Raising Pre-Teens Is A Full Job

, | Philadelphia, PA, USA | Children, Popular

(I work at a popular fast food restaurant, and due to a lot of people coming in all the time, we need to hire more workers, which we are advertising all over the restaurant. I am approached by a little girl.)

Girl: “Can I please have an application?”

Me: *I see how young she appears to be* “Umm, is it for you?”

Girl: “Yes.”

Me: “Can I ask how old you are?”

Girl: “I’m ten.”

Me: “Sorry, you have to be at least 16 to work here.”

Girl: *starts screaming* “BUT I NEED MONEY AND I NEED A JOB, SO GIVE ME ONE!”

(At this point, the girl’s mother sees what her child is doing and walks over.)

Mother: “I’m very sorry about that.” *to girl* “Come on; we’re leaving!”


Fully Grown Realization

| MI, USA | Cousins, Popular

(My younger brother and I are in our mid-late twenties, whereas our uncle’s two children are nine (girl) and seven (boy). One this day we’d gone to the older one’s gymnastic tournament and now all of us (our family, uncle’s, and our grandparents) are eating at a restaurant. The younger one has been talking to my brother, who’s a complete troll, at the other end of the table when he circles around to where I’m sitting.)

Cousin: “[My Name], did you hear what [Brother] said?!”

Me: “No, I couldn’t hear from here.”

Cousin: *exasperated huff* “That [Brother]; he acts like he’s a full grown man.”

Me: “He is.”

Cousin: *in wide eyed shock* “Really?”

Me: “Yes.”

(Those immediately around us start giggling.)

Cousin: “[My Name]…” *leans in close and whispers seriously* “…does that mean you’re a full grown woman?

Me: “Yes, I’m a full grown woman!”

(Everyone at the table nearly fell out of their chairs.)


Dorado No No

| Bahia Asuncion, Baja California Sur, Mexico | Parents & Guardians, Popular

(My dad and I are visiting a small town in Mexico, and a fellow tourist advises us to go to a certain restaurant that has ‘the best tacos dorados in town.’ Having seen plenty of pictures of dorados around, and hearing some of the fish tales, we’re eager to try some and place our order.)

Waitress: “Carne o pollo?” *beef or chicken?*

Me: *confused* “Pescado.” *fish*

Waitress: *slower and louder* “Carne o pollo?”

Dad: “Dorado… pescado, si?” *dorado… fish, yes?*

(This maybe goes back and forth once or twice more until she rolls her eyes and leaves. We get our tacos shortly, but I notice something is off with the texture and, moreso, the consistency of the grease.)

Me: “This is chicken.”

Dad: “No, it’s fish!”

Me: “Fish doesn’t have grease like this. This is chicken fat.”

Dad: “No, it’s dorado.”

Me: “It’s chicken…”

Dad: “It’s fish!”

(Some months later, we are at a different town that sees much more tourism and has English menus, where I see ‘Tacos Dorados: Chicken or beef in a crispy golden shell.’ Dorado may be the name of a fish, but it is also the Spanish word for golden. We got a good chuckle out of it.)

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