The spouse and I are still trying to figure out what we did wrong with one of these. We were in England in 1997, just driving around seeing the sights and visiting various friends we’d met on a couple of message boards. One of these people, who had always been an extremely nice guy that we both got along great with, invited us to stay at his house overnight. We had a nice dinner with him and his wife, and all four of us went to Royal Albert Hall to see Supertramp. It was a wonderful evening and a wonderful visit. We parted cheerfully and went on about our business.
The guy never spoke to us again, and became after that point actively hostile toward the spouse. We literally have no idea why. We are very conscientious and considerate guests so I don’t think it was anything like that. Another friend of the spouse later told us that she knew why he was angry at us, but she wouldn’t tell us and now she’s since passed away so I suspect we’ll never know. It still kind of bothers me to this day.
Once when I was a kid (maybe 10 years old), I had just finished taking a bath. My dad asked me if I washed my hair to which I responded truthfully that I did. He asked me what I used to wash it and I said soap (it was actually shampoo, I just called everything soap). I was then subjected to about 2 hours of being screamed at and threatened because he was convinced that I used bar soap to wash my hair. I never understood that, but I have definitely never made the mistake of calling shampoo soap again. And don’t get me started on closing the door incorrectly or not hearing someone call for me while I am inside and they are outside with no doors or windows open.
I also had a teacher in high school that went off on me for allowing my written text to spill outside of the right margin on the loose leaf paper. I could understand that for a formal paper to be turned in, but she simply noticed it in my notes for the class. At least she didn’t do it in front of the entire class like some of the others in this thread.
My first job working for a state government was as a caseworker at the welfare office when I was 29 years old. The classroom trainers told us to benefit the client in any way that we legally could do so. I meet my supervisor and then she introduces me to “Tamara” who at first was very welcoming and pleasant. “Tamara” was the supervisor’s favorite and one of these right of college co-eds that was cute and seemed to be accustomed to guys fawning over her. Well like I said, Tamara was okay at first, and she was to train me by bringing me out to meet a client that she would interview and I was supposed to watch. The client was an elderly woman who was not old enough to be eligible for Medicaid, nor was she classified as disabled. Tamara told the lady that since nothing had changed since her last application that there wasn’t much that could be done. The lady said “But Ma’am, I need my medicine and I can’t afford it. If I don’t get it, I’ll die.” Tamara was not unsympathetic but she told the truth in that there wasn’t much that we could do. I then spoke up (OUT OF TURN, as I discovered shortly thereafter) and told the lady that if she needed help with medicine then she could go to the same clinic that I went to when I didn’t have insurance. If looks could kill, I would have been dead from the sneering glare that Tamara gave to me. I asked Tamara if I could go get the information for the lady, and I was told okay. When I returned to the booth, Tamara was gone. The lady thanked me. Tamara returned and told the lady that she’d do what she could but chances are she wouldn’t be eligible for help. When we left the booth, Tamara turned on me and said “YOU ARE HERE TO LISTEN AND LEARN! YOU ARE NOT HERE TO TALK! DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THESE PROGRAMS!? YOU DON’T, DO YOU? SO YOU NEED TO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!” I told her that I wasn’t trying to make anyone look bad but I was simply trying to steer the lady in another direction if we couldn’t help her since I was told that we should try to benefit the client. Well that didn’t go over so well. To make matters worse, I had correctly anticipated that Tamara had already gone to my new supervisor to complain about me speaking out of turn. When I went into my supervisor’s office, she said “You made Tamara really uncomfortable.” I replied, “Well Ma’am, I wasn’t trying to embarrass anybody. The classroom instructors told us to benefit the client in any way that we could, and since Tamara was telling the lady that we couldn’t help her, I figured that I could help her out by sending her someplace that helped me out when I was in that situation.” Foolishly thinking that my logic would get through to my supervisor, she instead replied to me that “YOU made Tamara REALLY uncomfortable.” I immediately realized that I was now in the doghouse and sure enough, as is typical of so many girls (NOTE: NOT women, GIRLS OF ALL AGES!) Tamara went back to whine to all of her minions about how crude and obnoxious I was. I apologized for speaking out of turn, but from that day forward, I was shit in the eyes of those individuals. FYI—Eventually I came out on top anyway, but that’s another story for another thread.
When I was in second grade, my uncle told me to ask my teacher, (something, I don’t remember exactly what.) She slapped me. I still had a hand print on my face when I got home.
It wasn’t any thing bad, she just didn’t understand it.
In the second grade I stopped on the way to school and picked a bunch of branches from a beautiful flowering tree for my teacher. When I arrived and presented them she flipped out and screamed that if you’re going to give someone flowers don’t make them acacia branches! Don’t you know everyone is allergic to these things? And then she tossed them into the trash can right in front of me. It still bums me out that an adult, a teacher, could be so mean to a little kid who was just trying to make her happy.
December 31, 2009. First Night, Burlington VT. My wife and I went with my sister, brother-in-law, and two-and-a-half-year-old niece.
Every First Night, Burlington plays Loony Tunes on the big screen at the downtown movie theater. We stopped in several times. On one of our visits, they showed Bugs Bunny travelling to the moon and meeting (and thwarting) Marvin the Martian. Niece apparently enjoyed it very much.
Fast forward to dinner time. Niece has traveled all over Burlington, seen the circus, seen Taiko drums, seen several Loony Tune cartoons, and is generally about as emotionally stable as you would expect a toddler to be after seven hours of constant stimulation. Approximate transcript of dinner conversation:
Sister: So, did you have fun today?
Niece: Yes.
Sister: What do you want to do now?
Niece: I want to go up in a rocket ship with mommy and Bugs Bunny.
Sister (dutifully putting on her Imagination Cap): OK. Ready? 3 … 2 … 1 … rocket ships sounds
Niece (collapsing into a tantrum that can only be accomplished by utterly worn out two-year-olds): NO! I WANNA GO ON A REAL ONE!!! uncontrollable sobs
Sister: Utterly helpless look as she hugs her sobbing child
Fortunately, she promptly sobbed herself to sleep.
When I was a kid, we were one of a very few Jewish families in a Christian suburb. In second grade, I was the only Jewish kid in the class. One day in December, the class was making Christmas decorations out of construction paper and crayons. The other kids were making stars, Christmas trees, Santa Claus, snowmen, etc., but I made a menorah. Many of the other kids liked it, so they started making menorahs. Soon, most of the class was making menorahs. The teacher was furious. She asked who started it (as if she didn’t know), and I confessed. Then she walked through the class and picked up every menorah, tore them in half and threw them in the trash. I got a 3-day detention.
In fourth grade I *hated * art class. I am not artistic, and felt it was a waste of time (still do). So, I goofed off a bit. If the teacher caught you not working, she would have you write, “The art room is a workshop, not a playground” one hundred times as a standard punishment.
One day she nailed me goofing off. She angrily told me my punishment. I was prepared, having written the phrase a few hundred times at home on a lark. I took the correct number of sheets and put them on her desk seconds after the punishment was assigned.
Speed limit: 45. Car in front of me going 25. I passed her on the left and moved back over. No big deal, no honking, flashing or finger waving. Just went around her and tried to get on with my day.
Apparently she believed that this was a grave offense requiring all three of those things.
Reminds me of a time I was in a car with some friends of mine and their three young kids were talking about the concept of brothers and sisters. And their daughter suddenly completely lost it when she found out everyone in the car had a sister except for her. She was wailing away about how it wasn’t fair and she wanted a sister like everyone else had.
I speak a couple languages well and can get by in a few others. When people start a private conversation near me in a language I understand, I’ll chime in with the same language and let them know. Most people seem to get really pissed at me for this. What the Hades do you want me to do? I don’t want to hear about your vaginal itch or where you hid the body of your girlfriends cat after you killed it and letting you know switching to German or Chinese isn’t helping that any seems best done in the same tongue rather than English.
My guess: to her, you were some MANIAC going TOO FAST AND OH MY GOD, DO YOU WANT TO KILL SOMEONE, ARE YOU CRAZY?!?
Some people don’t seem to have a concept of conversations being “just overheard.” They seem to think that if you’re hearing what they’re saying, you MUST be actively listening in.
That reminds me of when I was traveling with my mom and sister and we stayed at a motel in a small town. Over breakfast, my mom went to the restroom and my sister and I heard one of the staff talking about how her boyfriend was in trouble with the law for hitting her, and when my sister concernedly told my mom about this once we were in the car, my mom said “but you didn’t have to listen”!
When my oldest was 3 we were in the car on a nice spring day and she was looking ouit the window at the birds flying by when she told me “Daddy I want to fly.” I said something like “That woud be really cool, right?” and she adamantly said “I want to FLY!” like she really meant it.
I was like “You mean like in a plane?” “NO!” sobbing “I want to FLY!”
Great - now I have to explain to a three year old that she’ll never be able fly like a bird :smack:
