Aunty Acid by Ged Backland for November 01, 2024

When You Can Slice The Pizza With An Axe…

I work at a pizza place. Half of my delivery area is normal city suburbs with the other half being deep woods. I get an order in the deep woods part, and off I go!

I put the address I’ve been given into my GPS, and it tells me that the address doesn’t exist, but it brings me a close enough suggestion. I shrug it off as there is a lot of newer development out there; it’s not the first time the address hasn’t been updated on Google yet.

I’m driving down the road, reading the house numbers, and I realize the house doesn’t exist; they must’ve typed it in wrong.

These rural deep woods roads are maybe a car and a half wide, definitely no shoulder to pull off on, and I don’t want to look up the customers’ number and call them while driving. I notice the next house up ahead is pitch-black. There are no lights anywhere on the property, no cars in the drive, nothing. I figure they’re not home, so I’ll just pull into the tip of the driveway for a second, call the customer, and get the correct address.

I pull into the tip of the driveway and look down to check out my phone, but I notice some movement in my headlights out of the corner of my eye, so I look back up. A person has walked out from behind the house carrying some large object I can’t make out in one of their hands.

Now, remember, this house is 100% pitch-black — no lights anywhere on the property at all — and this is maybe ten seconds after I have pulled into the driveway. This gentleman (I assume) was out behind his house (I also assume) in the pitch-black doing something.

I could not throw my car in reverse and book it out of there faster.

I pull into a much friendlier-looking driveway somewhere else, get the correct address, and finish the delivery ASAP!

Pour One Out For Our Trucker Brothers

I’m trans, and it’s my first Halloween out as myself. My girlfriend and I (a lesbian couple) go to a pub with some friends, all of us in costume

When we walk in, there’s what appears to be a trucker sitting at the bar with two of his friends. None of them are wearing costumes, at least not that I recognize. My girlfriend and I get a weird vibe from him, like he might have some unkind things to say about me or us.

We get seated at a booth at the opposite end of the bar from the trucker and get on with our night.

We get our drinks, and my fountain pop is flat. My friend who got the same thing says hers was as well. We ask for replacements, and they’re still flat.

We tell the server again, and she seems annoyed with us now. She basically says there’s nothing she can do about it, and we can either drink them or not.

While this is going on, the trucker walks by our table. We make eye contact for a moment (I assume — he’s wearing sunglasses), but nothing happens. A few minutes later, he walks by again and stops at our table.

Oh, no. I brace for the worst.

Trucker: “Sorry to interrupt, but I overheard you talking about the drinks being flat. I took a look at the machine. It should be working properly now. Your server will have new drinks out for you in a minute. Sorry for the trouble.”

It turned out that this trucker was the (female) pub owner — in a very convincing Halloween costume.

I learned two things that night: everyone is full of surprises, and four-inch heels are not fun to walk in.

we should sign a petition for this

Playing A Trick To Get Them A Treat

I work in a seasonal Halloween store. A mother is with her young son trying to find his trick-or-treat outfit. The boy, maybe about four or five, is upset with the selection.

Son: “I wanted to go as Zuma!”

The mother looks at me.

Mother: “That’s a character from Paw Patrol. Do you have anything like it?”

Me: “I’m afraid that’s not one of the IP’s we’ve licensed. What does it look like?”

She shows me an image on the phone and it’s essentially a dog in an orange outfit. We do have a child’s dog mask, and an orange work vest could be obtained from one of the other costumes. I suggest this.

Son: “No! I want Zuma!”

Mother: “Behave, [Son’s Name]! Naughty boys at Halloween get given to [Seasonal Halloween Store] where they’re locked away all year, except for October where they’re forced to sell costumes to naughty little boys for a month.”

The boy stops his tantrum and looks at me with wide eyes.

Me: “It’s true. I only get let out from the basement in October… and worst of all… we never get to eat Halloween candy.”

Being locked away for a year unsettled him, but the “no candy” part absolutely terrified him. He was much better behaved after that and with some creativity, we got him his costume in the end.

Last All Hallow’s Eve

It’s October so, naturally, it’s Halloween season. I’m shopping in a store looking at the various Halloween stuff when I hear the screech of an angry woman from a few feet away. I look up to see a woman about to let loose on an employee.

Angry Woman: “WHY DO YOU HAVE THIS DEVILISH GARBAGE AVAILABLE?”

Knowing she’s probably just getting started, I take a step over and tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. She turns and sees me. I give her my super-polite smile.

Me: “With all due respect, ma’am, may I ask you one question?”

Angry Woman: “What is it?”

Me: “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR EVER-LOVING MIND?”

Angry Woman: “WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”

Me: “If you had any brains, you would know that Halloween is a Christian holiday. The ‘hallow’ part refers to Christian saints, or in old-time language, ‘hallows’. All Saints’ Day is November 1st, and All Hallows’ Eve — contracted to Halloween — is the night before, October 31st.”

She went dead silent and then headed out of the store mumbling something about “having to check with my church”.

To Control A Demon One Must Know Its Name

Fake names have been used for this story. I am working at customer service processing a return for a man. He has his two young children there that are acting a little unruly.

Customer: “Girls, please stop goofing off and take a seat.”

They ignore him.

Me: “Sierra and Kaley your dad asked you to sit down please.”

The girls, shocked at being called out by name from some random worker, spooked them enough that they sat down without another peep. I also managed to spook their dad who was staring at me in horror as he had never said their names.

Me: “Sorry to freak you out but I’m [Mom’s Name’s] daughter. I’ve met your kids a couple of times but probably not enough for them to recognize me.”

Customer: “Oh my gosh you have no idea how much you scared me! But please also tell your mom I said hi and thanks for helping out so much right now with [Wife] being stuck with her broken leg. Also, I think you might have scared my children into behaving better in stores for a while!”

These Complaints Won’t Get Any Traction

Every year, I drive a tractor for a community hayride. The community has a lot of low-income families and a lot of immigrants, documented and not, who cannot afford the commercial events. The hayride is free for the riders and fully supported by local business sponsors. I get paid less than the cost of fuel and maintenance on my equipment. Anyone not providing equipment is a volunteer, including many high school students in service clubs.

The makeup of the community — and the strong community connection of many residents — means that there are a lot of participants to support the activity, and there are a lot of visitors to enjoy it. Most visitors are awesome. A few, less so. Several come to mind over the last few years.

There was a visitor who threatened to call the mayor to complain because the hayride didn’t spend enough time for the entire several-minute performance of her child’s dance company. That didn’t fly, as the mayor was on the hay wagon with her at the time.

A visitor — male, mid-twenties — complained that the volunteer student assisting with crowd control wasn’t wearing a “sexy” version of her costume. The student was fourteen.

A visitor complained that the tractors pulling the hay wagons were too noisy. He had no input when asked how to make a seventy-five-year-old classic tractor quieter.

Another visitor complained that the tractor pulling her wagon didn’t “look like a tractor”. It was a fairly modern farm tractor, rather than the “Hoyt-Clagwell” on Green Acres .

She has a point.

A siren would help keep the fizz in the pop.

Domino’s emergency free pizza? Pfft, the pizza has to be, at least, decent for a free one to mean anything. Their pizzas are the worst, I think. I get tired of paying for a pizza that’s only half covered in cheese or sauce AND has burnt bubbles of dough instead, that extend from crust inward for inches.

Emergency cholesterol infusion.

…..against the law!!!!

Because food delivery isn’t considered an emergency, Aunty!

Have you seen these people drive? Giving them a siren would be the same as giving a chimpanzee a loaded gun.

..because between Food Runners, GrubHub, UBER Eats and all their ilk, one third of all cars on the road would have lights flashing and sirens wailing!

They don’t share your priorities.

Cute it has the Doordash dashes behind it.

right?

If you order when you are down to a half a case of booze Aunty, the new truck load will get there in plenty of time.

or those crazy Jimmy John’s drivers… gotta get their meals delivered fast!

we constantly marvel that our local compatriots never pull over or even slow down when an emergency vehicle approaches… ☺