting, a family with a mom, dad, little girl about five years old, and a middle-school-aged boy sat at a table near me.
I didn’t pay them much attention as I was looking at e-mail on my phone, but then I hear the little girl exclaim in a rather loud voice, “Look mom, that lady is on her phone at the table!” I then hear the mother reply, “Yes, she shouldn’t be doing that. It is rude to have a phone at the table.” I glance over and the mother says to me, “We have a rule that no phones are allowed at the table.”
My first reaction was to say something snarky, as exhaustion was definitely getting the better of me, but then I thought again and decided to be polite. I looked at the little girl and said, “We have the same rule in my family, but since I’m here alone I’m not being rude to anyone by looking at my phone now.” At this point, the son looks like he wants to crawl under the table from embarrassment and the dad is trying to hand the mom a menu.
He says, “It’s okay, let’s just order.” I think that will be the end of it, but no. The mom says, “Obviously you have a family, so you know how important it is to follow rules. I would appreciate it if you would put away your phone.” This is in a tone that a parent would use on a petulant teen. The little girl chimes in and says, “Yeah, you have to put your phone away. My brother can’t have his phone at the table, so you can’t either.”
I look at the little girl and say in as sweet a tone as I can muster, “Well, the great thing about being a grown-up is that I can do whatever I want, so now I’m going to keep looking at my phone” and turn back to my e-mail. The mother sighs loudly, the teen looks even more embarrassed, and the dad again tries to get the mom to just order and leave me alone.
The mom calls the waiter over and asks to be re-seated. He grudgingly moves them to a different table. My food arrives, and I eat in peace, enjoying browsing the Internet.
59. Happy Birthday To Me
When I was first married, money wasn’t that easy to come by, as I had a form of leukemia that took up most of our money. Due to this, we couldn’t just spend money like we wanted to. God bless my husband for being such a sweetheart. We were only in our early 20s and he still pushed through this for us. December 23rd is my mother’s birthday.
She is an awful person, by the way. For example, she tried to get me pregnant at 14 because she wanted more money from the state, but that’s an entirely different story. As this was 20 years ago, we didn’t really have the same type of cell phones we have today, so I didn’t know until I got home from cancer treatment that my mom had called me multiple times.
Three minutes later (I counted) she shows up at the door. She asks for her money. Both of us are confused, of course. Apparently, she wants her birthday money, which I’ve never given before to her. In fact, she wanted 608 dollars. That exact amount. When I told her no, we can’t afford that, she lost it. Screaming at me, calling me an entitled witch.
She gave birth to me so I should do what she says. And then I say I’m an adult and I don’t have to listen. After all, I was angry and tired and I just threw up a few minutes ago. This set her off. She grabbed a kitchen knife and ran at me, while my husband is trying to hold her back. She got me right between two ribs, but didn’t pierce any organs, thank God.
I don’t know what happened in my husband’s mind at this point, but he snapped. He broke her arm backward in a rage while screaming something I don’t even think was a human language. He called the authorities and she was detained while I was taken to the hospital. She got sentenced to seven years, while I moved out and moved to Louisiana.
60. The Writing’s On The Wall
When I was a preteen, my mom gifted me a diary with a tiny lock and keys. I hid the keys (taped them in hidden places) and began using it almost immediately. I was a bookworm and loved reading and writing. I was also quite neglected as a child, so my diary was the only place I could express myself and feel heard. I’d read my last entries and that allowed me to reflect on my own thoughts and actions, and learn from past situations.
It was honestly really great for my mental health. For a time, my mood and mental health improved. Time passed. I couldn’t tell you how long. Probably a few months. Shortly after I wrote an entry talking about my first wet dream, my mom got furious at me and confronted me, full-on screaming. She sat me in the living room, as she towered over me, screaming at my face.
She started asking me if I thought this was normal, that I was having depraved thoughts no child my age should have (for a preteen??? Really??? It was actually perfectly normal!), that I had promised no sex before marriage when I was five years old and that this was clearly going against my word. I tried to defend myself at first and protest, not understanding how she even knew about it.
Then she took out the unlocked diary as “proof” of my depravity, and my attempts at defending myself (it was just a dream) just fueled her anger more. I sat there silently crying, answering quietly whatever she wanted me to say to whatever she asked because nothing else would stop her escalation of screaming. I felt betrayed. My locked diary was my only safe place in that home.
I was careful with what I wrote in my diary after that incident and set a few tests to check if I was still having my locked diary read without my knowledge or consent. I did this by writing about innocuous incidents in a way that could’ve sounded like it was more than it was, knowing it would prompt questions out of curiosity. Every time.
It didn’t take more than two days for the questions to come. Turns out, she’d hunt for my diary’s keys and read it regularly. Needless to say, I stopped using my diary. My only breathing space had been turned against me. I significantly closed myself off from everyone. I felt if even my diary could “betray” me, then people could even more.
It was hard not writing. I no longer had an outlet for emotional or psychological relief, but I really couldn’t trust anything anymore. After a week or two without any new entries, Mom asked why I had stopped using my diary. If I had dared, I’d have rolled my eyes and asked, “Why do you think???” But I knew better than to attract attention to myself and simply said I had lost interest in such a thing.
I really should mention that this was like 20 years ago, and I’m in a really good place now.
61. Sweet And Soured
I am 17 and live in the UK, and this happened around December of last year in a Lidl, which is a grocery store. My mom asked me to go grocery shopping because she was quite busy with something and I agreed to go. I spent around 10 minutes at the Lidl looking for things on the shopping list. While there, I decided to get a treat for myself because why not.
I got some Fin Carré chocolate and made my way to the till. I was standing in line while using my phone just minding my business until this overly loud parent with her very hyperactive kid, who looked around eight, came behind me in the line. Mother: “You wouldn’t mind letting us go in front of you, would you?” I looked down on her cart, which seemed to be a lot more full than mine.
Still, I decided I’m not in a rush, and I replied “sure” and subtly smiled. She thanked me and went on to go in front of me. My impression of this woman seemed normal…until this happened. The kid said as he was pointing to my cart: “Mom, look it’s that chocolate that you promised me to buy next time we go shopping.” Mom: “Oh yes darling I just remembered.”
She then looked up to me and said, “May I grab the chocolate bar? The little one’s been eager to get it.” Now, this chocolate is somewhat far from the tills in this location, so getting a new chocolate bar for myself would’ve been a chore. I replied: “I’m sorry I don’t think I can give you the chocolate, it’s quite far from the tills.”
Her smile quickly turned into a stare and she said in a loud voice: “Right, I don’t care how far this chocolate is from here, someone like you is more than capable of getting a new bar, so stop making George cross!” I replied: “I don’t care how capable I am, I’m not going anywhere and this chocolate is staying in the cart.” Now, there was a lot going through my head at this point, but I remember how the kid was reaching inside my cart, trying to grab the chocolate.
I quickly grabbed it myself and held it in my hand. Kid: “Mom, the guy took the chocolate!” Mom: “Right, I’ve had enough.” This woman literally reached to my hand to grab the chocolate, but I moved in time and decided to go directly to the cashier and ask him to call a manager. The cashier seemed to have witnessed everything and informed the manager about what happened.
After no more than two minutes of me awkwardly standing, the manager arrives. She walks up to the mother and quietly asks her to leave. However, the mother kept trying to incriminate me somehow until she finally paid for her groceries and left. Me, the cashier, and the manager all had a laugh about it after she left. Now that I think about it, that scene wasn’t worth a chocolate bar, but oh well.
62. A Dressing Down
I’ve been student teaching this spring in a sixth-grade class. It’s been a stressful semester, but a good one. Since day one, I have been treated 100% like a colleague and equal by my teacher and her grade level partners. I’m very baby-faced and don’t always look like I’m in my 20s, but I know these kids very well, as I subbed for them a lot last year and in this past fall.
So they already have respect for me and we have a decent relationship. This week we’re on a camping trip with four total classes. I finished student teaching, but my teacher invited me on as a teacher to get the experience. We mostly hang in the medical lodge and make sure kids take their meds each day. Easy gig after months of teaching.
The kids are happy to see me, too. Anyways. We arrived at camp. I rode on the bus with my teacher. Two of the other teachers drove their cars with student luggage, and so did some parents. I got off the bus and started to head down to the lodge with the other teachers for our meeting with the camp director and the counselors. I stopped off to fill my water bottle before heading down.
As I finished up, a mom came up to me. I smiled and was about to greet her— “You can’t wear that.” “Excuse me?” “Young lady, that is so inappropriate for a school setting. You’re going to distract my son and all the other boys. I’m going to have to ask you to change as soon as we get to our cabins.” For reference: I was wearing jeans, a black undershirt, and a tank top with thick straps that covered my bra.
You literally only saw my black undershirt that kept my bra from being seen through my shirt. Oh, and it was 100 degrees (Fahrenheit). I let out a small chuckle. I thought it was a silly mix up we could laugh about later. Nope, that set her off. “Don’t you dare laugh! I’m serious. Who is your teacher? You are so disrespectful. No wonder you’re dressed like that, trying to get the boys’ attention I bet.”
I put on my best “polite teacher dealing with parents” smile. “Whose parent are you?” She told me. Her kid was a troublemaker from another class. “Well,” I said, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m not a student. I’m a teacher. And the camp’s dress code allows my students to wear tank tops, so do not ask them to change.”
“Now you’re lying to me?! Where is your teacher? I’m getting you sent home!” One of my teacher’s partners, Mrs. A, overheard the yelling and came over—also in a tank top. “Is there something you need, Ms.?” She asked me. I shook my head. “No, I was just introducing myself to this mother. She didn’t know Mrs. T had a student teacher this year.”
Mrs. A nodded earnestly. “Yes, she has been such an asset to all of us this semester. Your son actually got a few science lessons from her this year! She’s going to be a great teacher.” The mother was absolutely red in the face. Later that afternoon, we brought all the parents down to our air-conditioned lodge to talk them through the week ahead.
Mrs. T, who is kind of our grade’s team captain, introduced me to the parents. Everyone except the one woman was happy to meet me, and a few even said their kids loved having me as one of their teachers. The best part of the week so far was when her son ran up to me at dinner and asked in front of his mom, “Miss, can you teach seventh grade next year so you can be one of my teachers? I’m gonna miss you!”
63. Too Hot To Handle
So I was standing in line at the checkout at my local supermarket. It was a SUPER heatwave around this time, just scorching outside. I think in total I had about 10 items, some frozen goods, drinks, and snacks. While in line, I usually tend to take out one of the buds of my earphones in case someone calls out to me. At this time, the woman at the cash register was taking care of the payment of one client.
There was one person in front of me, and then suddenly she appeared—the entitled mother. Now honestly, she didn’t look it. She didn’t even give off a mean vibe or anything. Even the way she started talking to me was overall nice and polite, AT FIRST. “Excuse me, do you mind if I skip ahead? I’m in a hurry.” Now in general if somebody politely asks me this and I don’t have any urgent business of my own, I usually don’t mind.
This time, however, I didn’t have that many groceries, so her delay would be at most a few minutes, while she was pushing a fully loaded shopping cart in front of her. If I would have let her skip, I’d probably still be in the store for another 10-20 minutes. So I politely decline and tell her I will hurry as much as I can. Of course, this was a great offense; I hadn’t given this woman what she was entitled to. She blew up instantly.
Yelling and screaming at me that she was in a hurry and (not kidding here) had to be home in time for her shows. This is important a bit later. Now while this woman was going off, the person at the cash register went into ignore mode and just started scanning my groceries, which I loaded into a bag while she was going on about how I was garbage and they should me ban me from the store.
This should have been the end of it, but then she said something that made me almost want to throttle her. While I was walking away, just about to put the earbud back in, she yells, “If you pass by my car, tell my son he’s the reason he has to wait another half an hour for me.” Now I’m not an extremely smart person, but in this moment my brain made some connections quickly.
What I realized was this: One, it was very hot outside. Two, this woman had been in the store for a while, judging by the number of her groceries. Three, the entire parking lot of this store had almost no shade. Four, it was about 2 pm, so the sun was just over its peak. I rush outside and start running past cars, scanning them for kids inside.
Thankfully, one of the first cars I pass has a small child laying in the back seat. This kid is as pale as a ghost, sweating like crazy, and it looked like he was only half-conscious. I run back inside, and to my utter astonishment, this witch is having a conversation with the cashier while she’s checking out her groceries. I grab her by the shoulders, spin her around, and yell almost straight to her face that her kid is literally dying in the car.
At first, she looked at me in complete confusion, probably never having been spoken to like that before in her life. Then the realization of what I told her sunk in and she rushed outside. While she went outside, a man tapped me on the shoulder and asked what had happened. I explained the situation but left out some details, just saying I saw the kid in the car and knew that this woman was probably the owner.
He went outside and when I came outside, the mother suddenly rushed me and got in my face, saying I was the reason she was in the store for so long and her son’s current condition was my fault. Before I can even respond, the man that approached me earlier speaks up. Turns out, this man was an off-duty officer and had been in the store for a while.
As a result, he knew that the actual delay I “caused” could have not caused this. He also said he had already called an ambulance for the kid and the authorities for her. I don’t know what happened to the woman, but she completely crashed. She just sat down on the pavement and started shaking her head, not saying much except the occasional sob or “not my fault.”
As for the ending: everything turned out okay for most parties. I stayed a while to give a statement and my contact information in case it went to court. The kid was okay (afterward) and since his mom got detained, they called his dad or another male family member (I didn’t ask) to accompany him to the hospital. As for the mother, I’m assuming she is going to have to stand trial for child endangerment.
64. Not MY Baby
In healthcare, one of the most difficult things to deal with are the family members of patients. They are understandably angry, upset, grieving, devastated, and often feel helpless. Most of the time I try to understand this and not get too annoyed when family cause problems. But these parents were on another level. One of my patients was an 18-year-old woman who had a pelvic infection.
She got very sick and required a moderate stay in hospital. She was a dream patient—open, honest, and generally a lovely person. Her parents were…none of these things. Every day they would come in and start demanding this that or the other thing from the nurses on the wards. They wanted an extra bed in the room so the mother could stay overnight.
They were rude to the student nurse who was doing their daughter’s check-ups, to the point that the charge nurse moved the student nurse to a different set of patients to get her away from them. But when the doctors were around, they were the sweetest people you ever met, right up until we were out of sight or we said no to one of their “requests.”
They were disruptive, loud, and just generally obnoxious people. Thankfully, their daughter was aware of their behavior and had informed us that she didn’t want them to be told anything about her condition unless she approved it. She was an adult, so she was entitled to her privacy. This wasn’t a huge issue to begin with, as she shared most of the details with them.
But then her mother googled pelvic infections and discovered that *gasp* sometimes they can be caused by SEXUALLY TRANSMITTED INFECTIONS *dramatic music intensifies.* As far as she was then concerned, we had screwed up and gotten the diagnosis wrong because there was no way there was any possibility that her angel had even thought of getting it on with a boy. They demanded to see their daughter’s medical records so they could prove that we were lying about the infection.
Politely telling them to screw off was the highlight of my week. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it. They came in the next day with legal papers trying to demand we hand over the medical records. Turns out, they’d lied to the lawyer because the papers were for a minor still under the guardianship of the parents, not a grown woman.
They then threatened to sue each of us individually. This isn’t America, you can’t just sue doctors randomly. They then tried to get some crackpot alternative doctor in to check her hymen. Thankfully, the daughter screamed bloody murder when the guy tried to examine her, which resulted in me getting to watch security escort and trespass the lot of them off the premises.
I honestly hope she presses charges for that.
65. Happy Now?
This story is from a few years ago when I worked in the legal department of a 1,000+ store national retailer. As part of my job, I handled customer complaints that elevated when the customer threatened court action. The cast is very simple: Our customer service call center forwarded this entitled mom’s call to me after she threatened action.
This woman left a message claiming that she was not provided $10 in customer reward coupons through the mail based on her purchase of clothing for her son and daughter for back to school. I looked into it and called her back. It turned out we had an old address associated with her rewards account. No big deal, right? I spoke with her and offered to send her the original $10 coupon and an additional $25 for her trouble to the correct address.
That did not satisfy her. She claimed we should have known her address and threatened to sue us if we didn’t pay her $1,000 in cash. Her rationale was that it would cost us at least $1,000 to defend the suit, so we should just pay it to her. I declined, but still forwarded her the $10 coupon she was entitled to based on our rewards program.
Sure enough, she sued us for breach of contract and any other conceivable charge. I went to my boss, the COO, and told him the story. He asked what I wanted to do. I said I’d rather pay fees to a defense attorney than pay her, and he agreed. I contacted this attorney, explained the situation to him, and I kid you not he said (in a Southern drawl): “I get to sue her? I should be paying you guys.”
Yep, he knew her. As he said, “There are a lot of lawyers in this community who would love to sue her as she is reckless, unpleasant, and a total pain in the butt to deal with. I’ll gladly take your case.” This is how I knew it was going to be good: He even agreed to defend us at a reduced rate. Part of our defense strategy was to counter-sue her under the state’s frivolous lawsuit statute, which would move the suit from small claims court to the larger civil court.
The lawyer filed our answer and counter-claim. Although this entitled woman was also an attorney, she was not a defense attorney, so she had to engage her own attorney to defend against the counter-claim. After a couple of hearings, she offered to settle for no more money exchanged (she didn’t even get the extra $25 coupon I offered her), and the dismissal of both suits.
I talked with our lawyer about continuing our claim, but he advised it would probably be worth settling and being done with it rather than being vindictive. Although vindictive would have been fun, courts tend not to like that, that so I agreed. My company ended up paying him $900 in attorneys’ fees, but he later called and told us that the attorney she engaged had charged her $1,700 to defend the suit.
Although I would have liked to continue with our suit, I think her having to pay $1,700 over a $10 coupon sent to the wrong address is sufficient justice for this woman.
66. Bounce On Out Of Here
I’m at a city park with my kids, and we’ve been to this park a bunch. There is this one spot where there is a rocky hill, all tree-covered. Nice and shady on a hot day. There is a playground and a pavilion at the top of the hill. We get up there and I immediately notice loud noises and I’m having to step over cables and extension cords.
You see, someone rented the pavilion and set up not one, but three, bounce houses around it. Great. So I have to give the disappointing news to my kids that even though they are surrounded by bounce houses, they cannot play in them since this is a private party, but they are free to go hit the playground. Everyone is cool. I sit on a bench as my kids go to town on the fake pirate ship when I hear “Hey!”
That’s when this father, doing his best to imitate The Situation from Jersey Shore, walks up to me and informs me that the entire playground is closed for a “private party.” I look at him and inform him that the public park does not close for “private parties” and it sounds like he rented the pavilion nearby which is fine, but doesn’t give him exclusive use of the neighboring playground.
He storms off and returns with a rental agreement and shoves it in my face. telling me to get my kids and leave. Right, so the rental agreement is very clearly for the pavilion. All for the grand sum of $35 for four hours. How could any sensible adult think that $35 granted you exclusive use of a public playground? Moreover, why is it so important for you to HAVE exclusive use of a public playground?
I, again, point out to him that he rented the pavilion, not the park, and my kids won’t go on his bounce houses and we won’t go into his pavilion, but the playground is fair game for everyone. He begins hurling threats and I’m weighing just taking my kids and leaving to avoid this jerk. Then I decide I need to take a stand on principle. So I tell him to screw off and proceed to use my phone to find the phone number for the park office.
Our county staffs our parks. During the summer months, they employ park rangers who have peace officer authority. I call the park ranger and tell him that there is trouble up at this shady playground and they need to come right away. Sure enough, as I’m getting off of the phone, Dolph returns with two of his meathead friends to tell me that they are ejecting me from the park.
No, you’re not. And if you touch me, I’m calling the authorities and pressing charges. No anger, no rage. With this promise of action, however, one of them kind of widens his eyes and steps back, saying to his friend, “Just leave them alone, man.” This guy, for some reason, does NOT want the authorities coming down on him and it is very obvious.
The ringleader won’t back down, however, and tries his best to get in my face, scream and yell. He grabs my arm, I remove his hand. All of this happens just as I see the ranger pull up, and he yells for everyone to step back from one another and come over. This smug dingus shoves the rental contract into the chest of the ranger.
He starts telling him that I’m “trespassing” and he rented this space for the day for his kid’s party. Now, normally I don’t like posturing by law enforcement, but here it was pretty amusing. Ranger: “Touch me again and I’m detaining you.” -reads contract- “This is for renting the pavilion, you have use of the pavilion but the playground is open for public use.” -hands it back- “Also, your permit doesn’t allow you to set up bounce houses. Where did you plug these in?”
Ranger follows the extension cords and sees that they ran them to the nearby public bathrooms. There was an outdoor outlet. It was locked. This dude cut the lock off so he could plug in his stuff. Ranger comes back with the broken lock. “Did you cut this lock?” “Uhhh…it was like that when I found it.” “Really? Because it was intact this morning. So some random person cut this lock and you just happened upon it within the last two hours?”
“Uhhh….I guess…” Long story short, he let them stay and let them keep the bounce castles because he didn’t want to ruin a kid’s party. He wrote the guy a citation for the broken lock and the unauthorized power use and banned him from the park for the remainder of the season (after the party). Amazingly, this entire event was lost on my children who barely noticed anything was going on, likely because of the compressor noise.
67. This Old House
This is really about an entire entitled family. My fiancé, Nathan, passed very unexpectedly in 2016, at the age of 35. I was 26 at the time. We lived together in a house on a few acres; I’d lived there for a couple of years, and he had lived there most of his life. His grandfather built the house, and when his grandparents died, the house was willed to their six children, one of whom was Nathan’s mother.
When his mother passed, her share was willed to Nathan and his two siblings, so he was a partial owner of the home. His aunt, Rita, also lived there. She was mentally unstable in many ways I won’t get into, except to say that she was a serious hoarder. Consequently, the house was in disrepair. Honestly, it was not fit to be lived in and could’ve easily been condemned, but it was a rough time. Please spare your judgment if you can.
Nathan and I were in the process of getting an apartment when he died. Since Nathan and Rita were the only partial owners living there, they paid all the property taxes and repairs, etc. (I contributed too after I moved in.) It’s not like Nathan and I were just squatting there or something. A couple of months before he passed, Rita had some health issues that resulted in her being hospitalized and then moving into an apartment.
That’s when the entitled family—aunts, uncles, and cousins—swooped in and started demanding that we move out so they could sell the property. Okay, fine. We were planning on moving anyway. They were really unrealistic about the timeline, though. At one point they insisted that since we were low-income, all we needed to do was contact “The Government” (they weren’t sure what department), and they’d just give us a small house and some land.
That’s how out of touch with reality these people were. They’d just show up in the house whenever they wanted, which I guess was their right, but it’s also pretty rude and entitled to just come into someone’s home on a regular basis without even speaking to them while you’re there, much less letting them know beforehand. Anyway, when Nathan passed, they were unabashedly elated.
Two days afterward, I was at the house collecting some of my things when I got a text from his sister Anna (who is an angel) saying that they’d messaged his out-of-state uncle’s wife, asking her to message Anna about me because God forbid anyone be direct. Apparently, they wanted me banned from the property immediately. See, we’d been “living in sin,” and now that he was gone, I had no reason or right to be there. I was devastated.
At that point, I wanted to take everything he’d ever touched and scoop it up and hold it close to me forever. I couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to have anything of his. As an afterthought, I realized all of MY stuff was also still there. Luckily, Anna stuck up for me and said I could be there as long as I wanted. She lives across the country though, so she couldn’t do much to enforce it. The most egregious display of disgusting entitlement happened a couple of days later.
I was at the house, frantically trying to load up the car with the things that made up the life that Nathan and I shared together, which was taxing both physically and emotionally. I was crying when his cousin Erica appeared in our bedroom. Erica: smiling like I’m an old friend she just ran into at Costco HEY! Isn’t this CRAZY? Nathan died so suddenly! He was fine a few days ago! (He died of either sepsis or a pulmonary embolism. The hospital said one thing, the examiner said another.)
Me: through tears Yeah. It was very unexpected. Erica: laughing I know! Well, at least we can sell this dump now. It’s then that I hear people talking and laughing in the next room. Apparently, Erica had brought her teenage daughter and several of her daughter’s friends to gawk at the house. Our home, where we lived and loved, was being openly mocked with zero regard for my feelings.
Erica: So when do you think you’ll be gone? Me: I’m not sure. I’d like to get as much of his stuff as possible, and Anna asked me to get some of their mom’s things. Erica: frowning Well, I guess I’ll have to talk to Anna about that. Their mom is the reason this place is so run down, you know. laughing again I don’t see why Anna would want any of this garbage!
Note that this is blatantly false, as the house had been in pristine condition until Nathan’s mother passed and Rita’s hoarding worsened to the point that Nathan could not keep up with it. Also, there were plenty of keepsakes and heirlooms that were not at all “garbage.” I’m sort of dumbfounded by this whole exchange and way too emotionally drained to deal with it, so I just get back to what I was doing.
Later that night, Erica’s sister messaged me asking what I’d done with Rita’s box of plastic horses because Rita wanted them back immediately. Of course, I had not taken it. Why would I want a box of plastic horses? (Hint: I would not.) I elected not to reply. After that, they got more aggressive about me not being there because I was a plastic horse thief.
Nathan was an artist by trade, and they started just throwing away all of his drawings and taking some of the more valuable figurines he had. The last day I was there, my mom went with me. After getting the last of what I could, I just wanted to walk around the house one last time and sort of say goodbye to the place we’d spent so much time together in, a place I’d never be again.
Of course, the family showed up, and my mom tried to calmly explain that I would be out soon and would not return. She tried to appeal to their sense of humanity by explaining how traumatized I was and how I just needed this for some semblance of closure. Their response was chilling. His aunt got in her face and lectured her about how Nathan was in hell and I’d be going there too.
Then my mom, who somehow managed not to knock her teeth out, reminded her that Anna had told me I could be there. The aunt responded by calling the authorities to have me forcibly removed. We left before they arrived, and now that’s my final memory of the place where the most amazing man I’ve ever known taught me how to love.
68. The Forgiveness Gift
This story is more about the kid than the parent, but the parent was supporting the behavior sooo…One summer day last year, when I had just turned 14, I was playing some basketball with these two kids from my neighborhood in their driveway. Their family is pretty rich, so they have a fully paved driveway big enough to be a sizable court.
It’s just them and me for about half an hour, until Satan’s son himself came over from down the street. This kid is the really stereotypical little jerk who made the select soccer team three years ago and still thinks that he runs the place. So we let him join the game and everything is fine for a bit. I’m a little bit on the ahem “bigger side” but I’m really strong.
So I play really well as a center, posting up and that. And the kid is guarding me and he’s getting worked. He’s shorter and not as strong so he’s getting dominated. Here’s the major incident. I’ve just grabbed a loose ball and I’m running back towards the basket. The other kid gets back before me and stops my drive, so I start to back him down again.
He must have just been really frustrated by him not getting a chance on defense, so he thinks up a plan. At this point, I was wearing a hoodie and the jerk grabs my hood from behind and pulls as hard as he can. I, not expecting my airflow to be cut off, especially while I’m breathing hard, start to panic. I can’t shake him off of my back.
I don’t know how long he’s hanging on, but it felt like a whole 45 seconds. That may not seem like that long, but I’m freaking the heck out, so it feels like forever. An eternity later, his grip loosens and I finally get him off. I’m fired up at this point, so I punch him right in the nose. Definitely not as hard as I could, but it certainly would have hurt a lot.
This guy, however, drops like he’s out cold. Meanwhile, I’m on my knees trying to get my breath back. He’s bawling his eyes out, he’s rolling and screaming and all that, being the melodramatic jerk that he is. Suddenly his mom is running over, and it was that moment where I knew I was screwed. Sometime between when he started and when I socked him, his mother came out.
She’s the typical “I want to speak to the manager” white, upper-middle class mom who volunteers to be the head of the PTA every year and goes to Starbucks 20 times a day, and the kid is very much his mother’s son. Mom: OH MY GOD ARE YOU OK? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM Me: He just nearly choked me out, so I punched him. Mom: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT, YOU’RE SO MUCH BIGGER THAN HIM!!!!
Me: But he was choking me out! This whole thing goes on for a while until the neighbors step in to try to protect me, but to no avail. This just goes around for another five minutes before the kid finally gets up and LIMPS, yes, LIMPS back to his house I go home because I’m sick of this and I’m tired. The next day, I try go back over, but the kid is there already.
Neither of his parents’ cars is there so I assume that he’s staying at the neighbor kids’ house until they come back. I decide to go back inside because I don’t want to interact with him. A couple of hours later, the kid shows up at our door with his mom standing at the gate of our fence. Kid: Um, hi, I was just coming over to say sorry for choking you yesterday, I won’t ever do it again.
Me: Uhhh, ok. Thanks, I’m sorry that I punched you. At this point, my mom comes to see who I’m talking to and she asks what’s going on. The mother pipes up and says the most ridiculous thing. Her: We are here for your forgiveness gift. Me: My what? Her: Your forgiveness gift, it’s a tradition in our family that the person who apologizes last has to give the other person something to make up for it.
My mom: Excuse me? What’s going on? I explain what happened and as I explain what happened, and she seems to get more and more disgusted by the situation By the way, the kid had tried to “correct” my story while I was explaining it to my mom, saying things like, “He punched me twice in the face, and then kicked me in the nuts while I was crying on the ground.” I can see from my mom’s face that she knows it’s all lies.
I finish explaining and turn back to the kid. My mom: I’m sorry but we don’t do forgiveness gifts in this family. Woman: We do in this one. Kid, pick something out. He looked around and saw my PS4, and he points at it. Kid: Mommy, I want that. Keep in mind that this kid is just about a year younger than I am, too old for mommy, too old for this whole situation in my opinion.
The mom walks up to our door and sees it’s my PS4: Great, We’ll take that as our gift, My mom, with steam billowing out of her ears, slams the door in their faces and quickly locks it. They start pounding on the door so hard that it sounds like they are trying to break it down. We leave the door, but they stay there pounding on it for at least another five minutes before finally leaving.
I still leave my neighbor’s house any time I see him walking down the block.
69. Just A Tip
After never dealing with an entitled parent in my life, I’ve now had two in the span of a few months. So I am a delivery driver for a major food delivery company in a major college town in Texas where everyone loves maroon. Normally, it’s not bad, pays pretty well, and customers are generally fine, though you’ll always have idiots in every service job.
This, however, surpassed anything I’d ever experienced before. I get an order alert on my phone, a relatively simple but expensive order (we drivers love expensive orders) from a restaurant nearby. In the portion for delivery instructions, the customer explains that I need to call her once I arrive, as ringing the doorbell (as I normally do) would disturb her autistic son.
Okay, no problem at all. I received therapy for sensory issues when I was a kid, so I’m going to be even more sympathetic to that than the average person. I receive the order, and drive over to the house (nice part of town), and give the customer a call. Younger woman answers and tells me to come up to the door. I do so. Enter the entitled mother.
Strangely, she was fairly attractive and did not have the typical Karen haircut. Me: Here’s your order ma’am, is there anything else I can help you with today? Her: Yes. My son is autistic, and people like you don’t understand how difficult it is to raise him. I shouldn’t have to pay this much for food. Can you give me a discount? Me, baffled: I’m sorry ma’am, but the app calculates your order total, not me. It’s already been paid for.
She did not like that answer. Her face changed from a smug smirk into a snarl. I suppose I didn’t realize how ridiculous the idea that people pay for their own food is. Her: Well, why don’t you pay for it then? I’m not sure if you heard, but my son is autistic, and it’s your fault that he’s still hungry! Me: I’m sorry ma’am, but that goes against our policy. If I paid for your order, I’d probably be fired.
Her: Good! You’re a useless driver anyway, you’re disgusting! My son is starving! Since I’ve had to go through so much trouble with you, you should tip ME! So, my app has a setting that while you’re in the process of taking an order to a customer, they’ll assign you another one at the same time if there’s activity. Thankfully, this saved me here.
Me: Can’t do that ma’am. Here’s your order. I dropped the food gently on the ground between us and jogged back to my car. She was shouting something unintelligible (so much for not disturbing her autistic son), but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. Unsurprisingly, she gave me a one-star review (you tip online, so I got a small tip). I contacted support about it the next day.
Me: Yeah, I had a crazy lady yesterday, started demanding that I pay for her order, and even that I tip her. Really rude, not sure what the deal was. Them: Hmm, which order was it? Me: It was (order number) at (address). Them: Yikes, you’re the third person to complain about her. One or two, we take with a grain of salt, but three, you’re probably out. I’ll try to get her deactivated. If so, her review will be off your record.
Me: Thanks! Appreciate it! I feel like the entire world is better off now that she won’t get deliveries from us anymore, but was the cost worth it? That remains to be seen…
70. Girls Will Be Girls
This happened when I was 15. A boy in my neighborhood would often cat-call me and try to grab me. He was around my age. I had told him to leave me alone, I had complained to his parents, but to no avail. When I told my parents about it, they just told me to ignore him. One day when I was walking home from school, he caught up with me.
As usual, he made some filthy comments about my body, things he would do to me, etc. I walked faster in an attempt to lose him. I just wanted to get home, but he grabbed my arm and lifted up my skirt, exposing my underwear. I freaking lost it. I began punching and kicking with all my strength and with all the rage that had been building up inside me.
I didn’t stop until someone pulled me off of him. It was his mother. She screamed at me for hurting her “little boy” and told me she would be speaking to my parents. I said “fine” and walked home. I knew it would get ugly that evening, but his blood on my knuckles made me feel a little better. That evening when my parents got home, Karen was already waiting beside our front door.
Apparently, she had been messaging my parents all day, telling them about the beating. She berated them again in person. The “boys will be boys” defense was used. Here’s the fun part. My parents actually apologized to her and promised her they would discipline me. When she left, I told them my side of the story but my dad just repeated what he had said earlier: that I should have ignored him.
And, the icing on the cake, he told me if I didn’t want to draw the attention of boys, I should lengthen my skirts. Never mind the fact that I had pretty much been attacked. My mom told me to grow up and be more “ladylike” instead of getting into fights with boys. My two brothers who are younger than me were much more sympathetic.
My 13-year-old brother said he’d get his friends to gang up on him if he ever came near me. Thankfully, it never came to that. The coward never harassed me again. I guess getting beaten up by a girl can really hurt a misogynist’s confidence.
71. Rated M For Mature
So I’m from Germany and we have some WWII museums in different places to remind us of the horror and inform visitors of what happened in the specific area of Germany they’re visiting. I was visiting one once when I heard a child cry. Not a baby that didn’t know better, but a toddler. They sounded genuinely upset. Enter: Entitled mom.
I hear her loudly complain about a video and how this isn’t “child friendly” at all. Now first of all, in these museums it’s SUPER quiet, obviously. Second of all, they are not supposed to be child-friendly. They show raw, horrible pictures that show a brutal truth, and most adults are left speechless. It really can turn your stomach sometimes.
Employee: I’m really sorry it upset her…This museum is suggested for ages 14 and up. Mother: Then how is she supposed to LEARN?! Now, that kid was three years old, max. You can maybe talk to them about this stuff, but these museums are clearly not for kids, and it even says so on the website.
72. An Expensive Mistake
I own a Jeep that’s fully built, has a lift kit, the whole shebang. One day I’m coming home from work. It’s a summer day so the roof is off and I’m having some open-top fun. I stop at a red light and suddenly screeeeech BANG! I drive forward slightly and go back to assess the damage, and lo and behold it’s a Mercedes C class, a new one at that.
It was completely destroyed from the front, and my beautiful Jeep had no damage apart from a few scratches. I went to check on the passenger of the Mercedes and got her out of the car. Under a minute after she’s out of the car, she starts screaming about how I wrecked HER car. I told her calmly that she was the one who rammed into me.
I don’t think she understood how my hitting her would be impossible. In any case, I offer to share our insurance details because I knew that Mercedes damage doesn’t come cheap, but she said she didn’t have insurance. Instead, she insisted that I pay her 10k cash. How she got this number? I don’t know. I said that was just plain wrong as first, she hit me, and second, it’s her fault for not having insurance.
She then went on a ramble on how her kids needed the money and now her kids will have to starve because she will have to pay to fix her car and how it will all be my fault when they are on the street tomorrow…blah blah blah. Yeah, on the street with a Mercedes. She then said she would call the authorities if I didn’t pay her. This was still incredibly stupid, so I still refused.
So then she called the cops…………..yeah. Officers came, assessed the damage, and asked us what happened. She said and I quote, “He backed into me at full speed on a red light.” Then they asked me what happened and I told them, and it became a he said, she said situation. Luckily, a shopkeeper was there and saw the whole thing and even captured it on a surveillance camera.
Needless to say, I came out on top. The officers got her for reckless driving and driving without insurance. She then started yelling at them about how they would just let me get away. They explained that I did nothing wrong and that they now had video evidence of that fact. Eventually, they let me go from the scene and I got in my Jeep and left.
73. Left To Her Own Devices
My daughter’s friend from school came home with her one day. They were doing girlie stuff that normal 14-year-olds do—makeup, nails, etc. I hear a blood-curdling scream and run upstairs expecting the worst. I open the bathroom door and the girl is on the toilet with blood on her toilet paper. I was like…Ok, she started her period. Nothing too crazy.
My daughter and I sit her down and I explain why we have periods and what that means for her from now on. We hug her and congratulate her on this next step of her life. Afterward, we go get her supplies from the store and grab ice cream. She is all calmed down and feeling special at this point. I took her home and thought it was strange her parents never mentioned anything to her about any of this.
She was 14 after all. It was bound to happen sooner or later. About an hour later, I receive a call from her livid mother, who berates me for have the audacity to tell her daughter about those private things. She said that she was supposed to learn those things on her own just like she, the mom, had to. I was completely stunned! She had no intention of explaining anything to her daughter.
She then said the girls couldn’t be friends anymore. Her daughter would still come over without the parents knowing and still calls me to this day (six years later) for guidance in her life.
74. Mom’s The Word
I’m nonverbal due to an injury and communicate exclusively via writing and sign language, unless I want to feel like I’m pouring half-molten nails down my throat. Also, I love eating at restaurants. Denny’s, Applebee’s, little family-owned Mexican and Chinese places, etc. My husband typically orders for me to avoid me playing a game of charades with the waiter/waitress.
We were eating out one day, and apparently, this was wrong. So we were getting our food and this little kid near us, maybe eight or nine, was watching us since the restaurant was fairly empty. Right after the server leaves, the kid can audibly be heard speaking with his mother, a woman probably in her mid to late 40s. Kid: Mommy! What about her?
Mom: (She wasn’t paying attention, I’d assume) Hmm? What was that? Kid: He ordered for both of them! Mom: He what? Kid: The girl didn’t talk to him. Mom: That’s not right, let’s go see if there’s a reason. At this point, she takes a few steps over towards us, her kid in tow. Mom: Hi you two. Husband: Hello? Mom: Who is this? (She motions towards me) Your girlfriend?
Husband: Close enough, do you need something? Mom: Do you do that often? Husband: Do what often? Mom: Order for her? Husband: All the time. Mom: Could you please stop that? Husband: I’d rather not. Mom: I’m asking nicely. Kid: Can she not talk? Husband: Basica— Mother cuts him off: Just don’t do it again, I don’t want my kid to grow up to be some barbarian.
Husband: No. Feel free to leave us alone. She leaves with a huff and that seemed to be it for the night at first, as we got our food we started talking (signing), both clearly a little confused about what this strange woman’s issue was. Now, when I’m saying crazy in sign language I use the ever-known finger-pointing-to-head crazy, which I happened to start using right as she re approached us.
Mom: What are you two doing? Husband: Please go away, ma’am. Mom: I’m not going to let you teach my kid gang signs. So stop it. Husband: We’re not teaching anything, it’s si— Mom: I don’t care what it is, stop it. Just “talk” like normal people. She physically put air quotes on the word “talk,” classy. She soon walked away, and we continued our conversation with her angrily staring at us and trying to “shield” her kid from the terrible gang signs up until they left.
75. Just Desserts
I always thought these crazy people who don’t mind their own business must be a rare breed and that I would never encounter one of them, but somehow I did. So a little bit of background before I start. I was born in Pakistan but came to Canada when I was three. By that time, I could already speak in Urdu, Punjabi, and Hindi (the languages are fairly similar in many regards), and then I came to Canada and English was my fourth language.
As I grew up, I also learned Arabic, French, and Japanese to varying competencies, but all within the realm of conversational. Having grown up in Canada, I have no “accent” when I speak in English, so you wouldn’t be able to tell me apart from a Caucasian person if you spoke with me over the phone. But also having learned so many languages, I’m able to pronounce a lot of sounds fairly accurately, so I sound authentic in all languages that I speak in, to all but native speakers.
Most of the languages that I know sound different enough from each other that someone that doesn’t know them can still tell that the language is different. I’ve traveled back home to Pakistan a few times, and I would always encounter those beggars who come with elaborate stories. Like, my wife is sick and she needs surgery, and I managed to get money for that, but I need money for the flight to reach her, etc.
I came up with a fun counter to that, which was that I would act like I didn’t understand them at all and would start speaking in a different language that they wouldn’t know. Japanese was my go-to language while in Pakistan. The reaction those people would have was quite hilarious. So my wife and I were at an Indian restaurant in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, enjoying our dinner and having a conversation.
We speak in a mix of Urdu and English, just mixing with whatever feels easy. To someone listening in, they would be able to understand enough to figure out what we are talking about in most cases. We were sitting in a booth table so it was only open from one side. Karen and her family—a husband, Jimmy, and two daughters—were sitting at an open table with an empty table between us.
My wife is Pakistani like me, and what some Pakistanis like to do is eat rice with their hands. I prefer a spoon myself, but at this time my wife was eating with her hands. Apparently, this Karen got offended at seeing my wife eat with her hands. When she came over, I started speaking in different languages, acting like I didn’t understand what she was saying in English.
I’ll translate what I said and put in parentheses which language I said it in. Here’s how it went: Karen walks over to our table with a sour expression on her face. Jimmy calls to her, telling her to sit back down and leave us alone, but she ignored him. She addresses my wife directly. Karen: What’s wrong with you? Can’t you eat your food in a civilized manner like the rest of us?
Me: (Urdu) Huh? What do you want? Can’t you see we’re eating? Karen looks at me with surprise. Karen: What did you just say? Me: (Urdu) [To wife] Don’t talk to her in English, just do what I’m doing. Me: (Urdu) [To Karen] You’re just a crazy woman, go sit back down. Karen: Why aren’t you speaking in English? My wife starts smiling and I try hard to keep a straight face.
Wife: (Urdu) We are just enjoying our meal, why don’t you go and sit down? Karen: I just heard you speaking in English, I KNOW you can talk in English! Me: (Urdu) Yeah, I can but I choose to not do so. Wife: (Urdu) [To me] I think she’s getting upset. Me (Urdu) [To Wife] I know, that’s what makes this so much fun. Karen: Stop it! Talk in English like I heard you before!
Me: (Japanese) So you were listening in on our conversation? Don’t you have any manners? Karen: Wait, that’s some other language now. What the heck is this?? Jimmy: Leave them alone Karen, they don’t speak English. Karen: I KNOW THEY DO! They’re just pretending not to. Jimmy: It doesn’t matter, just sit down. I start waving toward her table.
Me: (Japanese) That’s right, go back to your table, you loud cow. Jimmy: Karen, they aren’t doing anything wrong. Leave them alone. Karen: She’s eating with her hands! I can’t let the girls learn her uncivilized ways! Me: (Hindi) [To Wife] Start licking your fingers. My wife starts licking the rice on her right hand off the top parts of her fingers and that makes Karen rage even more.
Karen: OH MY GOD! Look at how gross she is being! Jimmy: Stop looking at her if you don’t like it then! Me: (Arabic) Hey you dumb witch, do you behave this way everywhere you go? Karen: He changed languages again! I know he did! His accent changed! Me: (Japanese) Yep, and I can keep changing. Karen: SPEAK IN ENGLISH! Jimmy: You must have heard them wrong. They don’t know English. Leave them alone. I couldn’t believe how much more horrible she got after that.
Karen: Then why are they living here? They don’t deserve to live here if they don’t know English. At this point, I was having a hard time keeping a straight face, so I disguised it by raising my voice and appearing angry. I gestured towards her and then pointed at her table. Me: (Arabic) Are you so dumb you can’t even listen to your husband? Go sit down and stop embarrassing yourself!
Karen: YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BE HERE! GET OUT! At this point, the restaurant’s manager Singh shows up to see what all the commotion was about. He’s an Indian guy with a pretty heavy accent when he spoke in English, so I knew he’d speak either Hindi or Punjabi. Singh: Excuse me, can you please keep your voice down? What is going on here?
Karen: This woman is eating with her hands and it’s disgusting! She’s corrupting my children with her barbaric ways. Singh: Ma’am, there are no rules that forbid her from eating with her hands. Please leave them alone or I’ll have to ask you to leave. Now Jimmy gets up and comes over to where Karen is. Jimmy: Sit down Karen, you’ve embarrassed yourself enough! THIS is why I can’t take you anywhere!
Me: (Punjabi) Ignore this dumb cow, her brain is smaller than a “ladoo” (an Indian sweet). The manager starts laughing at my comment and Karen gets even redder in the face, since she probably thinks we’re making fun of her. Which, to be fair, we are. Karen: ALL OF YOU SHOULD GO BACK TO YOUR COUNTRY! Jimmy just takes her arm and leads her back to their table and sits her down, telling her to shut up.
Her daughters look like they want to sink into the floor from embarrassment. I ramble a few more sentences in varying languages as a kind of venting before my wife tells me to just leave it alone. We finish our dinner about 10 minutes later, with Karen glaring at us the whole time. I go pay the bill and as we are walking out of the restaurant, we pass near Karen’s table. I knew exactly what to do.
I call out to Jimmy in perfect English (with no accent) while smiling and I give him a wave. Me: Hey buddy, I hope you enjoy your dinner! Have a good night! Karen’s eyes bulge as she screams. Karen: I KNEW IT! SEE! THEY KNOW ENGLISH! She tried to stand up suddenly, but instead ended up falling over backward in her seat. My wife and I left the restaurant laughing before she could do anything else.
76. Bread And Circus
This happened almost 40 years ago. My immediate family was, for the most part, perfectly normal and boring. We were not prone to outbursts and tantrums. It was very calm and quiet. Everyone got along and we were pretty happy with our boredom. I tell you that so you understand that I had absolutely no experience at all with people prone to screaming fits.
You should also know that I suffer from a case of terminal morbid curiosity. I also don’t care about pleasing other people. Never did. Never saw the fun in it. This happened when we were visiting for my great auntie’s funeral. I was 12. My one aunt insisted that we all go out to dinner at her favorite Italian restaurant. It was just the best, she said so and she was never wrong.
The gimmick here was a little flag of Italy on the table. When you wanted more dinner rolls, you raised the flag. This is important. Flag up, you get rolls. Flag down, no rolls. Remember that. The six of us are seated, they take our drink order and bring the breadbasket. With us is my poor long-suffering uncle who will one day be made a saint for being married to this woman for over 20 years.
It started with the drink order. Aunt: We will have five sweet teas. Dad: I’ll have a Coke. Mom: I’ll have a Coke. Me: Tea, no sugar (This is a mortal sin in the south). Aunt: Don’t be silly, you can’t have sweet tea without sugar! Me: I don’t like sugar. Aunt: That’s stupid. Bring her sweet tea. Waitress (who winked at me): Yes, Ma’am. Uncle: I think I’d like a Coke as well.
Emily, their daughter: I’d like a Coke. Aunt: We drink Pepsi, not Coke. We are having sweet tea. The waitress brought us our requested drinks. My aunt was growing agitated. See, likes to control everything and everyone. So she told us what to order for dinner. I’m not going to get into an ethical debate here, but I refuse to eat veal.
She demanded we all have the veal. I refused. I knew this would set her off but, oh well. I’m not eating veal. My parents, after I had explained to them years earlier why I would not eat veal, refused to eat it as well. Did I mention I get my “I don’t care about pleasing you” quality from my parents? Well, they didn’t care either. They were perfectly capable of ordering whatever they wanted.
So they did. I had lasagna. It was good. My mother’s was better. Once we ordered what we wanted, it emboldened my uncle and he stepped out of line and ordered something else as well. My aunt was NOT. HAVING. IT. Aunt: You are getting the veal. Uncle: No, I feel like something else tonight. Aunt: The veal is the best. Uncle: I still want something else.
Aunt: You won’t like it. Uncle: I’m sure I will. Aunt: You don’t know what you are talking about. Uncle: I know what I like. Aunt: Well you can’t have it. Uncle: Yes, I can! Aunt: I said no! Uncle: Well, I’m ordering it! Aunt: You always get the veal! Uncle: Because it’s your favorite and you make me. I don’t even like Italian food!
Aunt: Yes you do, it’s your favorite. Uncle: I want the lasagna. Aunt: Order what I tell you to order. Uncle: No. Lasagna. Emily: I’ll have the lasagna, too. Aunt: You can’t have that, you are allergic. Emily: No, I’m not. Aunt: I’m your mother, I know what you can and can’t eat. Aunt: (to the waitress): Bring her the veal, right now!
The whole time this is going on, I am looking from one to the other like watching a tennis match. Back and forth, with the pitch of her voice getting more and more shrill with each sentence. I was fairly certain that when we left bats would have been summoned. I’m just watching them and eating a dinner roll…The food arrives and everyone got what they wanted, even Emily, much to the fury of my aunt. Then it happens.
My uncle raises the flag. My aunt puts it down. He puts it back up. She takes it back down. Up and down, up and down. I see the bread guy hovering at the edge of the table…..waiting. The flag goes up and he rushes in to drop off the new basket before it can go back down. My aunt grabs the basket and throws it at the kid that delivered it.
To save time and typing, every time my aunt speaks, the flag goes down. The rest of the time it goes up. Aunt: You don’t need any more bread! Uncle: But I want more. Aunt: I said no. Uncle: I’m an adult, I can have more bread if I want. Aunt: No you can’t. Uncle: Why, just tell me why I can’t have more bread. Aunt: Because I said so. You aren’t listening to me.
Uncle: I’m hungry and want more bread. Aunt: You wouldn’t be if you had ordered the veal! Aunt: Yes I would. I always am but you never let me have more bread. Tonight I get more! Me: I want some more bread, too. Aunt: No, you have had enough. Me: No, I really think I want more. Aunt: Well, you are wrong. Me: You seem upset.
Aunt: That’s because you people aren’t listening to me. Me: Yes we are. We just don’t care. We want more bread. Dad (to me while trying not to laugh at how absurd this is): You aren’t helping. Me: I think you want more bread too. At this point the whole darn place is watching our table and the battle over the flag. I’m fairly sure there were people taking bets to see who would win.
In the middle of the confusion, a nice lady sitting at another table nearest Emily tapped her and slipped their fresh bread basket to her. Emily took a roll and slipped it to me. I took one and slipped it to my father, then it went to my mother who, after taking a roll for herself, slipped one onto my uncle’s plate. If you can believe it, it got even more ridiculous from there. My aunt saw it and grabbed for it.
My uncle was faster. He shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once. It was a big roll. The waitress approached the table to check to see if we needed anything (Xanax was unfortunately not on the menu) and my aunt demanded she bring the check. Me: I want dessert. Chocolate cake. Uncle: Sounds great! I’ll have some. Emily: Me too. Dad: I’ll have apple pie.
Mom: I’ll have cheesecake. Bring cheesecake for [aunt]. She loves cheesecake. Aunt: NO! We are not having dessert. We are getting the check and leaving. NOW! Dad: No, we aren’t. Aunt: Well, I’m leaving. You can all walk home. Dad: I drove. It’s our car. Aunt: I know, give me the keys. Dad. Nope. Aunt: You have to give me the keys. I live here. You are just visiting.
Dad: Yes, I’m just visiting. With my family. In our car. Aunt: It’s MY state! Dad: I don’t care. It’s my car and you can’t have it. You’re a terrible driver anyway. Aunt: No I’m not! Dad: You drive the wrong way on the freeway. Aunt: No I don’t. It’s the other cars going the wrong way! Dad: You get lost in your own neighborhood. Aunt: Not always.
Dad: You are not driving my car. Aunt: Yes I am! Dad: No you aren’t. That ladies and gentlemen, continued while we ate dessert and paid the check (my father was buying). As we walked to the car, and for the entire trip back to their house, my father drove. We dropped them off and went back to our hotel room. Dad to my mom: Has your sister always been this crazy?
Mom: No, it started when she was about three. Dad: What happened? Mom: She started speaking in complete sentences. Dad: Ah……
77. From Quirky To Concerning
A little over a year ago when my neighbor moved into the townhouse next to us, things seemed great! Their kids were nice, and overall seemed like they were part of a loving, normal home. They were quirky, but nice people who were always willing to help, from installing a screen door, to enjoying a drink and a decent conversation about home improvement.
One day, red flags started popping up. Halloween came up a few months after they moved in and we could hear all kinds of banging and pounding coming from the side of the house they are attached to. We thought it was just the kids playing and having fun until the father called me crying on the phone about how he was so angry they didn’t get invited to a big party at the next house over.
The owner of that house has a policy with all the neighbors: “If my garage door is open, feel free to stop in and join us, you are always invited.” It was weird for them to get offended over that, but I brushed it off. A few weeks later, their kids got the idea that our dog should have sleepovers with them and they started asking to walk him sometimes. Which at first we thought was cute, and it was! Until one day, it went too far.
The kids were asking about having a doggy sleepover once in a while, and their mother pulled me away from my wife. She said that it was really unfair that we get to have our dog all week long and that they have to build their schedule to see him around our lives and when we were home. I really had no clue what to say, but then she doubled down, insisting that their family should have him on weekends because I work shift work and get to see him all week long as much as I want.
Our relationship with them ended entirely after we caught one of their kids scratching our cars accidentally and they told us to call the authorities when we tried letting them know what happened. We didn’t want money or for it to be fixed, we just wanted their kids to be more careful…
78. Animal Instinct
Today I had to take my dog to the vet for her semi-annual blood test. Oddly enough, she absolutely loves going to the vet and was super excited to go play with all the techs. Afterward, we walked to the pet store just down the street because she’s definitely on the nice list and deserves a new toy for Christmas. Now my dog is an Akita, so she’s pretty big and I understand that she’s a little scary-looking.
She’s also super gentle and seems to understand that kids especially can be intimidated by her, so when she sees new people she won’t run up to them but she will get excited and start wagging her tail, which is adorable because it’s a curly cinnamon roll. As a result, I don’t feel the need to do anything like pull her away from scared people.
I honestly think that only makes things worse because she’ll always wait for them to come up to her anyways. So we walk into the store and it’s pretty quiet. We are just heading towards dog toys and my dog is laser-focused on the table of treats. A mom and her kid walk past and he points to my dog and calls it a wolf. The mom then stops me and the following conversation happened.
Lady: Excuse me! That breed is banned, you can’t bring it in here. Me: I’m pretty sure the store doesn’t have a banned breed list. It’s a pet store. Lady: That’s a wolf hybrid and it’s scaring my kid! You need to leave. Me: I’m sorry your kid is afraid of dogs, but she’s not a wolf-hybrid and she’s not bothering you. This whole time, we’re still standing next to the treat table so the dog hasn’t moved an inch closer to them.
She’s just staring at the food with her tail wagging. Lady: My son is scared! You two need to leave! Me: No. At this point, my dog decided that these must be new friends. She took a step towards them with her tail still wagging at top speed. She stretched her head towards them, though they were still two or three feet away, to ask for pets.
The kid was just frozen, staring. The mother just picked up her kid and walked the other way. I just grinned and we went to look at dog toys. When I went to check out, the cashier told me the lady had complained about my “wolf-hybrid” and they had to tell her that all dogs who aren’t acting aggressively are more than welcome in the store.
The lady was ignored and my good girl got two treats from the nice worker.
79. This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things
“Hi, we were thinking about opening up a kid-free café.” “WHAAAAT!?! THAT’S DISCRIMINATION!!!!” Yep, in my city of a million+ population and hundreds of places where you can bring your kids, one cafe wanted to open up with a kid-free policy. That seemed like such a great idea to me since I hate kids. I understand that many people don’t, probably even most people, but I know there are others like me who want to have a coffee in peace.
But nope. Parents went wild with fury and reported the café for discrimination. They had to change their policy. Now there are a total of zero cafés with a kid-free policy and hundreds where you risk having to sit next to a screaming, crying, messy kid, strollers blocking the spaces between the tables, and parents drinking lattes while not caring about their children causing a ruckus.
Seriously, one cafe! Was that too much to ask for?
80. The Turban Towel Heist
This happened about five years ago when I was working as a newly qualified social worker. It had been a rough morning and long story short, I had spit and vomit on me. As pretty standard practice, I kept a spare set of court clothes in my car so I had something to change into, but I felt pretty disgusting and wanted a shower. So I took an early lunch and went to my gym nearby the office to shower and change.
I showered, came out and put my hair up into a towel turban, and walked toward the lockers. The changing area was empty except for one kid, a boy about eight or nine. A bit weird for him to be alone, but I assumed his mom must’ve been in the only occupied stall so I didn’t think too much of it. I smiled to acknowledge him and got to my locker to grab my things to change into.
At this point, the boy looked at me, pointed at my towel turban, and said: “What’s that?” Me: Oh it’s a towel turban, pretty neat huh? It stays up better than a regular towel. Boy: Cool. And he started to reach for my head. Me: Excuse me, what are you doing? Boy: I just want to see it. Me: Err, no I’m using it, sorry. At this point in my life, I’m pretty used to kids being a bit inappropriate, and it’s my job to make sure they understand, but I wasn’t expecting it here.
He looked a bit angry but went back to his (mom’s?) phone. I get dressed quickly and get my things to go over to the mirror and take the turban off to hairdryer my hair. I’m flipping my hair around to get it dried and I notice that this kid comes up to the mirror, then leaves again. I think nothing of it, and finish drying my hair, turn the hairdryer off, reach for my turban…and it isn’t there.
I know what he’s done, and I whip around and look at him. He’s turning a shade of red but staring fixedly on his phone so as to ignore me. I’m trying to remain calm, but Christ I’ve been spat at, vomited on, and now someone has taken my towel turban?! I walk back over and do my best “I’ve had enough of this” voice and say “Please return the turban. Now.”
He keeps ignoring me, so I repeat, “Please return the turban. Now.” He’s gone a huge shade of red, refuses to look at me, and mumbles something like “I didn’t take it.” I’ve had it at this point, so go over to the only occupied stall and knock on the door “Excuse me, is this your son out here?” The entitled mother opens the door and looks at me, thoroughly annoyed.
Her: What? Me: Is this your son? He has taken my towel turban, I have asked for it back, but he is not returning it. Please ask him to hand it back, and I’ll not inform the gym staff. Her: What the heck is a towel turban? I start to explain, but the boy says, “It’s a hair towel that stays up better than a normal towel!” We both look at him, and the mom says: Ok… so what do you want?
Me: I want my towel turban back please. Her: Well, he wouldn’t just take something, you obviously just lost it. You shouldn’t go around accusing people because you lose things! Me: (getting annoyed) Well, he will have no problem then emptying his bag. If he has it, he can just hand it back and if I’m mistaken, I will apologize. The mom looks at the kid, and it’s obvious to anyone that he’s lying.
She just says: Don’t be stupid, I’m not letting you rummage through his things like he’s some kind of thief! Look at you, you are harassing a little boy in a changing room! I inhale to try and stop my eyes from doing a 360-degree roll. Me: I’m not asking to touch anything. I’m asking for you to go through his bag for my turban. That is all. If you are not willing, I will go to the staff and ask them to sort this out.
I know it’s just a freaking towel turban, but theft is theft, and it’s pink and cute, so I’m not letting anyone have it. Her: So you’re threatening me now?! I know a circular argument when I hear one, so I go to the door, lean out and call for someone to come and sort it out. Enter gym trainer dude. Trainer: What’s going on? He looks between the three of us and the kid has gone back to staring a hole through the phone and the mother positions herself between the trainer and the kid.
Her: This crazy witch is harassing my son and trying to go through his bag! She needs throwing out! She… Me: That isn’t what happened. Her son has taken my towel turban, and I would like it returned. I just keep looking at this kid, and the trainer says: Ok, so what happened? Did you take the towel?
The kid mumbles something about how I must’ve lost it and the mother jumps in and says: See? He didn’t take it, he’s so traumatized he can barely say anything! She then bends down to him and hugs him saying, “It’ll be alright” and she “Won’t let me get away with this” verrrrrrry dramatically. I look at the trainer and explain the whole event.
He says: Ok, so, why don’t we just check his bag? The kid starts dramatically wailing and the mother starts ranting about how this is harassment. The trainer looks uncomfortable and says, “That’s literally the only way I think I can solve this.” The mother then stands up and tries to push past me, but I’m not moving and the room is small, so she fails.
She starts swearing and thrusts the kid’s backpack at the trainer. Her: Fine! Check it! He hasn’t taken it, and when you don’t find it, I want her thrown out! The kid wails. The trainer obviously finds the pink, wet turban towel in the bag. He picks it up and kind of just looks at it. The kid wails even more and tries to grab it, but the trainer holds it out of his reach.
Trainer: Right, so…so…this is yours? Me: yes, Thank you. I stuff the coveted turban towel into my bag and get out my car keys and ID lanyard. As I put the lanyard over my head, something practically audibly clicked in the mother’s head: That’s a social worker ID. She yanks the kid’s arm, snatches the bag from the trainer, and I move to let her pass.
The trainer looks super confused and I explain that she must’ve just been embarrassed that her son took my turban. But I knew she was panicking because she realized what my job was and that her son was out of school, taking pink, wet turban towels.
81. Every Dog Gets Her Day
Many years ago, I was living in a beautiful sunny southern state. I had a cute little house that was completely fenced in: 5’ fence in front, 8’ fence on the sides, and a 10’ chain link fence in the back. I’m fortunate enough to work from home. My “office” was my patio unless it was raining. My dog, Sarie, a German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix, kept me company.
At a year old, she was a big girl at 120lbs. She was generally very sweet and kind but protective. She was well trained but also had a knack for disappearing to play with her animal friends, so I kept her on a chain too if we were outside. High school kids in the area had the tendency to use the alleyway behind my house to get to and from school.
Most would stop and say hi to Sarie and give her attention. She loved it. I honestly didn’t mind. One day, I noticed that any time Sarie was alone outside, some kids would rattle the back fence, throw things at it, then scream and yell at Sarie. The kids would run off before I could see who they were. In case things got worse, I bought some security cameras and brought Sarie with me anytime I went inside when the kids would be around.
One day, I had to grab some work in the house and left Sarie outside, just for a moment. From inside, I heard the fence rattle, and then Sarie yelp in pain. I rushed outside just in time to see a kid try to throw a rock at Sarie, along with some other kids. I was furious—but I knew just what to do. As I rushed over to Sarie, I calmly asked them: “Did it ever occur to you to wonder why I keep my dog chained in a fenced yard?”
Then I unhooked her. Sarie ran at my back fence and climbed over it. The kids started running down the alley with Sarie right behind them, barking away. I let her go about half a block, then whistled for her. She came trotting back all happy as can be. I checked her over and gave her a treat, and she was fine. A couple of hours later, one of the kids came back with his mother…an entitled mother.
Her (screaming) “You witch! You had your dog attack my son! He was only having a fun time! He’s just a boy! [this kid was at least 16] You scared him! It was just a joke! You had no right to do that! I’m calling the authorities and having that dog shot!” Blah, blah, blah. I literally couldn’t get a word in. Then she starts threatening me.
So, I called the authorities. The operator could hear her plain as day even though she was at least 40 feet from me. Officers showed up in about five minutes. two cars. I guess they were in the area. Four officers, all very nice guys. Two officers come to talk to me, the other two talk to the woman and her son. She never stopped screaming and cussing.
I explained what happened and showed the video I had taken to the officers. I also show all of Sarie’s vet and training paperwork. I filed a report and asked to press charges. The officers are petting Sarie all the while because she’s demanding attention from her new friends. She has her happy face on. Yes, Sarie actually smiles when she likes people.
The three of us and Sarie (on a leash) go outside towards the other group. We’re about 10 feet from them when Sarie suddenly cuts in front of me to stop me and starts growling. The skin around her face went tight; making it look like a hair-covered skull. The hair on her back raises up. Sarie is very scary when she’s like that. But I knew something was very, very wrong.
Mother (screaming): “See! That witch raised that dog to attack people. That dog needs to be put down!” I called back one of the officers that I had been talking to. He didn’t want to come too close as Sarie is showing large teeth at this point, so I moved back toward my house. As quietly as I could, I told the officer that either the mom or the kid was carrying a gun.
That’s why Sarie started getting protective. It had happened several times before. I guess to err on the side of caution, or else to shut me up, he decided to search the mom and kid. Yep, the mom had an unregistered piece, while the kid had an illegal switchblade. So, in addition to a charge of animal cruelty, they got nailed for carrying a concealed weapon, being in possession of a firearm while on probation, resisting arrest, and a couple of other charges.
This woman never stopped screaming the entire time this happened and while being driven away. I don’t think that’s how she or the kid expected to end the day, but I enjoyed it. Even better, I never saw her or her kid again and the kids stopped harassing Sarie.
82. Does Not Compute
Dear Entitled Mother, Thank you so, SO very much for your complete and utter lack of patience when getting on the bus, which resulted in breaking part of my $55,000 wheelchair and me needing to call the authorities for help…So I was on the bus tonight heading to a workshop that I was fairly excited about. Things were great until slightly before my stop when two adults got on.
One was with a toddler and the other was wheeling a stroller. It is strict corporate policy that all strollers must be folded before being brought onto the bus, but not enough drivers actually enforce it, and this was one of those MONSTER Cadillac strollers to boot. The entitled mom brought her unfolded stroller on the bus and, seeing the front entirely occupied by disabled people (including myself) decided to push past toward the back.
Only…her behemoth of a stroller wouldn’t fit in the space available, and she started ramming it along my wheelchair to plow it through. Me: Hey! Watch it! Mom: *keeps trying to squeeze through* Me: Careful! I can feel you tugging at stuff! Her: *doesn’t stop* Finally, she managed to push through and moved back. I fumed for the next few blocks, pushed the button for my stop, and turned on my wheelchair…
Then I got a “left brake disconnected” error. I tried again. Repeated errors. Me: Ffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuu… The next several minutes were spent with the bus pulled over, passengers getting mad at ME for “causing” a delay, while I panic trying to figure out how to get off the bus. Finally, a guy flipped my electric/freewheel release switch on and off several times and that managed to convince my chair to work enough for me to get off my bus and get about 15 feet away before it suddenly turned itself off.
I turned it back on. It started throwing up a “charger inhibit” error, which basically is the error you get when you try to start moving when you’re still plugged into the wall outlet. The next hour was a progression of events that saw me sitting on the ground with the back of my chair opened up as I went through everything, trying to figure out what the ever-loving heck was going on. I even called the authorities because I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to get home, since my wheelchair repair company doesn’t have after-hours service.
In the end, I discovered that two different things had gotten disconnected, and when I fixed them my chair started up just fine. The lovely officer helped me get the cover back on my chair and, more importantly, helped me get safely back into my chair. I said screw it, skipped the workshop, went home, showered the icky sidewalk off of me, and had a couple of drinks.
None of this would have happened if that Entitled Mother had just taken one second to fold her stroller up. Or, I dunno, STOPPED when I repeatedly asked her to…But no, she was far Too Important to do such basic stuff like that. And yes, my wheelchair is actually $55,000. I know that sounds like a lot, but given that according to the order form I just looked at, the joystick cover alone is $85, it doesn’t surprise me at all.
It has three different tilt/adjustment settings that drives the cost up enormously. I love shouting at people who drive too close to me that my wheelchair costs more than their car.
83. Back Of The Line
I dearly wish I could claim this was me, or even a relative, so I could claim this degree of clever was in my genes. But it was not. It was a bouncer at a small-town club, and when he made the comment there weren’t even the expected, cinematic ‘OOOOOHHH!” Or ‘WHAAAAT!” reactions one would expect. Just an echoing silence from about 40 onlookers.
So, this mother and daughter pair was trying to get into the club late in the evening. The daughter was clearly young, and actually reasonably attractive in quite a nice, fashionable outfit. The mother was not obese, but certainly overweight, and had shoehorned her corpulence into hot pants and a tank top that would have been trashy on a supermodel, and friends…she was no supermodel.
Badly dyed stringy hair, cheap bulky jewelry, spray-on orange skin, all the trailer-trimmings. I didn’t hear how the exchange started, but clearly these two were trying to cut ahead of the line. The bouncer, this massive, action figure of a Black man with an oddly babyish face and the patience of Job, had denied this effort. Hilarity ensued.
The daughter threw a few verbal jabs but seemed to be just mildly irritated. The sideshow of a mother lost her bloody mind. Shrieking prejudiced epithets that would curl the ear-hair of a bystander, and every horrific name you care (or do not care) to imagine. Interspersed with the expected “Do you know who I am,” and “Get me the owner,” etc.
The bouncer just stood there and didn’t react with anything but polite direction. Downright heroic. After a few minutes of this vile screeching, the daughter is now embarrassed as heck and trying to pull the mother away. People are gathering to watch and the whole thing has become a spectator sport. The bouncer just kept politely saying “You will need to go to the back of the line like anyone else ma’am” or variations on that theme.
By now the woman wasn’t even trying to argue the point, just squealing the revolting, and at this point quite repetitive, insults. Then she screamed that he was an awful bouncer and would get fired that night. Then she tried to slap the bouncer. She missed, quite badly, at which point the bouncer took a single step forward as she fell back with a shriek.
He then said quite loudly: “Ma’am, at any point tonight have I ever told you how to get off flabby obese old men in an alley? Clearly baffled, she said nothing but sputtered… he continued: “No, Ma’am, I have never said anything like that. Not once. I don’t tell you how to do your job, so don’t tell me how to do MINE.” Silence. Like, 40 people in the street, not a sound.
She yelled a couple more things, then scuttled away with her daughter dragging her by the arm. It’s been over a decade, but I still want to go find that bouncer and buy him a drink.
84. Meet Mega Karen
Today I crossed paths with the MegaKaren and, although she seriously disrupted my day, I’m kind of tickled to tell this story. I work in an office building with about three dozen companies operating on the premises, and because of the odd layout of the building we have six different parking lots. I prefer using the “hidden” lot that requires you to drive through one of the indoor lots to reach it.
Between being hard to find and all of the spots being marked “Compact,” this place is usually less crowded than some of the lots closer to the road, not to mention that the door into the building from that lot is right next to my office, so it’s convenient in every way for me personally. Today, it was raining cats and dogs when I arrived at the office.
For some reason, my normal lot was unusually full, however, someone pulled out of a prime space just as I arrived, giving me a much shorter walk through the wetness to reach the door. I exchange polite nods with the guy leaving, then pull into the space behind him. As I’m getting out of my car and grabbing my laptop bag out of the back, I hear some distant car horn honking.
I think nothing of it since it’s practically on the other side of the lot. When I turn around to head inside, though, this entitled mother rolls up in an oversized SUV and slides to a stop on the wet pavement between me and the building, splashing me with a bit of puddle in the process. Her: “That spot wasn’t for you!” Me: “Excuse me?” Her: “That parking spot! I was waiting for it and you took it from me!”
Me (now irritated): “Where were you waiting for it? The highway off-ramp?” Her: “NO! I’ve been looking for a parking spot for 20 minutes, and when one comes open it’s for the first person waiting!” At this point, I look up and take stock of the whole row of empty spaces she had ignored to come over and harass me about taking “her” space.
I also consider the fact that the claim she’s making—that whoever was waiting first gets the first available space—is not now, nor has it ever been, a real point of etiquette. Me: (gesturing): “There are plenty over there that were open before I even got here. Take your pick.” Her: “NO! I need THAT spot! You need to move, NOW!” Me: “Why on earth do you have to have THIS spot?”
Her (gesturing to the back seat): “So my baby doesn’t get wet walking from all the way over there!” I look in the back seat, and the kid looking back at me was easily 10-12 years old. Also, “over there” couldn’t have been more than 50 feet further to walk in the rain. Kid: “‘Sup?” Me: “That’s not a baby. He’ll be fine. And anyway, your car wouldn’t fit in this COMPACT spot.”
I move and point so she can read the six-inch tall letters marking the spot as smaller than average. Me: “But if you go around that side of the building, there’s another lot that isn’t compact spaces.” Her: “Whatever, are you gonna move or not? Your fat butt needs the extra exercise anyway.” Me: (already cranky because I hadn’t eaten yet, now angry that this orangutan in lipstick is talking to me this way): “Well I’m definitely not moving for such a colossal witch. Have fun walking in the rain, I hope you get struck by lightning.”
I quickly walked away while this charming example of humanity hurled insults after me. Now, admittedly, about 15 minutes later once I was settled in at my desk, I started feeling really bad that I’d told this woman I hope she gets struck by lightning, even if there was no lightning going on in that rainstorm. I continued to feel bad for all of five minutes when the sound of a car alarm caused me to go to the window and look out. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
This woman had parked somewhere, gotten out of the car, and was now keying the heck out of my driver’s side door while her kid recorded it on his phone. I took a quick picture of them in the act on my own phone and immediately called building security to tell them what was going on. So guess who got apprehended for destruction of property and assault?
Oh, right, she also spit on and scratched the security guard who went to confront her, so assault. And everything that went down from beginning to end was practically right under a security camera, so it got a good look at her, her kid, and her car (including her license plate) so no way she’s getting away with it. AND since the insult she etched into my car door is homophobic she may ALSO get charged for that.
85. Girl Power
I’m a freelance hiking and snowmobile guide on the island of Svalbard (Norwegian Arctic) and have to deal with all sorts of people on a day-to-day basis. I’m not super sure if this guy still qualifies as an Entitled Dad, since his Son must have been at least 40, but here we go. A few months ago I was guiding a trip by myself. We only send one guide out when the group is small, so I went to the hotels to pick up my guests.
It was an Italian couple and this Saudi Arabian father and his son. I walked into their hotel, introduced myself, and got everybody to sit in the car when the father opened the passenger seat door, sat down, and looked at me confused. Him: Oh Sorry! This is your seat, right? Me: No, you can sit there if you want, it’s easier to drive from the other side anyway.
See, I always try to crack a joke or two, to break the ice—lots of people are nervous when having to drive a snowmobile the first time. He looked at me slightly more confused, but I assumed it was only a language thing. I brought them back to HQ and gave them a full safety briefing and overview on a map of where we’d be going. After that, I got them dressed and told them to wait outside, because our suits are made to keep you warm at -30C, so inside a building, you quickly start to melt.
Once I was dressed I went to meet them outside. Father: Oh? You’re coming with us on the tour? Me: I hope so since I’m your guide (I had told them in the briefing the usual “Hey, my name is Kat and I’ll be your guide for today”). Father: Is that a gun? Me: Yes, Sir. But don’t worry, she’s not yet loaded. The father and son looked at each other confused, and we all started walking towards the snowmobiles so I could give them a small briefing on how to drive them.
The Italians had told me they have driven snowmobiles before, so I decided to place them at the end of the group and the father and son in the front (everybody got to drive their own vehicle), because it’s always better for the more experienced guests to be in the back since they might have to speed up here and there to fill a gap. Father: But where is the guide?
Me: Here. I’m just in front of you… Father: But you’re female. Guides can’t be female! Me: Hm? About 50% of our guides are girls here on Svalbard, it’s not that uncommon. Don’t worry, we girls are just as good as our male colleagues. Son: I think my father wants to know, who will operate the gun? Me: Well, let’s hope we don’t even have to take it out of the boot, but I am trained and licensed to shoot.
Son: No. Me: No? Son: You are a woman! Women can’t shoot guns! Father: It’s not safe! Me: Excuse me? Guys, if you don’t want me as your guide, that’s fine with me. Go back into HQ, take the suit off and tell our receptionist to call you a taxi. If you don’t feel safe, that’s up to you, but I am the guide for this trip today and if you want to head out, you’ll have to deal with me.
Father: But if we don’t go, we want our money back! Me: You can try, but I bet you that you won’t get a penny because it’s your own decision to not come along. Son: I will go if you get a male guide for us. Me: I won’t get anybody else to join. You’ve signed the agreement that I’m in charge of this tour and you will listen to what I tell you to do and not to do.
Father: I didn’t sign anything. Me: Yes, about 15 minutes ago, before you got dressed. I saw you sign it. The dad then walks off back into HQ, while the son and the Italians stayed. The son called his dad and found out he would not come with a woman. The son and the Italians drove with me, and we saw reindeer, sea ice, a polar bear in the distance, and in general, had a great time.
After the tour, the son came to me to apologize for his behavior and called me a “good girl guide.” My boss heard that and still mocks me with it today.
86. Not-So Empty Threats
So I’m on a plane and I’m sat a few rows behind a family of four. The boarding is nearly complete. The daughter (entitled kid) is sobbing, and it gets more and more audible as more people get in and on their seats. Finally, the Entitled Mother gets a hold of the flight attendant and demands her to ask the captain “one more time” if they could have their dog in the cabin instead of the pet compartment.
The flight attendant tries to explain that their dog is too large and has to travel separately. This provokes the entitled kid to cry out even louder, and the flight attendant tries to explain how it is perfectly safe for animals to travel in their designated compartment underneath the passengers. The fuss starts to attract attention, and someone close to my row announces their severe allergy to dogs to the family and the flight attendant.
The mother raises her voice and demands the flight attendant to dig their luggage and dog out of the plane, as they will find another airline that allows all family members in the cabin. At this point, the plane is full and the doors are closed, and it seems the captain is waiting for confirmation from the crew to start rolling towards the take-off strip. The flight attendant tries to explain how they would have to go through all the luggage to find theirs, and how that would delay the flight.
The mother is having none of it and very clearly articulates, “You would turn back in an instant and go through it all if there was a bomb, wouldn’t you?” All movement and chatter stop and the flight attendant gets very serious, “Please remain seated, we’ll see what we can do.” It takes less than a minute for officers to arrive and escort the family out.
It takes 10 more to get their luggage and the dog and another five for the flight to take off. Seeing the mad-angry husband with the crying kids watch their mom put in the patrol car was the best start for a holiday I’ve had in a long time.
87. I Know Something You Don’t Know
I took my seven-year-old daughter to an animal sanctuary, and they announced that they would be feeding a baby sloth at a certain time, so my kiddo and I head over to wait. My kid was right at the front, close enough to look the sloth in the eye. Karen was standing to the right of my daughter. Suddenly Karen’s son, who looked to be about 11 years old, comes shooting through the crowd and stands right in front of my kid.
Now, my kid has a list of neurological disorders and can’t yet navigate the finer points of social interaction, so she freezes and starts to tear up. The following exchange occurs: Me: Excuse me, you’re standing in front of my daughter. Kid: [dumbfounded look but doesn’t move]. Me: Hey bud, could you please move to your right? You’re blocking my daughter.
Kid: [decided to give his balls a tug and replied] So? Me: So…don’t be rude. Move PLEASE. Mother [in Hindi to her child]: Ignore this stupid witch, son. This was her biggest mistake. Me: [pushes my kid forward in front of the jerk kid, then says quietly to the mother in Hindi] Auntie, this white witch knows Hindi [huge grin] The mother grabs the kid and hot-foots it out of the crowd.
Today’s lesson, kids: Don’t assume someone doesn’t speak a language because they are a different ethnicity.
88. Nowhere Safe
I am currently in custody of my two little sisters. Amy is 17 years old and Liza is eight, while I am a 29-year-old male and we live in Australia. This is the story of how my family felt they were entitled to both of my sisters’ bodies and I wouldn’t stand for that. The main part of the story takes place about a year ago. I’d moved out six years ago at the time and moved to another state for work and study.
I was honestly really slack with keeping in contact with my family, which is probably why this went on so long. When I do think back to the time before I moved out, I didn’t treat Amy the best and if I hadn’t moved out and had so little contact with my family, I may have turned out just as entitled as the rest of my family and just as much of a horrible person.
I came back to visit for a grandparent’s birthday. After spending so long away I spent the morning catching up with aunts, uncles, cousins, my parents of course, and Liza. Now, this was actually the first time I’d really realized the oddities of my family. Perhaps it was the change in environment, but it was the first time I’d noticed how quiet the little girls of my family were.
I guess I’d always just thought of Amy as shy and quiet, but my little cousins were so much the same—polite, shy, quiet, and obedient, though at the time I brushed this off. After a few hours, I realized that Amy was nowhere to be seen all day. The party was at my parents’ house so this confused me, and I slipped inside to see if she was cooped up in her room like a lot of 16-year-olds would be, talking to friends or doing homework. What I found is a memory that will haunt me forever.
My oldest uncle on my father’s side, laying over my sister who was quite clearly in a lot of pain and struggling not to cry as he pinned her beneath him. I completely lost it as any brother would, shouting at him to get off her and out of her room. I scared the heck out of both of them but in that moment, I was honestly ready to completely ruin my uncle.
Amy was pretty messed up in the head when I tried consoling her. She was covered in scars, had a rash that I later found out was an allergic reaction, she didn’t speak and looked at me as if she expected me to hurt her too. Her room was dimly lit, the blinds taped closed to her wall, all the things she’d had when I left were gone, leaving her bedroom feeling cold and empty.
To add insult to injury, she was a month pregnant. When I demanded an explanation from my parents, I wanted to vomit when I heard their answer. They said that it was my uncle’s right. I stormed off back to Amy’s room, quietly packed her a bag of necessities, and managed to sneak her out of the house and into my car before doing the same with Liza.
Part of me wanted to get all my cousins out too, but my main focus was on Amy right now, who sat trembling in the back of my car. I drove them both to the closest police station to report what was happening. I’ll skip most the details of the court battle that ensued, but my family did not take kindly to being outed for what they were doing.
Apparently, it was a tradition that spanned generations, and “there shouldn’t be anything wrong with tradition.” Amy and Liza were put into temporary foster care, and Amy was wreck. To her, everyone could and would hurt her, and I got reports every few hours that she was having a panic attack. Three of my uncles went behind bars for a very long time.
I got a fair bit of money out of a range of family members, full custody of both Amy and Liza (no enforced visitation to their parents), and my parents had to pay for any therapy costs, medication, and medical needs for both of them. My family was torn in two by this, with many of my aunts leaving their husbands with their children after finally having the courage to follow me.
Uncles who had married into the family took their wives and cut off ties. I still keep in contact with these members of my family and I’m grateful for their support and glad that my cousins are safer now. Even some of the older guys who had been brought up thinking it was okay to treat women that way took themselves into counseling once they realized just how messed up it was.
Now I do believe some part of the ruling protected the younger men of the family provided they seek some form of mental health help, as they grew up thinking that this was all normal. No one is sure who fathered Amy’s child, but she had her pregnancy terminated as we were told her physical and mental health would not cope with carrying a baby she ultimately would unlikely care for.
She did consent at the time and it was brought up by her psychologist once she was doing better and she confirmed that it was what she wanted. Liza, for the most part, was okay, but Amy had completely shut down. It took two months before I could even get her to speak. She trusts me now and we often sit down, and I let her talk and open up about whatever she feels comfortable about.
I did get Amy a service dog a few months ago, tailored towards the emotional support she needs on a regular basis. Lickity Split honestly is the goodest of good doggos. She knows exactly when she’s needed and is a massive help when it comes to calming Amy’s anxiety, especially in public. We’ve had more than one encounter with unrelated entitled parents thinking they or their kid deserves her dog more than her.
But anyone who does think that can honestly fight me, no one deserves her dog more than her. On one occasion, one of my aunts tried taking Lickity Split because “their money paid for her.” I told her if she ever comes near my property again, I would call the authorities as there was a restraining order against her towards both my sisters.
Later she came back and tried to poison Lickity Split with tainted meat, but one of my lovely neighbors caught her and chased her off. Officers were called, and she is now behind bars too after having to pay a fine and some money to me because at this point, I’m pretty well acquainted in the court system and sued her. My family still tried to get my sisters out of my care, too.
They would report me for everything from animal mistreatment to trafficking. I’ve actually become pretty chummy with the local officers who have to inspect their claims, but they know I’d never do anything to endanger my custody over the girls, they mean the world to me. But recently, everything came to a terrible head once more.
A few weeks ago, my mother contacted me saying she wanted to talk. I was hesitant, but agreed and we met up in the next town over. My mother explained how she was in the process of divorcing my father and she wanted to have a relationship with me and my sisters, with emphasis on mending her bond with Amy who had not called her mom in years.
She explained how she was pressured into the marriage after she had gotten pregnant with me and never wanted that life for her daughters. I flat out told her no, as she could have done literally anything to support Amy emotionally while it was happening—done anything to make her feel better or more secure, but instead she was shunned and isolated except for when she was needed to cook, clean, or provide some sort of service to the family.
Amy was well past her breaking point when I took her. People I’ve talked to have convinced me that when Amy is in a better place mentally and Liza is older, I bring it up with them about their mom, and leave the decision in their hands. This story doesn’t have a slam dunk ending. I have my sisters and they’re in a safe environment where they’ll get to grow up as kids. Amy is getting the help she needs and is slowly making her way out of the tower she built to protect herself in the only way she could, but she knows there isn’t a rush to come out.
I’ll work with her at the pace she sets. She’s still discovering her own interests but quite likes just reading a book with a form of fruity tea. She also has a small collection of stuffed animals (mostly build-a-bear) that she adores and takes one with her everywhere—she’s sensitive to texture so the feeling is a comfort for her—and once a week we sit down to try to find older bears she likes.
Honestly, I’ve loved helping Amy discover herself. Watching her find her favorite book genre or her favorite types of music is a great feeling, knowing how far she’s come.
89. Child’s Play
I work at a bar that essentially turns into a club at night. This man just came in with his toddler-ish kid, ordered a ton of drinks, and essentially let the TODDLER run around my bar to do whatever it wants. It made its way behind the bar while I was away and hit its head on something. Imagine my surprise when I exit the bathroom and immediately get yelled at by this guy about how the child’s accident was my fault.
The exact quote is, “This place is not fit for a child, there are too many bottles and wires behind the bar!” ….Maybe because I run a bar, not a daycare?
90. That’s Just Cheesy
I am at my local grocery store getting things for breakfast and dinner. I walk over to the deli department for some sliced cheese. As I’m grabbing my bag of cheese, I see it. Entitled mom is putting a package of cheese back!! Now, this wouldn’t be a big deal if she had not TAKEN SLICES OUT TO FEED HER offspring.
Seriously this woman, who was not wearing gloves, helped herself to some pre sliced, pre weighed cheese, sealed the package back up, and left it for some unsuspecting person. Yes, I promptly let the deli employees know and they pulled every package of cheese that wasn’t sealed with a sticker over the zipper, because there was no way to pinpoint which one this vile woman touched.
91. Peeping Polly
I usually sleep in my underwear during summer since it gets hot in my house, and I also have curtains in my windows. So one day I woke up and made myself a bowl of cereal since I was home alone. I walk past my window to the kitchen when I hear a knock on the door. I’m still only in my underwear, so I hurry and get some shorts on. I open the door and see this entitled mother and her daughter.
Mother: HOW DARE YOU WALK AROUND IN YOUR UNDERWEAR Me: Uh….I’m in my own house and I had the window closed with the curtain down? Mother: MY DAUGHTER GOT CURIOUS AND PEEKED THROUGH YOUR WINDOW AND SAW YOU IN YOUR UNDERWEAR. Me (stunned into silence for a bit): Well, it’s my house, and I can be as naked as I want to be. And then I shut the door in their faces.
92. Same Difference
This happened a couple of weeks ago. It was the day of my grandmother’s funeral. She passed in a hospital, and I was outside talking to the owner of the funeral home. This dude was also my godfather, and I had a very good relationship with him. It might sound weird that my godfather is the owner of a funeral home, but to me, it’s not.
He’s known me since I was a baby and he treated me like I was his son. Also, to me, his job is just like any other job, and it even has its benefits. Anyway, we were just outside the hospital, talking to each other. Parked in front of us were all the company vehicles, including the one you are all thinking about: The hearse. All of a sudden, this Entitled Mother approached us.
EM: Hello. Me: Uh….hello. She had her kid just next to her and he was holding a drink. EM: I was wondering if my son could take a ride on the limousine. She then pointed her finger to the hearse. It took me a while to respond for two reasons. The first one was because that day, I had so many thoughts going through my head, and a stranger coming to me out of nowhere caught me by surprise.
I am a very introverted person, and I find it difficult to talk to people I don’t know. The second reason was because I was holding in my laugh. She legitimately thought that the hearse was a limousine. Me: I’m sorry to say this, but that’s not— EM: Are you going to say no to a little child? At this point, I don’t know what to say. Me: Miss, believe me. You don’t want your son to go in that thing.
EM: Ugh…Why are you so stingy? Even if he spills his drink in the limousine, it won’t be a problem. You have enough money to buy a limousine, so you’ll surely have enough to clean it. This is when my godfather comes in. GF: Excuse me, miss. What do you want to do? EM: I want my son to ride the limousine! My godfather then said the most epic thing I have ever heard.
GF: thinks for a bit Well, sure he can ride the limousine. But only if he has a coffin to be in. The mom is a bit confused about this response. Then she takes a good second look at the “limousine,” and realized her mistake. I have no idea how she confused a hearse for a limousine, perhaps the company logo was out of her view or something.
However, when it dawned on her, her skin got pale and she just walked away as fast as she could with her kid. My godfather and me just look at each other and start laughing.
93. Playing Favorites
My fiancé and I have been together for eight years and engaged for three. I was doing my PhD program and was juggling planning the wedding. My fiancé took much of that work, but it was perfect because our dream venue was booked until after my graduation, so what we did is book our dream venue three years in advance.
It is really a beautiful venue, and the only slot we got was September of this year. My sister got engaged a few months ago to her fiancé. They were planning on having a spring wedding next year. They had no venue lined up, but had a few vendors lined up as well as a set date. Yesterday, our parents invited us and our significant others to a family BBQ, where my sister announced to our extended family that she is expecting.
Everyone was so happy for her and my brother-in-law, who is a great guy. My Nan asked my sister if the wedding was still on the set date or if they were going to wait. because of the baby. She said no, that she hoped to move it to September. No big deal for us. We don’t have many out-of-town guests, so they could attend both weddings no problem.
Nan was happy and asked my sister if she needed help planning such a short notice wedding. This is where the horror started dawning on me. My sister then turns around and says, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I was really, really hoping we could kinda, like, take your venue? I really cannot stress myself too much with planning a wedding while going to maternity classes. And I think it is so beautiful! It would really mean a lot to me.”
It went silent, but everyone was looking at me expecting me to say, “Yes of course everything for my little sister!” My brother-in-law looked very uncomfortable and told her that they had talked about this and that it was not okay to put me on the spot. But my sister just said, “Don’t be like that! My sister wants to do what’s best for me, so it’s no big deal right?”
I just said “Well, it kind of is. I don’t know. I have my heart really set on the venue.” Cue the crying. She stormed off. My family’s reaction infuriated me even more. Nan told me that I was being selfish because she needed the venue more than I did. I tried to defend myself and my mother said, “You waited three years already. Would it have hurt you to wait a few more months? When has your sister ever asked you for something?” A few comments later, my fiancé got really mad and we left.
Later, my sister called me crying and said that it was unfair that I always get what I want and that I could have done this one thing for her. Dad said it is just a venue and what matters is the person who you are marrying. He is kind of right…but we have been planning for so long. My fiancé is furious with my family and doesn’t even want my sister to come. Now my family is threatening not to come because I am being selfish and my sister needs it more than me because having a baby is too stressful.
My brother-in-law called me and apologized for the inconvenience. He told me he had discussed it with my sister and she had told him she would not ask. He is properly mad with her now and warned me that my sister is blaming me for “potentially ruining her marriage.” My father has sent me about five texts along the lines of, “I hope you are happy. Your sister hasn’t stopped crying since yesterday” and so on and so on.
My fiancé and I have decided to boot my sister from the bridal party and replace her with my aunt, who is the only family member that took my side. We have not decided whether or not we will invite my family as a whole. Furthermore, my mom took it upon her to tell on us. She called my fiancé’s parents and told them that it would be best if my sister gets it because she is pregnant.
My future father-in-law told them to screw off and basically ripped my mom a new one for expecting something so ridiculous. He said they were going to lose me if they kept playing favorites. So my mom is now crying too and saying that my father-in-law is a jerk. This is just getting so pathetic. It seems straight out of a bad soap opera. And then it practically became a soap opera.
Sometime after this, and after hearing I was upset about her selfishness and posted this story on the Internet, my sister started contacting me again and saying I was being unfair. That she is family and that she asked it nicely because she loves me. She also underlined the fact that the opinion of internet strangers doesn’t count because family is more important and I should focus on making my family happy.
The only text I sent back was this. I am sorry that you perceived it that way. I did not in any matter distort what happened. As you might notice I didn’t describe your tone nor exaggerated anything. Perhaps you have that night different in your mind than I do, but I digress. I am sick and tired of bending to your will. My whole life I have been your servant and your doormat.
Remember all the birthdays I had to share with you because you would throw a tantrum because you didn’t get presents? Or when you cried so that I would fill out job applications for you? But the thing that has hurt me most till now is when you ruined my graduation. I am done. I admit that I also spoiled you but I will not any longer.
If you want to marry so bad before your baby is born, then you could look at [hotel x] that offers last-minute weddings. I have spent too much time planning MY wedding to gift it to you. And if you want to ruin our relationship over this, then go ahead. I will sleep sound and safe knowing that it wasn’t my fault. She only sent me a “Wow…You must love me so very much.”
And blocked me. She unblocked me this morning to send me a supposed message from MY wedding planner talking about rebooking the venue. Throughout this, my parents haven’t actually written me since the thing with my father-in-law. My older brother contacted me and wanted to know what happened because he got a weird story from mom and dad.
Mom had told him that previous to the BBQ, I had offered to give up the venue to my sister and that I humiliated her on the day—my brother wasn’t at the BBQ. I told him what really happened and he had no problem believing me. We talked a lot about our parents’ behavior and he confessed that his moving far away was partly due to our parents being jerks to us.
He told me that mom was mad at me for betraying my family. I haven’t written my parents because I have to come to terms with the fact that they love my sister more than me, if they love me at all. Anyway, we continued with OUR wedding. We put passwords with the majority of our vendors and also with the venue directly. We didn’t talk to our planner yet, which is why my sister’s text worries me so much.
Also, we canceled the catering that my parents paid for. So short-term, we won’t be able to get full catering like we wanted to. But all our friends and my fiancé’s family will help us prepare a buffet, and everyone is going to chip in. That will be our bachelor party. As we will have to spend more on our food now, we canceled our bachelor parties and will have a family and friends cooking session.
We called my planner and she was actually really horrified. She told me she never had as much as talked to my mother or sister since the day we went to book the venue. She assured me that even if they were to call and say that I wanted to give it to my sister, I had to be present to make any changes. So we informed everyone that will work for us on our wedding and they offered to hire security for that day at a reduced price.
I am finally realizing just how toxic my family is. I will try to sort it out. If they apologize from the bottom of their hearts, they will be allowed into my wedding, but if not…Then well…I still have my brother, who will be walking me down the aisle, and my aunt.
94. One Gifted Lady
My fiancé’s mother is a single mother, and she is waayyy overly attached to my fiancé. She seems to think she is entitled to be a part of every aspect of my fiancé’s life and that she must always come first in all situations. For example, she was livid when we got engaged because we didn’t visit her first after the proposal. She pitched a fit that we had stopped by my parents’ first to show them the ring.
When we did arrive at her house, she was so angry that she ended up throwing a cake at us in her driveway. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. She has made my life a nightmare since we got together, but it became much worse when I got pregnant. She has made numerous attempts to convince my fiancé to leave me because she doesn’t believe I am pregnant with his baby.
Her “proof” is that I was too fat, so I must be lying about the due date. This is just one of the many things she has done to hurt and embarrass me. We have limited our contact with her as a result, but she always seems to find a way to weasel back in. So, last week I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Both our families were not able to come to the hospital and will likely not be able to visit in person for a while.
My parents told me they planned to decorate the front of my house to welcome the baby home, and my mom said she had ordered a bunch of things off Etsy for the occasion. When I arrived home, I was surprised to see that there were no decorations. I didn’t think much of it and just assumed my family had run out of time. It wasn’t like them to forget, but I assumed there was a good explanation. Then I got a heart-stopping phone call.
My mom called me after I was settled and asked me how I liked the decorations and presents. I asked her what she was talking about and told her that there was nothing outside when I got home. My mom proceeded to text me several pictures of my house fully decorated in pink baby gear. I also noticed several wrapped presents on my porch in the picture.
They were also missing along with a large banner, balloon arrangements, and several other decorations. My mother told me one of the presents contained a little sweater knitted by my grandma that I wore as a baby. I had been looking forward to receiving this and passing it on to my daughter. I was extremely confused as we live in a rural area so porch pirates are not very common.
I asked my fiancé to check our security camera. He pulled up the footage and we were both shocked at what we saw. We saw his mother taking everything down and putting it all in her car. The footage was very clear and you can easily see her license plate in the video. My fiancé was livid and immediately called his mother. She tried to deny it at first but soon admitted what she had done.
She claimed she was angry that she was not given the opportunity to decorate our house herself. She said my family had insulted her by excluding her, and she began to cry about how horrible we are to her. My fiancé was not having it. He said she had one hour to bring everything back to our place or he would be calling the authorities.
She then laughed and said that she had already thrown everything into a donation bin and told us good luck finding it. My fiancé has already driven around to several donation bins in the area to check but hasn’t found anything yet. We now agree that she will have no contact with our child in the future. I am beyond done with her and I just hope this is all over.
95. Everything Changes In An Instant
This happened six years ago. It was a week after my birthday and we decided to throw a late birthday party; my parents were busy with work on my actual birthday, so we rescheduled the party. I invited quite a few of my friends, but one of my friend’s fathers called my parents saying he’d be late to the party. The party was from 7:00 pm to 12:00 am.
He never showed up. Once the party was over, we were heading home and talking about how fun the party was. That conversation was cut short when a vehicle drifted into our lane and collided with us, and I blacked out. When I woke up in a hospital bed, I started to panic, but the doctor that was running tests on me told me to calm down and that I was alright.
After about 20 to 30 minutes of questioning and small tests, I asked the big question. Me: Sir? Where are my parents? The doctor basically froze there for 10 seconds and responded, and I’ll never forget what he told me. Doctor: I’m so sorry but… your parents didn’t survive the crash. I was informed that my dad perished on impact, and my mom was pronounced dead when she arrived at the hospital with me.
I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to cry, but all I felt was anger. I knew the person who drifted into my lane was at fault, so I asked who crashed into us. It was my friend’s dad—and he was the ultimate entitled parent. Apparently, he was under the influence of something when he arrived and was currently handcuffed to a hospital bed.
One of the nurses told me later that he was demanding help before his son (who was also in the car) got treatment, even though his son was on life support. He eventually went behind bars and I don’t know if he’s been released or not, but if he’s out there he better hope we don’t cross paths. I’m currently living in a foster home with a wonderful family who treats me like I’m their own flesh and blood.
But as long as I’m alive, I’ll never forget my real parents, and I’ll never forget my best friend, and I’ll never forgive that father for what he’s done.
96. Getting The Message
Sooooo, I have a huge number of stories about this monstrosity of a man that I call my father-in-law. I really didn’t expect to have many more new ones at this point, but life is full of surprises. Some back story is that this man has been awful towards me and mistreated me for many years. Never physically, mostly in the form of extreme name-calling.
Some of the other things he’s done to me have included gaslighting, making me feel guilty for completely normal things, blaming me for his lack of relationship with my son, etc. It goes on and on. Some more backstory is that I was pregnant with twins until January—when tragedy struck. They were stillborn. My husband and I were heartbroken, and are still trying to grieve and move past this.
Anyways, this morning I was at my computer working from home, making my to-do list and relishing the fact that I lost another pound on the scale, when suddenly a Facebook message comes through from my father-in-law. Now, this is weird because we’re not friends on Facebook, even though we have sent messages to one another in the distant, distant past.
Also, I don’t really use Facebook anymore. I haven’t for years at this point. But nevertheless, this man apparently somehow found out about my babies dying. He sent me a message so disturbing, it’s impossible to forget. It said: “Doesn’t karma suck? The worst part is you still have a lot more coming 🙂 !” Word for word, complete with the emoji and all. I was fuming—but, only for a few minutes.
It was like a PTSD response or something, because my adrenaline was running, my hands were shaking, I was afraid, the whole nine yards. But then I realized that this guy is just sad. He’s sick and hateful. He doesn’t love my son (his grandson), he loves his possessions and he hates me for taking one of his possessions (i.e. my son) away from him when we moved out of state.
He never even asked how my son is doing after losing his baby brother and sister. Sick, sick, sick. So, I made up a plan for revenge. I came to the decision to post on Facebook for the first time in like four years. I told all of those friends about the babies, the tragic loss, and finished off with the beautiful message my father-in-law sent me this morning.
Behavior like this cannot live in the sunlight. It thrives in the shadows. I was afraid of him for years, but I’m not afraid of him anymore! He doesn’t have anything to take from me. He doesn’t hold any power over me. I’m already getting messages from his family telling me how disgusting he is. I’m sure he’s heard about my post by now. Public shaming for the win! In addition, my son is going to be 14 years old this month.
He’s old enough now to hear the truth about his grandfather. So, if he wants to hear about it, I will tell him. If he doesn’t, I’ll respect that. My response to my father-in-law? “My son will know who his grandfather is. He loved those babies too.” So, good luck to my father-in-law in trying to have a relationship with my son any time soon.
Does he not realize that my son actually loves me and our family? What a doofus. I’m sure he doesn’t even realize that my son isn’t a sweet six-year-old anymore and that he’s capable of having his own thoughts and opinions now.
97. Nope, Nope, And Nope
My partner and I purchased the house next door to my best friend. I had lived with him for close to a decade when his kids were babies, so the children viewed my house as an extension of theirs, and were in and out all day, every day. I have a more flexible schedule than he and his wife, so I have them in the mornings, after school, and on days off of school.
I had a pool in my yard, and because my friend’s kids were still little, I installed a retractable cover and made sure it was locked so they couldn’t open it. My friend’s yard had one of those wood fort/climbing wall/swing set deals and a large sandbox. Throughout the year, we spent most evenings outside, grilling, drinking, and watching the kids play/swim/whatever.
One summer day, I came home from work a little earlier than normal, and started to prep for dinner. I heard a knock at my back door, which was odd, since my buddy’s kids never knocked. I went to see who it was and discovered a mom and two kids who looked to be maybe 5-7 years old. As I opened the door, she informed me that her kids needed to use the bathroom and that I needed to come out and get the cover off my pool.
I was confused and asked her to repeat herself, and she said that her kids needed to pee and that they were hot and bored with playing in the sandbox, so I needed to open up my pool. I asked her why the heck she was in my friend’s yard and what made her think her kids were welcome to swim in my pool, or use my bathroom for that matter.
She got really witchy and told me that she had moved into the house behind us and that she had watched my buddy’s kids come over all the time and watched as I opened the pool for them. She insisted that since I was willing to open my pool for the kids next door, I should also open it for the children who lived behind me. I tried explaining the relationship between my best friend’s family and mine.
She claimed it didn’t matter that I had known them since birth and pretty much had helped raise them, I just needed to get to know her kids too and it would be OK. I told her no and closed the door on her. She spent a while knocking and fussing at me through the window, and then had her kids pee in a planter on the side of the patio.
When I still didn’t react, she took her kids back into my friend’s yard to play on the swings. I texted him to let him know what was going on, right at the moment he was letting his 300+ pounds worth of Newfie dogs out into the yard without noticing the unwelcome visitors. The mom starts shrieking and climbs up into the fort, leaving both kids on the swings.
She starts demanding that we put the dogs inside and how dare my friend let his dogs out into his own yard when her kids are clearly playing there. He tells her to get the heck out and calls the authorities. When the officers arrived, she put on the whole waterworks about how her kids are just looking for friends, and my buddy’s kids are somehow mistreating her kids, even though they’d never met.
She said that he invited her over just to let his dogs attack her children, blah blah blah. They eventually move her back onto her own property, then come back later to tell us they warned her about coming back. She lived in that house for almost a year before she and her husband divorced. But even then, she still managed to be a nightmare neighbor.
During that year, I had to replace the lock over the pool cover controls three times, have a fencing company remove a gate at the back of my property that was meant to let the lawnmower through, and eventually paid a security company to come to check on the yard any time we were going to be away for more than a few hours.
We found her and her kids in our yards repeatedly, but she’d leave when we got home. What finally resolved the issue was my partner catching her in the pool. She told him she knew the man that owned the house and that he had told her it was OK to swim. He told her he was married to the man that owned the pool and that it’s not OK to swim.
She apparently had a bad reaction to realizing she was immersing her sons in gay water. We didn’t see her again after that.
98. Leaving A Memorable Impression
I once walked in on my roommate getting spanked on his bare butt by his parents. Yes folks, you read that right. I walked in on my college-age roommate getting spanked on his bare butt by his parents for not having his stuff packed up on move-out day. Here’s the full story: It was move-out day and my roommate was working on a paper last minute.
I was packing my stuff. His parents walked in and were absolutely enraged that he wasn’t packed yet. They immediately started scolding him while I was still in the room, but thankfully I had a final to go to and figured I’d dodge the storm. I said my goodbyes, assuming they’d be gone by the time I got back from my two-hour final and went on my way.
As it happened, my final only took 20 minutes, so I got back much sooner than they’d have expected. I opened the door and saw my roommate bent over his bed with his bare behind showing, just as his mom wound up for a spank. I slammed the door shut as quickly as I possibly could. I went over to a friend’s dorm and helped her pack for a while until I felt safe enough to return. I never brought it up to him after that.
99. A Taste Of Her Own Medicine
When my boyfriend was 14, he was living with his mom and sister on a housing estate. It was summer and he liked a bit of light in his upstairs bedroom, so he left the curtains open at all times. That included when he was getting dressed and after having a shower, so if you purposefully stared at his window, you could see him from his waist up (and only his waist up).
Well, their neighbor did not like that one bit. She went pounding on their door, yelling at my mother-in-law that her son was a disgrace, hanging around always naked and exposing himself to her daughter. My mother-in-law told her he had every right to do whatever he wanted in his bedroom, and that if they didn’t want to see him all they needed to do was not to look.
A couple of days went by and lo and behold, the authorities showed up at the neighbor’s door. Turned out the neighbor had been filming and taking pictures of my boyfriend to show to the housing people as evidence of his wrongdoing to get them kicked out. Except that the housing office called the authorities on her for taking pictures and videos of an underage kid and kicked her and her family out.
A family member of mine recently found out she had gotten Zika, and she was six months pregnant. After trying to get pregnant for years with no luck, she had given up hope of ever having a baby, but by some miracle she was able to conceive. When she told her mother-in-law the news about the Zika, that horrible woman said to her, “I should have known this would happen when I first met you and saw the way you were dressed.”
Yes, this broad really did imply that because she wore short-shorts and tank tops, she wasn’t a worthy mother. The poor girl was devastated and blamed herself for getting Zika even though no one knew it was in the area at that time. Still, she decided that she would carry the baby to term. He was born two weeks ago. No microcephaly. No health issues of any kind. Also, and this is the real kicker, he tested negative for exposure to Zika.
101. Baby’s First Attempted Chemical Lobotomy
So, I’m a therapist and I work with kids. The worst misdiagnosis was a family with a two-week-old who was convinced the baby had 1) anxiety—because he cries, 2) autism—little eye contact, and 3) bipolar disorder—because the baby would seem content then suddenly angry. I spent HOURS explaining child development, what these diagnoses mean, how they would present in kids.
I provided them with books, handouts, etc. They insisted on going to see my co-worker and a psychiatrist as I was surely lying to them. Even after meeting with the other two professionals, they still weren’t convinced. They requested psych meds from the doc.