The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, cast harsh shadows on the woman standing on my porch, her face a mask of indignation. Mrs. Gable, Grandma’s “entitled neighbor,” as she so lovingly referred to her, was a force of nature, and not a particularly pleasant one.
“How long am I supposed to wait for my share of the will?!” she demanded, her voice a grating rasp that could curdle milk. “My grandkids are coming over, and I want them to take their part of the inheritance before they leave!”
I blinked, trying to process the sheer audacity of her statement. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice calm despite the rising tide of annoyance, “Grandma’s will… it doesn’t mention you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed into slits. “Nonsense! We were like family! She wouldn’t leave me out.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but everything in the house now belongs to me.”
I offered a small concession. “I’ve packed some boxes for donation. You’re welcome to look through them, see if there’s anything you want.”
“Donation boxes?!” she shrieked. “Your grandma was like family to us! We had to be mentioned in the will. Give it to me! I have to see for myself.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “The will is a legal document.”
She planted her feet, a stubborn look on her face. “Then I’m not leaving. I’ll just stand here until you give me what’s mine.” She proceeded to stand directly in front of my porch, peering into my windows and muttering under her breath.
I sighed. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to give this woman a reality check, a gentle but firm reminder that she wasn’t entitled to anything.
I went inside, grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and returned to the porch. Mrs. Gable watched me, her eyes filled with suspicion.
“What’s that?” she asked, her voice laced with distrust.
“I’m writing you a bill,” I said, my voice deliberately casual.
“A bill? For what?”
“For services rendered,” I said, scribbling on the paper. “Let’s see… ‘Consultation regarding inheritance, one hour… $100.'”
Mrs. Gable’s face turned a shade of purple I didn’t think possible. “Are you serious?!”
“Perfectly,” I said, adding another line. “‘Unauthorized surveillance of private property, one hour… $50.'”
“That’s outrageous!” she sputtered.
“And,” I continued, adding a final line, “‘Emotional distress caused by unwarranted demands, one hour… $150.'” I handed her the paper. “That’ll be $300, Mrs. Gable.”
She snatched the paper from my hand, her eyes scanning the ludicrous list. “You can’t do this!”
“Actually, I can,” I said, a smile playing on my lips. “And if you don’t pay, I’ll have to add late fees.”
She crumpled the paper in her fist, her face a mask of fury. “You’re just like your grandma!” she hissed. “Entitled and selfish!”
“Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m also practical. And I value my peace of mind.”
She glared at me for a moment, then turned and stomped off the porch, muttering about lawyers and lawsuits. I watched her go, a sense of satisfaction washing over me.
Later that day, as I sorted through Grandma’s belongings, I found a small, velvet-lined box tucked away in a drawer. Inside was a handwritten note, addressed to me.
“My dearest grandchild,” it read, “I know Mrs. Gable can be… persistent. Remember, you owe no one anything. Your happiness is your own. And sometimes, a little bit of absurdity is the best way to deal with entitlement.”
I smiled, a warm feeling spreading through my chest. Grandma had known exactly what to do. And she had left me the perfect tool to handle it. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to deal with entitled people is to meet their absurdity with your own. And a little bit of humor never hurts.
10+ People Who’d Really Like to Restart Their Unfortunate Day
Statistics show that people who believe in bad luck will have more accidents on Friday the 13th. Our brains also seem to only hold onto the ill-fated times — like when we drop an egg on the floor, that memory will stay with us for quite some time, even if we successfully didn’t drop it hundreds of times.
Shared sorrow is half a sorrow, and on this note, Bright Side found 17 people who would like to push the “undo” button on their terrible day.
1. “This tree fell and pulled the whole lawn up with it.”
2. “My friend’s car was squished by a tree earlier today after some high winds.”
3. “Started a new job and was told they recycle their earplugs at the end of every shift. I think I’ll just go buy my own.”
4. “I dropped my deep fat fryer on my wooden floor.”
5. “We had a huge storm the other day, and this happened to my friend.”
6. “The watermelon I grew”
7. “That’s my luggage, and it’s not on the plane.”
8. “I have a shy bladder and walked into my worst nightmare.”
9. “The one time I decided to drive instead of ride my bike, this happened halfway to work.”
10. “All I wanted was to make myself some orange juice.”
11. “How my friend’s Friday the 13th started out”
12. “I’ve seen it happen in movies but never dreamed I would see it in real life.”
13. “Just so you know, a 10-foot pipe does not fit in a Toyota RAV4.”
14. “Ate a huge bag of trail mix for about 1 month. Got to the bottom and found 3 rusty screws.”
15. “If you were a cat, there’s a 9/10 chance you’d be named ’Socks.’”
16. “My bedroom ceiling collapsed.”
17. “Tenants called today to tell me the toilet wouldn’t flush, the plumber turned up to this.”
What’s worse — a sock sliding down inside one of your shoes or wearing wet socks? How do you spoil yourself on those days when nothing seems to go right?
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