Pop Up Tent Beach

... day out at the beach etc Outsunny 1-2 Person Pop up Beach Tent Hiking UV 30... this item POP UP DESIGN: Easy to set up and take down, this pop up beach tent creates your... own private shelter on the beach. UV... circulate inside the pop up tent to keep you cool. FIBREGLASS POLE FRAME: Durable construction, keeps the beach shade upright...

... keep them cool) - or pop up tent with shade (the kind that... we are out at the beach - I bring my diaper... going, Costco has an amazing beach toy set for $20 right ...

... 3 of the days were beach days. baby loved the water... don't care about or a beach blanket if you have one... you can. we used a pop up tent to provide her shade and ...

... much bang onto the beach rd . We walked along until... stopped at t&c doubles pop up tent. freshly made doubles with any...to take to the beach. So, off to the beach with the cooler bag and ... Dropped everything on the beach under a tree bang in ... I dont think any beach has whiter sand in bim ...got off at paynes beach , bounced into the sol petrol ...and apple variant . Paynes beach is stunning. We spent the ...

we love the beach. we just came back from ... park right next to the beach . things I take with us ...are down to the beach: canopy, chairs, toys, towels, water, ... 3 yr old just gave up naps, but we went to .... then went back to the beach. maybe a pop up tent that kids can lay in ...to rest of you can't go back up for a bit. sleep will...

... the drive or at the beach. I promise it’s not as... long. We have a little pop up beach tent I can tag below. You...

So fun!! We took our girlie to Hawaii over Christmas when she was about 6 months old! We brought a pop up tent thing so she was in the shade at the beach. I know flights are crazy expensive, but having her own seat on the flight was a game changer so something to consider. She adjusted to the time change really easily actually. Enjoy your trip!

We have the California Beach pop up tent and love it. Easy to set up, has a removable shade canopy, and allows adults to sit in too with no weight limits. https://thecaliforniabeachco.com/products/pop-n-go-playpen?variant=43123939541085

... Compilation Исполнитель: Various Artist Название: Beach EDM Session Страна: World Лейбл...Go 008. Drdeagle - Wake Up 009. Sons Of Hidden ...Hat 034. Moyjo - Laced Up 035. Cab 'n' Crew ...Galaxy 126. Mauri - Shut Up And Dance 127. Mike ...Box 132. Peter Wilson/Matt Pop - Guilty Pleasure 133. ... Tropical Universe - Monsoon Wedding Tent Collapse 177. Red Effects -...191. Lara Marcs - Light Up The Dark 192. Nikolas ...

Hi Judy! Day 12 Pop round to Fishpot for a ... breakfast. We have a walk up the beach towards Moontown where all the... amount of weed at North beach. We sit in the pool... of the weed off the beach. We drive over to Bathsheba ... not many fishermen left in Tent bay as the younger generation .... It’s very busy as the beach is out of action. It’s ... for a pretty perfect sunset. Pop in to Happyness then Baia ...

Brand Outsunny Material Polyester Colour Red Item weight0.8 Kilograms Recommended uses for product Outdoor About this item Pop-up tent: Easy to set up in under 30 seconds. Fits two-three people. Extra space: An extended front floor provides more space, making the great place to set up a picnic. Robust material: Made from 210T polyester for beach shelter's stability and durability. Air ventilation:...

.... As Michah leaves the tent, Rhakim tells Nahreeb: “Asham tried...surpassing beauty.” Not ever, Pop, just in potboilers like this ... You decide, but hurry up because we have places to ...the world like two Miami Beach matrons lunching by the pool....guy. As this confab wraps up, in walks Samarra, to be... Baal and Astarte scenario up until this point, hold on...territory to wrap this all up. You know the drill: ...

We have a pop up beach tent/play pen thing that’s great ... sand lol. We love the Beach puddle and still use it ... good, sturdy umbrella and a beach wagon to carry all your ... towel ponchos. Beach Puddle - https://a.co/d/0hUQSPbJ?tag=wte-community-20 Tent - https://a... beach so the cost is worth it for us bc we use it often. I use the pop up tent...

JUMMICO Pop Up Gazebo with Sides, Heavy Duty ... Height, Folding Tent for Garden, Party, Camping The JUMMICO Pop Up Gazebo offers... in the garden, at the beach, or during camping trips. Constructed... turn for the worse. Setting up the gazebo is a straightforward ...

... if you go to the beach or park and are using ... plan to spent lots of beach or park time a pop up shade tent is nice. Also I...

I don’t need long to throw this thing up since I often take random trips to the beach and anything would be better than struggle with a regular tent in the wind! I’ve got a friend who used one of these last summer and said it withstood gusts of 20 mph after he added a few extra stakes. My other buddy ordered one from Alibaba and told me the fabric was a decent thickness, the poles were springy, there were no torn seams, and it deployed in just seconds making me feel confident to buy one of these online. Questions: Do pop-up tents with a hub system withstand wind better than tents with continuous poles? How necessary are guy lines? Most pop-up tents don’t come with them. Will you really be able to pack the pop-up tent back into the original bag. Most people struggle to do this. What’s the maximum wind speed you’ve used this with? Did it hold up? Which reviews on pop up tents with rainfly and full coverage know what they’re talking about? Have you ever come across one of these that actually covers the mesh? Are tents with a fabric that claim UPF 50+, say that after one season does that dissolve away? Looking for recommendations of tents that are over five feet so you can stand up in. Also, for planning on adding sandbags to the legs for beach use. submitted by /u/AutoModerator to r/original_bag [link] [comments]

We like to do beach day trips throughout the summer, along with vacations to Jersey. It's just me and three kids so I'm looking for something simple for just myself to set-up. I've had the pop-up tents in the past and though they are easy to set-up, they can be hard to break down (maybe that's just me or the tents idk??). submitted by /u/Shoobeedoowa to r/nycparents [link] [comments]

See specs, reviews & more on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DBPJ1M3L/?tag=redditsatis-20 submitted by /u/kodyzyrym to r/BestBudgetFindss [link] [comments]

I had a pop up tent brand new and not used since I got it as replacement for my first broken one a long time ago and decided to use it once last week and when I went to the beach today I took it with me and realized it was broken(not a shocker) but was heartbroken because it was truly the best beach tent ever. I wish they could bring it back with better durability. 💔💔 I can’t find anything similar to it that marks all the boxes the way the BAGGU one did. submitted by /u/Loud-Seaworthiness27 to r/BAGGU [link] [comments]

Looking for sunshade recommendations for babies with eczema when we go to the beach/picnic. Has anyone used those pop up tents from Kmart? submitted by /u/ExternalVast3010 to r/BabyBumpsandBeyondAu [link] [comments]

Back in early June, my 12-year-old daughter went on a youth trip with Leatherwood Baptist Church (we’re from Alabama). The trip was advertised as a summer camp — beach day, games, food bank service. What actually happened? The youth pastor, Mike Webb, got on Google, searched “where can I find the homeless in Houston,” and took the kids to a tent encampment that popped up. He talks about it openly in his sermon — admits they weren’t prepared, had nothing to give, and were “just invading their space with 75 people.” He also said this: “Ain’t no way I’m getting these kids out of this van. I’ll lose my job. Mamas will be beating down my door.” But he got them out anyway. I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around how this man, who served 12 years as a police officer, is president of the county school board, and a girls' coach, thought this was a good idea. I’ve included a few photos from the trip below. Can anyone here tell me exactly where this was? I’d like to better understand what area they entered and whether this is a common issue — churches from out of state coming in unprepared and using people’s hardship as a backdrop for photo ops. He is almost bragging about it from the pulpit, and a local newspaper even published an article about them 'bringing hope to Houston.' https://calhounjournal.com/annistons-leatherwood-students-go-halfway-to-honduras-to-bring-hope-to-houston/?fbclid=IwQ0xDSwL1M5pjbGNrAvUzhmV4dG4DYWVtAjExAAEeMPYRm3MLViZX2IpCzUSF0CcmynLuYh2ceLSuvuxK4fa5777rIGe7rvHYdwA_aem_KafKgOvUimPrV3m0mR36jQ. Edited to add- This article was published a day after a journalist that I had been speaking with, from a different local newspaper, started asking Leatherwood questions. The senior pastor told the journalist to "tread lightly," and she expressed her outrage to me (wow, disgusting, he's delusional, ect). Then, the Calhoun Journal article published, and she acknowledged that Mike was most likely trying to spin the story. Then she fell completely silent, despite me following up with her.... not sure what happened there. Screenshots are in a comment thread below. The national outlet MinistryWatch ended up covering the story after I came forward: AL Church Takes Youth to Homeless Encampment Without Prior Consent – MinistryWatch And here’s a link to the youth pastor’s sermon where all of this is said in his own words: https://www.youtube.com/live/89-yjIGk9Ic?si=yvKwccRGFUXKhDxL submitted by /u/Momof4-1991 to r/houston [link] [comments]

Hey Boomers! First-timer here, getting our camping gear ready. I'm wondering if a beach pop-up tent would be useful for chilling by the lake during the day. Has anyone tried this? We have space for a 2-person tent, but I'm starting to question if we'd actually use it. Any thoughts? submitted by /u/ctdyogi to r/boomfestival [link] [comments]

View Poll submitted by /u/No-Lynx8471 to r/longisland [link] [comments]

submitted by /u/Quirky_Variety_3079 to r/MauiVisitors [link] [comments]

Check this out! submitted by /u/Stunning_Leg2057 to r/AmazonDiscounts [link] [comments]

This is our main hub for Breach Tour information. If you have a question, there is a strong chance it will be answered here. See if your question has been answered here or in the comments before posting. All localized questions that are posted to the main feed will be removed and redirected to your local threads. If your post is still marked as waiting moderator approval, please comment under your show's thread as your post will be removed and redirected anyway. Tickets are on sale now! Go to https://www.twentyonepilots.com/tour for more information. Links to individual venues are within the discussion threads below. Ticket Buying Guidelines Please be careful out there when purchasing tickets from others! If you are selling tickets or looking for tickets, please go to r/toptickets Ask any questions you have about your venue and get coordinated with people going to your show in the discussion threads below. FAQ - "Where can I buy or sell my tickets?” All ticket transactions on reddit should happen over at r/toptickets. You will be able to buy and resell on Ticketmaster as well. Please note that we do not allow sales more than 10% above face value to ensure that sales are fair and not a place to make a profit. - "What are price ranges?" Amphitheater shows- $30 (lawn) – $204.65. Stadium shows - $61-$206+ \*GA for both venue types are between $159-$210**) - "How long is the show?" Overall its about a 5 hour commitment. Doors are usually open at 6:30 pm, the band goes on between 8:45-9pm , and you’ll be out of there by 11-11:15 pm at the latest! - “Should I get pit, seats, or lawn?” It depends on your needs and the experience you want to have! The show is amazing regardless of where you’re placed! In the pit, you'll have more freedom to dance around and see different angles. In the seats, you’ll be able to see the full scale of the astounding visuals they have throughout the show while also being able to rest your body when you wish. In the lawn, there will be a special Bandito Camp set up that will contain active elements during the show! It is entirely up to you! - "What is the Bandito Camp?" The Bandito Camp is a special setup in the lawn areas of some shows that contains elements of the real Bandito Camp from the music videos. Please be respectful of the props and characters, do not steal any property, don't write on any of the tents or props, and put everything back where you found it! If something is secured down, it is secured down for a reason. This is a very special thing that the band is doing, don't destroy or deface it and make future shows miss out! - "Who is opening?" Dayglow! Check them out! - "What time do we line up? Will there be another wristband system?" The wristband system is back! The guidelines will vary by venue, so check your venue's social media pages for updates. As of right now, most venues will have wristbands up to 500 that are similar to the Clancy Tour bands. Generally, people have been able to line up at 7 am, get their bands at 8, then they can leave and rest before returning to the venue around 4! Mark and Mase are also filming another song so please be respectful, don't swarm, and let them come to you! Keep in mind that they will not be able to accept gifts while they’re out there, they have a job to do. I will be doing my best to update each show's discussion thread with guidelines and timelines from their venue as they come in. Remember to clean up your trash outside! -“What if it rains? Will they cancel the show?" They will try to play as much of the show as they can before the storm hits. Rain by itself won’t cancel the show, however if there is thunder and lightning in the area then they will be kicked off the stage by the venue. Unfortunately, many of these shows will not be able to be rescheduled as many venues close after October. They will do as much as they can until they can’t. Please be checking the weather ahead of time and plan your outfits accordingly. - "My venue is sold out! Am I doomed?" No! There will always be new tickets leading up to the shows on r/toptickets. Even personally, there have been a couple shows that I never got tickets for until about 10 hours beforehand on the day of the show. Don't give up! - "I am a first time concert goer/ going alone. Any advice?” Welcome to the party! Going to a show for the first time, its important to stay aware of your surroundings and have a planned itinerary before arriving. Don’t be afraid to ask venue workers for guidance! There are countless posts and threads on this subreddit for first time concert advice, so please search through and have a look at those! You can ask for advice in your venue's discussion thread below too! This thread has an amazing list of advice as well- Tour Advice -"Are there any fan projects I should know about?” Indeed there are! Artourpia 2025 is a fan led project uniting clique artists from across the country to create location specific merch for each and every stop on the Breach Tour! Take a look at the collection here! The Trees Project is a fundraiser for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention! This group helps those affected by suicide, please consider donating and sharing if you're able! Learn more and donate here! If any other tour-wide projects pop up, they will be added here! - "Will there be an EU/LATAM/Asia leg?" As of 8/16/2025, Tyler said he is currently unsure about when they will be going back on tour. That isn’t to say a world tour for Breach will never happen, it just isn’t in the cards at the moment. This isn’t the end of the band or their live performance career though, they’re simply moving on to the next phase! That story still needs to be written ;) - "I’m disabled and need accommodations for my show. What do I do?” Always reach out to your venue as soon as possible to work out accommodations you’ll need for your show! This tour is all amphitheaters and stadiums, so it's mainly outdoor shows- rain or shine- at the beginning of Fall so be sure to plan accordingly for the weather. Pit access and accommodations may be difficult with mobility aids. If you find yourself wanting to do pit and are unsure of the best way to go about it, dm u/mooshwa and she will help you to the best of her ability! -"I'm travelling to the area for the first time, where should I get a hotel?" Check out the local discussion threads below to get advice on how to navigate around the venue you're going to and meet up with other people! - "Why is "amphitheater" spelled two different ways?" Basically "amphitheater" is the American/western spelling and "amphitheatre" is the British spelling. Typically its more indicative of how old the venue is and who built it. Other than that, both spellings have the same meaning! Show Discussion Threads SEP 18 - Cincinnati, OH - TQL Stadium SEP 20/21 - Toronto, ON - Budweiser Stage SEP 23 - Milwaukee, WI - American Family Insurance Amphitheater SEP 24 - Tinley Park, IL - Credit Union 1 Amphitheatre SEP 27 - Hershey, PA - Hersheypark Stadium SEP 28 - Burgettstown, PA - The Pavilion at Star Lake SEP 30 - Hartford, CT - XFINITY Theatre OCT 01 - Bangor, ME - Maine Savings Amphitheater OCT 04 - Wantagh, NY - Northwell at Jones Beach Theater OCT 05 - Bristow, VA - Jiffy Lube Live OCT 07 - Virginia Beach, VA - Veterans United Home Loans Amphitheater OCT 08 - Charlotte, NC - PNC Music Pavilion OCT 10 - West Palm Beach, FL - iTHINK Financial Amphitheatre OCT 11 - Tampa, FL - MIDFLORIDA Credit Union Amphitheatre OCT 14 - Orange Beach, AL - The Wharf Amphitheater OCT 15 - Alpharetta, GA - Ameris Bank Amphitheatre OCT 17 - Birmingham, AL - Coca-Cola Amphitheater OCT 19 - Rogers, AR - Walmart AMP OCT 20 - Dallas, TX - Dos Equis Pavilion OCT 23 - Chula Vista, CA - North Island Credit Union Amphitheatre OCT 25/26 - Los Angeles, CA - BMO Stadium Breach Main Discussion Thread submitted by /u/mooshwa to r/twentyonepilots [link] [comments]

Would you pay $15 for this double smash burger with a can of soda and a bag of chips to go with it? Thinking of doing a pop up tent to sell these. I love feeding others and I live in a touristy beach town so I think the price is justified… just wanted other opinions, thanks. Burger assembly: bottom bun gets the spread, then lettuce, pickles, patties (caramelized onions underneath of the melted cheese), more spread on top bun. Patties are 4oz/piece on a toasted sesame brioche bun Spread consists of salt, pepper, garlic powder, smoked paprika, splash of hot sauce, pickle juice, ketchup, mustard, mayo Thank you submitted by /u/Lagb0y to r/food [link] [comments]

submitted by /u/-brax_ to r/DealsReddit [link] [comments]

Beach pop up tent 6-8 beach pop up tent , please help me find this 🙏, I’ve searched Amazon and EBay and it looks like the listing has changed to a different style , the company that was selling it is called “happy travels” on Amazon . submitted by /u/GiraffeConfident4824 to r/HelpMeFind [link] [comments]

I am not The OOP, OOP is u/juve_del These post were originally posted to r/CharlotteDobreYouTube TRIGGER WARNING: entitlement, racism, homophobia MOOD SPOILERS:​frustrating & satisfying Please remember the NO BRIGADING RULE: do not comment on the original posts linked in BoRUs, see Rule 7. Doing so can result into a permanent ban from this sub and the other linked sub(s). WARNING: VERY PROBABLY A FAKE! It's just too juicy not to continue updating, according to comments I got and my own reddit-gossip-tastebuds haha added paragraphs for better readability new updates are marked with *** NEW UPDATES *** Due to the length exceeding the character limit, the older posts couldn't be included. The first 7 posts can be read in this BoRU post and I also linked them here: ORIGINAL POST posted on November 1st 2024 UPDATE 1 was posted on November 5th 2024 UPDATE 2 was posted on November 6th 2024 UPDATE 3 was posted on November 7th 2024 UPDATE 4 ["FINAL UPDATE"] was posted on November 9th 2024 UPDATE 5 ["ANOTHER UPDATE"] was posted on January 14th 2025 UPDATE 6 ["RACHEL GUILT-TRIPS THE FAMILY"] was posted on January 23rd 2025 UPDATE 7 ["Harry smelled the coffee"] was posted on January 27th 2025 ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ *** NEW UPDATES *** UPDATE 8 ["I can’t sue Rachel - but her children can!"] was posted on February 3rd 2025 This is the gift that keeps on giving. Obviously after assuring Harry they were against Rachel taking his money the children were shocked to hear that she’d gone to the lawyer for round two. Teen3 - who lived with us only briefly phoned me with an update. Rachel has once again been taking my letter around to PROVE to people how nasty and entitled I am. Unfortunately (for her) it’s blown up in her face. People who were sympathetic to her the first time around are now saying “Wait, these guys looked after your children for FOUR YEARS and you didn’t give them any financial support?” Obviously she had no coherent response to that. So she went back to see her lawyer - who turns out to be a friend and doing the work pro bono - and asked Teen3 to go along for "emotional support". Teen3 agreed - only they weren’t there to support her, they went along for the shits and giggles and then phone me back with an update. The lawyer had met her a few years before and like everyone else they thought she was warm, affectionate, passionate about the environment and... slightly kooky. He saw her as the most wonderful woman for taking care of her elderly parents. Rachel went in and slapped down my letter of demand and said “Look what he’s sent me now - he says I owe him and Harry $26,000 each! But people don’t seem to understand when I explain it to them and they keep taking Jerry’s side. Can you explain it to me in legal terms so I can answer people’s questions?” “Sure, let me take a look” and the first thing he said was “Oh, this happened in the 1990s, the statute of limitations has passed so he can’t make any legal claim against you - just as you don’t have any legal claim again HIM”. So apparently he’d told Rachel at the time she didn’t have a legal leg to stand on, just that after she'd told him her version of events - Harry was rich, had a huge condo downtown and even though he travelled abroad all time never came to visit - he agreed that Harry had a MORAL obligation to pay her. That’s why he wrote the letter. Then he looked at my claim outlining the situation in the 1990s and immediately said - just as everyone else had - “Harry was taking care of your children for four years but you didn’t pay a cent in child support? If these guys had submitted this to a court 20 years ago you wouldn’t just owe them for this amount, they could have taken you to the cleaners! They should have been receiving social security, the father’s child support money and YOU would have had to pay them child support as well”. “So now even YOU are taking their side?” Of course it has nothing to do with “taking sides”, he was just explaining the law. “I was supporting you on the argument that Harry had a moral obligation to pay you. But your legal and moral obligation to pay them is much greater”. Rachel was furious and stormed out, Teen3 went home to phone me with all dirt as soon as she walked in the door. The next day (Friday) completely out of the blue MY lawyer called and said “I have some exciting news about your claim, come in and see me.” I said I knew I had no legal claim, I sent the letter and it had the desired effect of rattling her and Harry and I couldn’t afford to take any further legal action. He said “You paid for the minimum ‘walk in the door’ charge that covers you for two hours of my time the other week but were only here for less than an hour so don’t worry, this is already covered. And it’s not about you taking legal action, it’s about another legal approach that would bleed her dry”. So I rushed in - tuns out that while my financial claim has a statute of limitations, there are no limitations on child abuse claims. The laws were enacted specifically so adults could make claims against the child abuse they were subjected to by religious or welfare institutions, but can also be used by children against their parents. So I pulled out my iPad which had the list I’d shown Harry detailing all the criminal neglect of Rachel’s children over the past 40 years. No physical or sexual abuse but abandoning her children, sub-standard living conditions, poor schooling and using them for financial gain. By this time my lawyer is totally in on the action and said "If you brought this to her attention it would leave her completely unhinged." So I had brunch with Harry yesterday. This will be his first active participation in the scheme and he’s enthusiastic too. BUT — of course we’d never do anything without informing Rachel’s children first and that it has nothing to do with them but simply punishing his sister for still pursuing Harry's inheritance. We’ve arranged a Zoom call with three of them for Tuesday night to get their “okay” before we go ahead. UPDATE 9 ["A RESTRAINING ORDER"] was posted on February 6th 2025 Harry and I had a Zoom call with 3 of the Teens Yesterday. We re-assured them that having them live with us was a truly special time in our lives and what we’re doing now is not in any way related to that or our relationship with them. We said we that in hindsight now would have been happy to take all of them in at a younger age - giving them the opportunity to live in the same house at the same time and get a regular education at all the same schools. We know they all have amicable relationships with their mother and we didn’t know if that’s because they were really happy throughout their childhoods or perhaps they’ve forgiven her that allows them to be friends with her. (One of them said "Oh we've just learned how to put up with her".) However WE now view her as having been a bad mother. Even if they thought it was normal at the time being dragged around the country, living in shacks/trailers/tents or with half a dozen different people, it may not have been the best way to raise them. I told them about the link we’d like to send them about children suing their parents for neglected childhoods and being used for financial gain. Even though we knew none of them would ever use it at least it made for interesting reading. If their mother suddenly rang them up all hysterical - pretty much a certainty - then they could say whatever they wanted to her. Even if they thought it easiest to paint me as the bad guy for sending it to them that would be fine - she couldn’t hate me more than she already does. So they agreed - it was just a “FYI” website link with nothing bad said about her in the intro or indicating that we actually WANT them to sue her. Teen1 called us back an hour later and said “We’ve talked amongst ourselves and know she’s brought this on herself. When she rings we’ll just say “Yes mom, yes mom, yes mom - don’t you think it’s time you just dropped this?” I sent the email at 8am this morning to all the Teens and CC Rachel with the simple intro: “Hi nieces and nephews, it’s unfortunate we’ve all had a difficult time over the past few months. While scrolling through some websites regarding family disputes we came across this link you might to look at. With love, uncles Harry and Jerry.” Of course the shit utterly splattered the fan over the next couple of hours. True to form Rachel didn’t phone them up like a normal mom would and ask “Do you think I was a good mother?” but instead phoned them up and yelled “Don’t you dare sue me!” This afternoon she phoned up Teen1 said she was going to see the lawyer and could he come with her as a “witness”. (I think she was waking up to the fact that Teen3 had been ratting on her). He just assumed it was to witness a document being signed like changing her Will. NOOOOOPE - she wanted to take out a restraining order against me! She started on about how I was constantly harassing and threatening her. The lawyer - her friend - did take it seriously though as all such claims should be. He pulled out the form to fill in then asked her to state clearly when and in what form this harassment had occurred. She handed over my latest email. He read it, looked up the website, then said “Okay, what else?” That’s when he found out that all I’d sent her previously was an email telling her to leave Harry alone and the letter demanding financial compensation he’d seen a couple of days before. Never spoken to her, phoned her, texted her, turned up at her door, stalked her or slandered her on social media. She had nothing else, she just FELT threatened by me. The guy was clearly done with her, telling her that restraining orders were very serious and could only be issued if there was a REAL threat to her safety. “You can’t apply for a restraining order against someone just because you don’t like them”. Then he apparently said “I’m sorry, I can’t offer you any more of my time with this, I have a backlog of cases I need to attend to. Best wishes, goodbye.” So this all came from Teen1 when he phoned me up to give the update an hour ago. He said that when he dropped her home she was clearly reeling in shock. She asked “Why is he doing this me?”. Teen had to point out: “He’s not doing anything to you. He’s just pushing your buttons because you keep poking the bear. You can end this right now by letting Harry keep his money and you’ll never hear from Jerry again”. I suspect he is either going to find her lying dead on the floor after a stroke tomorrow or something really bad is about to happen. (Although at this stage now I’m not sure what could possibly be worse?) Even though she’s 500 miles away I’ll be sleeping with the door alarm on and a taser under my pillow tonight! UPDATE 10 ["Sobbing phone call"] was posted on February 8th 2025 Remember the last thing Rachel said to Teen1 “Why is he doing this to me?” I received a call at 2am last night. Usually at that time of night those calls are friends who are out at a bar and begging me to join them, emergency phone calls or a spam call from a number I don’t know. Well props to Rachel for using her own phone and not blocking the number. Of course I didn’t pick up and speak to her - I didn’t want a ranging lunatic ranting at me at that time of night and I’m never going to speak to her again anyway. So I just went back to sleep. So I let the message go through to voicemail, got a notification about 3 minutes later and decided I’d listen to it after I woke up this morning. Ooooh lord. The very first sentence was “Why are you doing this to me?” And then SOBBING continued on about: * the endless harassment I was inflicting on her [two emails and a letter asking for money] *I had no idea about what a rough life she’s lived [a crime spree and travelling the world] * How bad her life was now [living rent-free in a house on the side of a hill overlooking the ocean, driving around in a car she bought with a GoFundMe and a bank account with a shit-ton of money in it] * How hard it is to raise 4 children [on those occasional times when they were actually living with her] * That because I’m “young” [57] that I didn’t understand how old people get frail and fear for their future [compared to her 65yo brother who has diabetes and on 4 different medications, had a kidney transplant leaving him severely immunocompromised for life, lost 80% of his hearing (hence his new $6,000 hearing aids) and told just last week that he needs surgery for cataracts in both eyes.] *How all she was asking for was a little financial compensation for looking after his parents [his entire inheritance]. Like “bawling her eyes out so much she couldn’t even get angry” sobbing. I arranged an emergency brunch with Harry this morning so I could play it to him. A light flicked on and he said “The only times I’ve ever heard her sobbing this hard in the past is when she’s talked about “people she thought were good friends but then betrayed her”. So now he’s thinking those occasions were actually “people who were so sick of being used by her they told her to fuck off”. So our next strategy is to send her an email with a list of “You told everyone you were going to end this in November last year but you didn’t. This time you’re going to put it on paper" - then give her an absolutely BRUTAL list of legal documents she has to sign, both written and verbal apologies she has to make and then “token” gifts of financial compensation she has to give. I’m going to draft it now then meet with him for brunch tomorrow so we can go over it. UPDATE 11 ["Reparations and consequences"] was posted on February 12th 2025 After a lengthy discussion with Harry at brunch about what the final outcome to be we came up with a shorter list of what the most important points are, and that Rachel may be able to achieve in five days. I sent it to her first thing Monday morning and told her she had to have it done by 5pm Friday or for the first time in her life she would suffer the CONSEQUENCES for her actions. (We intend to make her suffer anyway, it’s just that giving her a deadline might put a fire under her butt to get things done.) We sent it in my name only - putting Harry’s name on it would allow her to say “I’m just finalising things with Harry”. If it’s under my name only then it’s “I have to do what Jerry told me to”. So we asked for two legal documents. 1) A Statuary Declaration to Harry that she renounces all previous claims made against him in the past and has no grounds to make any claims in the future. 2) A Statuary Declaration to Nathan stating she has no grounds for making a claim against Harry’s estate after he dies. Copies of both of those go to Mary and Teen1. I pointed out that that Stat Decs are legal documents that can be taken to court and used as evidence against her. Should she act contrary to the statements she made she has committed perjury and can be sentenced to five years in prison. Apologies: 1) A hand-written grovelling apology to Harry acknowledging that she was totally in the wrong for doing this in the first place and causing him the distress he’s been through over the past four months (we know her hand-writing so no-one can do it on her behalf). 2) A verbal apology to Mary for dragging her into this in the first place and putting her in an extremely awkward position of having to choose between her and her brother. 3) Verbally telling the Teens that Jerry has been a good friend and very supportive of her in the past - demonstrated by the fact he had cared for her children - and that in this case she was in the wrong and understood that Jerry was just trying to protect someone important to him. Financial - and this will be a special kick in the guts 1) That in May 1993 she borrowed $50 off me and said that she would pay me back the following week. That evening she came back to our house and said “Sorry I won’t be able to pay you back because the $50 fell out of my purse”. Her borrowing the money then losing it had no bearing on the fact she still had to pay me back. I want a check for $50 included with the documents she had to send Harry and Nathan. 2) If she hoped to ever make up with Harry then instead of TAKING money of him she should GIVE him some. He has surgery next month and $5000 towards out of pocket expenses will show him you care. (There’s nothing she can ever do to repair the damage she’s done, we just want financial compensation off her then leave her living out the rest of her life in hope). I then finished off with another implied threat: Before you blocked me on social media I had already taken snapshots of your 253 Facebook friends and 726 Instagram followers. As I said - you’ve got til 5pm Friday. UPDATE 11 ["Publicly and privately humiliated, Rachel is done for good!"] was posted on February 18th 2025 My very first post was asking whether I should ruin her political reputation for her actions against her brother. Of course as an entitled narcissist she STILL can't see anything wrong with her actions - and as a result HAS RUINED HER ENTIRE LIFE! After her parents' deaths Rachel jumped straight back into activism, being voted onto the state committee of her international environmental organization. On the weekend Teen4 called me, filled me in and said "Listen to this then check their website!". Apparently an official complaint had been lodged about "A person with Rachel's reputation holding such a prominent position within the organization". They called her in for a discussion "asking her to answer for the disturbing allegations of racism and homophobia that had been made against her". True to form she said "Yes, but no, but that isn't true and has been completely blown out of all proportion. All I said to Harry is that it was MY family money and that after he dies his boyfriend shouldn't be allowed o take the money back to Asia and spend it there because it belongs to ME and my children". They politely asked her to "step down" from her elected position as her values were "incompatible" with those of the organization. I checked the website - under the menu heading of "meet our team" they listed 7 committee members and their backgrounds. Position 8? "VACANT". Teen4 also said she was persona non grata around town. A family friend is getting married next month and Rachel received a card last week in the mail. "Dear Rachel, it is with regret we must ask you not to attend our wedding on March 22nd, 2025. It will be a very special day that we wish to celebrate with our dearest friends and make memories to last a lifetime. With that in consideration we don't want our guests DISTRACTED BY CONTROVERSY.... Best wishes, John and Adam". Disinvited to the wedding of a gay friend you've had for 20 years? BURRRRRRRN! And I didn't have to lift a finger. As for the rest: A large envelope arrived at Harry's house by express post on Friday morning. He jumped on the phone and called me over for brunch so we could open it together. The envelope was addressed in Rachel's handwriting as were all the written contents. 1. Two Stat Decs stating Rachel has no claim against her parents' or Harry's estates. 2. Letter to Harry begging forgiveness for the "terrible misunderstanding" that "Jerry twisted the facts to use them against me" and that she knew it would "never break the special bond we've always had". Oh girl, that ship has LONG sailed. 3. A check for $20,000 from "the family" saying they were sad to hear of his upcoming operation and that the money would cover not just the out-of-pocket expenses but allow him to take a month off work to recover. Knowing he's a Trekkie they signed it off "LIVE LONG AND PROSPER" - a very nice touch. 4. A second small envelope inside with "Jerry" handwritten on the front. A check for $50. The yellow post-it note attached said "NOW LEAVE ME ALONE!" Did Rachel actually contribute any money or were the family once again cleaning up her mess? Don't know, but it's the best we're ever going to get; the fact that it was all in her handwriting would have been torture enough for her. So it's done. All I said to her at the beginning was that I would protect Harry no matter what it took and that I would shame her in front of her entire family. DONE and DONE. I did say - perhaps overstating a little - that I was a Rottweiler, but SHE was the one who pegged me as "mean and mentally unstable". Perhaps if she'd put that all together at the beginning she would never have gone down this road in the first place. Everything we've been through over the past 4 months has given me a lot of time to reflect on the special relationship Harry and I have built over the past 40 years. People have commented about what a great friend I've been to him but I promise that for those years I still feel like there is nothing I could do that could ever make up for him being the most incredible friend in the world and everything he's done for me. When we met I was a terrified little gay teen getting tortured by his classmates in a D-Grade high school in a little city in the desert at the ass-end of nowhere. What we've been through with Rachel is just "Victory #107" of that story, which, if anything, is what I should REALLY write about one day. additional comment by OOP: One more bit! After he got the "You're finally safe" envelope on Friday we celebrated by going online and started looking for places to him to buy for retirement. He has the option of a little one-bedroom apartment in the city OR: There's a town a 90-minute drive (1hr by ambulance!) outside the city down the coast. Even though it's mainly known for it's beaches there's an area joked about as "God's Waiting Room" because it's full of retirees. But that's for a good reason - if he moves there he can get a little two-bedroom cottage two blocks back from the beach. So he, Nathan and I are going to rent a car next weekend and drive up to have a look around. Sure, it will take a little longer for me to "pop over for brunch" but absolutely no effort at all just to see the smile on his face. (And "two blocks from the beach" is sure as shit better than the "1000 miles from the beach" where we grew up!) ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ I'm not the OOP! submitted by /u/strubisach to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

Hoping you fine people can save me a call. I’ll be going in a beach vacation with my family and purchased a pop up tent. I want to bring it with us but wondering how to do so. It’s about 32 inches in diameter. I also kept the box it came in with is about 31 x 31 inches. So I check it in as a bag? Gate check it? Check it as sports equipment? Should I bring it in the box or just the carrying case I’ve included a couple of pics. Any help would be wonderful. Traveling on ac from yul to cun with my wife and 2 daughters (2, 4 months). Thanks! submitted by /u/RamiN64 to r/aircanada [link] [comments]

“What’s the worst one you’ve seen?” Jacob asked, lying next to me with binoculars in hand. The young man had spent most of the trip moaning about the drizzly weather of mid-Wales, so it was good to hear him sound a little interested in the work. “Hard to say,” I replied. “You know those big beach umbrellas?” “Yeah.” “I saw one of those get blown into a kid’s birthday party once. The old man goes up to pull the cord to stop it from knocking a few tables over and next thing he knows, its wrapped around him and he can’t get out. So his wife goes to help, and then a brother and a cousin…” I shrugged. “Mimics don’t normally get exposed to so many people. It would be like dropping a lion in an industrial meat packing factory.” “What made it so bad?” he asked. “Did it just eat a lot of people?” “Yeah, kind of,” I said. “Six adults and three children. Thing is that mimic would have been lucky to get one meal a year naturally so… well, it ruptured. Whole thing just burst and it injured itself. By the time we got there we found it wounded in the pool, screaming like a banshee, while it fought against all that food it refused to let go. The kids were already half-way to soup but some of the adults were still alive and screaming. It was like watching slow cooked ribs fall apart under the fork.” “I see why that’s bad,” he said, momentarily falling silent as he pictured the carnage for himself. “Are umbrellas common?” “Anything that moves in the wind is a candidate because some mimics use the weather to change up their hunting grounds,” I said. “Of course it ain’t ever that simple. All we can do really is look at reports of missing people and follow up. They’re patient, that’s for sure.” “Any as big as this fella,” he said, gesturing to the chapel on the plains below. “I’ve heard rumours,” I replied. “From some of the old guard. Back when the world was bigger and there were less people to fill it. I guess it was easier for these things to hide back then. We have a few reports from old sailors about things may have been mimics. Shipwrecks that glittered with gold and the promise of loot. No one can say for sure. The information age has hit these things hard. And of course, we’ve hit them harder. But no, personally I haven’t seen anything like this before.” “Fucking weird,” he muttered, eyes straining to pick out the faint hint of motion that drove the chapel forward. “Moves so slow you barely see it.” “About that,” I said, “let’s get in for a closer look. I want to know more about how this thing locomotes.” - The ground was porous, like someone had gone over it with a thousand knitting needles, punching holes straight into the ground. Curious, I took a piece of thin wire filament out of my toolbox and unspooled it into one of the openings. When I pulled it back out, it measured six feet long. “Well that explains the locomotion,” I said. “Reminds me of a starfish.” My apprentice was stood behind me. I could feel him anxiously glaring at the chapel. He’d been nervous the whole time we were walking towards it. “It’s stopped,” he whispered. “It’s… it’s looking right at us.” I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little creeped out by the way the building slowly rotated to face us. Maybe it was just the way the door and windows lined up, but I couldn’t help but see its façade as a face. Not an evil one, either. Just a stupid one, like the kind of face that sucks a mollusc out of its shell deep in the ocean - a mindless piece of evolution driven by hunger and nothing else. Minds like that don’t have malice. Resisting them or pleading with them is like begging the wind to change direction. Slowly, the church began to advance. “That isn’t right,” I grumbled, standing upright as I urgently began to put my things away. “What’s it doing?” he asked. “What do you think?” I snapped. “Its hunting us.” “You said they were ambush predators!” he cried. “You said they’d never actively hunt a person. That I’d have to be an idiot to get caught once I knew what it was!” “Shut up and get me the duffel bag with a blue tag,” I told him. “This isn’t the time to argue.” The boy walked backwards, refusing to take his eyes off the building. “For fuck’s sake Jacob!” I cried. “It doesn’t go over half a mile an hour, turn around and look properly!” You could tell he wasn’t happy, but he did as I said. A few moments later he returned with the bag and I rifled through it to get a hold of what I wanted. A hand grenade. “Will that kill it?” he asked. “Mimics are usually soft on the inside,” I said. “But honestly? I don’t know. Never killed a building before.” I pulled the pin, let the spoon flick loose, and tossed the grenade straight through the open door of the chapel. Five seconds – I counted them out. But nothing happened. Nothing changed. I’d expected a muted thump, or perhaps something even worse, something gorier, but there was no noise at all and I found that fairly unnerving. The only change was that the chapel finally stopped advancing. “Is it hurt?” “If the grenades went off, it has to be hurt,” I said. “Then again… does it look hurt?” The building rotated ninety degrees and began to grind slowly away from us. Behind me, Jacob began to whoop and cheer with joy. “Take that!” he cried. But I didn’t feel so confident. - It was unlikely we would lose the chapel and have to find it all over again. The desert of Wales describes an enormous expanse of arid stony land, unsuitable for anything except grazing. It wasn’t a literal desert (if anything it never stopped raining), there just wasn’t much around to see or do outside of a few lonely buildings and abandoned quarries. Most plant life consisted of hardy lichens and fuzzy moss along with dense thickets of bristling grass. It was hilly, for sure, but I didn’t think we had to worry about a building sneaking up on us, so I didn’t bother giving chase once the chapel moved away. Instead I sent us walking North to a nearby campsite where a few hikers had first reported it eating all of their friends. Jacob was less inquisitive now. He hadn’t liked seeing the chapel up close and, truth be told, neither did I. Most mimics I’d encountered were small. Estimates from other field agents like myself had them as typically no larger than 12kg, subsisting on rats and mice and other vermin. They might nab a child here and there, and sometimes we’d get a real doozy like a carnivorous closet in some ancient BnB. But the tabletop game image of mimics was desperately overblown and I’d never personally laid eyes on anything like that chapel slowly grinding its way towards us. Mimics weren’t animals, and they weren’t plants either… to see one move around like that… I didn’t like it. The campsite, once we reached it, sure as shit didn’t help. When I’d heard about the hikers I figured they were tricked into going inside the building but the broken tents and pulped remains told us otherwise. At least two people had been crushed during the night… I could see that clearly from the collection of canvas and pureed flesh that lay on the outskirts of the site. They were the first victims, I’d been told. Just like the tracks I’d seen before, their deaths had been achieved with what looked like thousands of knitting needles punching through rock and soil – and in this case, bone and muscle and fat and skin. They must have been sleeping, I decided, when the chapel simply rolled over them with glacial slowness. As for the others? That wasn’t so simple. Tents were slashed and pulled apart. Bones, still pink and wet, lay scattered around the fire. This looked more like the work of a pack of dogs than a mimic, who usually left little behind except for bleached bones so clean you could mistake them for some kind of museum display. “They must’ve tried to help each other,” I said as I counted out the fifth ribcage. “Like that story I told you about. That’s the only way I’ve seen mimics rack up this kind of body count. They trap one guy and his friends come to help and it just… it just escalates. Most of them inject digestive enzymes like an arachnid, sometimes that includes a few basic poisons that act on the nervous system. That could account for it, maybe?” Jacob didn’t respond, at least not to my question. I stayed crouched where I was for a few more minutes, staring at the carnage, before he spoke up. “It crushed their skulls.” “What?” “Look,” he replied, holding up a pile of bone chips in his cupped hands. Slowly, he let them all fall through the cracks in his fingers like sand until a few larger pieces remained. He took one and passed it over and I instantly recognised the bridge of a nose. “They’re all here. It crushed them… practically ground them into powder. All in one place as well. It’s almost ritualistic.” “No it’s not,” I replied. “Mimics don’t do that. They don’t think and they sure-as-shit don’t do rituals.” “So how do they know what to imitate?” “Come on,” I snapped. “Let’s get back to the car.” - “You didn’t answer my question,” he said, and I could tell he’d been working up the courage to challenge me on this for the last hour of the hike. “What question?” “How do mimics know what to imitate?” he asked. “Well… they don’t reproduce, if that’s what you mean.” “What do you mean they don’t reproduce?” “They don’t fuck. They don’t lay eggs. They don’t even grow or gain weight after feeding. They’re not animals so they don’t reproduce. On top of that, we have records of things that weren’t mimics becoming mimics,” I replied. “A car, for one. There was a closet in the London Natural History Museum that was most definitely not a mimic on the 9th July 1991, but which still proceeded to eat three janitors by the 13th of August that same year.” There was a brief moment of silence before Jacob’s voice suddenly rang out across the wind-swept plain. “What!?” he cried. “Are you telling me these things just… just appear?” “Don’t know,” I shrugged. “Not my job to know. That’s a different department. But… but yeah. Things, everyday things can, apparently, just turn into mimics.” “So like what? My backpack could become a mimic? At any time?” “Maybe?” I replied. “What you should be worried about is so can your dog. So can you. It’s rare, but it can happen. Sometimes they don’t even know. It just… boom. It just happens. You wake up and your wife isn’t there and you don’t know why, but you suddenly have a funny looking scare on your chest and your tummy won’t stop rumbling. I think we have three in containment at the moment. One of them swears someone did it to him. Is he lying? Deluded? Who knows?” This time Jacob didn’t respond. We walked the rest of the trail in silence while he wrestled with the implication of what he’d just learned. There is, at any time, probably less than fifty mimics in existence but once you realise that there’s nothing stopping one from popping up in your cereal box, or taking over your car or your bed… yeah, it can get a little tough to sleep at night. Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped it on him like that, but my own nerves were playing up something awful out on that stony trail and I just wanted peace and quiet. Already the sun was starting to dip and the sky was full of greying clouds. We’d enjoyed some fairly decent weather so far but now it looked like our luck was running out and for some reason, I didn’t much fancy seeing that damned church coming at us while hidden behind the night and a slate of grey drizzle. Instead I focused on settling down for the night in that kitschy little bed and breakfast we’d scouted on our way up. Sure, we had a long drive ahead of us but I was thankful the walking part of the day was over. Oh how wrong I was. At first I thought we’d reached the wrong patch of gravel because, as I crested the hill, I quickly noticed that there was no sign of my car’s roof. But no, I realised, the trail was recognisable. That tree in the distance was the same one I’d made a note of when we parked up… Has the car been stolen? I wondered incredulously. Surely not in a place so remote? As my legs carried me further and the rest of the lot came into view I soon realised the answer was somehow even stranger. My car had been crushed flat. Pulverised, might be the better word. It looked more like a stain on the ground than a four tonne pickup truck. A better account would be to say that it had been picked apart by a thousand tiny ice picks until its footprint was nearly as big as an eighteen wheeler. It was so bizarre that Jacob looked down at it for a few moments before asking, “Where’s the truck?” “That clever fuck…” I muttered, not quite sure of how to answer. Not that I needed to. Jacob put two and two together from just looking at it for long enough. “No no no,” he said. “You told me they aren’t smart! Ambush predators,” he cried. “Fucking ambush predators! That’s what you told me!” “Get it together!” I snapped. “Did you think every job was a walk in the fucking park!?” I hoped the stern treatment would whip some sense into the boy, but it didn’t work. Instead of calming down, Jacob began to cry and swear and shout all sorts of abuse at me and the agency before falling over himself and landing on his arse, tears brimming in his red-rimmed eyes. For a second there I wanted to slap him, but that was when I realised he’d stopped all noise and taken to staring right past me. I turned and saw the chapel about fifty feet behind us and my skin crawled with disgust to see it so close. It’s motion was so silent as to be a whisper and my brain rebelled at the idea that this thing was looming larger and larger. But there was no denying the sight whether it made any sense or not. I grabbed Jacob by the collar and hauled him to his feet, even as he sobbed. Thankfully, he reflexively latched onto the bags I stuffed into his arms while I pulled out a map and took a look for the nearest sign of civilisation. It was odd, but even with that chapel going no faster than a yard every few thirty seconds, I could feel it like an itching on the back of my neck. Something about a ticking clock can make even the simplest tasks difficult, and I had to struggle to keep my concentration as I figured out our position and drew a straight line to a nearby farmhouse. “Come on,” I said, tugging at Jacob’s arm so he would turn from the chapel and start to follow. “It’s Wales, not Siberia. We can make it out of here, walk the whole way to the nearest town if we have to.” Jacob, having finally calmed, cast a glance over his shoulder and shuddered. I already knew what he was thinking, even if never said it. No one wanted to walk that far with that thing coming up on our tail. - “Where does it go?” The sun was down and we had no choice but to set up camp in an open field. Part of me wanted to hide, to march to the nearest bit of woodland off in the distance and find a hole in the ground to stay out of sight. But I knew damn well that was a bad idea. Our best hope was to keep an eye on this thing, and at its current rate of travel and the two mile gap we’d put between us and it, I figured we had about four hours before we needed to get going again. And I was going to make sure we could keep our eyes on it for every second of that time. Or at least one of us would. We both needed to sleep, Jacob especially. So for now, having settled down by a small fire with very little cover, I told the boy to catch some shut eye while I watched. “Where does it go?” he repeated, and I tore my eyes away from the horizon to look back at him. “They don’t reproduce. They don’t grow. But you can’t destroy matter, right? So all the stuff they eat, where does it go? Like that umbrella you told me about. What was it going to do with all those people?” “I don’t know,” I shrugged. “If it hadn’t pushed itself and gotten greedy it would’ve probably just dissolved its first catch and, at some point later, shit out a caustic white substance that weighs a fraction of the original meal. That’s all that would have remained. But as for the rest of it? We don’t know,” I said. “Come on. You have to at least try to get some sleep.” “It’s fucking freezing,” he whined, pulling his coat closer around his chest and neck. “I’d give anything for a tent.” I almost told him that it hadn’t done the hikers much good, but I stopped myself. It would have only freaked him out and besides, I watched him take my advice and close his eyes. When I looked back the chapel had disappeared. For a second there it made the breath catch in my throat, but the shock didn’t stick around for long. I’d known for a while now that the chapel wasn’t a simple thing. It had cut ahead of us all the way to the car and trashed it. That was the kind of tricky behaviour you wouldn’t even expect from an apex predator like a bear or a mountain lion. I didn’t much like it, but I started to wonder if this thing was going to get the better of us. Knowing what I did about mimics and how they fed, the thought of this thing catching us didn’t make me feel like relaxing one little bit. I found myself hoping Jacob made it through all this. He’d asked a pretty astute question back there. Where does it go? I hadn’t lied, either. We didn’t know. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t guess and oh boy, the guys at the agency had guessed galore. The longest running theory was that we just didn’t see mimics reproduce but like a bad excuse, that was starting to fray the longer we held onto it. Ninety years and counting and not one example of a mimic being born in lab conditions? Of us even finding the slightest evidence of that behaviour out in the wild? A nest? Some eggs? Anything!? And why the hell didn’t they weigh more after feeding? The more we documented them and the more we learned, the more elaborate the scientists had to become in explaining it all. The second theory, the newest and what was soon becoming the most popular, was some kind of infection or fungus or something. We’ve dissected enough of these things to learn a thing or two. Hell, the boss back at HQ has a vivisected mimic-pencil sharpener preserved in amber as a desk ornament. It’s pretty neat. And what these dissections show is that mimics keep a lot of the original object. They splice nervous systems and strange discombobulated muscular fibres onto hard inanimate structures and somehow it just works. As to why they seem to pick the right objects at the right time? Maybe they don’t. Maybe this shit’s everywhere and it just needs the right conditions to flourish. Maybe your computer mouse is trying to turn into a deadly predator but it just can’t because every time you use it, it agitates all those little microbial construction workers and it all comes falling apart. But the smarter amongst you will realise this still doesn’t answer Jacob’s question. It might be the how, but it doesn’t really do the why. I mean, after all, where does it go? They don’t have stomachs. Not really. They’re like arachnids. They suck this stuff up and it just… goes. Somewhere. We think. There’s one more theory. People don’t talk about it, not even in the agency, but I think push come to shove, just about any field agent worth his salt would admit to it being the most likely explanation. The scientist who came up with it disowned his own theory just a few days after first posting it to the message boards but I always suspected it wasn’t because he thought it was naff. He just didn’t like it being tied to his name. Can’t say I blame him either. Anyway, he posited that mimics aren’t separate organisms at all. That they’re a projection of something. The reason why they pick specific objects is because there is an intelligence behind them, behind all of them as a matter of fact. They aren’t independent organisms, they’re more like proboscises attached to a single source. That’s why we can’t find where the digested food goes, he says. It’s getting sucked out of the physical world in front of us and redirected somewhere else. The thought of every mimic ever caught being nothing more than a tentacle belonging to some unseen force, it fit a lot of facts but it sure as shit didn’t make that scientist any friends. The implication that this thing is intelligent, that it has some kind of memory and might remember us agents, what we do… We don’t talk about it much. No one likes to think these things might be able to hold a grudge. - When I awoke it was to the sound of Jacob screaming and for a few brief seconds, I expected to see blood splashed across the floor. It just made sense to me that that kind of gut wrenching squeal would come with a great big helping of blood and broken bones. Instead, when I opened my eyes and scanned the horizon, I was greeted with an even bigger shock. The chapel was about thirty feet away. I threw myself onto my feet and suppressed the feeling of revulsion that swept over me. Letting that thing get so close… God I felt like I’d woken up to a bit fat hairy tarantula crawling right towards my mouth. All I had to survive were my wits and my senses and I’d practically thrown both away by letting myself fall asleep without first waking Jacob to stay on watch. Still, no use giving into hysteria, I decided. I stood where I was and caught my breath and calmed down, even as the chapel continued to grind towards us. Up close that thing was almost grotesque. I don’t know how to put it except that it was messy. The thatch roof was frayed and peeling, and every white-washed brick looked somehow misplaced. The building itself was easily four hundred years old and must have predated silly ideas like blue prints and architecture. It was surely cobbled together piecemeal by rural villagers centuries ago until some other force had animated it. Its many arching windows reminded me of the clustered black eyes of a spider, lacking any sign of symmetry and intelligent thought. It was stupid but it really did make me think of something pulled outta the ocean trenches, like a venomous little anemone. Even as I looked, up close at last, I could see the slightest hint of pulsating webbing behind the dusty stained glass. Veins, perhaps, used to pump blood around this impossible creature. Behind me, Jacob was hyperventilating but at least his crying had stopped. Without me telling him, he started to reach down and grab his bags off the floor, which was good. As much of a disaster as this trip was turning out to be, at least he’d bounced back after his first freak out. “Throw me that bag,” I said, pointing to the duffel he held in his hand. He did and I reached in to take out yet another grenade. This time the chapel did not stop. I considered throwing the explosive any way, trying to hurl it straight through one of the windows now the door was shut. But our supplies weren’t infinite. And it’s not like it made a difference last time. “I don’t understand,” Jacob cried. “It stopped last time! It was scared! What’s changed?” “I don’t think it was ever scared,” I said, snatching my things up from the floor as the chapel came closer with every second. “We might be able to keep ahead of it now, but it’s a long hike to the nearest farmhouse. “Come on,” I added sternly. “If we’re quick, we’ll get there before nightfall.” - “Jacob,” I said, nudging him with my elbow and gesturing to the nearby cliff. The stepped rocks made for a surface that was close to vertical, but which could easily be clambered over, one by one, by a person without any gear. “What do you think?” He glanced over at the chapel that trailed relentlessly behind us. It had not stopped for three hours and neither had we, and while we could not be sure of exact measurements, I was certain that slowly, maybe at no more than an inch per hour, the distance was closing. “I feel like I need a break, even if just for a few minutes, to clear my head. If it forces that thing to reroute and buy us time to catch our breath, it’s worth it,” he replied. “I agree,” I said, stepping off the trail and heading towards the cliff. Both Jacob and the chapel followed. Any other time in my life and I would have looked at a series of five foot climbs as nothing to worry about. Scaling fences and gates is part of the job, and while I’m hardly an athlete, I’m not out of shape either. But something about stopping to gauge the distance, and then awkwardly pushing myself up one elbow at a time… slowing down felt risky, and coming to a complete stop to climb a vertical distance felt outright crazy. I just had to hope it would all pay off in the end. Jacob caught up with me quick enough on the first little step. Without taking even so much as a breath, we both grabbed a hold of the next ledge and began to haul ourselves up. By that point I was sweating and very clearly out of breath, and Jacob wasn’t faring much better, but we’d already climbed a good distance and I couldn’t resist the urge to look back and see how the chapel would handle our diversion. I wished I hadn’t. The chapel didn’t even slow. It scaled the first step as easily as it moved across open terrain. How it did it, I can’t be sure. It lumbered the front of itself up at a 45 degree angle, and then slowly went all the way vertical. Unlike us, it did not stop at each ledge. The flat surface was too small to factor in for something that size. And unlike us, it didn’t seem to find fighting gravity remotely difficult. For a moment there, I caught sight of its underneath and glimpsed a crawling mass of spidery legs that writhed over each other in an impossible swirl of glistening black. It repulsed me, like watching a starfish’s thousand little suckers grope and fumble for purchase on a glass tank. Unlike Jacob, who had responded instantly to the chapel, I faltered as the thought of falling into that hive of clicking shapes paralysed me with disgust. It didn’t last long, but every foot of distance mattered. Our plan had backfired, badly. The chapel had no issue with vertical surfaces whereas we did. We had stumbled into one of the few scenarios where, if we weren’t quick, that thing would quickly run us down. “Get your fucking ass going!” Jacob cried, and I snapped out of my mortal panic and rushed over to the next ledge. Without giving it too much thought, I threw my backpack away along with any other supplies I carried, and dragged myself up and over the stony outcrop. I was barely on my feet when I heard the sound of my belongings being crushed. I only had one last ledge to go, and already Jacob was at the top of it all, reaching down to help. Fighting the urge to look back one more time I ran and jumped and went to grab his forearm. My hand clasped firmly around his wrist, and together we began to haul me up while my feet scrabbled for purchase on the stone. Along the way, my toes slid into a crevasse and while it helped me push a little farther, it was uneven and my foot slid too far down into the wedge. To my horror, when I tried to tug it free, it wouldn’t come. “I’m stuck,” I cried, surprised to hear myself sound so afraid. Jacob knew what to do. Both hands wrapped around my arm, he pulled with all his strength and I gave it everything I had. We both understood the situation implicitly – it was better to tear my damn foot off than let it slow us down by even a single second. It came free in the end, but not without injury. As I rolled over the final ledge and tried to crawl back up onto my feet, I saw that I had lost a shoe and most of the skin along my ankle. “Fuck fuck fuck,” I hissed, tentatively reaching out to touch it. It needed dressing. It needed wrapping. It needed disinfecting. Do we have ice? I wondered, before suddenly realising I was in shock and thinking stupid things. Thankfully, Jacob put one arm under my shoulder and was already hobbling me along before the chapel crawled over the final outcrop, righting itself with a thunderous crash. After a few steps I found my foot could bear a little weight, and so I began to hop away on my own. I had to ignore the terrified expression on Jacob’s face when he looked back on me and the chapel from up ahead. He didn’t even have to say it. I knew it as well as he did. The chapel had closed over half the distance. - “I’m getting too old for this,” I said as I limped along, breath ragged as I fought to keep pace with Jacob. “You’re not even forty,” he grumbled. “Yeah but every fuck up made so far has been made by me,” I hissed. “The cliff. Falling asleep on watch…” “You said the others weren’t like this.” “They’re not,” I said. “Not even close. If…” If you get out of here alive. I stopped myself from saying it but the damage was done. The silence between us hung heavy for long enough to let me know Jacob had absorbed that one little word and all its hidden meanings. “Look,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about the job when you get out. There ain’t nothing out there that’ll bother you after this. You’ll still need supervision but you can rest assured you’re personally up to the task.” “So you’ll give me a good reference?” “Fuck yes,” I said. “Best of the best.” I wanted to broach the topic of how Jacob would contact the agency on his own. What passcodes to use. What names to ask for. But I could see he was still stressed, so I didn’t push it. As it was, Jacob kept drifting ahead of me. Sure, I was putting in a good effort but at best I was only delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later I’d be caught, and it’d be best if the guy knew how to make arrangements all on his own. “Do you still have that grenade?” Jacob asked. Surprisingly, I did, having returned it to my pocket and not my bag. Probably not the smartest thing to do, I figured, but then again I might just prefer having a nasty accident instead of falling under that monster’s tread. “Yeah,” I said. “But it ain’t gonna work, you know that don’t you? Whatever’s in those doors, we can’t touch it.” “I’m not thinking about the doors.” Jacob gestured to another rocky hill in the distance. “Another cliff,” he said. “This one we’d have to go down. I know that thing went up nice and easy but… I mean, it must be unstable going down one, right?” “What are you thinking?” “I’m thinking that thing has vulnerable than when it’s sliding down rock at a near ninety-degree angle. We just need something to pry it loose.” - Going down a set of stepped cliffs was no easy feat with my bad ankle, but my urgency was such that I didn’t mind basically falling the several feet down each one and landing on my hands and knees. It hurt like hell, and on the second one I knocked my head so hard I wanted to roll over and be sick. But it was better than the alternative, and even as I fumbled to reach the third, the chapel crested the highest ledge and its shadow fell across me. “You ready for this?” Jacob asked. He was stood up, grenade in hand, having waited anxiously for me to catch up two ledges down. “You said five seconds, right?” “Yeah I’m ready,” I said, like I was somehow impressive. My part in the plan involved crawling as hard and as fast as I could down each rocky step while hoping to hell I didn’t kill myself. It was Jacob who had to wait until the chapel was as close as possible before plopping the live explosive on the shelf above and legging it just like me, hopefully avoiding any injury. Truth be told, calling it a ‘plan’ might have been a little generous. But you have to understand, we hadn’t been able to stop or even think for more than a few seconds at a time. The chapel came onwards, and as soon as I heard the flick of the pin, I began to move, lowering myself feet first while I anxiously counted to five in my head. Soon enough Jacob followed after me and, to my amazement, grabbed my collar with one hand and hauled me alongside with him. It was an incredible feat of strength, even if I wound up breaking three ribs and a fair few fingers as we both basically underwent a controlled fall. I can’t say how far we got, or whether we were protected by the rocks or distance, or what. But after what felt like a painful eternity, there was a muffled thump and we both looked up to see the chapel leaning forward at a strange angle. “Shit.” I think it was me who said it. From the looks of it, the plan had worked, and the enormous building had lost whatever grip it had on the stone and was now beginning a head-first plunge down the jagged rock face. But we had neglected to consider that we were right in the damn thing’s path. I considered tucking myself into the rocky outcropping and hoping that the building would roll right over me without harm, but even just a fleeting glimpse of its blackened limbs flailing around in a desperate hope for purchase made me think otherwise. I could easily imagine those needle sharp proboscises snagging my skin and dragging me down with it. Jacob, however, came through. He never stopped pulling me by the collar and in the end he threw me sideways. I say throw, it was more like a tumble off to the side. But I don’t think you can appreciate how hard it must have been for him to do. He saved my life in that moment, getting me out of the way so that the chapel went tumbling past leaving us both unharmed. By the time the dust cleared we were both left bleeding and bruised half-way down the rocky steps, looking at the chapel as it lay on its back squirming like a horse-show crab stuck in the sun. It had millions of limbs buried under that floorboard, most as wide as needles, some as thick as a thumb. Where they came from or how they were organised, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t even like looking at them. They made my skin crawl. Still, I began to laugh as we stared at it trying to rock itself back upright, smashing its roof and walls to bits. If it kept at it, it would soon kill itself without any help from us. Jacob started to cheer and this time I decided to join in. - We made our way down the cliff, and by the time we reached the bottom the chapel had stopped rocking and some of its legs had started to wither. I’d never seen anything like it, but I couldn’t stop myself from thinking that the mimic had decided to abandon the chapel entirely. I watched as it slowly withdrew its legs back inside the floorboards and out of sight, and I had the sense we were watching this thing accept its final defeat. “Fucking hell,” Jacob cried, stepping forward as he strained to pick out the strange sounds coming from behind the glass. “I think it’s dying?” “That or going back where it came from,” I said, soon expecting a flurry of questions. Jacob was definitely curious, and this time I’d have no problem sharing all my thoughts with him. Only the questions never came. When I finally made eye contact with Jacob he was looking paler than ever with eyes as wide as marbles. By the time I saw the pulsating web of flesh that crept around the back of his head, slowly flowing around his ears like melting silly putty, it was too late. There was a sound like a rubber band snapping and he was snatched backwards, hurtling through the open door of the chapel like a sideways bungee jumper. He’d been grabbed from over a hundred feet away. Whatever had happened, it was the mimic’s final act. As the door slammed shut, it folded the last of its legs up into its insides and all movement ceased. It was, and of this I’m incredibly sure, an act of spite. One that not only shocked me with fear, but left me feeling like my chest was going to crumple in on itself. I hadn’t liked Jacob much at the start, but I would’ve been dead long ago without him. And he’d shown himself to have great potential. I’d already begun planning how I would help him rapidly rise through the ranks of the agency. With any luck, he’d have a career that lasted decades and took him right to the top. All of that was gone in less than a second. Despite knowing him for less than a week, I’m not ashamed to say I cried. - The chapel was brick and mortar by the time I returned with help. We traced it to some abandoned village years ago and the researchers would go on to spend months pouring over its tracks and hunting habits. Most of the evidence came from my first hand account, and so I was taken out of field duty for well over a year while being asked the same questions over and over again by slightly different people. It’s weird to say, but I was celebrated. Jacob was awarded some posthumous medal and his parents fed the usual bullshit story about some kind of gas leak. I made sure they rigged the story so it looked like he died doing something heroic, shutting down some valve before it blew up a few residential houses. Still, it didn’t sit right with me that the true nature of what he did would never be known. Maybe that’s why I’m posting this… I’m not sure. Since the chapel I’ve been trying to get the agency to formalise the idea that these things can be intelligent. From there, I hope I might even be able to get them to acknowledge that there’s even more to it than that. A lot of fuss was made over the mimic withdrawing, but it was treated as a kind of spontaneous death. I’m not convinced. It was like it went slithering back to where it came from, and what worries me is that I think it took Jacob with it. Possibly even alive... I only tried once to go back into the field. My partner—an experienced guy like myself—made sure it was only a little job. Apparently some grad students were complaining about missing specimens in their secure pathology labs. We quickly traced it to one of the tunnels in the rat’s habitat – the kinda thing no traditional scientist would ever even consider looking at. But we knew. One glimpse at it and the powdery white discharge all around it let us know. A simple job. Easy too. But it was the note I found, lying down in the matted saw dust and shit that’s stayed with me. The handwriting was desperate, but I recognised it as Jacob’s nonetheless. It’s not eating our flesh, it read. But it still hurts so bad. submitted by /u/ChristianWallis to r/nosleep [link] [comments]

Hi, everyone. I'm running a catalog event on my island. The following items are available for catalog. Full sets include: Dinosaur Toy Dollhouse Kids' Tent Mini Circuit Pop-up Book Puppy Plushie RC Helicopter Set of Stockings Tin Robot Santa Outfit (hat, beard, coat, pants) Reindeer Outfit (hat, costume) Reindeer Sweater Festive-tree Dress Tree Sweater Festive Dress NO STEALING. This is a catalog event so please only pick up the items and put them down. LEAVE THROUGH AIRPORT. No fee necessary. This is a free event but tips are accepted Comment below to express interest. Do not harass me in chat or private message. Please wait your turn. If you can't, then you're not welcome. Items are located on the left beach upon entry. The rest of the island is not available for visiting *If there are any glitches or issues, please let me know first before you do anything so that I can fix it EDIT: Having a a little trouble with the connection. I'll try to get through everyone by tonight. It might be a long wait though submitted by /u/ExtraFluffyButts to r/NoFeeAC [link] [comments]

New here? I recommend starting at the beginning. ​ I click my pen, skin prickling with goosebumps. “You don’t say?” Now it’s my turn to take a breath, to center myself and calm my nerves. “How very unfortunate.” “Yeah, you could say that,” he says, sarcasm thick in his voice. “Please continue, then.” “It… It takes me ten minutes before I can muster the courage to crack the bathroom door. When I do, I do it gently. Quietly. You can hardly even hear the shitty hinges creak, that’s how careful I am. I peek out of the crack, looking for the smiling woman, terrified that I’m going to see her standing in the living area waiting for me, but I don’t. “There’s nobody else in the cabin. It’s just me. So I step out, moving across the hardwood floor. It creaks and groans with every step I take and each time that it does, my heart skips a beat and I expect to see her jump out of the darkness. I’m seeing that smile everywhere now. In every shadow. In every window. I want to shout and scream— I want to call out to my friends in the tent and beg them to pull me out of this horror, but they’re beyond the cabin door. Out there at the far end of the yard. They’re a world away.” “And your phone,” I ask. “You never thought to use that to call for help?” “Yeah, sure,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m on a backwater island off the coast of rural BC. I’ve got great cell service out there.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t get a cell signal if I climbed to the top of the tallest tree. My phone was a glorified flashlight.” A fair point. “Since I can’t call for help, I psyche myself up. I’ve got my hand on the front doorknob, and I’m ready to fling the door open and scream bloody murder, run to my friends and tell them we need to start the truck now because there’s a fucking monster on the island and.... And that’s when I hear it.” His fingers thrum the metal desk. Tap. Tap. Tap. “In the window next to the front door, I see a long arm in a frayed sleeve, with crooked fingers playing against the glass. They’re drumming a rhythm. Something… awful. It’s noise masquerading as song.” “Then I hear her again. I see you, she says in a gravely, guttural voice. The tapping gets faster. Heavier. I pull away from the window, from the door, and fall back into the shadows of the cabin. She must be twelve feet tall because her head cranes down into the window frame, all the way from the top of it. Her eyes are gleaming in the moonlight, darting around and swiveling again in ways they shouldn’t be able to. She’s searching again. For something— me maybe. I don’t know.” The man finishes his cigarette and slips a fresh one out of the pack. He lights it, trembling, and sucks in on the nicotine. His expression softens. “Then she’s gone,” he says. “Gone?” I ask, disappointed. “Again?” There’s nothing in the Jagged Janice mythology that indicates her vanishing and reappearing at regular intervals. “Gone,” he confirms. “I’m alone. Time passes. Minutes, maybe hours. I don’t know. I just sit there in the living room, my ears and eyes straining for any sound, any movement, anything at all. I’m shaking and breathing in short bursts, terrified if I breathe too heavily she’ll hear me. I wonder to myself how long it's been. How long there’s still to go until the sun rises, and somebody wakes up and comes to check on me or use the washroom. I think about using my phone to check the time, but the idea of its blacklight giving me away terrifies me, so I don’t. I just sit there and wait.” “How long do you wait? Until morning?” He laughs. Takes another drag. “Fuck no,” he says. “It takes a while, but eventually I get calmer, or maybe too scared to keep sitting there doing nothing. Maybe I just need to reassure myself that this nightmare has an ending. I don’t know.” He gnaws at his fingernail. “I’m fucking quivering as I pull my phone outta my pocket. Shaking like a leaf. I turn it on, and my home screen lights up my face like I’m about to tell a campfire story.” “What time is it?” “3:34 a.m. Two hours from sunrise, at that time of year.” The man sighs, running a hand along his jaw. “It’s too long for me. I can’t do it, you know? I decide I need to do something now before that woman comes back because I have this horrible feeling that the next time she shows up she’s going to be inside the cabin. She’s going to find me. So I tell myself to make a run for it. Wake up my friends. It’s easy, I think. I’ll open my mouth and fucking scream my lungs out, and that way even if she gets in my way then at least everybody on the island will wake up, and maybe I’ll get out of there in one piece. So I do it, I open my mouth and I scream. “But nothing happens,” he says quietly. His expression darkens. Tears slip from the corners of his eyes, and his lip trembles all over again. “No sound comes out. Instead, a hand that’s long and crooked wraps itself around my mouth. It pulls my head back, and I smell rot and decay and seaweed, and a voice whispers in my ear like a lawn mower. I see you.” Janice. I lean forward, gazing at him expectantly. “How did you get away?” He wipes at his eyes, choking back the last of his sobs. “No idea. I blacked out. When I woke up I wasn’t in the cabin anymore, I was in a hospital bed surrounded by my friends.” “Same ones from the cabin?” “That’s right.” I check a box on my form labeled SURVIVOR. Then I chew on the back of my pen for a second before checking a second box: POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS AFFECTED. “And what do these friends say? Anything useful?” “They tell me it’s all their fault,” he says. “Em mumbles about how we should never have come out to the cabin in the first place. Steve and Haily are blaming themselves for letting me get exceptionally drunk.” He cracks a bittersweet smile. “Everybody wants a share of the guilt.” My eyes drift down to the man’s file. “You said the island was remote. I’ll assume the hospital wasn’t local to it?” “No,” he says. “It was off the island. An hour or so inland. I must have been out for a day at least though, because I don’t remember ever travelling there.” “Interesting.” A recurring aspect of the Janice mythology is a sense of mild amnesia and the presence of minor to severe bite wounds. “What did the hospital treat you for?” He clears his throat. “A mild concussion. And water in my lungs.” “Water in your lungs?” I shake my head, dropping my pencil. Perhaps I should be happy the young man survived whatever terror visited him that night, but so many pieces of his story don’t match the mythology at all. “You’re certain? Water in your lungs?” “That’s right,” he says. “The doctors didn’t understand it either. I never even got a chance to take a dip in the ocean, let alone drown in it.” “Okay, let me get this straight. So your friends pop by, leave you some get-well cards and you get discharged a couple of days later.” I lean back in my chair, folding my arms. “Does that about sum things up?” The man looks away, rubbing his arm. “Not exactly,” he says darkly. “Before they leave, I tell them about the smiling woman. I ask them if they’ve seen a tall woman with razor sharp teeth lurking around the island. Steve and Hailey look at eachother like I must have hit my head harder than anybody thought. The look in their eyes… It's like they’re terrified I’ve given myself brain damage. Steve squeezes my arm and apologizes over and over for doing shots with me. Says he should’ve gone easy for the first night. Hailey agrees. Says I drove them all the way out there, so they should have let me get some sleep.” “And your other friend?” I ask. “Emily?” “She’s standing back. Staring at me, and her eyes are filled with… I don’t know. Regret? But it’s different from Steve and Hailey. She doesn’t look like she feels sorry for me. She looks like she really blames herself for all of this. I say her name, Emily. Ask her if she’s seen the woman because I get the sense that she has.” I slide my pen down my clipboard and circle a word that says WITNESS before annotating it with a small question mark. “How does she respond?” “She leaves,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t think she wants to talk about the woman— at least, not in front of Hailey and Steve. Pretty soon everybody leaves. It’s just me again, in some tiny hospital on the outskirts of nowhere. The only company I’ve got is the apple tree outside my window and the shitty TV. I sleep pretty uneasily that night. Tossing and turning. I wake up at one point to the sound of tapping, and I stare out my window horrified, expecting to see that woman again, but it’s just the apple tree. It’s branches are brushing against the glass. “I wonder to myself if this is just my life from now on. If everytime I hear the faintest sound at night, I’m going to wake up in cold sweats thinking that woman’s come back for me. Then the door creaks open. My body goes into full-blown panic, my breath hitches in my chest, my muscles tighten, and it’s like that night all over again, with the smiling woman where I can’t move an inch for fear. “But it’s just Emily,” he says, chuckling in disbelief. “She pauses in the doorway and asks me if she can come in. I tell her that of course she can, and she does, not bothering to turn on the lights. When she gets to my bedside, I can see her face more clearly by the light of the window. She looks rough. Her eyes have these heavy bags, and her cheeks are all red and splotchy from crying. She’s wiping snot on her sleeve and telling me sorry, over and over.” “Sorry for what? Inviting you out to the cabin?” I say, doing my best not to roll my eyes. I’ve never seen a group of friends with such a guilty conscience. “No,” the man says. “She says she’s sorry for not warning me about the woman. She says she thought the woman was gone, otherwise she’d never have come back to that place.” “What?” I snap forward, eyes latching onto his. “She told you she knew about the woman?” He nods. “She said the circumstances of her brother’s death were different than she’d originally told us. He didn’t drown— not accidentally. He was murdered. A woman attacked them on the beach, a woman with a terrible smile and this tangle of black, messy hair that covered her face. She dragged Em’s brother backward through the sand, muffling his screams with her hand, and then held him under the surf. She kept him there until he stopped moving. Then, she let the tide take him away.” “Disturbing,” I say. “And she never brought this up to her parents?” "She did. Her father told her it was just her imagination. He said that her brother had fallen into the ocean and gotten swept away, and it was already hard enough to deal with without Emily adding to it. So Emily just buried the memory. Moved on." The man looks up at me, his expression despondent. “That’s when we hear it,” he says. "In the hospital room. A tapping. Tap. Tap. Tap. It comes from the window to my right, the one with the old apple tree.” “The woman?” “I don’t look. I tell Emily not to look either. I tell her to focus on me, to ignore the sound. I don’t know what she saw as a little girl, down by the ocean, but I know I don’t want her to see what I saw in that cabin." He shudders. "I don’t want her to see that smile." “Does she listen to you?” He grips a fistful of his hair, closes his eyes. “No,” he says quietly. “She looks, and when she does, she screams. She screams so loudly that the lights come on down the hall, and I hear the night nurse call out and start running. Emily rushes toward the window, I catch sight of it from the corner of my eye because I still refuse to look at that pane of glass, but I hear Emily beating against it with her fists. Clawing at it with her nails. Then the nurse bursts in and pulls Emily away, calls a patrol car to drive her home.” The man takes a breath. He puts his face in his hands and rubs his eyes. “I text her an hour later. Just to make sure that she’s okay and—” “—Yes,” I say, cutting him off. I glance at the folder on my desk labeled CORRESPONDENCE, then down at the watch on my wrist. It’s three in the morning, and I’m jet-lagged. The meat of the man’s story appears to have run its course. “If the texts are everything that’s left then I can read them on my own.” I rise from the desk and offer my hand to shake. He gives it a weak, reluctant squeeze, avoiding my eyes. Then he leaves the room without another word. I sigh, sitting back down in the steel chair. Another long day. Another dead end. I adjust my glasses and pull out the text logs. There’s only a handful of message receipts. The chance is slim, but the possibility that there’s something in there about Jagged Janice entices me too much to set them aside for tomorrow. I begin to read. As I do, I make note of the timestamps. Words do a good job of painting a picture, but time and location lend context to everything. 01:34 Dorian: are you okay? 02:12 Emily: Not really 02:12 Dorian: did you see her? 02:45 Dorian: em, im sorry. that was a stupid text 02:45 Emily: It's fine. 02:46 Dorian: im guessing you dont feel like talking 02:46 Emily: Actually, it might be good for me 02:47 Dorian: yeah? okay. me too 02:47 Dorian: i never got a chance to tell you earlier, but i cant imagine how horrible it must have felt to see what happened to your brother and have your dad not believe you?? thats fucked 02:55 Emily: It's fine. We were never close anyway. 02:55 Dorian: sorry to hear. did you ever tell your mom? I mean, before she passed? 02:56 Emily: No. Mom was already dying by then and dad would've killed me 02:56 Dorian: fuck. im an asshole. how could I forget something like that? sorry agajn 02:57 Emily: You're not an asshole. You're right that I would have told her about Jonas if I could have 02:59 Emily: By then she was so hopped up on painkillers though that I hardly even recognized her 03:00 Dorian: the meds must have been pretty heavy. thats a lot to deal with for a four year old kid. 03:01 Emily: Yeah, her esophageal cancer was bad. She was in a lot of pain near the end and rarely in a good mood. Pretty sure dad was having an affair at the time too. Fuckin prick 03:01 Dorian: im sorry. thats a shitty memory to bring up 03:03 Emily: Dont be. I think I repressed a lot of old memories of her which probably isnt healthy 03:05 Emily: Honesrly, if it wasn't for you, I'd probably think I was going crazy right now 03:05 Dorian: why? 03:06 Emily: I saw her too. 03:06 Dorian: the smiling woman? 03:07 Dorian: em? 03:34 Emily: My mother 03:34 Emily: I see my mother I stare at the last word in stunned silence. Her mother? Could she actually have been the origin of the legend? I rub a hand along my jaw, considering what I've heard of Emily's history. She had only been four years old at the time of her brother's death when she had witnessed a crazed woman drag him into the sea, a woman who she couldn’t identify because black hair obscured her face. Could that woman have been her own mother? It doesn’t seem terribly likely. But it doesn’t seem impossible either. Children often reframe moments of terror in a bid to understand the incomprehensible. I reach for my briefcase, unclasping the latches on the front and pulling out my laptop. I take a breath and then open up the database software. Emily’s easy enough to find. Her last name is plastered everywhere across her social media, so I plug that in. The search function isn't the fastest, but it does the trick. It takes thirty seconds for the tiny, rotating hourglass to stop spinning, and when it does I see her. SUBJECT: EMILY KALDWELL FATHER: HARLOD KALDWELL MOTHER: JANICE KALDWELL [DECEASED] I swallow, my hands shaking on the keyboard. Had I finally found Jagged Janice? I pour myself a glass of water, finishing it in two giant swigs. It does little to calm my nerves. Still, it's one piece of the puzzle solved, but really it just creates more questions. It doesn’t explain several aspects of the man’s story. The water in the lungs, for instance. Or the vanishing. Certain pieces of his encounter don’t add up, at least not compared against the original legend. There’s a knock on the door. Three sharp raps with a knuckle. I get up to answer it, thinking maybe the man’s forgotten his phone or wants to give me back my pack of smokes. When I open the door though, there’s nobody. I raise an eyebrow and head back to my laptop. I need to discover the source for these changes, these departures from the Jagged Janice mythology. This time I bring up my web browser, navigating to one of my preferred resources on urban legends. The website's a bit corny, but it's proven accurate, and its community aspect has been invaluable in my research. After some scrolling, I bring up the Jagged Janice article. People can leave anecdotal encounters beneath the main text, and sometimes they do. Usually, they’re all bullshit. One of them catches my eye, however. It mentions seeing the serrated smile, the tapping fingers, and… that they found their infant child dead with water in its lungs. I shake my head. A coincidence, that’s all. I keep scrolling. More keywords jump out at me. “... there and then gone.” “... voice like a meat grinder.” “... to the sea with you.” I pause. Those were the words Emily said, words she remembered when she witnessed her brother being pulled into the ocean. To the sea with you. My mind spins, but a picture is forming. The guttural, difficult to understand voice. The drowned brother. The words. “I see you.” No. She was never saying those words, not really. She was saying to the sea with you. The man misheard, or perhaps he couldn’t properly understand because of Janice’s damaged voice. In his panic he likely defaulted to the simplest sounding phrase. My heart races, I reach for my phone to make a call, to tell my boss what I’ve found. It wasn’t long ago the Facility had an incident with a Man with a Red Notepad, one in which we learned the core principle of all legends and one which cost many people their lives: that legends evolve. If the Jagged Janice legend has evolved, we need to allocate additional resources to locating it and neutralizing it. I continue to scroll, noticing many of the anecdotes have been posted in the last week. Several, in the last few days. If even half of them are true, it'd imply highly increased activity on Janice's part. I hear another knock at the door—three soft raps. I curse, kicking off from my desk and storming to the door, phone still pressed to my face waiting for my boss to pick up. Once more, I swing it open, and once more, I look down a cold, empty hallway. I slam the door shut and stalk back to the table. My phone continues to ring, and my boss continues to ignore my call. It's really not like her, but I tell myself to relax. She's probably sleeping. According to my watch, it’s late as hell— 3:34 in the morning to be precise. That makes me an asshole, maybe, but this discovery is too big, too dangerous to ignore. Janice is out there, and she’s on the move. I've decided to post this before I go. Call it a hunch or a bad feeling, but I want to make sure there's a record of what I've done here. Three more knocks ring out. These are softer than before. More gentle. Almost... taps. ​ x.x submitted by /u/Born-Beach to r/nosleep [link] [comments]

Last updated: 12/07/19 Edit 32: Couldn't help myself. Added Urban Jurgënsen and Manufacture Royale. Thread is archived so no promises, but feel free to message me with any requests! A. Lange & Söhne: You work in investments, but nowhere as common as Wall Street. You have been known to casually ask to compare balance bridges with Patek owners. Alpina: You are subscribed to Outside magazine, and can quote passages from Krakauer’s “Into the Wild” by by heart. You own a pair of serious hiking boots, but they languish in your closet, unworn and unmuddied. You could not afford a Rolex Explorer. If pressed, you would not be able to articulate why anyone would actually need an “Alpinist” watch. Audemars Piguet: You are a rapper, and you think the brand name is “Royal Oak”. Apple Watch: You are either a secretary or nine-figure earning CEO at a Fortune 500 company. You use your Apple Watch Series 4 to track both your weekly jogs and chicken roasts. You are vaguely familiar with the idea that other, “old-fashioned” watches exist, but assume they will soon disappear once they are no longer repaired by their manufacturers. Azimuth: Your two most treasured possessions are an autographed photo of Leonard Nimoy and a replica copy of the Voyager probe Golden Record. You can only dream of owning an MB&F. Ball: As you walk through your LED lit hallway, down the stairs illuminated by motion sensing flood lamps, and towards your basement model train table outfitted with 3000 Lumen overhead halogen bulbs, you’re gladly reassured by your watch's Tritium lume - for the brief second it takes to find the switch. Balticus: You are either a metrosexual 20-something working in Warsaw, or a teenage boy living in rural Estonia. You don’t get to play with your Overwatch team as much as you’d like due to the time difference. You dream of moving to Berlin or New York. Baume et Mercier: You were touched when your wife got you a Clifton for your wedding. You have since gotten a Rolex, but wear your B&M on special occasions. Thankfully, she got you an automatic, not a quartz. Bell & Ross: You think IWCs are a pale imitation of a Boeing 767 flight instrument. You want to wear the entire flight panel. Blancpain: Let’s be real, unless you're Vladimir Putin, the only watch you wear from this brand is the Fifty Fathoms - and it never goes near water. Bovet: You are the president of an esteemed French bank, say, Société Générale. While browsing the shops near your villa in Nice, you came across a lovely Fleurier, which you bought without even considering a discount. So much less common than a Breguet. Breitling: You aspire to be a pilot. You think the Breitling Emergency is the coolest watch ever made. You are unfamiliar with the term “in-house”. Bremont: You are an Anglophile. After purchasing two models from the boutique, you are hoping one day to be invited to a Townhouse event. You are either blissfully unaware, or painfully so, of the concept of “resale value”. Though you publicly state it doesn’t matter, you are secretly jealous that Tudor is moving in-house. Even you are somewhat embarrassed by their origin story. Breguet: You properly pronounce “Tourbillon”. You cringe when others refer to dial markings as mere “Arabic numerals”. You wish more people understood the history of horology. Your dream is to visit Paris. Bulova: You are either a middle-aged man obsessively collecting the 1970's Accutrons of your youth, or you picked this up from the jewelry counter at Kohl's - with a coupon. Burberry: You are either a skinny-tie wearing American office drone, or a Chav named Derek living in Slough. In either scenario, you believe the checkmark on the dial exudes class. BVLGARI - Men's: You wanted a watch that looked like a Diesel, but more expensive. BVLGARI - Women's: While you already have a diamond Datejust, you wanted something a little flashier to go with your evening-wear Chanel handbag. You delight in correcting others when they attempt to read the name on the dial. Even watch geeks will admit your Serpanti is kind of cool. Carl F. Bucherer: You are a Chinese national who has never visited the United States. Your uncle’s textile factory has vaunted your family into the upper-middle classes, and it is expected that you project a certain image to distinguish yourself from the commoners. The saleswoman assured you that your Manero is for “a man of distinction” and will fit perfectly with your other internationally recognized luxury item, your cherry-red Buick GL8 Sedan. Cartier: You like beautiful things, and are possibly a woman. Casio: In school, your glasses were held together with Scotchtape, and the mechanical pencil in your shirt-front pocket always jammed, but your trusty Calculator Watch never failed. You are shocked that others are copying your look ironically. Certina: You are the 33-year old manager of a Coop supermarket outside of Davos, Switzerland. While you believe fancy watches are for tourists, your Powermatic was listed “Uhren 50% Rabatt!” and looks pretty sweet. Chanel: When you awake, you reach for your bottle of No. 5 - sprayed at the pulse points - before you check your phone. You love your ceramic white J12 for the way it effortlessly graces most of your outfits. You spend most days at work surreptitiously surfing TheRealReal, desperately trying to emulate your idol, Coco, on the cheap. Secretly, you wish the whole Nazi collaborator thing was just an ugly rumor. Chopard: When you got engaged, you insisted on a “Chopard for Love” ring in a platinum setting. While your finance-bro fiancee couldn’t be there on the special day, he gave you a Happy Diamonds to go with it on your three-year anniversary. He will marry you. Eventually. Right? Christiaan Van Der Klaauw: You are an unusually successful astrophysicist with a NY Times bestselling book. You wear you hair at a rakish angle, and unabashedly use the phase “a priori” in everyday conversation. You actually understand the concept of Sideral time. You first heard of the brand from the oligarch who endowed your research chair using laundered Petro dollars. Christopher Ward: You can’t afford to spend more than $1K on a watch. You’ve come to actually love your Trident. Secretly, you think the new logo makes your watch look like a toy. Citizen: You work for NASA, and your job is to set the clocks on the GPS satellites. Concord: The year is 1986. While all the other middle-managers are celebrating their promotions with Trans Ams, women, or Rolexs, you chose the Concord Saratoga. Placing the leftover cash into Lincoln Savings and Loan bonds and a custom suit with serious shoulder pads, you choose to invest in things that last. Corum: You spend most days at your estate's dock, "working" on your teak-decked Sloop, so much so that your wife - for whose birthday you bought a subscription to Sail magazine - calls your Coxswain when she wishes to find you. You exclusively wear Sperry’s and have been known to sport a racing flag tie unironically. You know nothing about watches. Cuervo y Sobrinos: You are a third generation Cuban-American named Jorge living in Buena Vista, Miami. You drink Bacardi Gold as you grill pulled pork at cookouts and play dominos with your Abuelo. You chose your Rubusto to honor your family, culture, and heritage. Secretly, you’re terrified that someone might find out your legal name is George - and that you speak no Spanish. Damasko: You earnestly believe that form must always follow function. You lament the paucity of good quality, acid-resistant PVD watches on the market. As you wear steel-toed hiking boots daily, you wouldn’t be caught dead handling, much less wearing, a gold dress watch. Daniel Wellington: You are a millennial who is into latte art. You think Humphrey Bogart looked so cool in old movies with his suit and trench coat. You are unaware of the terms "quartz" or "automatic". If you're honest, you had a hard time choosing your watch, as they all look the same on the website. You pay $5 a pop at the jewelry store to change Nato straps, which you recently got into. De Bethune: You successfully sold your internet company - with no revenue, let alone income - for $450 million dollars. You love technology, shiny things, and the color blue. You have a life-size replica of the Star Trek: The Next Generation bridge in your Rec room. Diesel: You are either a teenager with vociferous opinions on the PC vs. Console gaming wars, or a playboy far too busy dating multiple women simultaneously to know what that is. Dornblüth & Sohn: You own a grandfather clock, which you wind daily. Your have the same opinion on Roman numerals as on your ex-wife - cluttered, fussy, and confusing. You drive a vintage BMW - in your opinion, the epitome of a functional automobile - before the snazzy marketing made them much too flashy. Ebel: Fresh out of law school, you just got your first associate-level job at a big firm. You wanted something pretty but professional to wear to work. You are confused as to why on dates, men excitedly ask to see your watch, then get close, look disappointed, and say ”oh…an Ebel...”. Edox/Mido: You are a 23 year old German man, fresh out of the University of Heidelberg. Your starter job and soon to be expiring student benefits did not allow you to stretch for a Longines. The salesman’s face visibly fell when you walked through his door. Eterna: Your KonTiki was a Jomashop 75% off gamble. You have since become a fanboy, going so far as to grow a beard and voraciously reading Thor Heyerdahl's memoirs. You will order a nature survival kit, tent, and water purification pills online before you lose all interest and snuggle back up to your PS4. Fortis: You are a young German man living in Düsseldorf. You saved up quite a few paychecks at your Aldi managerial job to afford your Stratoliner. You wish the SR-71 Blackbird was still around. You have re-watched Top Gun 23 times, while imagining that your handle would be “The Baron”. If you ever actually visited an American airbase, you would be disgusted with the wastefulness and vow never to return. Fossil: You are a 25 year old man at your first job. Your workplace has open-plan offices and “Sunday Fundays”. You carefully buckle up your leather watch before dates, and make sure it shows under your cuff. Franck Muller: You are a jocular pediatrician, or possibly, a professional clown. You have a weakness for Tonneau cases and Art Deco numerals. Frederique Constant: You could not afford a JLC Master Ultra Thin Moon, so you got this instead. You are unsuccessfully trying to make a 42mm dress watch work for your wrist. You were shocked, and a little disappointed, when you learned that the company was founded in 1988. Garmin: You are subscribed to Men's Health and GQ. Before leaving for work, you lace up your running sneakers and strap on your Forerunner in case you can get a quick run in on the way home. This never happens. Your Bowflex sits quietly in your garage, gleaming and untouched. Ginault: You spent $1,449 on a Rolex Submariner Homage. You while away countless man-hours on the forums, defending the brand from baseless accusations. You will ultimately purchase Hulk, Pepsi, and Daytona homages from other brands, and with time, will have spent more on replicas than the cost of the real thing. Girard-Perregaux: You swear that the Laureato is “the next Overseas”, and that the Golden Bridges are an under appreciated masterpiece. You purposely chose a 1966 over a JLC Master Ultra Thin. Secretly, you wonder if you made a mistake. Glashütte Original: You, overall, cannot afford a Lange. Glycine: You’ve outgrown the flashy Invicta's of your youth, but are still hesitant to go smaller than 46mm in a watch. Secretly, the vaguely military associations of your Combat Sub mildly arouse you. If he were alive to see it, Eugène Meylan would throw an egg at your face. Glycine - Vintage: You live in an old age home, with your WWII Purple Heart and military induction papers tucked away discreetly in a corner. You still wear the Airman which you bought on the base at Ramstein in ’49. Sadly, your grandson only visits to eye it covetously. Graham: You couldn’t resist a watch whose crown is easily confused with a grenade’s firing pin. Your Volkswagen Golf has vanity plates and a silkscreened pin-up on the rear window. You have a shrine to your grandfather in your room, a WWII vet with the British Expeditionary Force, though he only got to flee Dunkirk. Even you suspect the “Watchmakers Since 1659” claim is crap. Grand Seiko: You think a Spring Drive is the coolest thing since sliced bread. You frequently photograph your Cocktail Time with your Sony camera or, in a pinch, your latest generation iPhone. You have bookmarked Youtube videos of the Grand Seiko factory - in case you meet someone with a Swiss made watch who needs a little convincing. You wish Seiko would do marketing better. Grönefeld: While trained at RADA, you have peaked as a recognizable, but under-appreciated Hollywood actor. You have impeccable taste and a thing for Salmon dials. You wanted something dressier than your sponsored but boring Omega to wear to the Met Gala. G-Shock: You are a junior in college, or an emergency room physician. You delight in taking your G-Shock to watch meet-ups, to the horror of the traditionalists. You recently took up mountain biking just to post Instagram photos of your watch on the trails. H. Moser & Cie: You have a mischievous sense of humor, and in high school, were known to film pranks you pulled on your friends. You have an insatiable weakness for fume dials. While you can’t quite put your finger on it, you suspect the brand will be worth a lot in coming years - or so you tell anyone who will listen. Deep down, you are terrified your Endeavor might just be a passing fad. Hamilton: You recently graduated college. You spent hours on the watch forums, debating between this or a Longines. You finally settled on the Jazzmaster/Khaki, though the salesman couldn't tell you anything about it. The highlight of your life was when a random woman on a date said, “nice watch”. You almost married her. Hautlence: You have a game room in your Park Avenue, per-war classic six filled with pinball machines. You wear pink glasses, to let your underlings at your Goldman Sachs job know that you can be “cool” too. You are not. Hermes: You are either a perfumer living in the Montmarte district of Paris, or an American woman with an unerringly good fashion sense. Hublot: You are, simply, wrong. HYT: You are a successful electrical engineer with lucrative patents to your name, or an internet startup founder that actually solved and monetized a hard problem in computer science. You love nothing more than to hand your H1.0 over to curious passerby, while pontificating upon the intricacies of fluid dynamics. Invicta - Type 1: You are a non-watch geek dad in a suburban shopping mall. You wanted to get "something nice" for yourself. You find sub 46mm watches "too girly". You enjoy explaining to others, with wide-eyed delight, how your watch is powered by "moving your arm". Invicta - Type 2: You are in high school, without a summer job. You think the Rolex Submariner is the perfect modern, go anywhere, do anything watch. You feel ostracized on the watch forums, but can’t help but smile when you see your Pro Diver on your wrist. IWC: You are openly not a pilot, but enjoy having an altimeter strapped to your wrist. Jacob & Co: You are a formerly successful, now destitute rapper. You pawned this watch at a significant loss. Jaeger-LeCoultre: You exclusively dress in suits, except on bank holidays, when you wear chinos and your Reverso. You are frequently found on watch forums extolling “the watchmaker's watchmaker” virtues. You think 100M of waterproofing is all anyone should ever need. Your will instructs your heirs to bury you with your Atmos clock, as they surely won’t appreciate it. You hope one day to be able to roll your R’s like the guy in the boutique. Jaquet Droz: You are either a well diversified collector, or an Arabian Shiek from an oil rich kingdom. If the latter, your other watch is a Rolex Daytona Rainbow with diamond bezel. Johan Eric: You googled “watch” on Amazon and this is the first thing you found with Prime shipping. In general, you are decidedly not picky, both in watches and in life. JS Watch Co: While you used to have a very generous circle of friends, your incessant droning on about your trip to Iceland and the sweet Frisland you scored there soured even your most steadfast companions. You now spend most days online, nostalgically looking at Tripadvisor reviews for restaurants in Reykjavik, or re-watching the Lord of the Rings for the twelfth time. Junghans: You were just hired by a big design firm, but on a starter salary. You visit your local art museum on “free admission weekends”, and hang around free gallery shows. You have a small tattoo on your right bicep. You hope to upgrade to a Nomos one day. Klasse14: You favorite Instagram influencer subtly bombarded you with sponsored posts showcasing the brand. You hope your Miss Volare will one day star in your own epic selfie in front of the Eiffel Tower. Kobold: Your “keeper” test is if she’ll watch all six seasons of the Sopranos with you. Your most treasured possession is an autographed napkin from the late, great, James Gandolfini. Since his passing, your interest in the brand has cooled, and secretly, you worry that your Spirit of America is just a more expensive Shinola. Laco: As you gaze admiringly at the Saarbrücken on your wrist, you find yourself wondering: Was Hitler really that bad? Lip: You are a Frenchman originally from Toulouse. You work for the Bureau of Weights and Measurements, converting metric measurements to Napoleonic Mesures Usuelles for those still living in the First Republic. While you would prefer to wear an Omega, you can only imagine the shocked “Non!” That would emanate from the mustachioed lips of your supervisor, Gaspard, upon seeing it, and you’d rather avoid an employee tribunal. You’d win, but it’s a hassle. Longines: You just got your first job out of college. You are looking for something classy and professional to go along with your first real suit. You will one day own a JLC. Lorus: You are a street-peddler living in Hyderabad. You cannot afford a Seiko 5, but not for any reason that would be remotely funny. Luminox: You constantly talk about “doing an Ironman”. You sleep in a Naval Academy t-shirt and proudly fly the “thin blue line" US flag on your porch. You make vague allusions to former service when asked, but secretly, you were only a mall cop in the 90’s. Manufacture Royale: Liberace would like to know where you got your watch. Marathon: You are a former United States Marine, 3rd Battalion, 6th. You wore this watch on patrol in Kandahar, where your buddy scratched his initials on the case back. This is either a faithful re-telling, or you have entirely imagined the above scenario for color at your current office job. Maurice Lacroix: The year is 1995. Bill Clinton is president of an economically resurgent USA. You just got promoted to Assistant to the Regional Department President of your longtime employer, IBM. Having recently heard about the value of a “Fine Swiss Watch”, you decided to purchase your Pontos after seeing an ad for it in the pages of Sports Illustrated. It feels right. MB&F: You are an angel investor in various internet start-ups. You believe in “thinking different” and “changing the world”. Having gone through the various Pateks, Langes, and Journes that befit your station, you now find pretty much every other watch brand ridiculously boring. You wear an Apple watch concurrently on your other wrist. MeisterSinger: You purposefully wear subtly mismatched socks with your corduroys. You carry your daily possessions in a fanny pack, considering it more practical than a messenger bag. You are perpetually 10-15 minutes late to all your appointments. Secretly, you have a thing for amputee girls. Michael Kors: You are a 16-33 year old woman. Your house is filled with rose-gold colored accessories. You shop at Macy’s, where you purchased this watch to match your handbag. In the watch world, you are actually one of the sane ones. Mondaine: You either have a collection of hair mousses to apply based on the weather, or are an oddly obsessive spotter of Swiss electric trains. Montblanc: You couldn’t afford a JLC. You have since taken to the watch forums, declaring the superiority of Minerva, stating, “it’s over for the over $5K’s”. Secretly, you also hate stacked movement complications. Montegrappa - Chaos by Sylvestor Stallone: What the hell is wrong with you? Moritz Grossman: You are the head of an old family manufacturing firm in Bavaria. Your frauline, Hilda, urged you to finally treat yourself and upgrade from the reliable but tired Swatch on your wrist. Feeling a Lange was too recognizable to the men on the assembly line, you chose the Benu Power reserve, but only to wear at board meetings. Movado: You are either a 21 year old man wearing a Movado Bold at the club, or an 83 year old gentlemen wearing an original Museum piece. There is no middle ground. Mühle Glashütte: Your evangelical zeal for the brand makes you the human embodiment of those “allow notifications?” pop-ups. You dream of becoming a mariner. MVMT: You are a millennial who drives a motorcycle. You have a collection of leather jackets. You hope someone comments on how well your watch matches your sunglasses. Nixon: You are a 32 year old man named either Chad or Brad living in Encinitas, California. As you spend most days on the beach surfing in your board shorts, you have a perpetual tan even in winter. You aren’t into watches, but your Base Tide was giving you good vibes from the surf-shop window, and it matches your leather Yogi bracelet perfectly. Nomos: While you initially could not afford a Swiss made watch in art school, you are now a successful Bahaus-style architect. You have a membership to your local modern art museum. While you prefer espresso, you drink drip from a vintage Braun coffee maker. Apple “Keynote Days” are like Christmas in June. Ochs and Junior: You sincerely collect promotional posters for modern art exhibits. You have an interesting job in either advanced engineering or product design at a well funded startup in Berlin. Somewhat obsessively, you refuse to wear any items with visible brand names. Even you can’t always tell what the hell the date is on your perpetual calendar. Oris: You are frequently found on watch forums, starting, “Why buy an Omega when you can get virtually the same quality for half the cost?” You think the Sixty Five is exactly what your grandfather would’ve worn - if he was cooler, and not a rural school teacher from Iowa. You are secretly trying to save for a Rolex Sub, but need the cash for your PADI training. Omega: You are intimately familiar with all 12 manned Apollo missions. You eagerly anticipate the next James Bond film. You refer to your Seamaster as “the thinking man’s Sub, with a better movement”. Bonus points if you know who George Daniels is. Orient: You are a senior in high school. You love your Bambino, but as you know watches, you don’t claim it’s equivalent to something more expensive. You dream of winning the lottery. You are pure. Panerai: You frequently exclaim, “What’s the point of wearing a watch if no one sees it?” You live in California, and exclusively wear short sleeves. You are unusually familiar with the Italian Navy’s WWII operations, glossing over the period 1940-1943. Parmigiani Fleurier: You are the scion of an old, proud Italian banking family. While you of course have a few Patek’s tucked away in the vault at your Lago Maggiora villa, your father, Luca, gifted you your Tonda Tourbillon because he errantly believed it was an Italian brand “like from the old days, bene!” You don’t have the heart to correct him. Parnis: You desire a replica Daytona, but your country’s customs force is extremely efficient at confiscating goods that violate trademarks. Patek Philippe - Type 1: You took off from work to watch the Henry Graves Super Complication auction livestream. You think the Nautilus is overvalued, preferring the khaki green Aquanaut instead. You are possibly John Mayer, but if not, you hope one day to actually own your own Patek. Patek Philippe - Type 2: You are a Russian oligarch. You assert that a hacking seconds “damages the movement”. Though you’ll never say so openly, you are secretly jealous of the finishing on a Lange. You feel reassured when you see one of those “For the next generation” ads. Philippe Dufour/Laurent Ferrier/F.P. Journe: You are a Russian oligarch, but with exquisite taste. Piaget: You claim that the Calatrava and Patrimony "smell of old man". You frequently end arguments with "yeah, but...thinest movement in the world." You cannot actually afford a Calatrava or Patrimony. Poljot: In the old days, you were a MiG-23 fighter pilot for the Motherland. Your Poljot, along with your state-issued Volga GAZ-24 sedan, marked you as a man of importance among the proletariat. Sadly, in your current job as grocery store guard, only the old babushkas recognize your former glory. It would kill you to know that 30-year old gamers bought your watch online because they thought the Cyrillic on the dial looked cool. Rado: You are a material scientist tenured at a prestigious university. You have no interest in watches, but could not pass up the mystery and wonder of a watch that never scratches. Everything from your pots to your pants are coated in Teflon. Raymond Weil: Are you sure you aren’t wearing a Maurice Lacroix with Roman numerals? RGM Watch Co: You are a 62-year old Boomer living in Pittsburgh, PA. As you are retired - with pension - from your job as a chemical engineer for US Steel, you have plenty of time to hobnob on Timezone.com. You post multiple photos of your 801-COE in various lights, to the eager approval of all twelve forums members. You can’t tell anyone, but you voted for Donald Trump. Richard Mille: If you weren’t an American billionaire, you’d probably be buying an Invicta - with the logos removed, you surely couldn’t tell the difference. You make sure to wear your watch when interviewed by Fortune, with the sleeves of your silk Dolce & Gabana shirt rolled up. Roger Dubuis: You are a Argentinian Striker, recently relocated to the UK with Manchester United. Stacy, your loyal WAG, got you the Excalibur after you instructed your assistant to leave notes around your Wilmslow mansion with explicit purchasing instructions. All involved acted surprised on your birthday. If you are being honest, you sometimes confuse it with your Richard Mille. Roger W. Smith: You are the scion of a Japanese telecommunications fortune. You love discussing horology, but only online. You are that unusual combination of billionaire and introvert, perhaps due to your secret insecurity in your own abilities. You fantasize about how one day, Otuo-San will notice your Series 2, and nod approvingly at you with his tight-lipped grimace. In your own quiet way, this is how you show off. Rolex - Sub (Ha!) Type A: ROLEX ROLEX ROLEX. YOU CAN’T BUY ANYTHING BUT A ROLEX IT’S THE ONLY THING WITH RESALE VALUE. HAVE YOU SEEN MY TWO-TONE SUB WITH THE CYCLOPS? I LIKE IT ‘CAUSE IT HAS WRIST PRESENCE. Rolex - Sub Type B: You frequently re-watch all Sean Connery Bond films, asserting that Daniel Craig is not a “real” Bond. You know the difference between the 1016 Caliber 1560 and 1016 Caliber 1570. You believe steel can stretch with minimal effort. You prefer watches with rusted dials and no date. As you frequently speak full sentences consisting solely of reference numbers, it is assumed by passerby that you work for a secretive government agency. Rolex - Sub Type C: You are a successful Italian-American contractor. You wear a two-tone Datejust - your only watch - which never leaves your wrist. On vacation at the resort in Cabo, you make sure your wrist is angled properly so the waiter can see it when taking your order. Rolex - Sub Type D: When you found out your wife was pregnant, you rushed to purchase a "birth year" Sub. Your son will not get to wear it until you are dead. Rolex - Sub Type E: You are a researcher who spends all day next to an MRI machine. While you never wore a watch before, you found yourself suddenly desperate for one after seeing an eerily personalized ad for the Millgauss pop up on Facebook. After the initial triumphant forum pic, the novelty wore off, and most days you just check the wall clock. Romain Jerome: You have no compunctions wearing a watch made from the Titanic. You have more money than sense. Scuderia Ferrari: Your friends know not to utter the word “Lamborghini” for fear of starting a rant. Your firstborn son is named Enzo. Your Pilota watch, Ferarri ball-cap, keychain, and limited edition Scuderia Ferrari for Ray-Ban aviators all proudly accompany you as you step into your 2004 Honda Civic. Seagull: It took quite a few shifts at the Dairy Queen, but you finally got your Ocean Star. You feel like you need a dress piece too, but are unsure when you’d ever wear it. One day, with a JLC on your wrist, you will look back upon this time wistfully. Seiko: You are starting college this Fall. You spend most days on watch forums, hoping to find newbies asking for help so that you can steer them your way. You think the Seiko 5 is the best value per dollar in horology. Deep down, you know that if you ever won the lottery, you’d trash them all for a stable of platinum Langes. Sekonda: On the way to a job interview as a Transport of London station cleaner, you decide a watch will make you look more reliable. You grab the cheapest Sekonda Classic from Mr. Singh’s newsstand, and make sure to check it copiously during your interview. You are surprised when you do not get the job. Changing the dead battery three days later, you are puzzled by the Cyrlic writing inside the case. Shinola: You are a Clinton, or an oddly proud Detroit native. You think the “Made in the USA” controversy was a hit job egged on by Hodinkee. You have average sized wrists, but think they are larger than they really are. You have a weakness for wire lugs. Sinn: You are subscribed to the WatchBuys newsletter. You cannot afford an IWC. You post numerous photos of your Sinn 356 Flieger, in a vain attempt to reassure yourself that the acrylic crystal was the right choice. Skagen: You drive a used but well loved Volvo. While you know nothing about watches, you found it cumbersome to check your dumb phone for the time, and began your search for something practical but affordable. As you know the quickest shortcut to get to the cafeteria at your local IKEA - where you get the meatballs weekly - an ostensibly Danish watch held some appeal. You are unaware that Denmark and Sweden are different countries. Speake-Marin: ”A touch loud? What do you mean, leopard print pants with a leather jacket is loud?” Squale: You cannot afford a Rolex Submariner. Steinhart: You could not afford a Rolex or IWC. While you truly enjoy wearing your Hulk Sub homage, deep-down, you question where the line is between imitation and theft. Stowa: You enjoy having an altimeter strapped to your wrist, but cannot afford an IWC. You would love to mention its WWII history, but are unsure how to do so without appearing insensitive. Stührling: American Airlines flight 1257, direct to Dallas, seat 48B. Two hours in, You saw the Depthmaster in the pages of SkyMall and knew you couldn't pass it up. Swatch: You are a child in elementary school, or a successful, established artist. You love color. You have a watch collection, but they are all Swatches. You wish you could buy another one of the Irony whose crystal cracked when you dropped it on your kitchen floor. Swiss Legend: You could’ve bought the Esq. brand chrono - with the same Chinese Quartz movement - for $139, but then it would’t say “Swiss” on the dial, would it? Tag Heuer: Your first “real” watch was a Link, which you initially saw in the pages of Golf Digest/Tennis Magazine. For the longest time, you had a crush on Maria Sharapova. The chip on your shoulder is slightly lessened when you see photos of vintage Carreras online. Timex: You are a senior citizen, or an aspiring US presidential candidate. In either case, your grandson is suddenly asking to borrow your watch. Tissot: You just got your first job out of college, but it pays less than the Longines fellow. You appreciate either classic or ridiculously bold design. After a long career, you will one day own a Rolex. Triwa: You are a full-time Instagram influencer. Perhaps one day, you will regret the purchase of your Donald Trump “Comb Over” watch - but not today. Tudor: You assert that the Black Bay 58 is what Rolex “used to be”. You take pride in the quality of the bezel on your Pelagos. You either never will admit, or say all the time, that you wish you had a Rolex. Tutima Glashütte:As the only way to acquire a Lange would be to sell a kidney, you eagerly sought out an alternative still made in your mythical Glashütte. You fancy yourself a sportsman, though this is usually only expressed by the bench press. While you wear your Grand Flieger daily, if pressed, you could not articulate why, exactly, your watch had to be German. Ulysse Nardin - Type 1: What exactly do you think you are, some kind of enthusiast? Ulysse Nardin - Type 2: As soon as you saw the Minute Repeater Voyeur - with a lifelike orgy scene on the dial, complete with moving “parts” - you knew you needed that kind of artistry in your life. Urban Jurgënsen: Was your watch produced by the Swedish Chef? Vacheron Constantin: You think a Calatrava is an ugly duckling compared to the all-encompassing beauty of a Patrimony. You refer to the period from 1987 - 1996 as “the Dark Times”. You wish resale value were higher, but blame Patek fanboys. Various Microbrands: You are subscribed to the “Affordable Watches” forum on WatchUSeek. You have a Google Alert on Kickstarter so you don’t miss the latest limited release. You are saving for a vintage Rolex, which increasingly appears out of reach. You are filled with a mixture of delight and despair when someone asks, "is that a Rolex?" of your Mk II Nassua. You have a love/hate relationship with Jason Lim of Halios. Various Vintage: You are Fred Savage. You think anything over 36mm is garish. While you wear your vintage Omega (original dial, of course) all the time, you have been known to slip on your modern Rolex Sub for the beach. You spend your weekends at estate sales, dreaming of coming across an unrecognized Patek for $150, which you bargain down to a clean $100. Victorinox: After your brief fling with Chinese watches, you decided it was time to step up to Swiss made. You wear your Fieldforce proudly in Econ 101, desperately hoping Brittany will notice it. Plus, you already had the matching backpack. Vostok: You are a value-oriented teen gamer, or an elderly Russian pensioner. You have 9 inch wrists. Zenith: You make half-hour long YouTube videos consisting of you chanting into the camera, “El Primero. El Primero. First Automatic. El Primero.“ You scoff at the JLC 751A as a rushed copy. Deep down, you believe the world is unjust, and fear your brand will never be properly recognized. Zodiac/Doxa: You are a certified Master Scuba Diver Trainer. You smile indulgently at your wealthy tourist clients, who have Submariners and Fifty Fathoms on their wrist. After you've been tipped, you love nothing better than to hand over your SeaWolf/Shark for inspection, casually stating "This baby's been down to 250 feet, no problems. How about yours?" Edit: Adding some more as suggestions. Last batch was: Frederique Constant, Junghans, Hamilton, Nomos, Panerai, Tag, Tissot, Tudor. Also split Invicta into two. Thanks for my first gold and kind words stranger! Edit 2: Some are disappearing when I make edits, re-added Swatch. Edit 3: Added Bell & Ross, Baume et Mercier, Sinn, Various Microbrands. Edit 4: Added Various Vintage. Thanks agin for the gold! Edit 5: Added Glashütte Original, Jaquet Droz, Stowa. Edit 6: Couldn't help myself, added Jacob & Co, Oris, Squale, Zodiac/Doxa. Edit 7: Added Fossil and Michael Kors. Modified Daniel Wellington. My first Platinum, thank you! Edit 8: Added GP and Zenith, split Seiko/Grand Seiko, and added one more Rolex Sub (phrasing!) Type (D). Recognized John Mayer as the Patek expert he really is. Edit 9: Added Movado. Slight tweak to Hamilton. Edit 10: Added Piaget. Edit 11: Added Montblanc, Richard Mille, Shinola, and Steinhart. Edit 12: Added Bremont, Edox/Mido, Parnis. Edit 13: Added Christopher Ward, De Bethune, and MB&F. Modified Frederique Constant. Edit 14: Added Bulova, Franck Muller. Edit 15: Modified Franck Muller, added Marathon. Edit 16: Added Laco (hat tip to Byki!), Maurice Lacroix. Edit 16: Added Swiss Legend. Edit 17: Added Damasko, Dornblüth & Sohn, Garmin, Klasse14, and split Ulysse Nardin into Types 1&2. Edit 17: Added Ball (hat tip to AudiMars and icecityx1221). Clarified that 12 Apollo missions only were manned. Thanks for the sticky Mods! I am humbled. Edit 18: Split Casio into Casio and G-Shock; added Concord and Ebel. Edited Marathon for clarity. Edit 19: Added Bovet, Hermes, HYT, Seagull, and Victorinox. Edit 20: Added Chopard, Corum. Edit 21: Added BVLGARI, Diesel, Glycine new and vintage, and Rolex Sub Type E. Edit 22: Added Chanel, Christiaan Van Der Klaauw, and Rado. Edit 23: Added Apple Watch, H. Moser & Cie, Ochs and Junior, and Scuderia Ferrari. Edit 24: Added Montegrappa Chaos, Romain Jerome, Stürhling Edit 25: Added Azimuth, Certina, Ginault, Graham, Johan Eric, Lip, Sekonda, Skagen. Edit 26: Added Carl F. Bucherer and Nixon. Edit 27: Added Alpina, Meister Singer, and updated Sekonda. Edit 28: Thanks so much for the Gold! Added Cuervo y Sobrinos, Eterna, Hautlence, Grönefeld, Luminox, Moritz Grossman, Speake-Marin, and Triwa. Edit 29: Added Balticus, Burberry, Kobold, and JS Watch Company. Edit 30: Added Lorus, Roger W. Smith, Mühle Glashütte and Tutima Glashütte. Edit 31: Added Fortis, Mondaine, Poljot, RGM Watch Co. and Roger Dubuis. Edit 32: Couldn't help myself. Added Urban Jurgënsen and Manufacture Royale. Thread is archived so no promises, but feel free to message me with any requests. Last updated: 12/07/19 submitted by /u/jooxii to r/WatchesCirclejerk [link] [comments]

Yep, so that happened. Let's go back to the beginning, starting with how the fuck I accidentally ended up in no-fucking-where Nebraska. A few days prior, I was in San Francisco, enjoying the bay area. Hittin' up my usual stomping grounds, Haight Street, Golden Gate Park, North Beach, and hangin' out a bit on the East Bay in Berkeley and Emoryville. It was my fifth rendevous with the bay during my decade of traveling, and I'd be lying if I said I don't love that crazy ass goddamn circus shitshow of a metropolitan region. Draws me back worse than a goddamn ex-girlfriend, and thats how it feels sometimes when I visit the bay. I had my usual 3-4 day love affair with the bay and decided it was time to hop a freight outta there and head east lookin' for work in the summer crop seasons in Colorado. Had a couple offers already lined up, a sugarbeet farm, another offer at a carrot farm. Mostly migrant work for minimum wage and you can set your tent up on the farm if you don't have housing. I just had to get there. Took a city bus from Jack London Square in Oakland, and got dropped off at the Target store in Emoryville. Went into target, bought a bottle of wine, some beer, some trail mix, sardines, peanut butter, tortillas, tapatio hot sauce, beef jerky, and filled up my water bottle. Went behind the Target and down a hill to the train tracks that lay under the plethora of overpass freeway bridges. Drank a few beers and watched trains creep by slowly, but I was too tired to hop that night and chose to just wait for tomorrow. Found a place to sleep that semi-somewhat-looked like I wouldn't get robbed or killed, and tried to close my eyes. I must have dozed off for a short moment before I heard a voice right beside me. Heard it a couple times but I was half-awake and not quite aware, and finally i opened up my eyes and it was a 70 year old toothless mexican woman. I sat up, and asked her if i could help her. She asked me if she could help me, in which I quickly said no and informed her Im just passing through and trying to get some sleep. She asked me if I needed any weed, and well, I'll never ever turn down that offer. I told her I'd love some, and she told me she had to go a few feet away and get it from her house. There were no houses under those bridges from what I recall earlier that afternoon, so I watched her dart off to see where she was going. Welp, I was wrong, there were houses under there now. She entered into a tiny-house that was just big enough for a bed and a small counter, and the tiny house was on wheels so that you could roll it around town. I'd say it was about 8 feet long by 4 foot wide, as I recall. I was pretty blown away by it and thought it was cool as fuck. Anyway, she comes back out of her tiny-house-on-wheels, and walks back to where I was laying down. She pulls out this bag and its a quarter fucking pound of california weed. She gave me the entire bag and I was like "Are you fucking serious?"...she told she had more, and said I could have the whole bag. Well, fuckin-a, now I have wine, beer, cigs, AND A FUCKING QUARTER POUND OF WEED. Now I'm ballin' in the hobo universe of things.. Woke up the next morning, lit a cigarette, and the old mexican lady comes back out of tiny house and gives me an entire bag of food. Pop-tarts, bottled water, tuna cans, and a few other things. I thanked her so much and gave her a huge hug. As I was thanking her, an intermodal double-stack train crept up and came to a complete stop. I knew that was my train, and that this train was gonna fly east as far as you wanna go, as far as Chicago if you want. Packed up my sleeping bag and the food in my pack, and started looking for the car that had a good cargo hull to sit in. Finally found a car, and waited a few mins before the trainyard gave the train a greenlight to push east and get the fuck out of the bay. Didn't take long for the double-stacker to pick up the speed and soar its way through California and into Utah. Got off the train in Ogden Utah, not far from Salt Lake City. I replenished my stock of beer and water, and decided to sleep at a jungle hopout I was quite familiar with. Next morning, as I was smoking my morning cigarette, I caught some mixed freight that was sided-out on the tracks waiting for clearance, and decided to jump on a grainer car. She rolled at a moderate speed, but goddamn she sided-out so many times that it was like riding a fucking greyhound bus that stops in every little shithole town thats big enough for a gas station and a Baptist church. Took two days on that train to sail across the beautiful state of Wyoming, and let me tell you, thats one beautiful state and always been one of my favorite train routes. I had a few beers and smoked a few joints before, and went to sleep under the Wyoming stars. Sounds kinda romantic huh? Well it was, but what was not romantic was sleeping too late, missing my stop in Cheyenne, and waking up in NOWHERE-TOWN NEBRASKA. Sidney, Nebraska was the name of that godforsaken town. Now I hate that entire state as a traveler, but the town of Sidney is another level of shittiness. All the locals stared at me, would yell things, and the local business would barely serve me even though I had honest money. Just a totally conservative asshole community, and you can just see the misery and depression in everyones eyes...they have weary eyes, they have wrinkles too young, even their smiles have the scornful hint of depression they have in their hearts from living in no-fucking-where America. I happened upon this run-down motel and asked if they had any side-work I could do in exchange for a few days of free board. The owner of the motel happened to be a man of Jesus, a youth minister of the local church, and felt a sympathy for travelers enduring the hardships of the roads and rails. He told me I could dig a few ditches for the church, and mow the grass at the motel, and he'd give me a motel room for a week. Didn't do much during that week....caught a nice catfish at a local pond, but mostly just did more chores and enjoyed the cable tv, air-conditioning, and soaking up hot baths in the bathtub. When it was time for me to head out, I stopped at a Starbucks to get some coffee before I started deciding how I wanted to get back to Cheyenne and get south to Colorado, whether I'd hop a train or hitchhike or both. I sat on the front patio of the starbucks, and drank my coffee while looking at maps on my phone. Just mindin' my own business, soaking up that free WiFi and sipping my "venti" black coffee... "Venti", fuckin prick ass establishment. Fuck everytime I go there I just try to say "large" coffee, and every single damn time the hipster Starbucks "barista" has to smirkingly remind me that its a "venti"...always with that passive agressive smirk, everytime. I want to put them in a goddamn Ric Flair choke-hold everytime they remind me it's a fucking "venti" with that shiteating smirk. I SAID LARGE, GIVE ME THE BIGGEST GODDAMN CUP OF CAFFEINE YOU HAVE, GODAMMIT, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!) OKAY I DIGRESS on the Starbucks hate, back to the story I promise: Suddenly, a cop rolls up right in front of the patio, and I could tell by the way he rolled up that this pig wasn't here for the doughnuts and coffee, I knew he had his sights on me. Sure enough, here he comes walking up to me as if he's about to figure out what kinda terrible person I must be, ya know, drinking my coffee and using wifi with my evil backpack. Cop comes up to me and says "Where ya headed, son?" Now keep in mind this cop was about 3-4 years younger than me, but hey, he's an almighty goddamn officer of the law, and I'm a vagabond with a backpack, so I mean obviously he must be an intellectual elder and senior type authority and I'm just a low-life youngin', right? Calling me fucking "son"....Fuckin-a, the egos on these cops these days. Conversation ensues: Me: Nowhere right now officer, just waking up with some coffee and trying to figure out where I want to go. I'm about to head to the library and use the computers. Cop: Well I came here to offer you a ride out of town. Me: Well, I'm not quite ready. I need to use the computers at the library, but I'm sure I can find my way out of here. Thanks. Cop: I'm not sure you understand me. We can go down to the station and book you as a vagrant, search your bags, search your name for warrants, and keep ya overnight. Now you can take a free ride to the county line now, or we can do things in a harder way. Now, at this point, I knew that redneck cop could fuck me over if he wanted to, and there would be nothing a hobo could do about it. More importantly, at this point, I remembered I had a quarter-pound of weed in my backpack. Not only did I have a quarter-pound of weed in my backpack, but I had this in possession in the state of MOTHERFUCKING NEBRASKA...one of the WORST places in America to get busted with ANY amount of marijuana. I knew I was fucked and had to oblige to his orders. But hey, it's a free ride to the county line right, and then I'm only one more county away from Cheyenne, Wyoming. So hey, maybe this could be a good thing...a free ride, right? I gather up my bag, and start walking towards his car. INSERT RECORD SCRATCH I looked at his police car, and on the side of it read "K9 Unit". My heart nearly stopped. I looked at the back window, and sure enough, a goddamn German Shepherd was in the backseat. Pretty sure my heart actually did stop at that point. I was hoping the officer would ask me to put my pack in the trunk. Nope, nope, nope...he said I had to carry it my lap, IN THE BACKSEAT, NEXT TO THE FUCKING DOG. Awww jesus fucking christ, I swear time slowed down 1000x as I walked towards that backdoor, grabbed the handle, and nervously got inside with my pack. I was trying my best to act calm on the outside, but I was freaking the fuck out on the inside. As I enter the car to sit, I looked at the dog with begging eyes, my eyes begging him to please love me and not bark. I mean, really, I tried to give him the saddest and most honest look ever. Now whether that look worked or not, I'll be damned if that dog didn't give out a single bark. He even put his nose nearly 6 inches away from me, not a single bark, not even a whimper. We pull out of Starbucks/Safeway parking lot, and I'm still kinda worried. What if the dog just hasn't had time to smell it? One mile down the road, no bark. 5 miles down the road, no bark. 10 miles, 15 miles, maybe 20 miles, and we finally reach the county line. Goddamn dog didn't bark or whimper or nothing. I grabbed that pack and got out of that car faster that I could have jumped off a goddamn moving freight train. What a fucking relief. Cop dropped me off in the middle of goddamn nowhere, not a single house or sign of civilization for 10 miles either direction. I forgot my gallon jug of water at Starbucks, and it was hot as hell on the side of that highway. No trees for shade around or anything, of course, fucking Nebraska. So I sit there with my thumbs out, hardly any damn traffic, maybe one vehicle every 5 minutes, and usually that vehicle was some goddamn asshole local that would flip me off, and they were probably only going 3 or miles up the road to whatever hell-hole double-wide trailor in the middle of whatever abandoned pasture they lived in. May I remind you how much I hate that fucking state... I sat there for 2 hours waiting for a ride, nothing so far. Welp, guess what vehicle comes by and finally stops? If you guessed another good ole' Nebraska cop, you'd be right. Thankfully it wasn't a K9 unit. So this cop comes up to me and asks me where I'm going, and I said Wyoming. He said to get in the car and he'll give me a ride to the next county line, the Wyoming state line. He told he doesn't want my type in his county. I'm thinking, is it STILL the motherfucking year 1929 in this place? Yes, folks, I can confirm this to you: IT IS STILL 1929 IN NEBRASKA. Finally I got to Wyoming. Caught a south-bound mixed train with a long string of coal cars, and knew it was headed south to Colorado. Bailed the train in Denver and hitchhiked up north to the carrot field to get my job. Rest is hobo history... TL;DR - I hopped a freight train, fell asleep, missed my stop, woke up in the wrong state, and eventually ended up in the back of a cop car next to a K9 dog with a quarter-pound of my weed in my backpack sitting next to the dog. _____________________________ Edit - Okay, had no idea this post would even get a hundred upvotes, and I woke up to find 300 messages in my inbox. However, I'm extremely disappointed at how many people are calling me a liar or some storyteller. Lying about hopping trains, lying about sitting in a k9 car, lying about an officer dropping me off at the state line, people saying I made up this story to bash conservatives. I'll address these things: Yes, people still hop trains. I know many of you thought that was just something that happened in the 1930's, but there is a still a very active subculture of trainhoppers. I have many videos and pictures on my profile of me hopping trains, and I have dozens of friends that do it also. Yes, trainhopping is still a thing. One comment suggested I was a liar because you can't tell where a train is going simply based on the cars it's carrying, and i hate to bust your bubble but we hobos are quite good at figuring out where trains are going, and we have several ways of doing such. For example, if you see a train in Klamath Falls Oregon, and it's carrying lumber cars, and the front engines are pointing southbound on a track, we know that it's a rain coming from Oregon/Washington and headed south to Roseville California. In Roseville, the train will stop, and it will get onto an eastbound track headed to Ogden, or a southbound track headed to Colton. Same thing if you see oil tankers in Montana or Wyoming...oil tankers pointed south are going to Denver, oil tankers pointed north are going to the oil fields. You can also apply this to oil cars. However, nothing is perfect, and we do get it wrong sometimes especially when a train takes a surprise Y junction. We also have other ways of determining a trains direction and likely destination. Some of us carry radio scanners, and I personally carry a Baofeng digital scanner that I have preset to scan only the railroad frequencies. I listen to the trains talk to the yards, trains talking to other trains, and railroad workers talking to to the trains. We also have a secret publication that has a ton of information about which train to hop and where to hop it at. I can't disclose that book, or I would be banned from our subculture, and possibly beat up or killed. I wont tell you the name of this book, but a little googling will clue you in. But hey, I guess I'm lying about that as well, eh? We also talk to the railroad workers, which can be risky. Some railroad workers will happily tell a hobo which train is headed which direction, and when its leaving. Some railroad workers don't wanna be bothered, and some will even report you for trespassing. Like I said, it's a risk. I only ask workers if I'm absolutely desperate. I would say the success rate of talking to workers is about 50%. Union Pacific workers are notorious for reporting us. Norfolk Southern and KCS workers are usually really nice and will even give you bottled water and tell you everything you wish to know. However, despite looking at the cars, listening to digital scanners, using our secret hobo book, and talking to workers, nothing is 100% when it comes to hopping freight. Now, it seems like the biggest concern here is that it was simply impossible or unbelievable for me to be put in the backseat of a k9 car. Now I don't know if what that officer did was considered unorthodox or not, and I didn't know any better to question it. The cop car was an SUV, and there was a metal cage the divided me and the dog. I was placed in the drivers side backseat, and the dog was on the other side of the metal cafe on the passengers side. He did put his nose right up to the metal barrier for about 2 seconds, which was literally less than a foot away from me and my backpack, in which my backpack was in my lap because there was no room to put it next to me or on the floor. It was a very uncomfortable ride, but me and the officer did have alot of casual small talk on the way to the county line. He told me a little about Sidney, about how the owner of Cabelas lived there and the family started the company by making fly lures in their basement. He also tried to get to admit that I came into town on a train, but I wouldn't confess to it. I insistently lied that I gotten dropped off there hitchhiking, and I don't think he believed me at all to be honest with you. We agreed to disagree about that hehe. Also, there are people claiming that a cop wont drop you off at a county line, especially if you don't have water. Well, hate bust your bubble, but a cop will DEFINITELY drop a hobo off at a county line. The cop didn't know I was out of water, and to be honest with you I didn't even think about my water jug until I had been standing on the road for a few minutes, and then I remembered I left it under the starbucks table after I filled it up at the Safeway Grocery bathroom. I was so pissed at myself for leaving it, but the cop was kinda rushing me to grab my stuff and I had a thousand things on my mind, including that damn dog, and it just slipped my mind. The next cop that picked me up and drove me to wyoming state line did have bottled water in their trunk and they gave me two bottles. Now look folks, I don't have pictures or witnesses to any of that. I know that if you don't live this lifestyle, alot of that seems absolutely too crazy or too wild and therefore it just isn't true. Some of you think I wrote the post just to be political and bash conservative and conservative communities, neither of which is true. I also have a dozen other stories that are just as wild, if not wilder, than that story. I'm not a writer nor do I think I am a good writer. It wasn't an attempt at being an author, and the only reason I wrote it here is because another Redditor at r/vagabond suggested that this was a good place to tell my story, and thats all there is to it. So, you can believe what you wish to believe, and there's nothing I can do or say to likely change your mind. But I will stand by my story and I will promise with 100% honesty that the story did happen, and I didn't lie or exaggerate or stretch the truth in anyway. Whether you believe it or not, thats up to you. But on my dead fathers grave, that story happened whether you like it or not. TL;DR - I hopped a freight train, fell asleep, missed my stop, woke up in the wrong state, and eventually ended up in the back of a cop car next to a K9 dog with a quarter-pound of my weed in my backpack sitting next to the dog. submitted by /u/huckstah to r/tifu [link] [comments]

Every year, a few of my friends rent a beach house for a week to relax, have fun, and throw parties. Last year, my girlfriend and I decided to spend the final night there by camping in the backyard in our tent just for the fun of it. As always, my friend Sweetness, ends up getting his balls busted for getting too drunk and belligerent. My buddy Sean had a shit ton of zip ties in his car, like more than any normal human being should own. So, when Sweetness got rowdy and unreasonably loud, Sean and a few of my friends who rented the house, grabbed Sweetness, and hogtied him with the zip ties. I would go into more information about Sweetness and what else happened to him, but I don't want this post taken down. So I shall refrain...but remember the zip ties! So, after a long night of drinking and smoking , my girl and I retire to our tent and went to bed.... BOOM, BANG, POP! Her and I were abruptly awoken. Our sleeping bag was being hit by roman candles my asshole friends had that I forgot about. Silly me for thinking I would get a normal nights sleep. After about 10 straight minutes of being shot at like we were criminals in hideout, I unzip the tent, to see that the front is singed/burt and my asshole friends giggling like runaway midgets. I was pissed, my girlfriend was scared, and they soon went back inside. I was too tired to make a scene, but too mad to go back to sleep, so I stayed up....and waited. Time goes by and I found myself in Sean's car "borrowing" a bunch of his zip ties. I tiptoed inside the beach house and began zip-tying everything I could. I zip tied the rolls of paper towels, I zip tied glassware together, the cutlery, the TV remote to the fire detector. I zip tied the oven and microwave shut, I zip tied the pots and pans that hung on the wall to the hooks they were on so you couldn't get them off. I passed by Sweetness, who was sleeping and still hogtied, and zip tied his phone to the door handle because why not? I wasn't even worried about waking anyone up at this point, but lucky me, they were so trashed not even a fire would wake them. I combined the zip ties together, and tied the toilet lid down, I zip tied random chords together, people's shoes together, random things I found in drawers got zip tied. Cartons of eggs got zip tied, individual hot dog rolls and hamburger buns; I zip tied beer cans so you could lift the tab on them. Hell, I even zip tied the pack of zip ties I used. After it was all said and done, it looked the SWAT team for inanimate objects came through and arrested everything. That morning, my girlfriend and I left extra early. Later on in the day, I received a bunch of texts from my friends; some were in good spirit, some pissed off since everyone had the morning shits and couldn't pry open the toilet. I think one of my friends had to poop so bad, he did it in the trash, the one thing I couldn't zip tie well enough :(. They had to drive to the closest hardware store for razors to cut most of the ties off before the landlord got back. Oh, yea I forgot to mention, I hid the knives and scissors in the backyard. submitted by /u/RivyGucci to r/pettyrevenge [link] [comments]