My dad is a retired man who doesn’t game much, but when he does, he loves to play Train Simulator, the old Age Of Empires games, and surprisingly, Colin McCrae Rally.

About two months ago, he told me that he had started getting a weird problem. His PC was randomly blue-screening. It was mostly whilst gaming, but not always, and the problem was intermittent; sometimes it didn’t happen for weeks, and sometimes it was multiple times a day.

This already sounded like my sort of nightmare parent tech support issue, but I said I’d help. My only clue was that my dad had said the blue screen mentioned a memory error. This clue ended up being a red herring that led me down the entirely wrong path.

I headed round with some spare RAM I had and replaced his RAM. A few days later, he called to inform me that the crash had happened again.

My dad also wanted a bigger hard drive, so I decided to get him a new SSD. I did a complete reinstall of his system and took his old hard drive out, wondering if that was the issue.

I got my hopes up that this had worked because I didn’t hear anything from him regarding the PC for nearly three weeks. Then, it crashed again, and I was back to the drawing board, frustrated.

Eventually, my dad went on holiday for two weeks, and I asked him to drop his computer off so I could finally solve this issue. I felt that I had to reproduce the error myself because, otherwise, I just wasn’t educated enough to fix this myself. But if I found out what the error was, then Google would be the hero.

So, I took the PC, loaded up Age Of Empires 2, and got to playing. I played that game for about three hours, but there was no crash. Weird.

The next day, I came back and tried some other games on his PC, including his ancient version of Colin McRae Rally — which, let me tell you, is utterly awful to play with a keyboard and mouse. Still no luck.

This was the moment I’d been trying to avoid. I was going to have to actually play Train Simulator to fix this problem. I steeled myself for the awful experience that was to come and began to play this cursed game.

I’ll spare you the details because man was not meant to endure that tediousness, but I’ll say that after a couple of hours, the PC finally crashed!

But it didn’t crash to a blue screen like I was expecting; it just turned off completely. Even more strangely, when I turned it back on, it immediately turned back off once it got into Windows. Immediately, I thought something in this PC must be overheating, but that was crazy because I cleaned the fans, heat sink, and power supply when I installed the new hard drive.

I installed some heat monitoring software, kept it on display on my second monitor, and jumped back into Train Simulator.

It was during some cursed turn in some Highlands Scottish railroads that I noticed the CPU was starting to get dangerously hot — and sure enough, the PC crashed moments later.

But the fan was working and clean, as was the heat sink. I was nervous that the CPU was busted or something because that’d be expensive to fix. But I decided to have a look at the processor physically. I’m not sure why because it’s not like you can eyeball a broken processor and diagnose the problem, but I went ahead anyway.

When I unscrewed the heat sink, I got a strange surprise. There was absolutely zero thermal paste on the CPU. I don’t know if there had been and it had degraded away or something, or the company my dad initially bought this PC from years ago just failed to paste it. In any case, there was absolutely no paste.

I didn’t actually have any paste, so I had to wait a day for some to arrive, but after that, I cleaned the processor, pasted it up, and put the PC back together.

That was when a depressing thought hit me. I was going to have to play Train g**d*** Simulator a final time to see if the problem was fixed. After four hours of Train Simulator, I concluded that I had suffered enough. Either the problem was fixed or I was giving up.

When my dad returned from his holiday, I gave him his PC back and told him to keep playing Train Simulator.

He told me recently that he’s been playing it an awful lot and hasn’t encountered any issues, so I’m nervously putting this down as solved.

There are still some mysteries around this that bug me.

What was the blue screen my dad saw? Was there actually a memory error I accidentally fixed during all this, or did he just get confused?

Why was it crashing a lot more frequently and in many computer games for my dad but only during Train Simulator for me? That one I think is because he plays his PC in a roasting hot attic — at least, that’s the answer that satisfies me.

But most importantly of all, the biggest mystery that still haunts me: why the h*** do people play Train Simulator?

This story sounds like the story that lasted for almost eighty years (until the last person who was there passed on) about me at my uncle’s wedding reception. I was about three at the time, living with my grandparents, and would do anything my grandpa did. His favorite answer when asked if he enjoyed a meal was, “…fit for a dog.”

I was asked if I liked the food at the reception dinner, so I piped up with what I considered the best compliment for it.

Me: “Fit for a dog!”

I can’t tell you how many times in my life that got brought up during the seventy-five years my aunt and uncle were married.

Related:
When It Comes To Gift-Giving, She’s Got The Eye Of The Elephant

I am sixteen years old and have just gotten my driver’s license. My parents have me run to the store to pick up some groceries. I stop by my friend’s house on the way back home for maybe five minutes to show him that I got my license and am out driving alone. It is a really fun moment in the life of a sixteen-year-old.

My stepmom freaks out.

Stepmom: “We did not give you permission to drive to [Friend #1]’s house! We told you to go to the store and that is all!”

Me: *To her and my dad* “You let me drive to [Friend #2]’s house yesterday, so I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Stepmom: “You are not allowed to drive anywhere we do not give explicit permission for you to drive to. Period, end of sentence. Just because you were allowed to do it previously, it does not ever give you permission another time. Ever.”

Fast forward three days. My thirteen-year-old stepsister has been a jerk to me all day, and I’m sick of her BS. She goes quiet for about thirty minutes and then comes out all sticky-sweet.

Stepsister: “Hey, [My Name], it’s time to take me to ballet.”

I have taken her to ballet three days a week since I got my license. It’s basically one of my chores. But I see my opportunity to say, “Screw you!” to all three of them at once.

Me: “Sorry, [Stepsister]. I’m not allowed to take you to ballet. The parents didn’t tell me to take you, and I don’t want to get in trouble!”

She screams, she cries, she begs, and she threatens. She calls her mom and leaves a message. She calls my dad and leaves a message. Just like Steve Miller says, “Time keeps on slippin’, into the future.” I’m not sure I’m brave enough to hang on to the bitter end and actually go through with it. I’m shaking, but I know I’ve got them dead to rights. There’s no call back from the parents, and the clock goes on past the start of [Stepsister]’s class.

[Stepmom] comes home, and [Stepsister] runs to meet her.

Stepmom: “[Stepsister], what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at ballet!”

I hear [Stepsister] tell her rendition of the story, leaving out how miserable she has been all day, and they go back and forth. [Stepmom] comes pounding down the hall and yells (as God is my witness):

Stepmom: “You just wait ’til your father gets home!”

I have to stifle a laugh because I never really believed people actually said that.

An hour later, Dad comes home, and BOTH [Stepmom] and [Stepsister] go running out to meet him and tell him how horrible I was. I wait in my room for the hammer to fall.

About ten minutes later, my dad calls down the hall:

Dad: “[My Name], would you please come here and talk to us?”

I walk out of my room.

Dad: “Well, [My Name], you did it.”

Me: “What do you mean, Dad?”

Dad: “You got us all, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do about it. Okay, let’s make this reasonable for everyone.”

And they did. They agreed that they were over the top. They recognized that [Stepsister] wasn’t always very nice to me, and they spoke to her about that. I was allowed to have reasonable freedom if I was driving somewhere since I had good grades and had never been in trouble.

I walked down the hall back to my room, my back to my parents, with the world’s biggest grin on my face.

This is about my own wedding and how an entitled mom nearly turned it into her personal circus.

My fiancé (now husband) and I planned our wedding for over a year. We wanted something small yet elegant, with close family and friends. My husband’s family is pretty down-to-earth — except for his aunt, who is known for her over-the-top behavior and entitlement.

Everything was going smoothly until the week before the wedding. [Aunt] called and demanded that we include her six-year-old daughter (my husband’s cousin) as a flower girl. We already had two flower girls, my nieces, who were thrilled about it. I politely declined, explaining that arrangements had already been made.

[Aunt] didn’t take this well. She started a tirade about how her daughter was being excluded unfairly and how we were ruining her child’s self-esteem. I tried to stay calm, but she was relentless.

I thought that was the end of it, but oh, was I wrong.

On our wedding day, [Aunt] showed up with her daughter dressed in a full-blown white, frilly flower girl dress. She marched up to me, demanding that her daughter be included in the ceremony.

I was flabbergasted. My husband and I, along with our wedding planner, tried to reason with her, but she caused a huge scene, saying things like, “How could you be so selfish on your wedding day?” and, “You’re destroying a little girl’s dream!”

My usually quiet mother-in-law had had enough. She stepped in and told [Aunt] in no uncertain terms that this was our day, not hers or her daughter’s. She said that if [Aunt] couldn’t respect our wishes, they would have to leave.

[Aunt] was shocked. She tried to argue, but other family members, who were equally fed up with her antics, supported my mother-in-law’s stance. Realizing she was outnumbered, [Aunt] left in a huff, her daughter in tow.

The rest of the wedding went off without a hitch, and everyone had a great time.

We heard through the grapevine that [Aunt] complained about us to anyone who would listen, but most of the family knew her history and took it with a grain of salt.

I’m grateful for my amazing in-laws who stood up for us, boosting my confidence in our marriage’s success even more.

When I was a kid, my dad could really be a d**k sometimes. He broke rules all his life but would swiftly and gleefully punish me if I didn’t do exactly what he wanted without question.

One Christmas season, we went out shopping for my mom and spent the whole day crawling the mall. When we got back home, Dad told me that I would be wrapping all the presents myself.

Me: “You’re not going to help me?”

Dad: “No. I paid for them; you can wrap them.”

I was twelve years old. Was I expected to buy presents? I knew better than to fight with him, though, so I did exactly what he asked.

And when it came time to write the “From” line on each present’s tag, I wrote my name and my name alone. After all, if he’d been there, he could’ve signed them. Heck, if he checked the presents before Christmas, he could sign them.

But of course, he didn’t.

When we unwrapped presents, my mom wondered out loud:

Mom: “Why are all of my gifts from [My Name]?”

Dad got so mad and tried to make me feel bad about it, but when I explained it in front of both of them, he got quiet and stopped.

From that point on, I had help wrapping each year. And I do enjoy wrapping presents nowadays!