Tales of ANOTHER Crazy Biatch

Guess what guys?  I can finally tell you what my job was in Louisiana.

I was a ticket agent for an airline.  That’s right, I was one of those people.  I also worked the ramp and the baggage service office.  Occasionally the gate.

So guess what?  If you ever got stuck in Shreveport for any reason, you probably saw me and I probably had a super fake smile and told you about why there’s no way I can change the weather.  I also probably got drunk after my shift bitching about how passengers are total fucking idiots.

But don’t worry, I was a terrible passenger until I worked for the airlines.

 

My first story, which I think will set the tone for all of you, is about how crazy passengers can get.

 

I typically worked the late night shift or the early morning.  My favorite part of the job was working in the Baggage Service Office, or BSO for short.  This job required me to sit at a desk and help people find their lost bags, as well as replace broken bags.  I thoroughly enjoyed this job.  It was the best job.  You know why?

I got to go through people’s stuff.

I was legally bound to go through suitcases and document the contents. This job was perfect for me because I’m incredibly nosy and I love to see what kind of lies people come up with.  They’ll tell me when I’m taking the claim that they have a five thousand dollar gift (this actually happened) and when I opened the bag, it was just dirty clothes.  Those dirty clothes must have been expensive though.

 

So one night, a week before Alex graduated from Airman Leadership School, which is a huge accomplishment by the way, I had a crazy passenger.  Definitely not my craziest, but she makes the top ten hands down.  The main problem I had with this crazy bitch is she looked suspiciously like the original Crazy Biatch My friend and coworker T took the claim, and he pulled me aside to tell me the monstrosity of this particular passenger.

Apparently her car seat was a flight behind her.  She was yelling at him for the most part, telling him how inconvenient it was that her car seat was missing and there was nobody else who was missing a bag.  And how dare our airline miss a bag, because come on, we’re a big airline, of course we would never miss a bag. She then went on to tell him that she was going to get so many free flights from our airline because her car seat was missing.  We found a replacement to give her for the time being and filed a claim and told her that we could have it delivered.  She told T that she was going to come up here to get it because she wanted the airline to know how inconvenient they were being to make her come back to the airport at 10:30 at night.

Now, if you ever get into this situation, please remember that we are required to document everything you say so that when people try to get free stuff, they can refer to the file and realize that the person is being a pain in the ass.  This woman took the fucking cake.  She was the fucking pain in the ass of the week.

Fast forward to the last flight of the night.  My turn to work the bag office.  T comes with me to call the lady and let her know that her car seat had arrived.  Twenty minutes later she runs in, hoots and hollers about how inconvenient it was for her to drive up to the airport at nearly 11pm and that it wasn’t fair that she had to drive here to get her car seat when we could have delivered it (Can you believe this bitch?  I’m not even exaggerating).  She thanked us and left.  We were relieved.

Fast forward a week. Remember how I mentioned Alex’s Airman Leadership School Graduation?  I was at a table with a bunch of people a few ranks above Alex, as well as their wives.  Alex was asked to sing the national anthem and we had to take pictures with the commander.  There was a total of ten people at my table.

And sitting directly across from me was the crazy bitch.  These were assigned seats.  The universe fucking hated me this particular evening.

Now, you should all remember how much I love military functions.  After I pulled a big bottle of vodka out of my movie purse and started downing the drinks so I was nearly incoherent, Alex was up to sing the national anthem.

I video taped him, but if you listen really carefully, you can hear that bitch whispering in my ear about how my airline refused to give her a $1500 voucher for free flights because her car seat was missing.  Seriously, for over an hour, she was yelling at me when I was supposed to be supporting Alex at this god awful function.  I had a dress and heels on.  I had half a bottle of vodka in my system to tolerate this function, I had Master Sergeants asking me to share my vodka because they were veterans for these horrible things.  I was not at work, I was off the clock, and I consistently told her this, but she didn’t care.  She was pissed that her cars seat was a flight behind her and she wasn’t getting free tickets out of it.  She even traded seats with the person next to me so instead of me celebrating my husband’s huge accomplishment, I spent two hours listening to this crazy fucking bitch about how my company was unwilling to give her thousands of dollars over a car seat.

Then, at the end of the night, this bitch has the balls to ask me a question that caused me to choke on my drink.

“So, what’s the craziest story you have working with difficult people? Who was the craziest, most difficult person you’ve ever dealt with?”

Girl, you make my top ten list.

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!

Save Me, Oh Zeus!: Tales of a Crazy Biatch Pt 2

I mentioned before that Marjorie was a little off, telling us about her imaginary son and her magical boob strings, but the things telling us she was a little off just kept keep piling up.

Example #4: It’s okay to drink red wine when you’re pregnant

So a week after Marjorie started working with us, she announced she was pregnant.  This was the day after she got married, and we were so happy to hear that she was going to have a little one.  She was going to the store and showing us all the cute baby things she had, telling us how excited her husband (who was in Korea on a deployment) was for the little one, and she went around telling everyone just how exhilarating it would be for her imaginary son to have a little brother or sister.

We didn’t know she was crazy yet, and I was convinced this chick could be my new best friend, so as a friendly gesture, I gave her a driving tour of Fairbanks.  I took her to all the nice places to shop, where to avoid, where you go for an extra special Asian massage, you know, all the fun stuff in the Banks.

Miss this place SO MUCH

Miss this place SO MUCH

After my two hour long driving tour of Fairbanks, we decided to go back to my place to watch a movie and chat.  She lived in the apartment complex I lived in, but in a different section.  She told me that she’s allowed to have a glass of red wine when pregnant, since it can actually be good for the baby.  I shrugged, figuring that since I was only 21 at the time, I probably didn’t know a lot about the pregnancy business since she was years older than me.

So we go to the liquor store to get some wine, and she picks out a white wine.  Well, a strawberry white zinfandel that’s pink in color.

SEVENTEEEEEEN!

SEVENTEEEEEEN!

“Marjorie, I thought you could only have red wine?” I asked her, concerned for the growing baby inside her.

“Oh, it’s red in color, so it’s okay,” she said, whipping out her credit card to pay for the wine.  For someone who was so excited to have a baby, she seemed so ready to bend the rules for her baby.  I guess that if it were me, I’d be terrified of drinking for fear of developmental issues, but she claimed that she did the same with her four year old and he turned out just fine.

So, I let my naivety get the best of me and we went back to my apartment.

Where she got hammered.

And while she was hammered she was telling me about how her parents raised her to have the religion of the Ancient Greeks.  She told me that Zeus was her God, as well as Hera, Artemis, Apollo, and so on.

Zeus will protect my baby

Zeus will protect my baby

The crazy just kept piling up.

She and I drank the entire bottle of wine, and she stumbled back home to her apartment once Alex got home.

A week later, she miscarried, stating that it was from all of the bacteria in the well water in North Pole, and she’s not used to untreated water.  (It’s funny, she should have been briefed on the arsenic in the water, but it was such trace amounts that it doesn’t affect you).

So she told us that she had to go to the ER when she miscarried, and they had to cut open her stomach in a C-Section manner to get the baby out.

Considering she was only two months along, this seemed really, really off.

Usually they do a procedure that just cleans out the uterus, or scrapes the insides, but they never cut open a woman who is only two months along to get the dead baby out.

But this was her story, and she even had bandages around her midsection to prove that this is what happened.

My lovely newfie friend begged her to show the actual wound, but Marjorie would always have an excuse, stating that she couldn’t remove her bandages, or that she didn’t want it exposed to open air, or that she was insulted that nobody believed her.

But fear not, it just continually got weirder and weirder…

Have you ever met anyone who was just craving attention in the weirdest possible ways?  Do you have any crazy stories like this?  Let me know in the comments!  Also, you should totally like this post.

 

I suppose I should also add a disclaimer: I have been told that small amounts of wine is recommended for pregnant women, but the irony in this story was that she got drunk on wine, stating it was okay.  It is NOT okay to get drunk on wine when you’re preggo, but I can understand a small glass of wine.

 

Also, Kudos to those who get the strawberry wine caption reference.

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!