The Duggar’s Are Innocent… I guess?

I had to go to Dallas for training for two weeks when I started working at the ticket counter.

The system we used was from the fucking stone age and it was hundreds of codes that were very finicky and they made me cry nearly every day.  So I requested to go to training since the person training me was absolutely useless.  My manager agreed, so off I drove to Dallas for two weeks of intense classroom training.

I was one of the younger people in my class and every other class I had taken, I had made some great friends.  Usually my classes involved me going to the bar every night or drinking in hotel rooms with six other people who I still keep in contact with, and have several pictures with.

But this two week class was the bane of my existence.  I didn’t make any friends in this class and I almost got fired by the end of the class because one girl took everything personally.

This girl was from Arkansas and she was… Oh, how do I put it?  She was a girl who seemed like she needed daddy to survive.  She was sick nearly every day, and while I was battling a horrible lung infection for the majority of this training, I understood.  She seemed nice at first, she even sat with me and invited me to the bar a couple of times.  But I had declined because I was certain I was dying and I ended up having to go to Urgent Care. I had lost complete use of my right lung because of how swollen it was in my chest.  Not pneumonia though, surprisingly.  But it was the sickest I had ever been, and I did not miss one minute of class.

gas mask

How awesome is this mask?  Seriously?  I really needed it too.  

My first lunch at the training center I was sitting with a flight attendant who was super funny.  She was great.  And the Arkansas girl sat next to me.  She had been talking to me that morning, letting me know that she was a Razorback, she was working on her third college degree in an advanced science.  If she was telling the truth, I will say that she was incredibly intelligent.  And when she spoke to me, she talked to me like she was highly intelligent, which I really respected.  However, after five minutes of talking to her, all I could think is how immature she was.  Some people are just really immature, and that’s fine, but it actually got on my nerves.

And if anyone reading this has read my blog, they know that I am, in no way, mature.

When she sat with me and the FA at lunch, I introduced her as a new hire who was “stupid smart.”

I said “stupid smart” because she was so highly intelligent.  I meant no disrespect.  I thought it was a compliment.  Apparently it was not.

Now, this girl had a very poised look whenever she heard something she didn’t like.  She would look straight ahead, bite the bottom left corner of her mouth, and take a deep breath.

The reason I remember this so specifically is because I saw it a few times and this damn look nearly got me fired.

resting bitch face

Suspiciously like this, actually.  I think she just had a great resting bitch face

I tried to be friendly with this girl, I really did.  She and I had a lot of shared interests, but something about this girl just screamed,”I’m just so lucky because daddy takes care of me.”  I don’t know if it’s true or not, but a lot of youth I had met in the south had daddy giving them money to chase their dreams before settling down and doing the good southern thing of getting married and having a thousand fucking babies.  For all I knew she was just a full time student.  It was over a year ago and the details about her are kind of fuzzy.

The straw that broke the camels back was three days before the end of class.  I was not awake yet.  My lung infection was starting to subside, but I still had a fever and I was taking a handful of prescribed pills in order breathe.  I was missing Alex, I was feeling considerably lonely since I didn’t really bond with anyone in the class at all.  I just wanted to go home.  So badly.

This, mixed with my intolerance for complete and utter bullshit at 7 AM caused word vomit to spew from my mouth.

This girl liked to be the center of attention.  Which is fine… most of the time.  She invited me to sit with her and half the class for breakfast, and I didn’t even have coffee in me yet.  She began to talk about how she had watched her friend’s wedding she was in on TV the night before.

She said that it was the most beautiful wedding and she saw herself as one of the bridesmaids and that it was just a match made in heaven and perfect in every way.

I looked at her and said, “Oh, what TV family?”

She gave me the look and said, “I don’t know if I should tell you.”

I shrugged.  “I was just curious, who you’re friends with is none of my business.”

“It was one of the Duggar weddings.”

“Cool.”

I was pretty disinterested and went back to my coffee.  But then she went on and on about how the Duggar’s are never acting.

“How they act on TV is how they act in real life.  There’s no difference.  They’re just great people all around.”

This was one week before the sex scandal, folks.

Now, my half asleep, drug induced conscious of sickness, homesickness, and overall exhaustion from not having a comfortable bed for two weeks hit me.  I blurted out, “Oh, so they’re bigots in real life too?”

I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth.

The entire table went silent.  Two people dropped their silverware.  Everyone’s jaw dropped.

shocked face

WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

In my home state, with my own friends anywhere, this would have gotten a laugh.  This would have gotten an applause for timing.  But I wasn’t in my home state.  I wasn’t with my friends.  I was in a strange place with strange people who had deep roots in the deep south.  For one of the first times in my life, I felt like a true outcast who had truly and really fucked up and I realized it as soon as the words left my lips.

As rehearsed, Arkansas looked straight ahead, biting the bottom corner of her mouth before giving a calculated response.

“They’re not bigots.  It’s their christian belief and they can express it any way they want,” she said to me in a cold, calm manner.  And I don’t blame her.  In fact, I commend her for how calmly and politely she responded.  She had far more tact and grace than I had or ever will have.

I did apologize as soon as I said it.  “That came out far harsher than I had intended,” I said.  “I’m sorry.  I just don’t agree with most of their actions.”

She didn’t say anything more to me.  She didn’t have to.  I excused myself, grabbed my coffee, and went to the class.

I was later pulled out of the class and had a briefing on how hurtful my comments were and how I was being incredibly disrespectful.  While I technically didn’t say anything that could fire me, and thank god I didn’t make a comment on the “Christianity” side of the Duggar’s reactions, I was let off with a warning.  If I would have criticized the Christian-like tendencies of the Duggar’s and argued religion, I would have been unemployed and sent back to Louisiana.

But I wasn’t.  This girl and I avoided each other like the plague the rest of the class.

The last day of class though, I went up to her and shook her hand.  I told her that I felt she would do well in our industry, and I drove home.  I never saw or heard from her again.  I have no idea if she still works there.

A week later the sex scandal happened and I didn’t feel nearly as bad.

I said a number of things those two weeks that were unwarranted.  Mostly she talked about how the few times she had worked the counter, she had really nice passengers.  And in that part of Arkansas, I had really good luck with people too. I drove through the town she worked in several times whenever I drove to Minnesota.  I had stayed in that town several times over the past three years.  Of any place in the deep south, that particular area was a very nice, very welcoming area that really embraced the “Southern Hospitality” mentality that I never really got in Louisiana.

Where I worked, however, I had people threatening to kill me every day.  I had drinks thrown in my face.  And when I had someone telling me how easy the job was and how everyone was sweet and nice all the time, I did laugh.  A lot.

Because she hadn’t experienced the hell that bad weather brings.

So, Arkansas girl, if you ever do read this, I mean it when I say “I respect your opinion and I’m sorry for disrespecting you.”

To the Arkansas Girl, I’m fairly certain you’ll never read this, but if you do, I will say I commend you on how tactful you responded and I do have great respect for you, even though I completely and whole heartily disagree with you.  I wish you the best of luck.

Have you ever had an experience where your mouth got you into trouble?  Have you ever had an instance where you were called a bigot for calling out crazy behavior?  Ever deal with difficult people? Let me know in the comments

 

 

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Apparently I’m A Wizard

Shreveport was a common airport for airplanes to randomly land at in case any airports in Texas threatened bad weather or someone sneezing.

There were times where we would get 10+ aircraft landing at the airport and I would end up working an 18 hour shift and have to return in six hours to work another 10 hours to play catch up.

There were days where my job was a total and complete nightmare.

And then there were days where I was actually on the local news.  No joke.  I was on the news twice.  National news once.

Not even slightly kidding.

However I was pretty blurry and I had glasses on and my hair in a bun, so there’s a very slim chance any of you realized it was me.

We had an instance where we had flights divert to Shreveport, and our regular flights would come in and cancel, or our outbound flights would cancel due to a single snowflake landing nearby.

 

Because heaven forbid the south deal with snow.

Okay, I’m not being fair.  For someone not raised in cold weather, it can be terrifying.  My coworker didn’t know that cold weather can make your tires look deflated, so when he was going to come into work when it was 10 degrees outside, he called and said he couldn’t come in because all four of his tires were flat from how cold it was.  I told him that once he started driving they would become round again and back to normal, but he didn’t believe me because he was over twice my age and heaven forbid someone half his age knew something.

Ugh.

Anyway, I have a common theme with my airline job posts.

I dealt with a lot of crazy people.

Like, you have no idea.

People think I’m a fucking wizard, for instance.

We actually had really bad weather one day.  There was a tornado that was visible from the windows of the front of the airport.  Not close enough to cause severe damage to where I was at, but we could actually see the tornado.  So naturally the flights cancelled.

I had a woman who said she was a doctor and she shoved her way to the front of the line, telling me she was a doctor and that I had to un-cancel the flight because she had patients waiting for her.

I explained to her that there was a tornado and that it was a safety consideration since tornadoes have habits of completely fucking up aircraft.

“But I’m really important and I have to get on a plane today!  You have to get a plane out!”

“No, I don’t, because I don’t control the skies.  It’s a safety concern, ma’am, I can’t help you.”

Well, one flight did not cancel and it was the very last flight of the night.  And this flight had 52 people booked for a 50 seater plane.  This flight was severely oversold.  And this happens a lot when there’s bad weather.  It’s unavoidable.  This lady was standing to the side and was on the phone trying to make arrangements when I made the mistake of doing my job and checking in a passenger.  When she saw me checking him in, she literally shoved this guy away from the counter and started to scream at me.

“HOW COME HE GETS TO FLY AND I DON’T?!”

“Because his flight didn’t cancel, yours did.”

“Well take his ass off the flight and put me on the flight.  I’m a doctor!  I’m far more important than him!”  This guy just looked at her flabbergasted.

“I have to work too, you know,” the guy had said.

“Yes but you’re not saving peoples lives.  I am.  Therefore I’m more important.”

You’re probably thinking I’m exaggerating this story, and I’m really not.  I had people tell me all the time how they’re more important.  It pisses me off.

“Ma’am, I can try to put you on standby, but the flight is oversold so I won’t be able to get you on the flight.”

Oh this pissed the dragon lady off.  She continued to scream at me and tell me how I must not care about dying children because that’s who she was saving and that if she didn’t get out of Louisiana those children were going to die.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I left my magic wand at home so I can’t fix the weather.”

My friend told me this line, and I loved it so much and I had so little fucks left to give so I told this lady that exact line.  Her jaw dropped, but I think the realization of how little I was able to do finally dawned on her.

I never saw her again.

Have you ever dealt with people who thought they were better than you?  Have you ever used a magic wand to change the weather?  Let me know in the comments!  DISCUSS SOMETHING PLEASE!

Also, Alex has started his own blog.  If you want to read about how being an adult while working out and being a super nerd is working out, click here and read about his shenannigans of his ambitions to be a viking god

 

Crazy Yacht Parties: Tales Of A Crazy Biatch Bonus Round

Have you read about Marjorie before?  If so, continue, if not, here’s some context.

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4

 

So, of course, Marjorie had a lot of other stories that I just couldn’t fit in because they just weren’t as bat shit crazy as the rest of her stories, but there was one that I remembered, and I thought, “My god, this would get me so many views and people might use these stories in work seminars to explain why you should avoid crazy—I SHOULD TOTALLY TELL IT!”

So, alas, here is the story of how Marjorie told me about how she threw a party on her yacht when her dad died.

Yes, you read that right.

Marjorie claimed to be a gold digger.  However, I thought gold diggers were supposed to be extremely pretty and hot and pretty much super models, something that Marjorie wasn’t.  She wasn’t ugly by any means, but she was fairly average looking, and on the heavier side.  When I think gold diggers, I think more along the lines of Kate Upton.

Definitely not Marjorie

Definitely not Marjorie

However, she said that in her home state, she had a bunch of sports cars and sports boats, and even a yacht, because her sugar daddies and ex-husbands believed in taking care of her in the best possible way.

At this point, I figured that she must be delusional, but I smiled and let her continue her bat shit craziness.

She told me that her dad was a military officer and she had 5 or six siblings, I forget honestly.  She said that she and her siblings all hated their dad, but before she told me that, she said that her dad died a few years ago.

I told her I was sorry and her response was something along the lines of, “Oh it’s no big.  We all had a huge boat party to celebrate when he died.  We were so drunk!  It was so crazy!”

When I gave her a look of horror, she went on to explain.  “Oh, my dad was a total asshole.  We hated him.  So we had a big party on my yacht to celebrate him dying.”

Because, you know, that’s what you do when someone dies.  Have a party on a yacht.

She went on to explain all the things that they did on her yacht, and how they all did their greek mythology worship, which to me made no sense.  A friend of mine who is extremely well versed in greek mythology laughed quite a bit when I told her Marjorie’s “religious beliefs” because Marjorie was totally and completely misinformed about what each god represented.  Also, it was increasingly difficult to follow her stories, they kept changing.  I’m sure if she told that story now, the party would have been on her own private cruise ship, because her sugar daddy owned Princess Cruises or something like that.

I don’t know, I just know that the stories seemed to never end.

What is the craziest thing you’ve heard people do when someone dies?  Did you enjoy the stories about Marjorie?  Let me know in the comments!

Damn Retarded Yankee

So today, apparently, I was upgraded from a “Damn Yankee” to a “Damn Retarded Yankee.”

This confuses me too, since us yanks are far more educated on average than the average confederate.  Or southerner. Or whatever the hell they’re called.

 

Basically these assholes.

Basically these assholes.

Anyway, after I got off work, I noticed that my nose was full of black heads.  One thing anyone who is in my very close inner circle knows is that I’m OCD with my skin care.  I don’t wear makeup or sun screen, but I moisturize my face every night and always have the high end lotions and lip balms to make sure my skin always looks fresh.  I have a professional waxer for my eyebrows and mustache, and overall, I’m just very OCD with my skin.

Today I noticed I had a lot of black heads and I needed nose strips, because apparently I love to induce pain to get rid of black heads.  So on my way home from work, I walked into Walgreens and got what I needed.  I stepped in line and I was the third person in line.  An elderly black woman was behind me and a tiny little white guy was in front of me.  The white guy was buying some cold medicine and was minding his own business.  He looked grumpy and mean and ‘murican, so I turned to the woman behind me.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” I said to her.  She smiled.

“Yes, I love this cold weather.”

Good, someone who shared my likeness for the cold.  “Oh I love it.  When it’s cold like this, I open all the windows and put a bunch of the blankets on the bed and wrap up like a cocoon.”

The woman was about to respond to my comment, when the guy in front of me practically yelled.

“That’s just retarded.  I’m sorry, you’re retarded.”

What the fuck, right?

“Well, I’m a Yankee and I like the cold weather.”

“That makes you a damn retarded Yankee then.”

When I looked up damn retarded yankees, I kept getting pictures of Red Sox Fans

When I looked up damn retarded yankees, I kept getting pictures of Red Sox Fans

Dude.  What the fuck was this guy’s problem?

“Sir, I lived in Alaska.  I don’t deal with the hot weather.”

He continued to talk, which surprised me because I was easily 4 inches taller than him and twice his width.  And I am wonder woman.

“That makes you doubly retarded.  Why would anyone want to live in the cold?”

See, this is how I feel about the south.  Why would anyone want to live in the south?

“Because you’re not sweaty and sticky all the time,” I countered.  The super sweet woman behind me nodded in agreement.

“That’s what air conditioning is for.  Besides, what activities can you do in cold weather?  Nothing, that’s what.”

BECAUSE THIS IS APPARENTLY NOTHING

BECAUSE THIS IS APPARENTLY NOTHING

I was feeling a little frustrated.  “There’s a ton to do in the winter.  Skiing, Skijoring, dog sledding, ice fishing, snow shoeing—,”

Then he cut me off.

“Find warmth.  That’s what you do.  Nothing else.”

Then I had it, this guy was probably perverted.

“You can snuggle up to someone for warmth and see what happens,” I said, rather smugly.  Probably too smugly.

“Yeah, and you can just turn down the AC so it’s hot outside and cold inside so you can snuggle up.”

“THAT WASTES MONEY AND RESOURCES!” I nearly roared, making a few heads turn.

Don't worry, the AC is on and it's a thousand fucking degrees outside

Don’t worry, the AC is on and it’s a thousand fucking degrees outside

“It’s better than living somewhere that’s cold where you’ll be eaten by polar bears.”  He grumbled something else, but I wasn’t sure what.

“THERE ARE ONLY POLAR BEARS IN THE ARCTIC CIRCLE!”

To which he checked out and repeated I was retarded and that I should have a nice night.

The cashier rang me up and said, “I’m from Nebraska.  I prefer snow too.”

So we high fived for the Midwest and I hugged the lady behind me for helping me out with the moron who thinks I’m retarded.

And believe it or not, I didn’t even hyperbolize this story.  It’s damn near spot on.  Because I’m a magnet for weird fucking encounters.

Have you ever had a random stranger call you retarded?  Have you hugged a stranger and had your wallet not stolen?  What is the weirdest encounter that you’ve had with a stranger?  Tell me in the comments!

He Cheated With An Asian Hooker: Tales of A Crazy Biatch Pt 4

If you have not read about Marjorie yet, go read these first

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

 

In the first two weeks that I had known Marjorie, she had been punched out and given a black eye at the very friendly Laundromat in North Pole, she had her body builder four year old (who I’m fairly sure is imaginary) lift a dresser and break her foot, she had gotten married, gotten drunk while pregnant, had a miscarriage and C-section from said miscarriage, and gotten married.

That’s a lot of shit to happen to a person over the course of two weeks.  Oh, she started working the day that she flew in.  So from the day she stepped foot in Alaska, all of that stuff happened.

Of course, she had to top each story with the last.  At least, I think that’s what was running through her pretty little head.

She came to work one day, her boot on, her black eye on the wrong side of the day before, huffing and stating that she’s divorcing her husband that she’s been married to for almost two weeks.  He flew to Korea for a yearlong deployment, or so she told us, and he blamed her for the miscarriage.

Well, apparently, she was very torn up about the miscarriage.  He was excited to be a daddy, and when she told him that she lost the baby, he blamed her.  He said that it was her fault and she was trying to sabotage any chance he had to be a father.  She told us that the argument lasted a while, and the next day when she called to try to makeup with him, he confessed that he cheated on her.

By going to a massage parlor off base.

And getting a “special massage” from one of the Asian masseuses.

I have to reiterate though, this is the version that she told me.

Each person she told this to was a different variation.  She told one person he just cheated and did it before they were married and confessed after they were married, she told someone else that he cheated with a friend in Korea.

The bottom line was though, was that she was leaving his lying, cheating sorry ass.

But she said that she wanted to stay in Alaska, because why not?

Fresh Starts and Lots of Men

Fresh Starts and Lots of Men

So she decided to stay in Alaska, working with us at the bowling alley, and there was one evening… the evening where she went from just crazy, to crazy biatch.

It was a single airmen bowling event.  All of the airmen on base were allowed one free meal and three games of free bowling to get them out of the dorms, for Senior Airmen and lower, so we were fully packed.  We had two cashiers and two cooks working.  Me and the cook that were working had close to 30 tickets backed up at one point, and most of the orders included beer.

When we would get really busy like that, we would put one beer pitcher in front of the register that said “tips.”  How tips worked for us is that we would split them down the middle for everyone.  So if there were four of us and there were only ten dollars in tips, we each got $2.50.

Fair, right?  The cooks did more than just cook, a lot of times it would be a little slow in back and the cashier in the front would be backed up calling out orders, so the cooks would come around and call out orders, get any other little things needed like ranch, bbq, and so on.  We prided ourselves in being a good team, which is why we were voted the best customer service on base, in the top five in the Air Force.

This particular evening was no exception.  For over two hours we were slammed, there was no talking between employees.  Marjorie, however, would not let the second cashier do anything.  She would shove her over to get the beer, she’d shove her over to get the orders called out, so our little cashier was very frustrated and helped us in the kitchen since our orders were so backed up.

At around 8 pm, when Marjorie’s shift was up, she counted up the tips.

They equaled up to nearly $75.  All of us were fairly excited.  That’s a decent amount for all of us to take home.  Not impressive, but decent.

Marjorie thought so too.  So much so, that as she was leaving that night, she took all of the tips and left when there was another round of people coming in.  Technically, yes, her shift was over, but we had an agreement that if it was really busy like that, we stay to help out.  There had been times where I worked 10 hours instead of 8 hours to help out, we had all done it before.  Marjorie would not stay, and she took all of the tips.

Marjorie, but add some crazy

Marjorie, but add some crazy

We were furious.

I told my manager about it, who then talked to Marjorie, to which Marjorie stated that she didn’t know we were supposed to share, and that we weren’t helping her and the guys who tipped her said that they were for her and her alone.

Nobody liked Marjorie after that.  Nobody talked to her.  I don’t know what other crazy stories she had, because I didn’t want anything to do with her.  While I personally didn’t need the tips, the other cashier had a newborn at home and could have really used the extra few dollars.  The other cook didn’t work a lot and he even admitted that a few extra dollars in his pocket would have been nice.

And it was an honor system.  I always shared my tips.  My coworkers could sometimes say that I was a crappy employee, and I had moments where I was not a good employee.  There were times where I was a shady coworker.  There were times where I would sit on my ass and do nothing.  I wasn’t a perfect employee, getting into yelling matches with my manager about politics, but at the end of the day, I was honorable.  I never stole, or if I forgot to pay for my food, I would go back and pay for that and a second item.   I was fair with my tips, and I eventually learned what it meant to be a fair coworker by pulling my weight.  It took a lot of fights, it took a lot of being crapped on by people like Marjorie, but in the end, I learned a lesson.

Marjorie never did learn a lesson.  Marjorie had no honor.  Marjorie defended her theft and hated the rest of us for telling on her.

A few weeks later we had our first cold spurt of -20 and snowfall.  In mid-October.   Marjorie thought that it would only be cold like that for a few months, when we told her it didn’t warm up until close to May, she turned in her two week notice and booked the first flight back home.  She had been renting her furniture and had returned it, sold everything else that she didn’t want to ship back.

She was gone as quickly as she had come, much to everyone’s relief.

I recently did some stalking on her, she’s been married and divorced again since that happened, as well as been in a few “serious” relationships.  There is still no sign that she has a child.  She’s back home and waiting for Mr. Right, because the first five husbands weren’t Mr. Right.

A long while after Marjorie was gone, I was joking about her to my manager, a woman who is the same age as my mother and treated me better than any manager I have ever had, period.  Honestly, if more managers were like the manager I had at the bowling alley, there wouldn’t be so many issues in businesses.  She would help cook if we were backed up, she would do dishes, she would mop floors, and if my pay was screwed up, she would have it fixed by the end of the day.

Sorry, getting ahead of myself.  To say the least, my manager was the bomb.

But when talking about Marjorie, she said she’d hire Marjorie back in a heartbeat.  When she told me this, I gave her a ghastly look.  Her reason?

“That girl was so crazy, it never got boring here.  I was half tempted to get some popcorn when she’d tell her batshit crazy stories because they were just so damn insane.”

We would then laugh at the boob strings, and when we noticed our coworkers with perky boobs, we’d ask them where they had their boob strings put in.  If someone hurt their foot, we would ask if a four year old did it, and Marjorie became a running joke.

I guess I should say though, that I learned a lot about myself working with Marjorie.

I should never settle for less.  I should never believe in love at first sight, and that lying does nothing but cause problems.  I also learned what it meant to be a good employee.  I learned what it meant to have someone’s back, and most importantly, I learned why it’s important to work hard in life, especially in school.

I never want to work with someone as crazy as Marjorie again for as long as I live.  I started going back to college not too long after I worked with her.

So that, my loyal readers, is how I survived working with a woman who was likely mentally insane.

Have you ever worked with someone that made you want to be a better employee?  Have you ever had a shady coworker steal and try to justify it?  Let me know in the comments!

The Broken Foot: Tales of a Crazy Biatch Pt 3

If you have not read the adventures of Marjorie yet, read this and this first.

Marjorie came in to work one day wearing a foot boot cast thingy ma bobber.  I have no idea what they’re called, it’s this thing.

DAS BOOT!

DAS BOOT!

This happened a couple days after her miscarriage, and she stated that she was just in so much pain.  Her son broke her foot.

Her four year old son.

Lifted up a dresser.

And dropped it on her foot.

Okay, to be fair, she said she was getting after him, with her foot under the dresser, telling him to put it down.

And he dropped it on her foot and shattered her foot.

Pretty sure her kid was more muscular than this

Pretty sure her kid was more muscular than this

I don’t know about all of you, but I’m a 24 year old who considers herself fairly strong.  I can lift heavy things by myself, but Marjorie had some nice furniture.  Like, furniture I could only afford on a salary of cleaning out men from being married several times in four years.  If I were rich, I could afford a marble top table. Maybe.

Nice furniture is also usually close to a thousand fucking pounds.

I’m fairly strong, I lift weights, and there is no way in hell I can lift a dresser that is filled to the brim with clothing.

And her four year old was somehow able to lift this dresser high enough that when it fell down on her toe, it shattered her toe.

I want to know if this kid dropped this dresser five feet from the ground.

Either way, she wore the boot for at least a week.  I don’t quite remember…

The point being, either her kid was a body builder four year old, or he was imaginary and she dropped it on her own foot, if her foot was even broken.

But fear not… There’s more…  Later on this week.

 

Do any of you have any ridiculous stories as to how you broke a bone?  Has the coworker you worked with just been crazy and possibly a pathological liar?  Tell me in the comments!

Strings In My Boobs: Tales of A Crazy Biatch

My friends in Alaska know who I’m talking about just by the title alone.  And I’m sure that they’re sitting at the edge of their seat, just dying to see how I tell the story of the crazy girl who I’m going to be calling Marjorie throughout this post.  Because it would be my luck that this crazy girl will go nuts when she sees that I’m writing a post about her.

I can only say this in one way.

Marjorie was crazy.

She seemed normal enough when she started working with us as a cashier.  I was a cook and I helped train her.  She had just gotten married to an Airman, this was her fourth marriage, third person she had been married to.  She was from a southern state that can grow peaches, and… Yeah, she was a character.  She had some wild stories, many of which happened her first month in Alaska, each story more crazy than the one before it.

Example #1: Boob strings

Have you ever heard of breast implants that are strings, and every six months you go to the doctor and they pull the strings, making your boobs perky like a 16 year olds?

No, I hadn’t heard of them either… Until I met Marjorie.

Marjorie suffered from the same thing that most women in their late twenties suffer from— saggy tits from not wearing the right kind of bras in their teen years.  It’s a thing, and hell, my boobs came in saggy, she just had slightly saggy boobs.

But the day after she told us about her boob strings, her tits were fabulous.  They were perkier than a 16 year olds tits.  They were in her face, and bouncy, and beautiful.

Tits like this, but with no bra, because boob strings are magical

Tits like this, but with no bra, because boob strings are magical

Almost as if she were wearing a Wonderbra.  We asked her this, and she said she wasn’t even wearing a bra, as she pushed her strap to the side to show us the lack of bra.  She told us that her first husband was afraid of her having saggy boobs, so he paid for her to have boob strings put in so every six months she can have the doctor pull the strings so her tits will be magically perky.

Because doesn’t everyone want the tits of a 16 year old?

Don’t worry, it gets even weirder.

Example #2: The Laundromat

A couple weeks after she started working with us, her eye was covered in black make up.  Well, she said it wasn’t make up, but it was too perfect of a black eye.

Trying to be concerned, my overly sarcastic, yet fabulously awesome newfie coworker feigned some fake concern and asked her, “Oh Marjorie, what happened to your eye?”

Just imagine more glitter and a little more circular

Just imagine more glitter and a little more circular

Marjorie then told us the heroic tale of how she went to the Laundromat and this guy, out of the blue, came up to her and punched her in the face, then ran off.  She called the police and everything but he was never caught because the cameras weren’t working during the two minutes of this guy punching her in the face, her crying out, and him running away.

Also, the Laundromat had  nobody there that afternoon.  Hmm…

Example #3: The imaginary child.

Now, how can someone pretend to have a child, and a four year old child to boot?  This just doesn’t happen. Right?

Wrong!  Marjorie definitely had a fake child.

She told us that she had a four year old child from her second of four marriages.  Now, there were a few (several) holes in her story about her child.

  1. She never told us her sons name.
  2. His age changed from four years old to five years old, then back to four.
  3. He was living with her only six months out of the year, then six months with his father
  4. Her apartment was far too nice for someone with children.

Now, before anyone gets mad at me for the last portion, allow me to explain.

When someone has kids in their house, you just know.  There are always a few telltale signs of children in a house.  For instance… pictures of said child.  Every house I’ve been to that has children, except for the Amish households I’ve been to, have pictures of their children on the walls.  Or on the fridge, or generally everywhere.  Also, nearly every parent has a picture of their child in their wallet because they’re proud of the piece of flesh they flung out of their fun parts.

Marjorie had no pictures of her child because “Oh, I just haven’t unpacked them,” when she told us moments before she was so happy to have finished ALL of her packing.

Also, four year olds love to draw pictures.  I’m pretty sure that every parent of a four year old has a picture on their fridge.  Marjorie didn’t though.

And a person who has a four year old does not usually have a perfectly clean house.  And considering how well she cleaned at work, there was no way that her house was as clean it was with a child present.

In addition to that… she didn’t have child proof furniture.  She had perfectly brand new leather furniture, which she said her four year old and her had been renting for a month, her TV stand was marble with sharp corners, no fingerprints.

THIS IS NOT A HOME WITH A CHILD IN IT!

THIS IS NOT A HOME WITH A CHILD IN IT!

Her house looked like a model show room and the furniture looked like nobody even sat in it.  If there had been a four year old, she wouldn’t have furniture that had sharp corners that would be eye level with the kiddie, the furniture would have scratches or had some sort of stains.  There were just so many things that seemed amiss in the entire situation.

There was just no way her son existed, there was no viable proof.  But I always had to give her credit, she stuck to those stories like they were life sustaining.

There are far more, crazier stories that I will divulge you in at a later date, but for now, you’ll just have to settle for boob strings and black eyes.

Ever met anyone with some crazy stories that you just knew were fake, but you listened anyway because the entertainment factor was just through the roof?  Tell me in the comments!