Refrigerator Lock

... Standard-Depth MAX 4-Door French Door Refrigerator in Stainless Steel with Craft... the door Personalize your LG refrigerator by changing the color of...°F of the setting to lock in freshness Cool guard metal...

... and locked Confirm closure and lock of shower door Stow items... faucet is closed Confirm the refrigerator is closed Refrigerator blue light on Empty and... front and back window in “lock” position Close the stove fan ... needs to be closed) CD Lock both the door and deadbolt ...

...ระตู Digital Door Lock ประตูร... Digital door lock Automatic gate system Electrical Appliances and Furniture Refrigerator Microwave...

... spied what she it—a refrigerator box walking around on a ... incensed. "That's no reason to lock her away in Wonderland forever!" "... build Wonderland for you to lock children away. If you don't ...

... to the exit. An electronic lock. Four buttons were more worn... any practical use. Besides the refrigerator full of frozen meals, dishes...

... $20). Keep them in the refrigerator for extra depuffing results. I ... products. The patches help to lock in the eye products and ...

... from a decrepit fishing boat. Refrigerator parts, extension cords... Nothing really... is what it is. The lock was still there. The cabinets ...

... from a decrepit fishing boat. Refrigerator parts, extension cords... Nothing really... is what it is. The lock was still there. The cabinets ...

...ักผ้า Digital Door Lock สิทธิพิเ... Electric stove Refrigerator Microwave Oven Washing machine Digital door lock Special Benefits...

.... Somewhere in the table, a lock clicked. "Session concluded," he said... fabric of my hoodie. The lock clicked behind me when I ... got harder to ignore. The refrigerator hummed behind me, low and ... lap. Gauge stopped chewing. The refrigerator kept humming. The furnace blower .... I did algebra with the refrigerator at my back and English ...

.... Somewhere in the table, a lock clicked. "Session concluded," he said... fabric of my hoodie. The lock clicked behind me when I ... got harder to ignore. The refrigerator hummed behind me, low and ... lap. Gauge stopped chewing. The refrigerator kept humming. The furnace blower .... I did algebra with the refrigerator at my back and English ...

... I jumped over the pressure lock out to engage the clutch... the tractor felt like a refrigerator so success. Now I just...

... with a steamer dome to lock in that perfect char-broil flavor.... Boone grabbed a jar of refrigerator pickles from the pantry fridge ...

... jingle of keys in the lock that she remembered Spork was ... from on top of the refrigerator, fur turned to molten silver ...

...ระตู Digital Door Lock ประตูร... Digital door lock Automatic gate system Electrical Appliances and Furniture Refrigerator Microwave...

...ควัน Digital Door Lock ประตูร... 3 TVs Refrigerator washing machine Cooker and hood Digital door lock Remote...

... our comforts such as a refrigerator and microwave were working properly... a small hole in the lock and pulled off the small ...

... only the hum of the refrigerator and the faint, tinny moans ... key turned stiffly in the lock, sticking halfway like even my ... a key turning in a lock. There was no hesitation, just ...

... throat. Across the room, the refrigerator door swung open. Index rummaged ... door quickly behind them. The lock clicked shut. Kuchikusa put her ... to use the authorities to lock you away. A dead body .... I wanted the authorities to lock you away forever." Touma pushed ...

... each piece into a Zip Lock bag. Add bourbon - enough... place the plates into the refrigerator to harden the syrup. Cowboy...

... be grayed out with a lock icon and a tooltip saying... or a special ingredient), the refrigerator/grill menu should show a ...

..., paired with a clear practice lock. Not much to look at... the hum of an old refrigerator. The shop was cramped, claustrophobically...

..., paired with a clear practice lock. Not much to look at... the hum of an old refrigerator. The shop was cramped, claustrophobically...

... other external devices like a refrigerator going on/off drawing significant... particularly ones that won't ever lock up, and in order to...

I am a medical doctor, specifically a forensic pathologist. A few months ago, I landed my first official position at a large county morgue. After years of medical school, residency, and brutal hours, I finally had a steady job with a clear routine. The work is not glamorous, but it is necessary. I examine the deceased, determine the cause of death, and prepare the reports. It is quiet, methodical work, which is exactly what I wanted. The facility itself is located in the basement level of a massive hospital complex. It is a sterile, cold environment, filled with stainless steel tables, bright fluorescent lights, and the constant, heavy smell of chemical cleaners and formaldehyde. There are only three of us who work down here during the day: the senior medical examiner, myself, and the janitor. The senior examiner is a quiet woman who spends most of her time in her office reviewing files. We barely speak unless it is about a specific case. That leaves the janitor. He is an old man. His skin is deeply wrinkled, resembling weathered leather, and his posture is severely hunched. He wears a standard gray maintenance uniform that always looks slightly too large for his thin frame. He moves slowly, dragging a mop bucket down the long, tiled hallways, keeping entirely to himself. He never speaks to me or the senior examiner. He just does his job, cleaning the floors, wiping down the stainless steel tables after we finish our examinations, and emptying the biohazard bins. I thought he was just a quiet, isolated man working a miserable job. But within my first three weeks, I started to notice a pattern. The morgue has a small viewing room. It is a space where families are brought to identify the bodies of their loved ones, or to spend a few final moments with them before they are transported to a funeral home. It is, without a doubt, the heaviest room in the building. As a doctor, you learn to detach yourself from the emotional weight of death, but witnessing the raw, visceral grief of a mother or a husband in that viewing room never gets easier. People react to sudden death in terrible ways. They collapse on the floor. They scream until their vocal cords tear. They hyperventilate. They beg the doctors to tell them there has been a mistake. It is loud, chaotic, and deeply tragic. But I noticed something impossible happening whenever the old janitor was working near the viewing room. The first time I noticed it, we had received the body of a young man who had died in a motorcycle accident. His parents were brought down to the viewing room. Through the heavy wooden door, I could hear the mother sobbing hysterically. Her wails were echoing down the tiled hallway. It was the sound of a person breaking apart completely. I was standing near the reception desk, filling out paperwork, feeling that familiar knot of heavy pity in my stomach. The old janitor walked down the hallway, dragging his mop bucket. He stopped outside the viewing room door. He left his mop leaning against the wall and slowly pushed the door open. He stepped inside. I assumed he was just going in to empty the trash or clean a spill, completely oblivious to the grieving parents. I considered going in to pull him out and tell him to give the family some privacy. But less than thirty seconds after he entered the room, the screaming stopped. It did not taper off into quiet crying. It stopped entirely, as if a switch had been flipped. A minute later, the old janitor walked back out of the room, picked up his mop, and continued down the hall. Shortly after, the parents walked out of the viewing room. I braced myself to see their ruined faces, prepared to offer them water or a chair. But they did not look ruined. The mother’s face was dry. The father was holding her hand. They looked calm. They looked incredibly, deeply peaceful. It was a genuine, relaxed relief. They thanked the receptionist politely and walked out to the elevator. I stood there, completely confused. You do not recover from the sudden death of your child in two minutes. Over the next month, I watched this exact scenario play out dozens of times. A grieving family would arrive, broken and screaming. The janitor would slip into the room. A few moments later, he would leave, and the family would emerge in a state of profound, unnatural peace. I never heard what he said to them. I tried to stand near the door once, straining to listen, but all I could hear was a low, rhythmic whispering. It sounded like he was speaking a language I did not understand, the syllables thick and harsh. Whatever he was doing, it was erasing their grief completely. I asked the senior examiner about it one afternoon. I asked her if she had ever noticed how the janitor interacts with the families. She did not look up from her paperwork. She simply told me that the old man had been working in the morgue long before she started. She told me he had a "gift for comforting the bereaved," and that I should leave him to his business. Her tone was sharp and final, making it clear the conversation was over. But the pattern with the families was not the only strange thing about the janitor. There was also the rule about the night shift. There is a very strict, unwritten rule in our facility. No one is allowed to stay in the morgue past six in the evening. The official explanation is that the hospital cuts the ventilation and power to the non-essential basement sectors to save money, but that is a lie. The power stays on. The real rule is simply that the medical staff must vacate the premises before nightfall. Only the janitor stays. He is the only person authorized to be in the morgue overnight. I learned how strictly this rule was enforced during my second month. We had a backlog of reports due to a large pileup on the highway. I decided to stay late at my desk to finish typing up the autopsy notes. I watched the senior examiner pack her bag at five-thirty. She told me to make sure I left before six. I nodded and kept typing. At exactly six o'clock, the door to my office swung open. The old janitor was standing in the doorway. He was holding his mop. He looked at me, his deep, dark eyes locking onto mine. "It is time for you to go," he said. His voice was incredibly deep. I told him I just needed another hour to finish my reports, and that I would lock up when I was done. He did not argue. He simply stepped fully into my office, walked over to my desk, and reached down to the wall outlet. He pulled the power cord to my computer directly out of the socket. The screen went black, instantly deleting an hour of my unsaved work. I stood up, angry, prepared to yell at him. But when I looked at his face, the anger evaporated. His expression was completely blank, but there was a heavy, dangerous tension in his posture. He looked at me with a cold, predatory focus that made my skin crawl. "The work is done," he said slowly. "You leave now." I packed my bag in silence and walked to the elevator. He stood in the hallway and watched me until the doors closed. That incident planted a deep seed of suspicion in my mind. The unnatural comforting of the families, the rigid isolation at night, the strange behavior of the senior examiner, it all pointed to something deeply wrong happening in the basement of the hospital. I could not let it go. My scientific training demanded an explanation. I needed to know what the old man was doing when the doors were locked. The opportunity to find out came three days ago. We received the body of a young woman in the early afternoon. It was a tragic, sudden medical failure. Her family arrived shortly after. There was a large group of them, parents, siblings, a fiancé. The viewing room was filled with absolute agony. The wailing was so loud it penetrated the thick walls of the examination suites. I watched from the end of the hallway. The janitor, moving with his slow, dragging shuffle, pushed open the door to the viewing room and went inside. Less than a minute later, absolute silence fell over the room. The janitor walked out, picking up his mop. Five minutes later, the large family emerged. They were holding each other, talking softly, wiping away a few lingering tears, but the heavy, crushing despair was entirely gone. They looked relieved. They looked like a heavy physical weight had been lifted from their shoulders. I made my decision right then. I was going to find out what he was whispering, and I was going to find out why he had to be alone with the bodies at night. At five-thirty, I packed my bag just like always. I said goodnight to the senior examiner and walked out to the main hallway toward the elevators. But instead of pressing the button to go up to the lobby, I slipped through the heavy fire door leading to the old supply storage room. The storage room is filled with dusty boxes of outdated medical supplies, broken rolling chairs, and old filing cabinets. It has not been used in years. I squeezed behind a tall metal shelving unit, sat down on the cold floor, and waited. I checked my watch. Six o'clock passed. I heard the distant sound of the heavy main doors locking for the night. The hum of the daytime activity died down entirely, leaving the basement level in profound silence. The cold began to seep through my scrubs, making my joints ache. I listened closely for the sound of the mop bucket, or the heavy dragging footsteps of the janitor. I heard nothing. then, a new sound broke the silence. It was a heavy, mechanical clanking, followed by the squeal of metal hinges. It was coming from the cold storage room. The room where we keep the large, stainless steel refrigeration units that house the bodies before and after examination. I stood up slowly, my legs stiff. I pushed the fire door open just a crack and peered out into the hallway. The main overhead fluorescent lights had been turned off. The only illumination came from the faint, green emergency exit signs mounted above the doors. I slipped out of the storage room and walked silently down the tiled corridor. My heart was beating rapidly against my ribs. I felt a deep, instinctual warning telling me to turn around and find a way out of the building. But the need to know, the terrible curiosity, pushed me forward. I reached the door to the cold storage room. It was slightly ajar. I pressed my back against the wall next to the doorframe and listened. I heard a wet, heavy, tearing sound. It sounded like thick fabric being ripped apart by bare hands, mixed with a sickening, squelching noise. It was followed by a wet, rhythmic smacking sound. Someone was eating. I slowly leaned my head forward and looked through the gap in the door. The cold storage room was illuminated only by the small, internal light of one of the open refrigeration drawers. The drawer had been pulled all the way out. Lying on the metal tray was the body of the young woman who had been brought in that afternoon. Standing over the metal tray was the janitor. His pale, wrinkled back was facing me. He was leaning heavily over the body. Both of his arms were buried deep inside the abdominal cavity of the corpse. My medical training tried to process what I was seeing. He was not using a scalpel, or even using a bone saw or surgical retractors. The woman's chest had not been opened through a standard Y-incision. The old man had simply forced his bare hands directly through the skin, muscle, and ribs. I watched in absolute, paralyzing horror as his shoulders heaved backward. He pulled his hands out of the chest cavity with a wet, sucking pop. Held tightly in his long, blood-soaked fingers was a dark, heavy mass of tissue. It was her liver. The janitor raised the large, dark organ to his face. He opened his mouth. In the dim light, I saw that his jaw seemed to unhinge, dropping lower than humanly possible. His teeth were sharp, jagged, and completely black. He bit deeply into the raw tissue. The sound of his chewing was wet and loud in the quiet, echoing room. He swallowed a large piece whole, his throat bulging unnaturally, and then took another massive bite. I felt a violent wave of nausea hit my stomach. I clamped my hand tightly over my mouth to stop myself from gagging. My brain was screaming in panic. I stepped backward, pulling away from the door frame, desperate to run back down the hallway and find a way out of the basement. I was completely terrified. As I moved my foot backward, my heel caught the edge of a heavy, plastic biohazard bin sitting against the wall. The bin tipped over. It hit the tiled floor with a loud, hollow crash, spilling plastic gloves and empty syringes across the corridor. The sound was deafening in the silence. The wet chewing in the cold room stopped instantly. I froze. I did not breathe. I stared at the open gap in the doorway. A heavy, low growl vibrated out from the cold room. It did not sound human. It sounded like the noise a large predator makes deep in its chest when it is disturbed at a kill. "Who is there?" the deep, scraping voice asked. I did not answer. I turned and ran. I abandoned all caution. I sprinted down the dark hallway, my shoes slipping slightly on the polished tiles. I ran past the reception desk, heading blindly toward the back stairwell that led up to the emergency exit. Behind me, I heard the heavy metal door of the cold room smash violently open, slamming against the concrete wall. Then came the footsteps. They were heavy, incredibly fast, and accompanied by the sound of long fingernails clicking rapidly against the floor tiles. He was moving with terrifying speed. I reached the end of the main corridor and turned sharply into the autopsy suite. I thought I could cut through the examination rooms and reach the service elevator in the back. I pushed through the swinging double doors, plunging into the dark, stainless-steel room. I scrambled behind a large examination table, crouching low to the ground. I held my breath, pressing my back against the cold metal cabinet. The swinging doors burst open behind me. The janitor stepped into the autopsy suite. The dim ambient light from the hallway caught his figure. He was covered in dark blood from his chest to his chin. He was breathing heavily, the air whistling through his jagged teeth. I watched him from under the table. His posture was completely different. He stood tall, his limbs appearing too long for his body. His fingers dragged against the sides of the tables as he walked slowly down the aisle. "You did not leave," he whispered. His voice echoed off the tile walls. "You broke the rule. I told you the work was done." I pressed my hands against my mouth, tears of pure terror stinging my eyes. I was trapped. The only exit to the room was behind him. He walked slowly past the table I was hiding behind. He did not look down. He continued toward the back of the room. I thought I had a chance. If he moved far enough away, I could slip out from under the table and sprint for the swinging doors. I waited until his back was fully turned to me, the sound of his footsteps moving away. I shifted my weight on my knees, preparing to crawl. Suddenly, a massive, blood-soaked hand dropped down from above the table and clamped violently onto my shoulder. I screamed. He ripped me upward, lifting my entire body weight effortlessly with one hand. He threw me across the room. I hit a metal rolling cart, sending stainless steel tools crashing to the floor, and collapsed onto my back. The breath was knocked out of me completely. I looked up, gasping for air. The janitor was standing over me. His face was a mask of cold, predatory anger. His dark eyes were solid black, lacking any white sclera. Blood dripped steadily from his chin onto my medical scrubs. I scrambled backward on the floor, kicking my legs away from him, my back hitting the solid concrete wall. I had nowhere left to run. "Please," I choked out, raising my hands defensively. "Please don't kill me. I won't say anything. I swear." He looked down at me, his jagged black teeth exposed. The heavy, rotting smell of raw meat and old blood washed over me, making my stomach heave. He crouched down, bringing his face inches away from mine. "Do you know what I am, doctor?" he asked. His voice was no longer a growl, but a calm, raspy whisper. I shook my head frantically, completely paralyzed by fear. "I am a ghoul," he stated simply, "I consume the flesh of the dead. It is my nature. It is how I sustain myself." I stared at him, my mind unable to fully accept the impossible reality of the creature crouching in front of me. "I have lived in the dark spaces of humanity for a very long time," he continued, his black eyes unblinking. "For centuries, my kind dug in the dirt, breaking open wooden boxes, hunting in the mud and the rot. It was difficult, dangerous, and humans have always hunted us when they catch us." He reached out and grabbed the collar of my shirt, pulling me slightly closer. "But the world changed," he said. "Humans became organized. You built places like this. Massive, cold rooms where you gather your dead and lay them out on silver platters. You made it easy." "Why..." I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "Why don't you just kill me?" "Because of the arrangement," he said. "I do not kill the living. Killing draws attention. It brings police, lights, and finally... hunters. I only take from the dead. Specifically, the liver. It is the richest organ, holding the deepest essence of the body. I take the liver, and no one notices. Your senior examiner signs the paperwork, attributes the missing tissue to decay or trauma, and the bodies go to the fire or the earth." The pieces began to click together in my terrified mind. The senior examiner knew. She knew exactly what was happening in the basement at night. That was why she was so strict about the six o'clock rule. She was protecting him, or protecting the hospital from him. "But what about the families?" I asked, desperation pushing the words out of my mouth. "What do you say to them in the viewing room? How do you stop them from crying?" The ghoul smiled. It was a horrific, skin-stretching grimace. "That is the price of the arrangement," he whispered. "A transaction. Grief is a heavy, toxic energy. It poisons the living. When I consume the essence of their dead, I create a void. I whisper the ancient words of transaction, and I pull their grief into that void. I take their pain, I swallow their agony, and I leave them with peace." He leaned back slightly, tilting his head. "I eat their dead," he said softly, "and in exchange, they do not have to suffer the weight of the loss. It is a fair trade. I get my meal, and your hospital gets a reputation for miraculously peaceful grieving processes. The administration ignores the me, the senior doctor turns a blind eye, and I eat in peace." "And now you broke the rule," he said, his voice hardening again. His grip tightened on my collar. " You are a loose thread." "No," I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. "I am not a loose thread. I understand now. I understand the transaction. You need me to process the bodies. You need me to sign the paperwork during the day so you can eat at night. I will help you. Just like the senior doctor." He stared at me for a long, agonizing minute. The dark, black eyes searched my face, looking for deception. I held his gaze, terrified, projecting every ounce of sincerity I could muster into my expression. I was begging for my life. "A new arrangement," he muttered softly. He leaned in close, his cold, wet lips pressing against my ear. "If you ever speak of this to the living world," he whispered, his voice vibrating directly into my skull, "I will not wait for you to end up on a metal tray. I will come to your home, I will tear you open while your heart is still beating, and I will eat you whole. Do you understand?" "Yes," I gasped, nodding frantically. "I understand. I promise." He released my shirt. He stood up slowly, the impossible height returning to his posture. He looked down at me one last time, a look of complete, predatory dominance. "Go home, doctor," he said, turning away. "The work is done." He walked back out the swinging doors, his heavy footsteps fading down the hallway toward the cold room to finish his meal. I lay on the floor of the autopsy suite for a long time. My entire body was shaking uncontrollably. When I finally found the strength to stand, I stumbled out of the room, ran up the back stairwell, and burst out into the cold night air of the parking lot. I have not been back to the hospital since. I called in sick for the last three days. But I know I have to go back tomorrow. I know that if I quit, if I run away, he will think I am going to break the arrangement. He will think I am a loose thread. I am writing this here because I need someone in the world to know the truth. I need this terrible secret to exist somewhere outside of my own head, because the weight of it is crushing me. I am a doctor. I took an oath to protect the living. And to do that, to survive, I have to feed the dead to a monster. Tomorrow morning, I will put on my scrubs, I will walk into the morgue, and I will nod to the old janitor with the mop. I will do what is necessary to survive, so, I will never, ever stay past six o'clock again. submitted by /u/gamalfrank to r/stories [link] [comments]

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/Extra_Academey200 Originally posted to r/entitledparents My stepmother said I was being inconsiderate for making myself food after I got off work Thanks to u/soayherder & u/queenlegolas for suggesting this BoRU Editor's note: added paragraph breaks for ease of readability Trigger Warnings: abuse, emotional abuse and manipulation, controlling behavior, neglect Editor's note: adding a prior post for more context Am I going crazy or is this actually crazy: December 4, 2025 So I 20f had a conversation about budgeting with my aunt 22f and we went over my monthly expenses. I mentioned I pay my father $50 a week for rent, but I was allowed to pay $200 monthly instead. She said I should switch from monthly to weekly. About a month later I went on a trip to visit her and I gave my father a heads up that I would be switching to monthly because up till then the rule was I could pay monthly or weekly (he basically said he doesn't care when I pay him just to get him his money by the end of the month). I gave him the heads up because I knew he was used to it weekly. Basically, he went ballistic, said I'm not allowed to. I asked him why, when he told me I could, he just said, " Well, now I'm saying weekly. End of discussion " (exact quote. Also, I'm in another state at this moment, so this was all over text.) I tried calling him and he kept sending me to voicemail. So at this point I told him that I was going to pay him monthly until I get an actual reason. He, in turn, first took my TV, then he changed the lock on my bedroom door. While this is happening, I'm also talking to my stepmom about this, and she basically said I sounded entitled, disrespectful, and ungrateful. Now this pissed me off royally so .. 1) I kicked everyone off all my accounts I let them use 2) I'm no longer helping with random home projects 3) Not buying her or her kids shit anymore 4) Since I'm allowed to cook again I'm not cuz I was making full-course meals and all they did was complain about it taking too long if it wasn't done by 5:30 even though they didn't care when anyone else cooked 5) Anything I buy is just for me I ain't sharing shit anymore Also should mention he banned me from cooking like a month prior for making "too much food" and "wasting his money" mind you I made enchiladas rice corn and pico de gallo. I bought everything for the meal except for like 3 things that were already in the house. I made enough for 2 days, maybe 3 if they really stretched it out, because my stepmom (the main one who cooks, along with my stepbrother and me) said it's too much work to get off work, then have to cook dinner. They ended up throwing out all the food 2 days later. Then he got mad at me again because I made myself food after I got off work. After all, no one had cooked, and there was nothing to eat. He came out of his room at midnight yelling at me, and I asked whether I was supposed to just starve ( I don't eat until I get home from work around 10:30), and he was just like, "Well, I banned you from cooking". I then tried talking to my stepmother, and she was like," Yeah, I don't know why he's like this, but he did ban you from cooking," and I told her I was trying to help, and she kinda made up an excuse to hang up. So, back to the rent thing, my step mom also kept saying "you're a tenant in this house," which I responded," He's my father, and I'm not just a 'tenant', I'm his daughter, and you're acting like I'm a random person who rents a room from you". Then she said I was being disrespectful and that she would never talk to her mother the way I talk to my father, and I said, "Don't compare your relationship with your mom to my relationship with my dad, those are two extremely different things. Last I checked, your mother likes you and tolerates your presence". And she was saying that life isn't supposed to be convenient for you. Now this, this really pissed me off cuz she knew I had as far from a "convenient" life as my mother literally put me through hell for 17 years before she kicked me out. I literally got my bed and all my clothes taken away and was only allowed to eat oatmeal and rice for like 6 months in 5th grade cuz I got in my friend's brother's car. And she knows this to cuz I told her but I told her "And don't you think I know life is not convenient I've known that for a long time I may only be 20 but I've had to deal with a lot and you know that and you act like I'm just some kid who's never had anything bad happened to her " Also, should mention this was happening back in November, and I paid him $200 for the month of October, which he was fine with. I was out of the state for the last week of October, which was the trip I was on. But my step mother said "you decided to be late to go on a trip" and I said " And don’t try to make me feel bad for going to see (22f Aunt) you didn't have a problem with me going to Virginia right after I started at (current job) or whenever dad tries to guilt me into coming to (his home state) even when he literally just talks about me the whole time and calls me names" and she said " Now I’m confused… how am I trying to make you feel bad for going timo see (22f Aunt).. you allow others to cloud your common sense and judgement… okay (op).. I’m done." So now everyone has been ignoring me for the last like 3ish weeks. I ended up just paying my father cuz I was on the couch and it was freezing, and my back hurt, and I asked him if I could get my blanket, and he just ignored me. But these people are truly driving me crazy cuz I don't have any other options, cuz I can't live with my mother since she kicked me out, and I don't have the money to move out. But sorry for how chaotic this whole post was, believe me, living through it is just as chaotic, but I just really needed to vent. Ps grammar police leave me alone ik my grammar is shit I'm not looking to win a Pulitzer just need to vent Update (in comments): December 18, 2025 (two weeks later from the previous post) UPDATE: So in response to some of you only reason I "told" him I was switching is cuz that’s what I had been doing. If I couldn't pay weekly at the time I would send a message that usually said "hey imma pay you 200 at the end of the month" and he would just say k or thumbs up the message or say nothing that was literally what I had done the month prior. Also yes I do live in the states. I refused to cook when I was aloud to again because even prior to the ban they complained about everything if it was done after 5 30 if I made more then just an entree if I was making it homemade instead of from a box or can if I made options. Also should mention I am banned from cooking again cuz when I brought all this up my father claimed he never complained and he kept saying I was lying about buying the majority of food for dinner when I have literally receipts and witness. Should also mention my sister is just like this, a room full of people can say one thing with photographic proof and she will still say they lying. Yes they stress me out to extreme portions. Also with the rent thing he also said he wasn't gonna match my car he said he'd match the price when I get enough money but I honestly didn't think he would. I figured he'd find something to blow out of portions to get out of it. He did this when we were supposed to have a driving lesson my sister snuck someone in and broke his camera and he wanted to act like he didn't know it was her. Also I am now planning on moving in with my aunt in another state. She's been kinda begging me to cuz she worries about me here especially with all the stuff going on with my dad and step mom . So come March I should be moving and her boyfriend is gonna help me learn to drive cuz he started when I visited them a couple months ago. Hopefully thing will start to look up for me soon and I will be going no contact with my parents.   Editor's note: below is the original title post Original Post: February 25, 2026 (over two months later) For context I work 1 to 10 I usually get home around 10 30. About 5 months ago my father (49m) banned me from cooking cuz he said I made too much food since then they have banned me 2 more times. The second was because I wouldn't cook after they lifted the first ban and the 3rd one which I'm on right now is cuz I left dishes in the sink for like 2hrs cuz I had somewhere I had to go. Part of the ban is that I'm only allowed to use the air fryer to make myself food I can't use the stove at all. On Sunday night when I got home, I made pork chops and broccoli in the air fryer and was done by 12 (the rule is I have to be done by 12). Ok, so this whole situation happened yesterday. My (21F) stepmother (44f) messaged me yesterday saying " If you’re gonna come here and cook (in the air fryer), you need to be done cooking by 11pm. My sleep is being disturbed when you’re cooking late because of the noise and/or smell and I have to work in the morning. You don’t get a break around dinnertime? Why not eat then instead of coming here cooking late". I thought this was crazy cuz that gives me less than 30 mins to make myself food which she said I was being inconsiderate making myself food at the end of the night because it smells like I made an entire meal. My thing is why is she concerned when I'm buying all the stuff myself? I asked why she’s changing the rule now which she said "Yes we did say 12am initially but obviously you can’t follow the rules…it’s definitely been after 12am cause I’ve waking up because of the noise and smell and looked at the clock and you were still in there cooking…" which I told her that I’m always done by 12 and if I’m still in there its cuz I’m cleaning up. We got into an argument I said honestly there inconsiderate to me cuz the majority of the time if they cook they either don't leave me food or don't leave much and they don't let me know when it's a fend-for-yourself night and I said "y'all have my number". My stepmom went kinda crazy saying I was disrespectful for saying "you have my number" basically acting as if I cursed her out. Then she brought up how I put "do not touch" on my stuff which I only do cuz they kept eating all my stuff and not telling me and she got all defensive when I asked if they can give me a heads up sking if I ever give them a heads up when I use there stuff which I said no because I just replace it before yall even know its gone. But the whole conversation was like talking to a brick wall she wouldn't listen at all And the majority of the time I tried to say something she'd start yelling telling me to stop talking cuz she’s talking and we just kept going in circles. Ik alot of people are probably gonna say I should just move out and I am next week I literally just needed to vent cuz this was hurting my head Relevant Comments Commenter 1: Your parents are insane, but just think of how happy you will be in your place next week! OOP: I really cant wait and I’m moving like states away and they also don’t know cuz my aunt is helping me move and we felt like being a little messy Commenter 2: Is batch cooking an option until you can move OOP: No everyone I cook extra they either eat it or throw it out saying they thought it was old but my thing is if none of y’all made it and it wasn't there when you went to sleep it hasn't even been 24hrs I’m pretty sure they don't be using their brain sometimes Downvoted Commenter: Eat a sandwich or something that doesn't require cooking. Coming in late and making noise is rude. OOP: The only reason I come in that "late" is cuz that’s when I get off work I've worked the same schedule for 3+ years and the noise she’s referring to is the beep of the air fryer apparently that wakes her up but her son coming in at 3am via the garage door that actual shakes the house and her husband (aka my father) leaving for work stomping around slamming doors and every so often banging on my door doesn't wake her up. Also I don’t eat like all day partly cuz I’m not hungry usually till I get home but also whenever I eat breakfast idk my body just don’t like when I eat before like 3pm. But by the time I get home I gotta actually eat food. Also I do make sandwiches sometimes when I feel like it cuz I am grown I make my own money and buy my own food to eat Commenter 3: Best of luck with your move next week. The peace you’ll have OP! Your Dad and stepmother are being ridiculous. Have you thought about going LC with them when you first move out? It might give you a mental break from their bs. Never, ever give them a spare key. Ever. OOP: Oh I’m going to a completely different state they don’t even know I’m leaving my aunts coming to get me I’m already NC with my father and we live in the same house only reason I’m not completely NC with my stepmother is cuz she goes crazy and blows things outta proportion and acts irrationally. Also only person who's gonna have a spare is my aunt. Feel like I should mention she’s 23 so were more like sisters than niece and aunt. OOP on her job OOP: Yeah I work at a Walmart in my state and I’m cross trained so the one I’m transferring to said that they will definitely have a place for me I’m hoping to get a team lead position or at least be able to be a cake decorator cuz I work deli and bakery Commenter 4: Sorry but....your father's plan was to move out and leave you living with your stepmom (his wife?). Or like they rent and he was planning they would move and not let you come with? OOP: So basically every so often they have a fight, and my father will tell everyone there breaking up (he’s really dramatic) and that I need to find somewhere else to live Can OOP ask friends if they want to look for a place to rent and split the rent? OOP: Yeah that was the original plan but my friends really don’t have a sense of urgency so my aunt has been trying to get me to move near her and since I don’t have exactly enough to fully live on my own yet she’s letting me stay with her for free for a few months then is gonna help me get situation in a new apartment and her boyfriend is gonna help me with my driving so I can finally get my license   Update: March 9, 2026 (nearly two weeks later) UPDATE: My stepmother said I was being inconsiderate for making myself food Ok, so a little update I moved Thursday night and no one saw me leaving. It's actually kinda funny cuz my stepmother had texted me the day before saying once this month was over I would have 30 days to get out. But my aunt 23f came and got me we stopped in our hometown saw some people and got some food. We got back and immediately had to head back out again cuz we bought Cardi B tickets, so we went to the one in Dallas yesterday (we won the pretty and petty challenge 😛). My transfer for my job went through but I can't start till next month. I'm just happy I don’t gotta deal with people I don't want to anymore but I'm just chilling till I start work. Thank you everyone for all the support and kind words I really was feeling like I was going crazy sometimes like I really don't understand how I ended up related to these people. PS. This was my stepmother's last message to me cuz she didn't know it was leaving the next day "It’s been a month and you have failed to reply. You said over 1 year ago that you were planning on moving out…I was giving you the opportunity and time to make plans instead of telling you to leave. I refuse to go back and forth with anyone that I’m pretty much taking care of. You have been disrespectful and ungrateful. You have your Dad blocked from communicating while you’re living in HIS home. It’s the audacity for me. I understand he’s difficult to deal with but he is half of the reason you have a place to stay… It seems like you have burned all of your bridges and probably can’t stay with him when he leaves… but you need to be an adult and figure it out. I have tried to be there for you and have done things with and for you…even making sure you have health and dental insurance…but it seems like you just don’t care. You only pay $50 a week and think you can do what you want.. But I have to tell you when to clean up and even take showers. You have the nerve to put your name on the food items you buy and put “do not touch”…when you’re using OUR refrigerator or cabinets to store them in, the food items we purchase, electricity, water, appliances, etc.. for FREE!!! You will be given a 30-day notice at the end of this month. You have been here long enough and should have enough money saved up. If not, you may want to reconcile with your mother, other family members, or make plans with your father. I’m not obligated to take care of you and I’m done. I have enough things on my plate that really ARE my obligations." For extra context on some of her point first of all I definitely take showers she’s just sleeping when I do cuz I take them at night. I literally wouldn't have been allowed to sit down to eat in the kitchen cuz she had a rule that we can't sit on the chairs (cuz there leather) if we don't shower every day (I couldn't eat in my room cuz my father is a child and can't eat like the grown man he allegedly is). Also, I planned to learn to drive then get a car then move out plan doesn't work when the people who were supposed to help me with driving keep making excuses not to do it ( and yes I tried the driver's Ed but just 1 2hr class was like 270 I can't afford shit like that). also she got on me cuzy father's family came over (like 30+ people) and they all used my bathroom, and I asked for a roll of toilet paper cuz they used it all and she said " So you’re telling me that you only had one roll of toilet paper left? Your priorities are definitely in the wrong place… " like girlie you are not getting on me over TOILET PAPER like how was I supposed to know all these people would be here using up my shit no one tells me shit like wtf. Relevant Comments Commenter 1: DON'T delete that last message! The moment she turns it around and spreads how she loooooves you and has no idea why you moved out, you show this. Commenter 2: Messages can be erased but screenshots are forever! OOP: Oh I screenshot everything I’m to paranoid not to OOP on her dad and stepmother's relationship OOP: Apparently, they've only been married for about a year and a half and have only been together for two. Honestly, the whole thing was rushed, and they broke up about three times a month before he proposed, because he was lying about a bunch of stuff with his ex-girlfriend. But they have been fighting a lot recently cuz again he was lying A LOT, and he was talking shit about her to his family, which I told her. Should also mention I didn't know he was talking shit at the time he told them she was mad that he gave one of the uncles a bunch of money and my dad's family is very ride or die which can be good. Still, they pull that "but their family" crap when they really need to figure shit out on their own for once or learn their lesson (they ask for bail money A LOT when it's shit where they really need to stay there). Anyways she didn't know she was mad at him for this, and he went off on me saying she had no right to know, like excuse me sir she is your wife. honestly we were surprised that not only he actually went through with the marriage but that it lasted this long he’s had like at least 3 gf a year since I was 6 (when I met him, lowkey just showed up one day. I was not curious didn't ask about him he just popped up and started dragging me places) and he be telling all of them he’s gone marry them.   DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7 THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP submitted by /u/Choice_Evidence1983 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

So one thing that irritates me when doing maintenances or any call in general is when the locking cap that uses a Schrader tool is stuck bad. Ive broken a dozen Schrader core tools trying to open caps that were stuck on real bad. May be a small thing and alot of people have told me to just use a self tapper and jam it in and twist it but I feel like there's a better way. Ive tried Klein brand, slime brand for cars and even ordered ones that said they were steel but all of them will end up with bent teeth or broken and its pretty annoying. Does anyone have a Schrader valve tool that is strong enough to break loose the ones that are stuck real bad or on super tight without breaking the tool itself? submitted by /u/Forward_Statement_72 to r/HVAC [link] [comments]

My wife is child free, well employed and wants what she describes as a “cute hot hybrid”. I fully acknowledge that the prelude is a poor value proposition for most people but this fits her to a “T”. She is coming from a 23 hybrid AWD Corolla. It was a great car but the interior definitely felt like a penalty box. She did love filling up for 20 bucks but we never felt like we were in a situation that required the AWD. If the weather was bad enough we have an old F150 better suited to the task. She tossed around a Lexus but we couldn’t find an IS/RC hybrid (and I don’t think they offer one) All of the other Lexus options were massive and she didn’t care for owning an SUV/CUV I knew the prelude just came out with the same powertrain as the Civic Hybrid. I mentioned it in passing. To be clear, my wife gives exactly 0 fucks about 0-60 times, lap times, skid pad numbers, etc. It is a cute hot car that’s faster than her Corolla and might get better gas mileage not lugging around AWD components (she was getting 39 as in the Corolla) We found a dealer with one and took a peek. The Prelude is beautiful in person. The interior looks like my Integra but with blue accents instead of red and with better seats. The rear seats are larger than a BRZ/86 but not by much. Sticking an adult in the back is doable but would be punishment. I’m not sure if an adult could lay down in the back with the seats folded but she’s intrigued. but The infotainment with google seemed snappier than nearly the same one in my Integra but neither are as quick as the system in an Elantra N I had until recently. I’ve never seen a Honda with such an attractive white. It’s a metallic off white with shades of blue. The color is obviously confusing the cellphone camera with the blue tint overall. The dealer required all of the dealer installed options as a way of padding the sale price but she wanted most of those things anyway (front spoiler rear spoiler, overpriced floor mats, puddle lights and overpriced wheel locks). Perception is very subjective but she mentions the Prelude feels very feminine and has “big hips”, at least compared to the Corolla. It’s also faster than the Corolla and gorgeous in our eyes. She says “it glides” in a way her Corolla never did. I don’t think the Prelude is as special as the folks at the dealership would have wanted us to believe. As we were looking at the car the salesman mentioned the Prelude is related to the Civic Type R and asked if I would be jealous. I told him the only thing I was jealous of would be the gas mileage as my ITS returns low 20s and has a small gas tank. I’m aware the Prelude and Civic Type R share suspension and brake components. It’ll be nice to have some shared consumables as I do my own maintenance. The Prelude is not a great value proposition -at all- but my wife is over the moon. It meets her constraints of being a cute hot car that gets good gas mileage. If everyone only ever made responsible car buying decisions then we’d all drive the same refrigerator white Toyota Corolla LE. submitted by /u/Platinum_Foxx to r/Honda [link] [comments]

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/WanderWell1 Originally posted to r/RBI There's something going on in my house that has me a bit stumped. Editor's note: made small edits for ease of readability Trigger Warnings: fears of home intrusion, CO poisoning Mood Spoilers: terrifying, but positive at the end ---- Original Post: January 27, 2026 I don't know if this problem is an RBI problem, so if this fits somewhere else that you know of, please tell me. For the past couple of days, I've had this issue. I'm pretty sure someone is in my house, but I can't exactly prove how. And yes, I called the police this morning. They don't seem to know either. But I'll get to that in the next couple of paragraphs. I'm 24F, if that'll help in explaining my predicament. I live alone. I keep a tidy house. More so than most people. My bedroom can be a bit disorganized at times, but the rest of my house is well organized, which is why I was able to detect something was off. I came home from work a couple of nights ago and found a bottle of Scotch sitting on my stove. It was my scotch. That's not the mystery. I use it for cooking. it sits near the stove. Never on it. And I don't remember the last time I had hands on it. I was able to convince myself that I had maybe moved it while cleaning the counter and subconsciously put it there and hadn't realized that I did. I'm still not even against believing that, but I'm making a point. The second thing I noticed, which I know wasn't a fluke on my part, was an energy drink sitting in my fridge. I like to drink the grape NOS, but I like to drink them warm, and I'll leave them out for an hour or two to let them warm up. I never put them in the fridge. But while I was running errands, I get back and find this thing sitting in my fridge, which I just wouldn't do. It was the very early morning hours, about 2AM give or take, and I can hear footsteps inside of my house. They weren't on the floor though. More specifically, they were on the ceiling. I have a metal roof, and the sound of something hitting that is very different from the sounds I was hearing. These definitely sounded like they were coming from the attic. Also, I don't have an attic. I called the police. They were not very much help. Wasn't much they could really do. They looked around my house for entries. Nothing seemed to stick out. I did this myself, but I felt a second set of eyes could hopefully point me to something that I didn't see. But as I stated, they weren't much help. Not trying to take jabs at the police, but it is what it is. I worked the day shift today. When I got back home, I found a few of my ceiling tiles on the ground.This was alarming. It was like someone had stepped through my ceiling. I have no clue what to do. I had my neighbor from next door come over to help me find a place someone could have gotten in. My windows are always locked. There is one place on the outside of the house that is theoretically able to be accessed and entered through. But it would require a ladder and a screwdriver to get through, and I just don't see how someone could access that without raising alarms from the neighbors. Any and all advice and recommendations are welcome. And because I know people will suggest this, cameras are already ordered. Edit: Thank you for everyone responding. I feel the need to clear a couple of things up that seem to be confusing people. First, I was in a jumpy state of mind when I initially wrote this and I'm realizing that I wasn't clear in explaining some things. I've addressed it in many of the comments, but I'll address it here to hopefully be more informative. The "I don't have an attic" comment was a poor choice of words. I mean that there doesn't appear to be any way up there that anyone has been able to find from within the house. There is obviously a way up there, albeit a challenging one. There's definitely space for movement on the upper portion of the house. Second, the NOS. I completely take responsibility for this one. I did absolutely zero to clarify what I meant. The flavor of NOS that I like isn't sold commercially in packs from the grocery store. I have to buy them cold from the cooler at the gas station and then let them sit out to warm up. I understand that my initial explanation was a bit confusing and I'm sorry about that. Also, I called my older brother and asked if he would come and check out my place with me just so I can have an unbiased set of eyes on the property to see if a conclusion can be reached. People expressed concern that I was staying in the house and I very much appreciate not only these users, but everyone who offered advice. I'll be staying with my brother and sister in law until the matter is resolved. Edit 2: Culprit found. Not what I was expecting, but a handful of commenters were right. I'll update in a full post when I have a minute. I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm not in the house. And thanks to everyone expressing concern. I won't be staying in the house anymore. I'm going to find somewhere else to live. Edit 3: Everyone requesting an update, I made a second post regarding the resolution. Relevant Comments Commenter 1: Do you rent, or own? If you rent, I'd consider the possibility of the landlord or a previous tenant. If you own the house, this screams that you have a phrogger. There's a nonzero chance it's the neighbor, but I don't have enough info about the neighbor. Regardless, document everything, keep reporting things to the police, communicate what's happening to friends/loved ones; you want documentation and a paper trail regardless of the cause. I'm sorry this is happening to you. OOP: I don't own the property. I rent. But I had the locks changed when I moved in. The landlord doesn't have my current set of keys. Nobody does. And as for my neighbor, I mean, it is a possibility. In theory at least. I don't personally think so, but I'm not at the stage where I'm willing to rule anything out. He's a pretty big guy that moves slowly. He doesn't really scream "stealth". This does sound like phrogging. My issue with it is not knowing how someone is getting into the house. I'm not trying to make this sound like a creepypasta. I'm just not able to figure out the exact factor that I'm missing. Does anyone else has the spare keys to the house? OOP: No, I live alone. I don't even have a spare key hidden outside. And I had the locks changed when I moved in, so it couldn't be a former resident. + I had the locks changed when I moved in. The landlord doesn't have the key. Nobody does. Commenter 2: The possible entry point needs to be thoroughly checked. What you think no one can access may be different than the truth. Maybe used a ladder and pulled it in behind them. Neighbors could potentially watch this happen and not realize you'd be in trouble. I'd suggest raccoons, but they aren't putting drink cans in your refrigerator. I might suggest you consider sleeping with your second amendment right. Don't be embarrassed to ask police to return. Second thought- any possible carbon monoxide present? Do you have an alarm for this and is it in working order? OOP: I'm a Canadian. Gun ownership is a privilege here, not a right. I do have guns for hunting, but for me to shoot, I would essentially need to prove that my life was in immediate and unquestionable danger. Home intruders don't always automatically fall into that category here for some reason. I do have two carbon monoxide detectors in the home. I have one running all the time and use a second one during the winter, just to be safe. Commenter 3: 1) Do you have cameras in the house? If not, get some. If you feel weird about filming when you are home, only time them on when you are gone. 2) Do you have cameras outside of the house? If not, get some. 3) Do you have motion sensors in the house? 4) Old school tricks / spy craft: A. photograph your house as you leave so you can compare when you get back to see if anything if different. If so, photograph again to document the difference. B. Tape a hair or other such filament to your front door across the gap and see if it has been disturbed when you get back. You could also do this with the fridge door. C. You could sprinkle flour or something on the floor to see if there are footprints when you get back (obv photo after sprinkling so you know what it looked like). 5) Carbon monoxide detector. If you don’t understand why, look it up on Reddit — a classic story. 6) Edit. In one of your other posts you mentioned you like “ghost stories and haunted house stories”. Could this be a ghost / haunted house story you are foisting upon us? OOP: Questions 1-3 were covered pretty much in my last sentence on the post haha. No, I don't. But I do have them ordered. 4) Yeah, those are good suggestions that I may utilize myself. 5) I have two. Actually, I have them because of the sticky note incident, which is the story I'm assuming you're referring to. Commenter 4: Have a double look at that higher optional entrance. People who would do this, wouldn't have any issues with harder to access spots. Have you had a recent break up or any strange interactions online? Could you find out anything about the last people that lived in your house? Cameras are good, calling the cops again should be on the table. I know they are basically useless but having them around might help make your place less interesting if someone is messing around. This sounds really scary and I hope you're ok. OOP: No recent breakups and no weird online interactions. I don't know much about the previous resident other than he had some credit problems (I got his mail for a few months before he changed his address). I'm going to make another police report and see if they can maybe check out the top entry point. I don't have the immediate resources to do that by myself. Commenter 5: Do you have a carbon monoxide monitor? I've read about people experiencing weird things happening in their homes and it turned out they had high levels of carbon monoxide. They were forgetting things they had done in the house and some experienced even more severe side effects like hallucinations. OOP: I have two plugged in. I read the famous sticky note incident a number of years ago and that's pretty much the reason I have carbon monoxide detectors. I have one plugged in all the time, but run a second one during the winter months just to be safe. Commenter 6: Why didn't mention you have a boyfriend? Could he have moved the stuff? Why does the NOS need to warm up if you don't keep it in the fridge? What type of ceiling tiles do you have? Most houses only have tiles in the basement. And finally, what do you cook with scotch? OOP: We rarely ever hang out at my place. And he wouldn't be there without me being there also. The NOS is bought from the gas station cooler, which is why I have to let it warm up on the counter. As for the ceiling tiles, I don't really know. They came from a closet adjacent area, which isn't the same as my ceiling anywhere else. And Scotch is a good marinade with things like chicken and pork ribs, often best when paired with honey and ginger. OOP on why she changed the locks OOP: I changed my locks because of an experience with a past landlord that was constantly going through our apartment when we weren't home. He was harmless and had no ill intent. Just very meticulous about the property and wanted to make sure things were up to code. But it became an issue of privacy. Because of this, I change my locks when I move in.   Update: January 28, 2026 (next day) There's something going on in my house that has me a bit stumped (Update and clarity). Hello everyone. If you're here from my previous post, thank you. If you haven't read that post, maybe read that one first to understand. First, a big thank you is in order. You were all very helpful in your suggestions and quite a few of the commenters were correct. If it wasn't for the insistence of the comments, I would have assumed I was still doing things correctly and may be dead sooner rather than later. I called my older brother and asked him to come check out my house with me and see if there was something in the house that I was missing. He was able to get a look at the entry point at the top of the house. The screws weren't turnable and he eventually abandoned the attempt to open it. There was a very unlikely chance that anyone was using this to get inside. But the scarier part is coming right now. Carbon monoxide was a big thing recommended as the culprit in my original post from the comments section. I informed most users that I have not one, but two carbon monoxide detectors in my home. I was very convinced that wasn't the reason behind it. But my brother had decided to check my fuse box, which is located on the outside of my house. One of the fuses was turned off. It just so happened to be the fuse that was powering the outlets being used for the carbon monoxide detectors in my house. He said with the recent freeze, it was possible that the fuse had frozen and then switched off gradually once the ice had thawed during the day. I don't know about all of that, but it sounds plausible enough. Finally, once the fuse was turned back on, he recalibrated my carbon monoxide detectors (I admittedly don't know how to do this) and there were higher than normal levels of carbon monoxide detected in the house. With the heat running and without proper ventilation, I seem to have been doing these strange things in an altered state of mind, or just downright hallucinating. As for my ceiling tiles on the floor, I don't know. But it was near a closet, and when I looked at an old picture I had taken inside of the house when I was first trying to rent the property, I noticed a picture of the tiles hanging loosely from the base. it must have been one of those things that my brain defrags as irrelevant information and never fully noticed it. The falling was seemingly just a natural occurrence and my brain conjured up further paranoia to fuel my delusion of an intruder. so, that's it. Mystery solved. Thank you everyone for your helpful suggestions and concern for my well being. It did not go unnoticed by me, and I apologize for wasting the community's time. I'm also going to get checked out tomorrow. I feel fine and I've been breathing natural air for a few hours now, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Sending everyone really big hugs of gratitude❤️. Top Comments Commenter 1: You finding out it was in fact carbon monoxide and saving your life will never be a waste of anyone's time. Your brother most likely feels the same way about the time he spent checking things out for you. You have nothing to apologize for. Commenter 2: You should go get checked out tonight. Getting your carbon monoxide level checked (carboxyhemoglobin) is pretty quick and easy. If it is high they will likely put you on some oxygen to help force out the carbon monoxide from your system. And also, don’t stay in the house until the fire department has also checked it out and made sure there are no ongoing carbon monoxide emitters / no ongoing high carbon monoxide levels. Commenter 3: I’m glad this has been sorted out. Your previous post sounded very carbon monoxide-y but the two detectors had me stumped. Kind of wild that they both failed simply because one fuse was turned off   DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7 THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP submitted by /u/Choice_Evidence1983 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

So this is not really a 'roommate' situation per say but I am renting a room from a senior couple who lives at the home full time. For context, I am Korean American and the couple I am renting from are a first generation Korean couple with grown children with one of them living at the home as well. So I will be discussing a few situations that I went through in the home regarding food I purchased and stored in their kitchen refrigerator for later consumption. There was a time that I went out to eat and brought back the leftovers (bulogogi) and stored it neatly in a little corner of the fridge. The next morning the older couple calls me down to eat as they sometimes make breakfast or other meals and tell me to come down to eat (Korean culture). I came down to my surprise that they have taken my leftovers and included it in their main dish being served. At first I didn't think it was a big deal so I just shrugged it off and ate. The second time I had brought back a big sushi platter and same thing, they called me down to eat while there grown up daughter and them were partaking in my sushi platter. Mind you, they see me coming in with whatever I store in the fridge. So at this point, I am annoyed and just thinking wtf. The rules of their house is that I am allowed to store my own personal food items in their fridge, but they are basically using my food as part of their own. I already pay $800 a month for a small room, amongst my food, car, and other bills. I do pay half the internet as well! I have voiced my concerns after the second incident, mind you I do not speak fluent Korean and they speak very little English. Their adult daughter seems to like to be MIA during these conversations and she just goes to work and back and I barely see her. I then decided to buy my own refrigerator (small/medium) sized one with freezer compartment included. I move it into my room and have started storing all my food items there. They saw me and allowed me to do this but now I feel like the asshole in this situation. In Korean culture there are a lot of unspoken rules to follow in showing respect to your elders etc. etc. but at the same time I feel like I voiced my concerns for them not to be taken seriously. Anyways I feel like I'm walking on eggshells since the whole situation. Am I in the wrong and just an asshole? These were just two instances that this happened and there are a few more with some Phở soup among others lol. 😅 [EDIT] I am living in the Seattle, Washington area in the U.S. I am not living in South Korea. submitted by /u/Zealousideal-Lab-283 to r/AmIOverreacting [link] [comments]

I am now 100% broke and homeless without a vehicle to live out of anymore ,phone got shut off yesterday evening and now limited to free wifi ( ty McDonald's,lowes,walmart, Michaels, and those other few places that have it still ) Tried to save my phone service and started a go fund me got a few donations from some super kind 😇,but gfm has yet to approve my bank info so at least ill have a little bit to get a tent with when they finally do .. Gonna be rough asf finding a job in a more rural area without a phone and car ..and being older (58)isnt going to help me at all .. Wish me luck cause lord knows im gonna need it now more than ever .. Edit ( 11/25 ) : first and foremost I appreciate it everybody's comments advice and support that really means a lot to me , more than you might think overall. It just came to my attention that my GoFundMe was not actually here in the post I've been linking it through responses so here is that information as well https://gofund.me/09a59b123 Ok everybody since sunday morning much going on , sighhhhh not a major sigh of relief yet but more of a deep breath relax for a moment one .. I downloaded helium, tried to use the esim apparently my phone is locked because it doesn't pick up on it. Yes , I've reached out to 211 got some information from them on local organizations that maybe able to help . And while they were helpful my experience with them left a sour taste in my mouth and feeling a bit lousier than i did before calling.. Amazon wishlist, I've had multiple people mention this aspect as well as the Amazon lockers , not having a fixed address I didn't think this was possible and looked up the amazon lockers nothing came up for me when I tried. However one of the commenters here did let me know that there are two places here in town where I wish list items can be sent for those guessing that is a type of an Amazon locker . So while I haven't put one together yet I will be doing so. GoFundMe finally approved my banking so depending upon how long it takes for funds to transfer I can actually start to rebound a little bit I can get my phone back on , which just that alone will be a big help , I have someone that got me $100 gift card for Walmart which I will be able to digitally pay with in the store so that's going to be a big help because it's going to help me get a bunch of shelf stable food that doesn't need refrigeration and I will be walking down there shortly. Ideally my goal would be to meet my GoFundMe goal so I can actually repair and make the payment that I need to make on it so they don't come looking for it and repo it and get myself back to work while continuing to look for a more viable job that is not really gig work like I've been doing submitted by /u/Such-Throat-2819 to r/poor [link] [comments]

Title says most. But I lost 100 pounds, 325-225. I've been lifting for years, even while I was gaining to 325. Point being, I do have some serious muscle mass. A friend once remarked to me "you don't look like you live in the gym, but you also don't look like you just sit around being fat all day either." MAIN EVENT! I got up a few days ago to get ready for work. I usually just eat one big meal before work. Front load my calories for the day because I'm a paramedic, and may or may not get a chance to eat on shift. So I walk into the kitchen, and my brother has his friends over. His 55 year old friend calls out from the living room: "Look out! The obeast is on the move! Lock the fridge and cabinets!". Everyone sitting in the living room laughed, including my brother and his wife. And honestly after that I just closed the refrigerator and went back to my room to get dressed. I haven't even attempted to eat anything since. This is a man who's had 5 failed marriages, six figures in gambling debt, and alcoholism. But sure, I guess being overweight is a significantly bigger problem. Sorry to be like this, I'm just really REALLY mad rn. I did all this work and still getting mocked. Stats, if it matters. Height: 6'1 Highest weight: 325 Current weight: 225 Goal weight: 200-210. Current daily cals: 2,000 Gym 4 days a week, following an upper/lower split. submitted by /u/Forward_Turnover247 to r/loseit [link] [comments]

I am NOT the Original Poster. That is ThrowRA_Constant_. Do NOT comment on Original Posts. Latest update is 7 days old. Trigger Warning: assault; domestic violence; abuse; health scares Mood Spoiler: sad but things are looking better for OOP Original Post: September 17, 2025 We've been married for a few years and have a baby. We had relationship issues after the baby but I thought we had resolved them and he promised he would be better and all that. He did get better, he did his share around the house and house chores aren't a big issue because he just does what needs to be done without complaint or comment. But something at the back of my head felt off. I never really explored the nagging feeling but now I realized that he never showed me any extra care. In fact, he gets upset or easily frustrated with me if I cause any extra inconvenience. Not sure how I didn't notice until now. So 2 days ago, I think I got sick. I was feeling that gross thick skin feeling and (vertigo? Light headed? Idk) and by night time I was shivering and freezing. I was still able to function so I didn't think much of it. Complained to my husband about it and then we went to sleep. Yesterday, I woke up feeling like my bones were lead. Idk how I functioned yesterday but it felt like auto pilot. My boss messaged me with some tasks so I did them on my phone before my baby woke up. Rolled out of bed and somehow took my sister to school. Came back and worked some more. Usually I have energy to flip between being a mom and working but yesterday I just laid on the floor to work while my 1 year old watched some Ms Rachel. Then had to pick up my sister from school, come home to make dinner and by the time my husband came home, I felt dead on my feet. Anytime I moved, it felt like I was lagging and my body couldn't keep up. I told my husband this a few times. We ate, I put away the leftovers and put the baby to sleep while my husband went to his office to do some quick work. After this, I don't really remember because my brain was foggy. I found myself in his office, we exchanged a few words but I don't remember what and next thing I knew, I woke up alone in his office on the floor. I felt so heavy and out of it. It took so much effort to get up but when I got out, all the lights were off, the kitchen was not touched and he was in bed. I just stood in the kitchen and realized that he just doesn't care. I already knew he wasn't going to clean the kitchen tomorrow, and that he didn't care I felt off. I had a busy day planned and I didn't have time to wash all the dishes the next day.. So I loaded the dishwasher and then went to bed. I laid down and 5 minutes later, my husband (very angrily) told me to turn off the lights in the kitchen. At this point I had no energy to deal with him so I ignored him and fell asleep. The next morning, today, I woke up covered in sweat but that gross feeling was gone. Thats when I realized that I was sick. My husband was upset with me. He wouldn't talk or look at me and was stomping around. I tried to ask him about yesterday but he just grumbled something about me "confusing" him. Everything from yesterday caught up and I just can't see him the same. I realized that he has never taken care of me, or done anything that was inconvenient for him. I've been sick before and everytime it's the same thing. He gets upset at me somehow. After I had a baby, he was upset that nothing was kept up around the house yet got angry with me when I fainted from overexhertion at 2 weeks postpartum. I remember him yelling at me that I did this to myself and its my fault for not taking care of myself even though just 2 days before, he was telling me that he was angry with me for not keeping up with laundry and that I needed to clean the kitchen because it was starting to smell and he didnt want to cook anymore. Dont even get me started on how he never woke up at night. All these memories hit me and I just am disgusted by him. How did I not see this? What do I even do? I'm going to stop here before the post gets too long. Edit: he just texted me saying he's beat and could barely brush his teeth this morning... I don't even know what to respond I can't believe I took care of this man everytime he got sick and after 2 surgerys. Some of OOP's Comments: RefrigeratorFun4676: Wait. You passed out in front of him and he just left you laying on the floor? I’m usually a “work on things” advice giver but not here - get a lawyer and figure out how to get outta there. OOP: That's the part I'm a little confused about. I have no idea what happened. I've only fainted once before so I wonder if I just laid on the floor? He wouldn't talk to me this morning and I kind of don't care to find out because it doesn't really matter, he left me there anyway. OOP's Parents/sister: My parents aren't in our life but my sister lives at my disabled Grandmothers. It's a long story not relevant. Efficient_Garbage_82: Is it possible he may have drugged you? I have passed out several times from severe anemia, but I've always had at least some memory of what happened when I woke up. It's also unusual to be passed out long enough for someone to shut down an entire house, go to bed, and fall asleep. It wouldn't hurt to visit an Urgent Care to have your blood tested for drugs. They can also complete a CBC to determine if you're anemic. Have you been having heavy periods since the birth? OOP: I actually am anemic.. wonder if that has something to do with it. I'll have to visit the doctor today To a comment that recommends reading Why does he do that OOP: Only a few chapters in and I had to put my phone down. I never thought of him as abusive until now. He's always the victim somehow and that's what initiially kept me with him in the beginning. Because I felt bad for him. I can't believe this. Update Post: October 18, 2025 (1 month later) Hi, so I'm still alive. I've had a surprising amount of people message me a week or two ago and it's very kind of you people to care. I'll go right into what happened. I went to the hospital that day, since a shocking percentage of people suspected he could have messed with something but no. The doctor said nothing came up. But he DID say I had high blood pressure and recommended me to a cardiologist. I still have a month left before the appointment. When my husband got home from work, he was acting like everything was normal. I wanted to see if he would inquire at all about my faint the night prior but nothing. So after the baby was settled for the night, I asked him why I woke up alone in his office. He got instantly angry with me and seemed annoyed I even brought it up. He said that I was acting confusing and what was he supposed to do? I should have told him what I wanted him to do. I told him about my visit to the hospital and he said that going to the hospital is a little much. I told him the doctor said I am showing signs of heart issues, likely caused by stress. He blew up on me, yelling that I'm causing my own early grave and that it's my fault for not taking care of myself. With that, he closed himself in the room... leaving me to clean up after dinner alone again. Except I decided that I wouldn't so I went on the couch and watched a movie. He came out, suddenly friendly and flirty?? He tried to lay with me and ask what I was doing. He kept trying to act "cute" and when I wasn't showing much response to it, he got angry and stormed off, locking me out of the bedroom. The next morning, I woke up to him slamming around the kitchen and cussing about how I couldn't even properly clean the kitchen. I just went to the bedroom and went back to sleep, if you can call it that because he kept doing things to keep me awake. He complained later that day about how he was so hungry because I didn't make him breakfast or lunch. I gave myself a break day. I didn't work, didn't focus on the house, I was just a mom and spent time with our baby. I went to the park, to the library, to my in laws. I tried to talk to her about the heart thing, and she responded with "poor husband's name, he's probably going to stress about this." That's when I realized I couldn't do this anymore. I got pizza for dinner and got home right after my husband. He was not happy and it was different this time. I tried to ignore his obvious tension, he cleaned the kitchen very loudly and was muttering under his breath. I washed up our daughter and put her to bed, trying not to feel anxious. When I came out, he started talking very aggressively about how I've been letting myself get lazy and he won't take my lack of effort. A relationship is a two-way street he said. I started yelling back about how I cook, clean, manage his child and work at the same time so how is it that I'm the one that's lazy when he keeps expecting me to do more things too. Things escalated and he started throwing dishes at me. When he ran out of things to throw, he strangled me. Then he left the house and I called the police. My baby was woken up, the neighbors were there because they heard yelling and glass breaking. It was chaos. When he came back, he tried to say I did everything. Even the bruises around my neck were self-inflicted apparently. I'm still trying to process everything, it all happened so fast. Sometime I wonder what would have happened if I had just sucked it up and didn't 'rebel'. Would our relationship be fine? I have my first therapy session scheduled for next Tuesday so I guess I'll talk all about it then. My husband is at his mom's now. I'm at my Grandmothers for now and have almost all my stuff out of our appartment. We have a temporary restraining order, official hearing is tomorrow morning. I'm scared if I'm honest. I haven't seen him since that night. My daughter keeps asking me where dad is and I don't know what to tell her. There's my update. I feel so numb to it all. I can probably type much more that happened but it already feels so long. Plus, I don't want to cry again. Edit: I reread this all and I sound like a big whiny baby oh my goodness. I'm sorry, I promise I don't sound like this in person ahh I also wanted to add a thought; I don't know if I would have called the police and all if I hadn't posted before. I honestly don't know. This is the most scariest thing he's done to me, but he's done plenty of other things before. When I originally posted, it was more of a vent post. All your caring, kind thoughts moved me. It gave me the little push I needed. I only have my little sister and my grandmother. I cant tell my grandmother any of these details because shes too frail and sensitive. My dad was an alcoholic and died while driving under the influence. My mom left us after that for a guy in Russia. I don't know how she's doing but she used to treat us very poorly so I don't really care. Point is, thank you all. The responses here are too kind and I don't even know what to say. OOP's Comments: 1quincytoo: Why didn’t the police arrest him when they saw the bruises on your neck and the broken dishes? I think the police should have arrested him on DV charges OOP: He did but his mom got him out somehow two days later. I'm honestly suprised they even arrested him because they were being very rude to me aside from a woman officer. mystery_obsessed: They were rude about strangulation marks?! That’s awful. They should be looking at it not even just DV, that’s basically attempted murder, or st least, felony assault (or whatever nation’s equivalent). It would be under any other scenario… OOP: Where I live, the cops aren't known to be very reliable unfortunately. Pantherdraws: Okay but did you go to the ER after being strangled? If not, you need to go ASAP, because strangulation can cause serious internal injuries and complications that can kill you DAYS after the fact. PLEASE get checked out right away and thoroughly document every injury, and PLEASE press charges against this man - he WANTED TO KILL YOU and he very well COULD have if he hadn't chickened out and run away at the last minute. Also, documenting the physical violence and pressing charges will help you get and KEEP sole custody of your daughter. This man CANNOT be trusted with your child after his unhinged display of brute violence. The odds of him harming or killing HER to "get back at" you are too great. OOP: Yes I definitely did! That was enough proof for the temporary restraining order in my state thankfully. One of the nurses was tearing up when she was taking my vitals and helped calm me and my baby down. She gave me some good advice on how to proceed and I appreciate it every day. I've been talking to a lawyer my grandma knows and I have some past proof of other incidents that should help me with my case too submitted by /u/LucyAriaRose to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

I am not The OOP, OOP is u/Neftes-20 My dad (60M) is adding something to my food that makes me (25M) sick Originally posted to r/raisedbynarcissists & r/AmItheAsshole TRIGGER WARNING: Poisoning, manipulation, abuse, corruption MOOD SPOILER: Infuriating Original Post June 21, 2025 I (25M) was suffering from bloating and vomiting from December 2024. After 4 months of consulting 5 different physicians (including Gastro), 3 endoscopies and multiple tests, they arrived at the diagnosis of Crohn's with stricture at the junction of duodenum & jejunum. After the diagnosis, I found that I had became intolerant to rice and potatoes. My mom and grandmom understood the disease after I explained it to them, but my dad's opinion was that this was not a disease and "It's all becoz u ate lot of lemons, 3 years ago". After completing the meds and avoiding the specific trigger foods (rice, potatoes), I went into remission. Around 2 weeks back, I had a flare-up which kept on increasing in severity everyday. Me and my mom saw my dad was adding something like powder to the milk before I drank it. There was no taste or odor change in the milk thou. We had suspicions that he was also adding something to the salt and sugar in kitchen. So I stayed in my Granny's place for a few days. During the stay I had no symptoms, not even pain or bloating. Meanwhile my mom threw away everything that was suspicious and bought everything new. I returned back to my home, we are being very careful in locking everything in kitchen and ensuring only we have access to them. After doing all this I feel better and we have seen my dad trying to pry open the things we locked. There are 2 other things that bothered me during this time which may or may not be related. Just 2 days before my flare-up, I informed that I got selected for Masters in Europe and my dad and elder brother hated that and were against it. When I said I will be going there, he replied "Something unexpected may happen and your plan may fail" Before this recent Flare-up, there was a incident when like this time my dad was doing something in kitchen (My dad never uses the kitchen). I took a sip of the milk later and there was a strong taste of rust. So I threw it out entirely & didn't think much of it. I asked about this issue in r/CrohnsDisease around 10 days prior & intended to publish this story here too but couldn't. Here are the events that happened after that. I forgot to lock a jar of cookies inside the cabinet, ate them the next day & got sick again. My mom's coffee has tasted weird multiple times and she also got sick after drinking it too. My Dad broke into the locked kitchen cabinet and the refrigerator. We replaced all the things there and shifted them to my granny's Home. Me & my mom are travelling to my granny's home for every meal. We also have suspicions that my brother knows about this and chose to ignore as he visited home and avoids eating anything at home. We are taking careful steps to confirm these. (I don’t want to get into too much detail, but we are trying to get solid evidence before doing anything further.) Let me know if I’m overthinking, or what steps I should take next. I feel very unsafe and emotionally drained, but I just want to make sure I’m not losing perspective. (Note: I originally posted this initially in r/relationship_advice, but it was removed. I'm sharing it here because I still need support, and this has been a very real and painful experience.) AITA for refusing to give my dad and brother updates about my Master’s? June 21, 2025 I (25M) got into this dream Masters by my own effort on April, despite my health issues. The tuition for this program is actually very minimal, which is rare for a international Masters programs. I told everyone close to me, starting with my parents, elder brother, friends, close relatives(aunt & uncle) and some professors from my bachelors. My Dad (60M) was initially open to me going there but changed his decision soon after talking to my brother. He told he likely won't be able to sponsor my masters. So I applied to a scholarship and was following up on it. I also applied for an education loan. My elder brother (30M) was totally against it saying he didn't like it and even said "Are you going to beg in that country after doing this degree?". My mom and relatives on her side (Granny, Aunt, Uncle) were totally overjoyed & loved that I was able to get in this masters. My professors and other professionals in my field told it was a great opportunity and that it would benefit my career. I was working through all the administrative process and stuff by myself till today. My mom and relatives provided moral support during this time period and also tried to explain to my dad and brother that this is a good opportunity for me. Yesterday my brother showed up unannounced to our home and made my mom stay in my granny's home stating that he & my dad wanted to talk to me alone. They told me I was in the wrong to inform my close relatives about this masters and demanded me to update on the process till now. I told them everything, including the education loan & scholarship I've applied. They started nit-picking the course details trying to find any fault in the program but everything was well-detailed & had no issue. Then they told me whatever I did was useless and I did nothing in these 2 months. They told I won't be getting the scholarship or the loan realistically nor do they have any money to spare for my studies. They made it clear that they won't help in any process further but still want updates daily and need all the email I receive related to loan/scholarship/university forwarded to both of them. They instead want me to do a masters in this state next cycle / year. They told "Stop living in a dream" and accused me of being selfish for not thinking of the family or anyone else. So AITA for not giving updates or not letting them interfere in the process after this incident? For context: I was lucky to have completed my bachelors with almost full scholarship with a few minor expenses covered by my dad. I had move back to my parents' place and the money I saved up after that was spent very recently on my medical expenses. I made it very clear that I wanted to do my masters in this field. The masters program I got into is not available anywhere nearby (not even nearby states). Side note: There’s also a separate and very serious situation happening at home that made me feel unsafe. I’ve made a separate post about that, so I won’t go into it here. VERDICT: NO OFFICIAL VERDICT GIVEN (But was unanimously NTA in the comments) Update - My dad is adding something to my food that makes me sick and now wants me to forgive him? Aug 11, 2025 Hi everyone — I’m sorry it took me a while to update. These are my previous posts for context Post 1, Post 2. I’ve been reading and replying to some comments, but I wanted to share what’s happened since my last posts. What’s happened since: My relatives say I should meet him to secure my inheritance (legally mine) because it could help me in the future. My brother is pestering my mom to get me to talk to him. My mom and I relocated without telling my dad or brother. I cut off all calls and messages from them. We couldn’t gather much evidence except for: A white powder in our plates A microphone hidden under my mom’s bedroom dresser On the day we moved, I drank water from our house. Two days later, I had bleeding from my nose and mouth. Blood tests showed that both my mom and I had elevated, almost identical levels of Strontium and Vanadium. Our family doctor said the bleeding wasn’t from those metals, but likely from an anti-coagulant toxin (possibly a rat poison). I moved between friends’ places to recover and took the antidote for the anti-coagulant poison. Since I moved, my scholarship and education loan were both canceled & I’m almost certain through his influence. My mom gave me her savings, which will nearly cover my degree. My dad has been telling relatives he’s “sad” I’m not talking to him. My aunt and uncle (mom’s side, who know the truth) confronted him. He admitted the poisoning but claimed it “wasn’t meant for me.” They also asked why he wasn’t financing my master’s. He said he “felt guilty” and would fund it if I talked to him. My dad is calling and texting me now “I want to see you or talk finally last. Under-stand my position. if not you cannot see any more later.” I will never forgive my dad. But the inheritance is significant and could make a huge difference in my life. I’ve spoken to lawyers and the police — my dad has ways of wriggling out of legal trouble. Do I just talk to him, get my part of the inheritance, and then cut contact? Or is even that too dangerous to risk? RELEVANT COMMENTS Call the university about the scholarship The scholarship is not on the uni side but is by a govt-funded agency. They gave me a reason that they made a mistake and just told me "Why don't you wait for an year and try again". The words used by the person in-charge was definitely fishy. THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7 submitted by /u/Direct-Caterpillar77 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

I (27f) live in a house with 2 other girls around my age. I get along with one of them fine, but the other one, let's call her Amanda, is a nightmare. She's super morbidly obese, which i feel sorry for her for, but she uses her disability to manipulate everyone around her. She's on social security because she obviously cant work at her size. She does very few chores around the house because "moving around is exhausting." She doesn't bathe regularly for the same reason. She often takes me and our other roommates' food and eats it, claiming she will pay us back or buy us a replacement when she has her weekly groceries delivered. She never does. Our lease is up at the end of August, and I did not renew, mostly because of Amanda's behavior. She was upset when I told them this at the start of summer, because until they get a new roommate, that means the remaining girls have to cover my share. My one roommate understands, but Amanda is furious. She says I'm abandoning her and I should have to pay my share until a new girl moves in, even though my lease is up. I told her that's not happening. Ever since then, her bad behavior has ramped up. She takes even more of my food. She makes passive-aggressive comments constantly. But worst of all, she stole money from me the other day. There's a specialty candy shop not far from where we live that has imported and nostalgic candies, along with homemade pies and other stuff. Its a cool place. Apparently, Amanda went there last night and came home with a TON of junk food. She left a majority of it in the kitchen and said, "Its for everyone, help yourself." But its pretty clear its for her. When I asked how she was able to afford all that, since I know she struggles with money, she said flat out, "I borrowed some of the cash you had in your room." I went to check, and she had taken $100. Of my money. To spend on junk food. I was super pissed off and unloaded on her, calling her a thief and an AH and a bad roommate. She started to cry and said she bought it for everyone as a gift for the household, and if I'm that upset she will pay me back. But of course she won't. She's terrible with money and almost always broke the week after she gets her SSI. So here's where I might be TA. She's leaving for the weekend to visit her parents. I want to take all the treats she left behind and donate them to a food shelf, except 2 things. I want to eat a slice of the homemade pie she bought (still untouched as of now) and text her how good it is. Because as much as she pretends the food is communal, she gets upset when one of us eats food SHE bought. So I want to eat a piece of her pie, then dump Dawn dishsoap over the rest and put it back in the fridge. When she goes to eat it, it will be ruined, and the dishsoap wont hurt her. Then, I plan to take the homemade jams she bought and dump them onto her bed sheets and let them sit until she gets home. By then I'll have packed my important stuff and be gone. I'm moving back in with my parents. I'm over this. So, WIBTA for donating food she bought with my stolen money, eating her pie because I know it would bug her, ruin the rest, and mess up her bed sheets? The last thing I'm not positive ill actually do, but the other things, I definitely will. UPDATE: Amanda already left this morning. I have decided not to mess up her bed sheets. If she has a heart attack changing the bedding, id feel awful. I'm just going to take bites of every single treat she left behind and leave the opened, half-eaten treats in her bedroom. Update #2: I have decided not to destroy her sheets or put soap on the pie. Many of you pointed out that can make someone very sick. As mad as I am, I dont want to hurt her. What I AM going to do is eat that pie from the inside out. I'll leave the ring of crust in the tin and put it back in the fridge. Then ill take all the candy she left behind and bring it into my work on Monday. Whatever is leftover after work, ill donate. I am not going to call the cops for 3 reasons: 1) my city is currently experiencing a vandalism epidemic, so those resources would be put to better use working on that. 2) I am highly mistrustful of police and would only call them in an emergency. This is not an emergency. 3) in the grander scheme of things, $100 doesn't matter that much. It was birthday money from my family, not something I worked for myself. I also dont want to post about this on social media, as she is very good at playing victim, and I dont want it to turn into a case of me bullying the fat lady. Thanks everyone for the comments. FINAL UPDATE: I spent the entire weekend moving my stuff out of our apartment and back into my parents place. So, I am no longer Amanda's roommate. To answer some of the most frequently asked questions: I did not destroy her bedsheets I spent the weekend slowly eating the pie in shifts. I left the crusts in the refrigerator. I took the rest of the candy and snacks when I left, and brought it into work today. Whatever is leftover over at end of day, I'll donate. I did NOT file a police report. Not only am I mistrustful of police in general, but I feel like Amanda has enough problems in her life without a criminal record. Plus, now that im gone, she can't steal from me again. Our other roommate, who was home a lot this weekend and witnessed this whole mess, has gotten a lock for her bedroom door. Last night around 6 pm, I got the phone call I had been expecting. It was Amanda, asking if I was gone for good since my room was empty and the Nespresso machine (which is mine) was gone. I said I was, and it was in large part because of her taking my money and using it to buy candy. She panicked when I told her I took the rest of it with me. Like, a legit, hyperventilating breakdown. I wasn't expecting that, I was expecting anger. She cried on the phone saying she was looking forward to coming home to eat certain things, and since the store she got them from is closed until Monday, her entire day was ruined. She was legit crying into the phone like she was dealing with a death, not missing snacks. I knew she had an issue with overeating, but I was unaware she was this emotional about food. I kept calm. I told her that the candy wasn't hers anyway, it was mine, and that she's lucky that I just took it with me, I could have filed a police report for her being a thief. I told her my portion of August's rent was given directly to the landlord when I had him come in yesterday morning to inspect my room, so if she messes things up, he will know it wasn't me. She didn't care about any of that. She didn't care that I'm gone, or that I could have involved the police. She just kept asking if I had left any of the snacks behind. "What about the Mary Janes?" Or "Did you leave even a few of the mini mallow cups?" When I told her I took EVERYTHING, she started to bawl even harder. At that point, i just hung up. I'm over it, and it's done. I haven't heard from her since, but our other roommates texted me later that night to tell me that she cried again when she found the pie crusts in the fridge. submitted by /u/drapedinpearls to r/WouldIBeTheAhole [link] [comments]

Mole People: Botanical Garden I wasn’t planning on pressing on. When an indirect source who spoke with MAPSA messaged me that morning, it felt like closure: “No drugs involved. Just someone seeking shelter. Police confirmed through local witnesses that the person was LGBTQ. Clothes and personal items found in the kanal—but no paraphernalia, no crime scene.” It should’ve been enough. Then came a Reddit comment: “Saw the same person from the kanal earlier today near Pio Del Pilar, wearing different clothes.” “Why is she roaming free if there was an investigation?” The questions lingered in my head. The kanal wasn’t just a hole in the street anymore—it was a crack in the story, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what was hiding beneath. I tried to let it go. Fed the pets. Cleaned up. Tried to talk myself out of it: “What else is there to capture?” “Maybe I should leave the rest to the ‘real’ journalists.” But that comment—about people living in the creek by Makati Med—kept buzzing in my mind like static. Its a part of the story that I haven’t covered. And its one that the police denied the connection to. So I grabbed my camera, my notebook, and headed back out. Not expecting to see anything really. Or even get a bigger scoop. I wasnt planning to post again. I just wanted to know. Scratch the itch. ——A Different Kind of Shelter——— I wandered the streets of Legazpi, Rufino, Amorsolo. My photographer’s eye caught the usual moments: Delivery guys in the back of refrigerated vans horsing around. Old folks waiting in the heat. People drenched in sunlight. Any photographer would have jumped at the opportunity of capturing those frames, heck I would too. But despite my eye’s desire to steal frames, my mind’s focus was the story. Closure. The kanal on Adelantado was now patched up, but the whispers were louder. From the online debates, news coverage, friends, family and from myself. As I neared the creek, I noticed something that stopped me in my tracks: on one side stood Makati Medical Center, a place where lives are saved; on the other, the National Home Mortgage Finance Corporation, an agency tied to homes, safety, and stability. Yet here, adjacent to them, was a place where people had neither—a sliver of city that had quietly turned into someone’s shelter, someone’s refuge. It was an irony that wasn’t lost on me—and it made the whole scene feel even heavier. I started snapping away—shots of the street, the creek, the pipes, the alleys. Just trying to take it all in. As I got closer—maybe one pedestrian lane away—I spotted two jolly jeeps parked next to the creek. A small pocket of normalcy in a scene that felt anything but. I kept to the side, not talking to anyone, not making eye contact. Just a guy with a busted camera, pretending to blend in and taking photos. The fear lingered—what if something happened? What if I got too close? What if I become a victim? I kept moving. Getting different angles, walking along the sidewalk, cautious not to draw too much attention. A wide shot of the creek flanked by two culverts. I kept shooting. And as I had just turned off the camera to reposition for a different angle. In the corner of my eye, out of one of the pipes. A foot. Sandals. I quickly turned on the camera, hoping to capture the moment but it’s gone. The foot wasn’t there. I moved to another spot that lets me see into the pipe. I waited there. Taking shots periodically. Hoping to capture at least a glimpse of life. 45 minutes I waited. Empty frame after empty frame. Camera pressed against the concrete as I sat there. Then a hand. Grasps the edge of the culvert and out comes a person. Cautiously scanning his surroundings. Click. We lock eyes. Click. He begins to climb out of the pipe, grabbing onto the exposed roots of the tree on the ledge. Click. This was already big. I could have gone home, packed up my camera, and told myself, “That’s enough for today.” And for a moment, I did. As soon as he climbed out of the canal, I turned around and walked—fast. Heart racing. Eyes darting. The thoughts in my head, louder than the sound of my own steps: Drug addicts. Snatchers. Muggers. Don’t become a victim. Don’t become a victim. But as I put more distance between us, a different voice started creeping in. That whisper in my head, the one that’s been with me since I first picked up a camera: “Manipulate the light. Show the world what you see.” And here I was—running away. I stopped. I turned around. Thank God I did. Because there he was. Standing next to a bicycle, under the sharp afternoon sun. The man from the pipe. His name was Jerwin. ———The Botanical Garden——— I walked toward him, smiling—trying to ease the tension, make this a conversation, not a confrontation. He asked what I was doing. He asked if I was with the police. Apparently, they had been there earlier that morning—9:00AM to 10:30AM—staking out the area. I told him no, I wasn’t with the cops. I told him the truth: I was the one who took the photo. The one of the girl crawling out of the kanal. (And yes—it was a girl, no matter what the other news agencies who type out reports from behind their desks say.) I braced for a shift in energy, afraid the mention of that photo might make him wary. Because it was that photo—the one that went viral—that triggered the police to cover up the canal on Adelantado. It was that photo that sent officers swarming this creek, watching for an hour and a half while Jerwin and his family huddled inside the culvert—hiding, hoping not to be displaced again. But instead of hostility, Jerwin smiled. “Salamat po.” He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for days. And just like that, the mood shifted. The air felt lighter—despite the heat beating down on us. I was a little confused why he thanked me but I was still coming out of my anxiety. Then Rommel emerged, climbing out of the culvert and joining the conversation. Jerwin told me he’s been living like this for three years. He used to be a delivery guy for a corporation, staying in his boss’s compound—until his boss passed, and the safety net vanished. Rommel’s been here longer—about a decade. His story is one you hear too often: His home—an informal settlement on the edge of the city—was demolished by the government to make way for a new project. And just like that, they ended up here. They were the victims of circumstance. ———The Answers.——— I asked them about the culverts, the drains, the pipes—where exactly they live. Because that’s what everyone’s been asking, right? Who are these people? Where do they stay? Rommel and Jerwin explained: Yes—they live in the “Botanical Garden”, their name for the creek beside Makati Med. Around 15 of them call it home. They told me the two culverts flanking the mouth of the creek. Shallow. They don’t really lead anywhere—just a few small holes where the sewage trickles out. But the creek itself? It stretches all the way to Don Bosco. Rommel cracked a joke, saying past that, it’s almost inhabitable. There’s another group that lives down the Don Bosco side. Different people. Different rules. Us folks, Rommel says, spend our days cleaning—clearing the creek and canals so the water flows better. Some help out the nearby jolly jeeps, hauling trash, doing odd jobs for a few coins and meals. Rommel claims that: “Us here in the Botanical Garden—we’re not connected to the Don Bosco side.” He rattled off the names of his community members here in the Botanical Garden: Rommel. Jerwin. Jerome. Bekbek. BB. Aki. Jane. Lester. Arnold. Buko. Namnam. They couldn’t name the last few—four new faces, still figuring things out, still trying to find a place in the small, fragile community. Jerwin and Jane? “Mag-asawa,” they said with a grin. Jerome and BB? Also a couple BB—the woman in the photo—was confirmed by Jerwin. I asked him straight up: “Is she really a woman?” Because when I spoke to my indirect source, she told me the police said it was a man dressed as a woman. Jerwin just shook his head and explained: The person the cops might have been talking about is Bekbek—a gay man, always in short shorts, hairline so high it practically touched the sky, with a long ponytail and a grin that never seems to leave his face. Bekbek has been seen crawling in and out of the same hole (there’s even a photo from December posted by another social media user). But the woman who came out of the kanal last Monday? That was BB. Jerwin was clear: We don’t live in the canals, he explained—we hide in them. From the sun. From the police. Sometimes to stash what little we have. Sometimes to keep each other safe. It’s a temporary escape, a place where they sort through what little they have: Scraps from dumpsters, hand-me-downs, alms from strangers. They’re not oblivious to the stigma. According to Jerwin, the police constantly harass them—not for any crime, but because of the way they look, the way they smell. (Though to be honest? They didn’t smell bad. Not that it should matter.) Jerwin also admitted—some people in their situation do use those spots to stash things they shouldn’t. Stolen items, maybe. They learned about the nooks and crannies from the so-called “Anay gang.” (That’s a whole other thread I’ll have to follow up on.) But back to BB: That day, May 26, she was just resting, trying to escape the heat when the sound of traffic woke her. It was around 5PM, time for the group to come together and eat. She didn’t want to miss it—whatever scraps they’d managed to gather for the day. So she crawled out of the kanal—just like that. No master plan. No escape plot. Just a woman trying to get back to her community, her belongings, her life—in the creek they call home. And the lighter in her hand in the photo (and Rommel’s at the time of this conversation)? They use to light cigarettes, to see in the kanals and culverts. ———So Where Does That Leave Us?——— It had been about an hour—just sitting there, swapping stories, laughing at dumb jokes (including a few about masturbation, of course). Eventually, I asked them: “Have you guys eaten yet?” They shook their heads. Rommel grinned, a little sheepish, and said: “Altanghap.” Almusal. Tanghalian. Hapunan. One meal for the whole day, usually at 5PM—or whenever they could all regroup at the Botanical Garden. I nodded, quietly, then told them: “Sagot ko na tanghalian.” Lunch was on me. We walked over to a nearby jolly jeep, and they started placing their orders—Adobo and rice for themselves. (They teased that they hate sinigang—so I, of course, ordered it, joking that I had the better taste. Sinigang for life.) I asked if the rest of the group was around. They said yes. So I told them: “Order for them too.” They were reluctant—grateful but shy. Still, they ordered nine more meals for the rest of the Botanical Garden community. Final tally: 11 Adobos. 11 cups of rice. 12 bottles of water. (Rommel was especially thirsty.) Before we left, I asked the jolly jeep folks if what Jerwin and Rommel had told me was true: That they sometimes helped out, did odd jobs, and scavenged for the stalls. They chuckled—at first pretending not to know them—but eventually confirmed the story. And maybe it’s a reminder: Just because someone’s living in the margins doesn’t mean they aren’t trying to live. They got their food. I got mine. It was getting close to 1:00PM—I had a meeting at 1—so I said my goodbyes and started to leave. As I walked toward Makati Med, I glanced back and saw them—calling out to their friends, family, their community—pulling them out from the shadows of the culvert. I recognized BB among them. And for the first time, as I locked eyes with her, I wasn’t overwhelmed by fear, or confusion, or dread. Just a quiet understanding. That often they don’t mean to hurt anyone—not me, not you, not the strangers on the street. Because in the end, they’re not the predators. Not Mole People. Just People and they’re the victims, too. This isn’t a story about drugs. It’s not a story about crime. It’s not a story about poverty porn. It’s a story about people—a community. It’s about the cracks we cover up with concrete, the faces we ignore when they crawl out of the kanal. submitted by /u/RoughMasterpiecei to r/makati [link] [comments]

submitted by /u/Sassinger001 to r/Sims4 [link] [comments]

I am NOT OOP, OOP is u/Intrepid_Buy_3152 Originally posted to r/AITAH AITAH For Telling My Husband That I See Him As A Liability and Not A Partner? Trigger Warnings: past trauma, body injuries, property damage, possible abuse and alcoholism Original Post: July 24, 2024 Sorry for the long post, it's 2am and I'm crying and tired and worn out. If I'm rambling, it's because I've held this in for so long not wanting to burden friends or family with my marital troubles. I 34F have been with my husband (37M, we'll call him Nathan) for 8 years. Ever since our daughter (3F) was born, I have been unable to trust Nathan with anything no matter how small. Background context: When I was 19 after a semi truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and turned my car into scrap metal with me inside it. I have enough metal holding me together that I light up like a Christmas tree for TSA and physically impaired with good days and bad days. I used a portion of my settlement check to buy a house outright and have it retrofit to accommodate my needs as I'll eventually require a wheelchair. I work in software development as it's fun and nobody cares if I work from bed on bad days. My husband has not worked in 5 years. Which has been fine until our daughter was born. Between the settlement money, a paid off house, and my salary, I enjoyed having him here with me. He contributed by handling most of the domestics. We pay for a weekly cleaner with monthly deep cleaning because it gave us more time together. Ever since our daughter was born, it was like a light switch turned off in his head. For our daughter, he would buy the wrong size diapers. Not fully mix bottles. Put diapers on backwards. Leave out poop-covered wipes. Forget to latch cabinets. This past week, he has gone to the store 3 times because he keeps coming home with the wrong size socks and shoes for her. I eventually just ordered the right ones on Amazon. For me, he has tried to help me with my weekly pill organizer fill-up and several times has spilled the contents of new medications all over the floor. Then "not seeing" that he didn't get all of them off the floor. He has repeatedly brought me grapefruit juice to take my medications with - a huge no! He has repeatedly forgotten that I can't have dairy and puts milk in my coffee. Or cheese on a burger. He has broken SO many things of mine from being careless. He shattered my laptop because it slipped out of his hand when he tried to pack it for a trip. Even after I said I would pack my own electronics. We've lost so many spoons and forks to the disposal. He tried to replace the head gasket in my car and over torqued the engine bolt (??) Which shattered insode the block and two different shops said they couldn't repair it. We ended up getting a new vehicle because a replacement engine would have cost $11,000. A week later, he crashed the new car into the garage door because he thought he'd pressed the brakes, not accelerator. He wanted to do TikToks and streaming as a hobby. I supported him initially. But I quickly noticed a pattern. Anything regarding our daughter or me, he was sloppy and careless. He never whoops'd his own stuff. He would build entire sets to stream or make videos with, leave the garage, and leave his brain in the garage. It came to a head four nights ago. He streamed himself building a new set piece. Nine hours straight. Meanwhile I worked, "clocked out early" to pick up our daughter from summer camp, cooked and fed both of us, got her ready for bed. He came out to help put her to bed. I let him know that I needed to get some work done and would be in my office. And I asked him to take the trash out. He says he will. 2 hours later, I left my office and the house felt really warm. He'd taken the trash out, but left our front door partially open. And was back in the garage with his game volume really loud. I panicked since our daughter is able to get out of bed and thankfully she was sound asleep. But she could have easily toddled right out of the house and he wouldn't have noticed. Then I noticed a stove top burner was on. With a small pot on it with nothing inside. I didn't use the stove for cooking that night. I pop my head into the garage and said "hey, I need you for a minute." I informed him of the door situation and he responds "i thought I locked it". We checked the camera and no, he did not. I ask about the burner being on and he said he was planning to make ramen and forgot. He pulled the still hot pot off the burner and put it straight into the sink on top of our daughter's favorite plastic plate. Which is now ruined. I'll admit I overreacted and screamed "What are YOU DOING". He realized what he'd done and pulls the pot off our daughter's plate... and straight onto the countertop. I grab it quickly and run it under water to cool it down. I tell him I can't tonight. I can't deal with him. I'm taking my meds and going to sleep. He gets a cup from the cupboard, and sets it straight onto the burner that'd been on. I hit my limit. I started crying. He kept saying that it was fine, things happen, it's just an accident, he's had a rough day from streaming, he's just tired. Why am I crying, it's just a cup. We can replace it. The anger hit and I said "It's because I have a liability and not a partner." He said "what the fuck does that mean". I screamed that it's because I can't trust him to do anything. That I'm always having to watch him like a child. Always having to bear the costs of his mistakes. That every time I get careless and think I can trust him to be an adult, I'm always the one getting fucked over. I then said "I can't see you as a partner anymore. You're just another liability in my checkbook". He immediately stormed out of the kitchen and went to bed. I called my mom and told her what happened. She thinks it's just stress and offered to take our daughter for a week so we could figure this out without our daughter seeing it. She says it was an asshole thing to call my husband a liability. In the morning, I told my husband that my mom would pick up our daughter from summer camp and offered to watch her for a week. He said "ok" and that's the only interaction we've had since. He spends all day in the garage playing games with his friends, making Tiktoks, and streaming. For food, he's been ordering DoorDash and having the person deliver it in the garage. It's been days and he refuses to be in the same room as me. I've tried messaging him to ask if we can talk. Or figure out a solution. But he's just left me on read. If I pop into the garage, he ignores me but apologizes to his friends or viewers for the interruption and geek unmute his mic when the noise stops. Before the blow up, I've asked if there was something going on. I tried to gently respond every time he screwed up so our daughter didn't associate "mistake" to "anger". I asked him to schedule with a doctor to see if something was going wrong medically. He always said I was over-reacting, people make mistakes. And didn't see an issue, even when the same mistakes kept happening. When I tried to get him to understand that it was concerning just how expensive his mistakes were getting, he'd wave it off as a "it's not like we can't afford it". I love him dearly, I just miss the person he was before we had a child. The one I could trust and rely on. Did I screw this up forever? Was I being too harsh on his mistakes? Am I missing something? Am I the asshole? Relevant Comments OOP on if her husband is using her money OOP (downvoted): We do have a shared account for household expenses and bills but he is using his own money as far as I can see. When he became a stay at home husband, I didn't want him to ever feel like he was financially trapped or abused. Also the thought of my husband having to ask for money (permission) to buy things for himself or not being able to buy gifts discreetly felt ick to me. My paychecks get split between the expenses account, $300 each deposited into separate accounts the other can't see, and the rest to savings. To me, it's his money to save or spend how he wants. + I read through all the responses and have removed the allocation to his account. I also removed his name as an authorized user on the bills/expenses account. Before our daughter was born, this did seem the fairest because he was managing the household tasks and maintenance. But I understand everyone's frustration at me since the arrangement is no longer fair or equitable. I can't cancel his card because my name isn't on that account at all, but I have put a stop to this Friday's and all future deposits. OOP on if her husband contributed to anything before their daughter’s birth and afterwards OOP: Before our daughter was born, he was contributing and I valued him for it. He cooked most our meals, did the daily cleaning chores like dishes, wiping counters, cat litter scooping. We did bi-weekly grocery trips and bulk store runs together, but one-offs during the week he would handle. He also helped me hit the ground running with scrambled eggs and coffee in bed so i could take my heart medication. I never had to run the laundry or consider taking the heavier pain meds to get through folding and hanging everything. He still mostly does these, minus breakfast. Dishes sometimes sit overnight due to his streaming, but I also attribute it to our toddler wanting each part of her meal in a different small bowl and our dishwasher can only fit so many of the Ikea kids bowls. + He does do the daily things like dishes, scooping cat litter, wiping counters, getting trash out, cleaning random messes that occur, etc. Plus laundry, yard work. We pay for a weekly cleaner so we dont run into the issue of deferred cleaning (?) where neglecting the house for a few days (illness, doctor visits, family visiting, local outings, etc) doesn't ever turn into a "theres too much to catch up on omg where do i start" freeze. I've always struggled with that in the past. And the monthly deep cleaner because it's honestly just really nice having a professional come in. Our monthly deep cleaner is also a professional organizer which has been a tremendous help with the transition from infant to toddler organization of clothing and toys. OOP on her husband’s qualities OOP: He's incredibly creative and we used to have so much fun working on projects together. He's a modern day MacGyver. Give him a roll of duct tape, two pennies, some foam, cardboard and paint and he can build beautiful set pieces that could be mistaken for props on Broadway. He learned how to make a mini forge from a flower pot and a makeshift lathe. He practiced until he made the ring he proposed with. Complete with my favorite gemstone. Blue opal. His smile is infectious and he tells the best of horrible puns and jokes. He took cooking classes to learn how to make my favorite dishes and made his own notecard recipe book. He doesn't hesitate to belt out everything from AQUA to Backstreet Boys, Broadway showtunes, Nightwish, and everything in between. Offkey but as if the rest of the world isnt there. Play a Michael Jackson song and he's on the dance floor by the end of the first note. When i gave birth to our daughter, I didn't have hospital food as my first meal. He'd worked out an arrangement with the owner of my favorite restaurant. No matter what time of day or night, as soon as i went into labor, he would message the restaurant owner who would prepare my usual faves and personally deliver the meal to the hospital. I had no idea until it arrived and the smell hit my nose. I cried so many happy tears into my food. I love frogs. He used to take a photo of every frog he'd find in our yard. He designed and vaccuformed a sign for our house that has both our favorite animals that says "Welcome Home". If he was out, he'd send me photos of, or come home with, cute frog themed things. On my bad pain days where I mostly "rot" in bed, he would bring me meals. On a wooden tray he made. It converts from a carry tray to a bed tray. He got the idea from hospital food trays. He helps me get my socks and shoes on when i just cant quite do it myself. He learned how to do a few styles of updos and how to curl and flatten hair to help me feel pretty. On days where I hate the broken body I have, he'll put my hair up and it brightens my day. That's the person i fell in love with. And so deeply miss. Some days he's that person. But more frequently now, hes not.   Update: July 30, 2024 Sorry for not being so responsive. Thank you to everyone who gave feedback and suggestions and all of the messages. It's been a week. Before I get into the update, going to answer some repeated questions. (Skip ahead 8 paragraphs for the actual update) Why does my husband not work? He can easily find employment but we both agreed that the pay was never worth the toxic environment of his field unless he wanted to start his own business, which he did not. He worked in home repair and renovation. It was gross how his coworkers spoke of and treated women, female customers and coworkers alike. He saw many female coworkers be sexually harassed into quitting. He hated how gross it made him feel when sales and adjusters would take advantage of women. Yes, selling inferior and unnecessary services at a premium is a thing. If he said anything, his hours would get cut until he left. He left one job on the first day because his boss left a screaming voicemail for not selling a refrigerant service to a young black couple who didnt even need refrigerant. Yes, he's got documentation and reported multiple employers to the state labor board. And checked back. Nothing was ever done to our knowledge. He's also tried a factory job and a warehouse since leaving the trades. Both heavily penalized him for needing scheduled time off for my medical needs. Theres no worker protection here for any of that until FMLA - unpaid - which takes a year to be eligible for. Yes. It is a privilege to walk away from a paying job with your middle fingers held high. I have done the same many times but am happy where I'm at right now because its the opposite of toxic. I'm thriving and our company has a no penalty, unlimited paid sick/medical leave policy that is strictly "enforced" at all levels of management. Any lead who penalizes people for taking leave gets sacked. A unicorn of a company. Add in a child and short of finding another unicorn employer who won't penalize him for needing time off for me or our daughter -such as when daycare closed for a week due to an RSV outbreak- puts him out of the workforce until either I stop working or our child old enough to not need consistent monitoring. Last reason for this dynamic is that although I'm disabled, my job pays almost double the highest salary he's ever had. With no reduction in pay for needing time off. It doesnt make financial sense for us to switch who the working partner is. Does my husband have a large following or make money from streaming/TikTok? No. His lives have an average of 6 viewers. And his Twitch has 3 followers. When we did our taxes, he didnt get a 1099 and he showed me that hed got all of $6 from TikTok live gifts. Nothing from Twitch. His viewer counts are about the same as end of last year. Why do we still have a weekly housekeeper and have our daughter in summer camp and part-time daycare? I hate the dynamic of one spouse working a single job for 40 hours a week while the other juggles simultaneous domestic duties, child rearing (care, enrichment, socialization), and essentially being on call 24/7. I would not want those expectations of me and couldn't fathom putting all of it on someone I love and cherish. If my husband did all of the activities and field trips that daycare did, his evenings and weekends would be taken up by domestic duties that i would physically struggle with assisting. The weekly housekeeper helps prevent deferred cleaning "paralysis". Where small missed things pile up into unwieldy monster tasks and struggling with where to start. The monthly deep clean and organization has been a world of self care as we navigated to having an infant and the transition from infant to toddler. (Edited to add: Our daughter started at the part time daycare when she turned 3. Before then, my partner *was* the primary caretaker which made the weekly housekeeping that much more helpful in not letting things fall to disarray.) The "allowance" thing. Yes. I wanted a dynamic where my husband had his "own" money even if he was not working a paying job. Maybe I've been on social media too long, but I've read so many stories of non working spouses (albeit mostly women) being financially abused or unable to leave marriages because they did not have access to money they could save up in private. Should I have stopped it sooner when our dynamic became too unbalanced? Yes. I own that. As for "what happens if/when we divorce", the house and settlement balance is in a trust completely separated and as far as my lawyer can tell, out of his reach. Alimony would be up for a judge to decide, but between my documentation, that his licenses/certs aren't expired, plus my continual medical costs, theres a good chance of not being obligated. Hopefully that answers most or all of the background-related questions? Onto the update. Friday I finished work to the smell of food being cooked. My husband was plating dinner on the table when I left my office. He said he wanted to talk over dinner. Some people had given me a heads up that my story was on multiple TikToks and Im grateful because it meant being prepared for the possibility he would see it. Which, I have feelings about my post being used for content on the very platform my child and I have been neglected for. Not good ones. He did see one. He asked if it was me and I told him the truth. Yes, I wrote it. Yes, that's how I feel. And Yes, I read the comments on Reddit. And no, I won't delete or change how I write about him just because I know he can see it. I don't know how to describe his reaction, but he said he'd spent the last day reflecting on "just how bad could it be" for so many medical diagnosis suggestions be given as reason and justification. He did say that he's not ADHD. His mom was addicted to opioids and Ritalin when he was a kid and she tried to get numerous doctors to have him diagnosed ADHD. She had him believing he was so he also sought out two opinions once he was an adult. He didnt learn about her addiction until his mid 20's. He did seek therapy once he was aware that his mom was trying to use him for pills. He said he was willing to see a psychiatrist one more time, but he doesn't think he's ADHD or autistic at all. He does think he might be depressed though. If not depressed, he will ask about some of the other medical suggestions if it will ease my worry or rule out a major problem. He did sound genuine in this but something he said is sticking with me. He said it jokingly and apologized as soon as he saw the hurt in my eyes. That everyone saying there's something wrong in his brain must be onto something since he chose to love and marry someone "medically fragile" knowing our life together would be anything but normal. He did also admit that the night he'd left the door open, the pot on, ruined our child's favorite dish, and a cup - he'd drank a little too much on his stream. And would monitor that more closely. He said the last few nights, he had been filling his "wine bottle" with grape juice so it looked like he was a jolly drinking viking, but was actually sober. He said he would keep doing that. After dinner, we went out and he surprised me with seeing the new Deadpool movie. We didn't go to our normal theater because he looked up what each theater had for limited edition popcorn buckets. I now have the baby Deadpool one that holds popcorn and a drink. We spent the next day going over the extent of how our family dynamic changed for the worse. How the little things have added up. How I see "change" as a part of an apology - if you verbally apologize but repeatedly do the same thing, the apology words are worthless to me. And that he didn't recognize just how frequently he was making the same/similar oopsies. Sunday, we spent talking over short and long term. What needs to change immediately, him scheduling his own doctor appointments. Timelines for expectations. He agreed that replacing or fixing things he caused will no longer come out of our expense account. He will pay it from his "allowance" account. Which we talked about. I did turn deposits back on, but only for $50 per paycheck. He suggested we keep it that way until he's "paid back" the cost of repairing the garage and car from earlier this year. He said it will take him far longer to undo the cost of destroying the engine to my last vehicle, but that he's going to step up and find ways to make it right. Yes. I see the red flags. Love bombing. Not "knowing" how frequently despite repeated talks. Thinking verbal apologies are the final step in apologizing and not "understanding" that repeatedly doing the same problem thing is the same as never apologizing. And yes, I know he will read this. Do I actually think this is resolved and we will come out of this as a perfect married couple who stays together until one of us croaks? Not really. (Full offense to husband, for now) Is it a potential resolution? Maybe. But my husband is fully aware that he has a lot to make up for, a lot to fix, and a tight schedule to make it happen. And that the lesson for our daughter (later in life) is either going to be "taking real accountability can steer a wayward ship back to course", "taking accountability is the right thing to do, even if you don't get the result you wanted", or "love alone isn't enough." tldr: Wow this sucks. I suck for letting it get this far. My husband sucks for what he's put us through. Life owes me a dinner date if its gonna eff me so hard. But there's a potential path forward that doesn't involve divorce. But may involve divorce. Edit to add: He finally read the post so please read between the lines to what I'm actually saying. Last 4 words of the previous 4 paragraphs if it's not obvious. Relevant Comments yesimreadytorumble: there is some truth to his joke given his ability to work has been impacted due to your medical needs, neither of you seem very keen on being a partner and given your take on alimony and money in general, i hope he looks out for his own financial interests. OOP: I'm trying to be a partner. It's why I am supportive and pay for help (housekeeping, part time daycare that is currently a full time summer camp) as well as ensure he has his own money to spend how he wants. There is truth that my medical needs impacts his ability to work, which would hurt him for alimony because he wouldn't need a unicorn job with unpenalized PTO if we aren't together. Would I still help him land semi-softly on his feet? Most likely. A judge, from what I've been told, would be less likely to obligate it. OOP on needing to grow a spine and have her talks with her husband to improve things OOP: I wish I could grow a spine and replace the one being held together with duct tape, screws, rust, and vibes. I'm -well- aware that he's 99.9% likely in a panic and the next month if that is going to be a refreshing, but temporary, change. Sorry people wrongly dogpiled you previously, but you are quite mistaken here for assuming my "I want to verify that my husband is indeed choosing to suck" is proof that I intend to continue living like this. BunchFull: Your two posts have a much larger following after a week that he does on all of his streaming junk combined 🤣 I have a very hard time believing he couldn’t keep a job because of how toxic his work environment was….but that’s just me 🤷🏻‍♂️ OOP: Looooook, I wasnt gonna say it. But you're not wrong. The toxic work environments part is sadly very true; I've seen the evidence he collected and submitted to the labor board. At least before everything went sideways, things were really nice with him as a house husband. Am sad he squandered it. I'll be financially able to retire in just a few years barring my career field suddenly tanking salaries though.   DO NOT COMMENT IN LINKED POSTS OR MESSAGE OOPs – BoRU Rule #7 THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT OOP submitted by /u/Choice_Evidence1983 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

I am not The OOP, OOP is u/ghostwriter36 Coworker accidentally took my lunch home and never brought it back. Originally posted to r/blackladies TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of poverty, food theft Original Post Oct 22, 2023 I'm absolutely floored, people really aren't shit these days. I came in to work 2 nights ago and put my lunch in the fridge. My coworker was leaving for the night and was taking the next 4 days off. As I was working, she grabbed my bag of food thinking it was hers and left. I later get a call from her and she told me that she accidentally grabbed my stuff and will bring it back the next day. I was a little agitated because it left me SOL for the night, but I had tuna fish and crackers stashed elsewhere and so I had that for lunch that night. The next day, I call her to remind her to bring my lunch because I had an expensive sandwich, yogurt, and cut up fruit in there from a quick stop at the store. She said that it was no problem and she'd bring it in. I get to work last night, and the girl never even stopped by to bring my food and I doubt she'll bring it tonight. Now my expensive sandwich is probably soggy and gross, my fruit is probably extra ripe and I'm livid! She couldn't even fix her mistake. That lunch cost me money and it's been 2 days now... I can't believe how people really don't give a shit these days about other people. Had it been me, I would've brought the lunch back that same night. RELEVANT COMMENTS Empress-Rae She ate your shit. Let’s be real. Trifling heifer. OOP replied Oooh...now she owes me money...she really is trifling for that, left me hanging because of her mistake xCelestial She ate that shit 😂she a lil liar. Like at least admit it but don’t act like you’re going to bring my food back??? Also do you have similar bags or did she just jack your food??? She needs your cash app right now though fr, let her know next time you see her how much she owes you and start putting petty labels on your bag. OOP replied I'm starting to think she did eat it, it was in a brown grocery bag. I looked in the refrigerator this morning and saw another brown grocery bag with an empty water bottle and tupperware in there...so I believe she did take it by accident....but there's no excuse for not bringing it back...if she tries to bring me that old soggy sandwich and fruit, she will be reimbursing me. Update Oct 23, 2023 Okay, ya'll.... I don't know how to link my previous post, I tried...but I'm here to give an update. My coworker came to work this morning, I was ready to speak with her about my lunch. As soon as she walked in, she saw me and then proceeded to walk past me, avoiding eye contact. There were several coworkers around and I didn't want to bust her out and make a scene in front of everyone. So I stuck around, walking past her several times until she addressed it...she never did. So I waited until she walked into a room alone, and I followed right behind her. At this point, I no longer wanted my lunch. I just wanted to know what possessed her to take my lunch and never bring it back. So I asked her about it....she tried to play dumb and told me that she did bring it back, she said she handed it off to a certain coworker and left. I knew that was a lie because that coworker had said that she hasn't seen her. So I called her bluff and told her that I will ask that coworker where she put it. The girl came clean....SHE ATE MY LUNCH YA'LL! That was all I wanted to know...I told her that she owed me $15, her faced dropped...the girl was broke. It was so ghetto, that I shook my head and told her to forget it....if she was that hard up to jack my food and lie about it....and especially lie on a coworker, then she can keep it. I'm not about to start a war over a $15 lunch. I use to respect her as a coworker, but now I look at her differently. She's a liar and a thief...now I'll lock my stuff up around her from now on...and if she pulls this shit again, I will report her. RELEVANT COMMENTS anxydutchess Absolutely not saying this is an excuse, but something must be really going on for her to take someone else’s lunch and just eat it. Like I don’t understand what possesses people to do shit like that. It’s really trifling. Actually nothing could be going on, she could’ve done it just because lmao OOP replied That's why I dropped it, because I figured that she probably was going through something..if she had asked me for my food and told me she was having a hard time, I most likely would've given it to her...she really didn't have to take my stuff. It's the fact that she lied on our coworker...that's what kinda scared me. SurewhynotAZ Ok. Time to let it go. You're bigger than this and have more to consider. A hungry person ate your lunch OOP replied I'm already letting it go, that's why I haven't responded to anymore messages in the last 4 hours. The girl already ate her lunch that day and then took mine at the end of her shift. Once again, it wasn't about the food, it was the total disregard for another person that was also hungry and the crazy lies that came with it. Please don't tell me what I need to be feeling. THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP submitted by /u/Direct-Caterpillar77 to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

We paid a $150 cleaning fee for them to give us these checkout instructions. I'm surprised they didn't want us to stick around to dry the towels and remake the beds. submitted by /u/fmbrandon to r/mildlyinfuriating [link] [comments]

I am NOT OP. Original post by u/mangodevito in r/QAnonCasualties trigger warnings: child abuse, sexual assault   My Q Aunt blames my childhood trauma on Democrats - May 4, 2021 Long rant ahead CW: brief mentions of child abuse and sexual assault I've always loved my aunt, she was like my best friend growing up. We always snuck desserts out of the refrigerator or played video games together. Now, my aunt is in her late fifties and she's always been a sort of liberal person. The last few years though, her life has turned upside down due to family problems (her mother getting sick, losing money, etc) and she sought solace in conspiracy theories. They started off harmless ish like the Princess Diana one, or the one about the moon landing but slowly she started descending into Qanon. I didn't know what it was at first, I was super concerned. She started spewing hatred about gays and transgendered people (whom she loved before) and started talking about Bill Gates and how he microchipped vaccines. I was abused as a young child both physically and sexually, and since I was close with this aunt, I decided to open up to her about my PTSD and gradual recovery. She went off about how if I really wanna stop child abuse, I should stop supporting Democrats. According to her, they are satanic and they kidnap kids and harvest their adrenaline and snort it. She started going on this 3 hour rant about how Democrats are the reason why I'm going through this, not allowing me to speak or get a single word in. I gave up and excused myself from the table and locked myself in my room to cry. She texted me an hour later, which I thought was going to be an apology but turned out to be a video about cabals(?) And how I can stop them from hurting other children. I was devastated. I know she doesn't mean to be crazy or insensitive but I feel like I lost her that day.     UPDATE: My QAunt did a full 180 and is back to normal?? It's kind of freaking me out. - November 22, 2021 I made a post here several months ago about my left-wing aunt who used to be super progressive aunt falling down the qanon rabbit hole out of nowhere. She said some bizarre things about democrat cabals harvesting adrenaline from children and she started talking about Trump being a super genius pretending to be an idiot because it was all according to plan. Naturally, it was very weird and heartbreaking for me to see her descend into this delusion. Currently, it's like she did a complete 180. She's back to normal. It's really freaking me out. She's back to supporting left wing politicians, fighting for recreational drug use, sharing legitimate medical research articles, and more. This is so weird to me it's like none of that qanon shit even happened. Did anyone else notice a similar pattern in a loved one?   My QAunt was saved... By BTS?? (I shit you not) - February 2, 2022 I have made two posts on this sub in the past about my liberal left-wing QAunt who descended down the rabbit hole of Qlore from cabals who eat kids to democrats/Hollywood celebs trafficking people to Epstein island. One day, it all just... stopped. She stopped sharing Q stuff, stopped believing in it, started talking about liberal stuff again like it never happened. I was baffled. Did she have dementia? A stroke? Today I found out the answer. It was BTS. She started getting into Kpop as soon as Dynamite was released and dear lord, now she knows their names, their mom's names, their favorite food, etc. From what she told me, they inspired her to be a better person. They would make donations to BLM, rally for accessible mental health for all, and promote self-love and compassion. She is now an ARMY and I guess... That's that? I'm not a big BTS fan, but if you're reading this and are BTS or a member of ARMY, thank you. Wtf. Thanks so much(?) What a plot twist. I'm gonna go lie down now.   OOP comment She called me at 3am sobbing about a korean show called Crash Landing Into You and then after some incoherent garbled speech she hung up. OOP comment I think she just wanted friends and most boomers her age are into Q and conservative shit. She found a group of middle aged ladies who love BTS and now she's thriving. They have little dance groups and glow sticks and are making plans to attend concerts in the future. You go, middle aged ladies! Reminder - I am not the original poster. submitted by /u/GRADIUSIC_CYBER to r/BestofRedditorUpdates [link] [comments]

Dr Daniel Vance was a smart man. Too smart for his own good, maybe. Forty years old, a lecturer in fluid dynamics with a mind made of shapes and numbers. No one knows why but one day, on a whim, he crunched the numbers on the apocalypse and came to a troubling conclusion. He didn’t share exactly what it was he’d deduced, but given that he immediately quit his job and liquidated his many assets, it’s fair to say it wasn’t positive. Swept up in the wake of this tremendous upheaval was his wife, a twenty-four year old PhD student who had grown infatuated with Daniel some time before. She loved the strange bear of a man who could just as easily build a log cabin as he could explain the idiosyncrasies of an asteroid’s orbit. Speaking to Daniel always left you with the profound impression he was right, so when he told her what he wanted to do, she agreed. Fifteen years and five children later, the Vances were living in the distant woods just beyond my hometown. They were enigmatic, richer than the Pope, and extremely serious about their prepper lifestyle. But they were also funny, easygoing, and incredibly compelling to speak to. Larger than life survivalists who swept into town with bizarre requests that thrilled local businesses. Vast quantities of cement, iron, lead, and steel were all shipped through the remote mountains so that the Vances could build their shelter. The advanced methods they used to keep it secret were legendary. Daniel had once spent six months earning the licence necessary to drive HGVs up to his compound so that no one else would lay eyes on it. And on one occasion when a company had refused his request for GPS tracker-free vehicles, he bought them out wholesale so that they had no choice. So when they stopped appearing in town during the pandemic, when requests for food and goods stopped and all contact was dropped, most attributed it to lockdown. They had a bunker and had spent their entire lives training to be self-sufficient in the face of civilisation’s collapse. Even Alexander, the youngest at just three, was already collecting firewood as a chore, and learning what local plants were edible. Most of us just assumed that if anyone could ride out Covid without breaking a sweat, it would be the Vances. The reality turned out to be something else. When the worst came to light, we discovered that Daniel had used the pandemic as an excuse for a dry-run. The family intended to spend six months in lockdown and essentially beta test their fallout bunker. Three months in and the Sheriff received a distress call on the radio. Coordinates were provided by the hushed voice of a sobbing child that most assume was Alexander, even though that’s never been proven. The police arrived and found the bunker still sealed. It took hours for emergency responders to cut into the door, all the while efforts were made to contact the family within but to no avail. Once inside, police were left dumbfounded. There was no one to be rescued. No bodies. No survivors. There was evidence the door’s locking mechanism had failed and trapped the Vances inside with no way out, but if so where had they gone? Beds and cots lay everywhere with mouldering yellow sheets, buckets close to hand with stains all around them. Some doors were barred, others smashed to pieces. There was even evidence of makeshift quarantines and, in places, what looked like violence. The police, usually a fantastic source of gossip, were not forthcoming until the town demanded answers and the Sheriff was forced to offer only the barest of outlines. An outbreak of a waterborne illness had struck the Vances down not long after they were locked inside and unable to seek help. Rumours of contagion were overstated, fuelled by the unrelated rise of Covid. Whatever contaminant had killed the Vances, it was non-organic in nature. No need to panic. The Vances loved-ones had been notified. The bunker was going to be demolished, and we could all put this terrible tragedy behind us. Of course we still had questions. A thousand of them. Why hadn’t the family called for help? They had radios, computers, smartphones too. They were survivalists, not Amish. And where were they? What had happened to their bodies? Why hadn’t they simply left? We shouted these and more at the town meeting but the police simply refused to comment. For most of us the excitement lasted another week or two until we realised we weren’t getting answers any time soon. Besides, the pandemic was in full swing and most of us had other things to worry about. The tragic story eventually faded until it was just one of those awful things in the town’s history that we didn’t talk about. I was as guilty as anyone else of just forgetting about it. I certainly never expected to find the bunker out there in the woods, faded police tape still on the open door that hung wide open with scorch marks around the lock. It stood out in the woods like someone had cut a hole right in the fabric of reality, the darkness so deep and black it almost ached to look at. The sight of it made my heart drop into my stomach. It radiated pain. Does that make sense? I think some part of my lizard brain picked out details that wouldn’t become apparent to me until I got closer, like the bloody finger streaks that stained the handle from where someone had scrabbled furiously at the lock without success. And the tiny viewing window had been smashed with a hammer that still lay nearby. I needed only to glimpse it to imagine the family taking turns to stand there and scream into the woods desperate for rescue. Under any other circumstances, I would have run. But I’d gone there looking for my dog, and my light revealed a few wet paw prints making their way down the dusty concrete tunnel. Half Bernese and half collie, Ripley is the sort of dog who trembles in my arms when a storm buffets the windows and needs his paws held when we brush him. I love him. I do not have much of a family, or a wife, or even many friends. But I have Ripley, and I could no more have turned around and gone home to an empty apartment where I would have to sob my grief away than I could flap my arms and fly. He was my dog and I’d raised him since he was a puppy, and I wasn’t going to leave him out in those woods. I went in after him. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew it wouldn’t be good. Whatever the police had found, they’d not only kept most of the morbid details to themselves, they had also lied. The bunker was not demolished, or even sealed off. In fact, looking at the occasional blue latex glove tossed aside and the one or two broken police-issue flashlights, it seemed like the last people inside had been in a hurry to get out. Given this was where seven people had presumably died, I assumed it was someone’s job to clean it all up. But the corridor looked largely untouched. Just a few metres in and manic writing started to cover the walls, the desperate scrawls of a lone survivor left there to be rediscovered like cave paintings. Most were deliberations on how to get out. Diagrams. Blueprints. Equations and formulae. All focused on the door and the circuits responsible for its faulty lock. I instinctively assumed they belonged to Daniel and that he’d been the last to die. What a God awful fate for a man to outlive his children. And yet it got worse. Slowly the writing changed from equations and plans to a desperate scrawl. The same few phrases repeated over and over. Five doors. Five. Not six. Six. Didn’t make it. Didn’t make it. Six doors. Six. It seemed like the kind of thing you’d find in an asylum. A psychotic rambling punctuated only by six paragraphs right at the end. Each letter was impeccably neat, and each small paragraph was topped with a beautifully drawn Christian cross. Elliott Vance aged fifteen. A gifted guitarist. He liked boys even though he thought I did not know. I loved him with everything I had. He would have made a great man. Alicia Vance aged fourteen. She liked to paint and to shoot. She had her mother’s mean streak. It would have served her well in the future. Elijah Vance aged eight. The smartest of us all… These were Daniel’s memorials to his family, and seeing the words lit up by my torch was a haunting insight into the overwhelming despair he’d endured. He must have realised he wouldn’t get the chance to speak at his family’s funerals or to write their obituaries. This was his last desperate way of making sure the world might one day know them as he did - as real people. The words marked the end of the tunnel, standing adjacent to a trapdoor in the ground. It was not open but the tunnel came to a dead end immediately afterwards and Ripley’s prints disappeared at the hatch. I feared he might be in danger, but still I stopped and looked at the bunker door twenty metres behind me. The once gloomy forest looked so bright, even on this cloudy day, the air dotted with rain. A part of me felt like I was leaving the whole world behind as I began to climb the ladder down. I entered a large circular living space that was packed with furniture and little nooks and crannies. The walls were covered with folding beds and tables and every inch was multifunctional. A dining space could become a sitting space, which in turn might be where someone slept, or even exercised. It all depended on what particular bit of furniture you unfolded or unclipped or unfurled. Seven people in close quarters, nowhere near enough privacy, it made sense they went with this cluttered overlapping use of space. But it was still a large room, bigger than most studio apartments. And there were a few corridors that led deeper into the Earth telling me the bunker had unseen depths. I looked for some sign of my dog and soon found his trail, but this far from the rainy copse Ripley’s prints were starting to fade. After barely a few metres they petered out vaguely in the direction of a nearby door. I wanted to follow but stopped myself from rushing onwards. It was unlikely Ripley was getting out any other way, and I’d do us no good getting hurt myself. I decided to take a look around and quickly spotted a dinner table. If I needed proof the police had not bothered with a clean up, this was it. The plates were still out, the food rotten to a strange blackened husk. A child’s hat lay across one place-setting, the once-creamy fleece turned a sickly green and yellow. The chairs had their backs reinforced with wooden beams fitted with long grooves so that something the width of a nail could slide into them. And on each of the cushions were foul smelling stains that looked oddly like an ass print. I touched one with gloved hands and the material crackled audibly. Whatever it was, similar stains were on the cutlery and plates, and there were even handprints of it placed firmly on the tablecloth. At first I thought it was blood, but that wasn’t quite right. It was too contained to be from leaking blood. On the back of one of the chairs a stain tapered exactly where a woman’s waist would be like a near perfect silhouette. I shivered as I remembered that Miranda Vance had always been a slim woman and wondered how she had left her imprint on the grey fabric. Using my torch, I saw that these stains repeated in the oddest of places. Yes, there were some on beds and blankets and even patches of plain floor exactly like you might expect in a room full of sick people. But why did one stain on the floor bear such a strong resemblance to a child huddled in the foetal position? And why was the same stuff all over the tv remote, and on books on shelves, and board games too. Everything from sofa cushions to DVD boxes to piles of dirty laundry were covered in the same dried brownish material that gave off a foul coppery miasma. I found the jigsaw particularly baffling. Someone had set up another table with four chairs, all modified with the same back support as those by the dinner table. And a jigsaw had been lain out with four separate piles, but only one was depleted. The rest looked largely untouched, almost like someone had portioned out pieces for three other people who had absolutely no interest in going along with it. Maybe Daniel had tried to keep up morale while the family were sick? God help me, if that were true I couldn’t help but imagine the poor man sat there with his loved ones close to death, desperately trying to encourage them to click their own pieces into place while they faded in and out of consciousness. Something about that room emanated madness, and the longer I stayed down there flicking the bright disk of light of my torch from one detail to another, the more I wanted to leave. One door had wooden beams nailed across it. One sofa had been partially disassembled. Multiple beds had been burned. And all the light bulbs had been removed and put in a box on the kitchen counter top. Looking up at the ceiling, I finally had some insight into why the police were so confident the Vances had not survived despite never finding their bodies. Someone had jammed a human finger into one of the empty sockets, almost like they’d expected it to glow with the flick of a switch. What was it about this place that had caused the police to leave and never return? Not to even take that finger and test it for signs of illness, or even just to confirm who it belonged to? I decided it was time to hurry up and find my dog. People had died in that place, and while I’m not superstitious, I can’t be the only sceptic who has done the calculations in his head and realised it costs nothing to be respectful of ghosts. That bunker was cramped, terrifying, and the air stank so bad I started to worry I’d get sick myself. It served no one any good to linger. But I’d be damned if I’d just walk away and leave Ripley to rot down there. It’s not like he could climb a ladder and get out on his own (even if I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten down there in the first place). Summoning what little bravery I had left I called out and broke the silence, something which felt like a terrible taboo in that God awful place, like screaming in a graveyard. “Ripley!” I waited and hoped to hell I’d hear the pitter patter of his paws, but for the longest of moments there was only the kind of silence that makes you wonder if someone or something in the darkness is holding its breath trying to look like just another patch of nothing. Biding its time until you finally turn around and show it your back… The TV came on with a blurt of white noise that was so loud and so sudden I cried, threw my arms up, and nearly fell backwards onto a rolled-out sleeping bag that looked like it had spent a week in the sewer. By the time I realised what had caused the noise, I could already hear a tinny rendition of Daniel Vance’s voice. …I realise the issue here. I need to emphasise just how little I understand anything that’s… I frowned at the screen as I approached. It showed a greenish infrared view of the bunker with Daniel upfront, and the dinner table behind him. It was grainy and hard to see, but I could clearly tell that his family were sitting in those chairs. …Miranda was first to fall ill. Looking back it makes perfect sense. Miranda often went into storage to fetch food for cooking and we found it behind one of the refrigerators. So that’s–ah shit.. One of the figures in the background slumped onto the table with a loud clank and sent a plate spinning off onto the ground. Shit shit shit, Daniel muttered as he got up and grabbed the woman by the shoulders and sat her upright. Miranda never did like my cooking! He snorted a laugh as he fussed with something at the back of the chair. The rods are much better than tape. All those hours spent taping them upright to the chairs. Never worked. But the rods… they fit right into the spine and with a little modification I can just slot them into the chairs. That way everyone is able to join in for dinner. I’m working on something similar for family game night. Daniel wandered over to the camera and with a grin he lifted it from the tripod and scanned the dinner table. What I saw nearly made me drop my torch. His family were long dead. Gaunt faces. Missing noses. Lips that had receded to reveal awful grins. These were corpses, plain as day, even when viewed through such a low resolution image. The only thing that made them seem remotely alive was the way their eyes still reflected the infrared back so that they glowed in the dark. And yet Daniel seemed oblivious to it all. He tousled Elliot’s hair. Kissed his wife on the cheek. Run a hand across one young girl’s shoulder. He even picked the young Alexander up from his high chair and I assume he coddled him. I don’t know for sure because I looked away, unwilling to see the poor boy up close. Eyes averted from the screen, I couldn’t help but pan my torch across to that same dinner table and shiver as I finally realised what all those stains were. Not quite blood. But close. Liquefying flesh. Left alone for months, Daniel had not put his family’s bodies to rest. Instead he had moved them around from place to place and puppeted them, living life as if nothing had really changed. Looking at where those stains had settled I saw a clear pattern emerge. He had put them to bed. He had set them dinner. He had propped them up to watch TV, or gave them their favourite books. They even sat there as lifeless husks while Daniel waited for them complete a fucking jigsaw. The idea horrified me to my core. …back to work. It’s obviously not part of the original designs. No room on the other side, not on the blueprints. Elliot didn’t believe me and why would he? I made every inch of this place, but I did not install that door in storage on the bottom level. I checked the cameras and some of the photos I took during the build and the wall is just blank. But the door is there now and it must lead somewhere. I don’t know when or why it opens, but it does and the next time I’ll be ready. Because I have to know what’s on the other side, and why it did this to us. Alone down here, often all asleep at once. Anything could have slit our throats and been done with it. But it didn’t. It took its time and I have to know why! It took our radios and computers and phones. One by one. None of us noticing until it was far too late. I kept telling the kids they needed to take better care of their things, and even as they complained I just assumed the phones were lying behind some shelf. Where else could they go in a locked bunker? But it wasn’t the children at all. Looking back there are so many signs… who kept taking away the lights? Who kept draining the batteries in our torches? How long did we live with it before we finally realised we weren’t alone? Was it here every step of the way? A door out of nothing that leads to nowhere, at least most of the time. Because I know for a fact it does not always open onto a blank wall. There is something behind it. I can hear it shuffling around in there, wet breath rattling in its lungs, a horrible sound I hear roaming these halls when it thinks I’m asleep… I listened to Daniel, fascinated by this strangely compelling rant, when movement caught my eye. An infrared camera running in the dark, its image a roiling mess of uniform noise. What was it I’d seen? I paused the tape and rewound. Squinting, I saw two pinpricks of light in the darkness just over Daniel’s shoulder. Slowly, the image resolved itself in my mind. I knew what I was seeing and it turned my blood to ice. Miranda Vance had turned her head, and her lifeless eyes glowed as she fixed them on the back of Daniel’s head. …not even any point leaving at this stage. I’m no doctor, but that door is giving off enough radiation to… well, to kill a family of seven. If none of us had touched it… Being in the same room is risky, but not lethal. But given how sick we’ve become, it’s pretty obvious our curiosity got the better of us, one by one, and we all got too close. Or maybe not. Maybe that thing on the other side came through and did this. I don’t even kn… wait… what was that? Daniel turned and the camera stopped recording. The image it froze on was of a lone man, bright as a star in the camera’s lens, facing off against unknowable darkness broken only by six pairs of white, glowing eyes. I became painfully aware of my position relative to the table and I had the painful premonition that if I turned, those chairs would not be empty. I would see the Vances, all of them, Daniel as well, waiting for me. Heads turned. Bodies left to rot for years in the dark. Behind me something shifted. It breathed. Loud. Quick. I knew what it was. I knew. It came at me so fast that when I felt something hot and wet touch my hand I screamed, only for the presence to suddenly recoil. But then, without hesitation, it leapt at me and bore me to the ground. I wept as Ripley licked my face. He was shivering and, worst of all, silent which was not normal. He was not a quiet dog, not when greeting me and not when excited like he was now. But whatever he’d seen down here, he clung to me and dug his paws into my shoulders like he wanted to be cradled over the shoulder, something he has been too big to do for years. “Oh you fucking idiot,” I cooed in a soft whisper and even in the dark I could feel his tail wagging. Joking aside, I felt nothing but relief at finding him. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” I picked him up, straining a little under the weight but refusing to give into tired muscles, and made for the ladder. It wasn’t easy climbing the three or four rungs to the hatch, but I managed it and gave the hatch a shove. First one hand, then two. Again and again, with everything I had, but still that hatch refused to budge. “Shit!” I cried while pounding at it with my fists, but all I achieved was a sore wrist. The hatch had jammed when, somehow, the handle had been snapped clean off. Now I’d need a pair of pliers or something to cut through the metal bar locking it shut. My fingers couldn’t move it, nor could I brute force the hatch open. The metal bar was an inch thick and, at the very least, I’d need some tools to get at it from this side. At least it’s fixable, I thought as I climbed back down and caught my breath. On one wall I noticed a simple diagram of the bunker made in chalk. It had three floors. The bottom was storage–Daniel had mentioned that before, and I noticed that he had drawn through it with a large red X–and the top floor was labelled Quarters, where I stood now. But the middle floor was labelled workshops and it was there I realised that I’d find what I needed. There was one door that opened onto a concrete stairwell and, standing at the top, I shone my light down the spiralling guard rails unsure of what it was I hoped to see. There were only harsh shadows and the sense of something foul rising up on the air. A smell that tickled my throat and burned a little in my lungs. Had the police even gone down this far? Had they seen what I’d seen on that TV and just left? Somehow I thought it was unlikely that had been enough to send the entire Sheriff’s department running, so was it something else that had done it. Something that had been enough to terrify dozens of armed men. Something that was almost definitely down there. The door… I went down quietly. At first I considered leaving Ripley behind, but after losing him the first time I decided I’d rather risk it just to know that he was right next to me. Besides, he was being quieter than I was, and I didn’t feel much like going down those stairs on my own. He accompanied me with only the quiet click clack of his paws on concrete, a sound I found deeply comforting as I barely managed to keep my torch from shaking in my hand and my breathing steady. Down one floor and I found the workshop exactly as you might expect. A large space filled with generators and fuel and water tanks and boilers and heaters and pretty much anything and everything that you’d need to survive but which you couldn’t put outside due to fallout. Wires pipes and tubes ran from one end of the room to the other and even years later, most of the machinery still hummed in the pitch black emptiness, an idea I found deeply unsettling. Taking one look at that strange tangle of harsh shapes and industrial figures looming out of the walls and floor, I shivered and looked around, quickly finding a small area Daniel had cordoned off for his own use. About a fifth of the total floor space, there was a large workbench and some seriously high end machining equipment, all very well used. Lathes. Buzzsaws. Drills. Belt sanders. Welding torches. Everything a man needed to do-it-himself. And Daniel had been busy. I’m not sure exactly what it was he’d been working, but there was an arm on the bench. It sat atop a pile of papers that had slowly turned brown over the years until the whole thing looked like it had been soaked in tobacco spit. On the whiteboard was a faded but still visible diagram of what looked to me like a ball-and-socket joint. I thought of the tape, of Daniel’s little mechanism to keep his family upright, and then looked at the arm and suppressed a momentary gag reflex. I don’t know if Dan had been working on posable limbs, or just a way to put the decomposing remains back together after they’d started to fall apart, but the size of the arm suggested a pre-teen child, and he’d left it out on the surface like it was a disassembled clock. It was also missing a finger. Just how fucking crazy was he? I wondered as I pinched my nose with one hand and began overturning boxes looking for a hefty pair of pliers, or maybe a hacksaw. Ripley backed away from the noise, but once I made sure he wasn’t going anywhere I carried on grabbing and pulling at box after box hoping I’d find what I was looking for. Anything to break that fucking metal bar. In the end I managed to get a pair of bolt cutters, a crowbar, and a heavy duty pair of pliers. One went in my pocket, one went down the back of my jeans, and the other was clutched in my fist, too large to be tucked away in my clothes. The bolt cutters felt hefty in my hand which was a bit of comfort, but that feeling didn’t last long. Something moved in the darkness, out there in the twisted jungle of shadows cast by all those pipes and wires that ran from one machine to the next. A figure moved. Thin, but unmistakably human in its outline. I couldn’t help but remember what I’d seen on that tape. Surely it couldn’t have been real? Maybe Daniel had rigged something up. Some fishing wire and a motor, maybe? The idea that those bodies had been moving on their own… I couldn’t be sure of that, could I? It was a frightening idea, one my mind had latched onto out of sheer panic. That was all… And then I saw them. A pair of white pin-pricks reflecting back at me from the depths of that cluttered room. Ripley, already behind me, head nuzzled into my leg, pushed even closer against me and let out a barely audible whine under his breath. The behaviour of a dog who was terrified, close to pissing himself with fear. Just a bit of metal, I told myself as the light shook so violently in my hand I struggled to see straight. Just two shiny bits of metal… They blinked and began to come towards me. If I had any doubts left, they were dispersed by the sight of a pale white hand emerging into the light. I ran straight to the stairs and went to climb them, but only one or two steps in and I saw something gripping the handrail on the top floor. A mouldy clump of flesh only just recognisable as a fist, the flesh withered until the fingers were basically bone. Without meaning to, I brought my light up out of habit and I saw the bloated face of a hairless corpse glaring down at me. I couldn’t even tell you if it had been a teenage girl or the sixty-year-old Daniel, either way I instinctively turned and found another body shambling towards me out of the workshop. I was trapped. Nowhere to go. By the feel of warm fluid on the back of my leg I could tell Ripley had finally pissed himself. An adult dog, tail between his legs, shivering like a puppy and desperate to be picked up. God I needed him to just stay together for a little longer. I couldn’t take him in my arms, but I couldn’t leave him behind either… With nowhere to go I ran down and entered storage. There was the temptation to stop once I hit the bottom. Down here the air was thicker and the sounds of my breathing were muted, somehow distant. But I only had to look back up to see three pairs of eyes glaring down at me, so without giving any of it much further thought I barreled down the corridor and stumbled onto a door at random. Opening it, I saw what looked like your standard storage room, only most of the shelves had been overturned and the food left to rot on the floor. One or two shelving units were still upright though, and their shelves were covered in tall opaque boxes that made them a fantastic hiding spot. That, I decided, would have to be where I crouched down and turned off my light. I was already inside when I realised that wasn’t all that was in there… The door almost looked normal. I could see why Daniel must have been confused by it because it looked a little bit like all the other doors down there, but it was different too. It was too tall and too wide, about a foot and a half off the ground, and the metal rusted in its entirety like it had aged out of sync with everything else down there. All around the jamb was a profusion of wet soppy moss like the kind you find hanging off trees in a swamp, and every few seconds the door would leak something strange and oily, like the kind of thing you find in a parking lot on a rainy day. Of course that wasn’t too strange in itself, but the leak was horizontal, defying gravity so that every few seconds a large glob of the stuff would whip across the room and slap into the wall opposite creating a puddle about the size of a man that defied all reason. Remembering Daniel’s words about radiation, I instinctively inched away from this puddle and the door on the opposite wall, backing myself into the darkest quietest corner I could while I pulled Ripley behind me and hoped to hell he wouldn’t give me away. Once I was in there I turned off my light and waited. I must have taken longer than I’d thought to hide spot because it was barely two seconds later when a few figures entered the room. It was pitch black after I’d turned off my torch, but they made enough noise to let me know that at least two of them had stumbled in after me. I stayed there, unable to see anything, not sure if they were heading straight for me or just getting ready to leave, forced to hold out and let luck decide my fate. When I finally heard something scrape against the wall barely two feet from where I stood, I gave up and switched my light on, desperate to know what was coming for me. The sound had been terribly misleading. Daniel Vance was no more than six inches from my face. “Get out,” he hissed from a toothless and cracked mouth. A living corpse just like the others, somehow a flash of intelligence remained in those wide, terrified eyes. And then I heard it. The creaking of a door. And without even thinking I turned the light and saw it on the wall. I saw it open, and behind the strange steel there was more than just plain old concrete. Much more. I saw a raging gullet of flesh. A ringed tube of pulsing muscle lined with teeth the size of hands. A spiralling descent into madness. Hot foetid air washed into the room, buffeting me and the rotting corpses, all of us paralysed by what we were seeing, even if for most of the figures beside Daniel and myself, they didn’t have eyes to see with. “What the fuck…?” I muttered, unable to take my eyes from the flesh tube beyond that doorway. “It’s coming,” Daniel whispered as he grabbed me with one fist and hurled me out of the room. I hit the floor and skidded along a slick fluid left by the Vance’s footprints, the smell of which turned my stomach. Perhaps the worst detail was that it was cold. I don’t know why, I’d just expected whatever oozed them off them to be feverishly hot. But it wasn’t. It soaked my shirt like I’d fallen into a muddy puddle. “It’s coming.” This voice wasn’t Daniel’s. I couldn’t say for sure, but it sounded like a child’s whisper. One by one the bodies shuffled over to the open door and knelt before it. I don’t know why but I got the impression the others had lost pretty much everything left of their minds, but Daniel remained aware. He looked back at me once more and spoke before he pressed his head to the floor in supplication with the others. “The only thing we did wrong was being here for it to torture. It didn’t need a reason, just an opportunity. Leave. It won’t let us go. It won’t even let us die. And if it catches you, it won’t let you go either.” His forehead kissed the dirt. And then something reached through the door and gripped his head in its palm the way you or I might pick up an apple. In full panic, I ran over and grabbed my dog and the bolt cutters and I ran like my legs were pistons, machines whose signals of exhaustion and fatigue could not slow me down, or cause me to fall. I had to move. I had to leave. The hand that had grabbed Daniel… the sight of it flushed my mind clean like some kind of enema. It hurt to see the image replay in my mind but there was nothing else in my head echoing around except the sight of fingers with one too many knuckles, and nails as large as a smartphone. I reached the top floor and nearly collapsed from breathlessness, but I wouldn’t let myself stay down for long. I crawled over to the ladder and climbed up and immediately went to work trying to cut the metal lock. It was hell with just one hand, the other clinging to the torch that I kept frantically pointing at the door behind me, and it wasn’t long before I fumbled one too many times and dropped my only source of light. “No no no no…” I mewed. But there was no time to look for it. I had to get out and I had to get out fast! I couldn’t see but I was sure I could hear something climbing up those stairs. Not the steady thump thump of human feet. No this was different. This was a rapid pitter patter of a spider, maybe. Something with hundreds of feet or hands, or God knows what, skittering along the floor and walls and ceiling, pulling itself along with a body whose mere shape would offend God. Using all my strength I leaned hard on the bolt cutters and, at last, the bolt gave. I threw the hatch open and got just enough ambient light to see Ripley hovering at the bottom of the ladder, growling ineffectually at the doorway. I crouched down, scooped him up, and fled up the ladder so quickly that my muscles turned to jelly at the top and I fell over onto hands and knees. But still, I was out. The long corridor covered in writing was ahead of me, and at the very end a doorway capped now by the tired blue light of a full moon. Ripley needed no encouragement. He whipped down the corridor with canine speed and I followed at a broken and stumbling crawl, eventually shouldering past the open door and collapsing onto the forest floor. For a few seconds I drifted in and out of consciousness, but when I looked up and saw the canopy overhead moving–the branches backlit by a full moon–I snapped awake and glared down at something gripping my ankle. The hand had reached out of the dark and seized me and was slowly dragging me back into the Earth below. Whatever it was, most of its body lurked out of sight in the shadows behind the doorway, but the hand that crushed my leg was the size of my torso with an arm that looked like it belonged to a mole rat. I struck it with my own fist. I dug my nails in. I cried and kicked and screamed, but nothing could stop it. From behind the door, something like a face grinned and leered at me with joy. It was taking its time, sure enough, pulling me in so slowly that it gave my mind all the time in the world to appreciate the nightmare that awaited me. I think if, in that moment, you’d given me a gun, I would’ve shot myself because God help me I couldn’t escape the look in Daniel’s eyes, how he’d knelt to worship this thing like a man who knew that hope or pride or joy or anything with even a hint of goodness to it was so far out of reach for him it might as well be a dream. How long was this thing going to keep them down there? How long did it intend to keep me!? I wept like a child, feeling like my mind was slowly cracking as I tried everything to stop that fucking pulling me into the shadows. I kicked at the earth. I dug into it using my hands looking for a root or a pipe or anything to hold onto. Nothing, nothing, I did would slow it down. I was no more than a foot from the doorway when Ripley reappeared. A dog afraid of hoovers and plastic bags and doors that move on their own. A dog who once got stared down by a particularly feisty rabbit who stopped mid chase and turned around, baffling the predator on its tail. A dog you couldn’t even watch scary movies around… And he lunged at that arm like he was a wolf, like he’d always been one. And while he didn’t quite break the skin, the pressure was enough to make the thing’s grip weaken and I slid my leg out. Unable to stand, I knelt and grabbed the dog and pulled as hard as I could and now that fucking thing bled at last as the pressure of the jaws and the sliding teeth ripped into its flesh. Together, at last, Ripley and I were let go and sent rolling backwards head over hells. I wasted no time waiting or looking or processing. I heaved the dog to my chest and crawled until I passed out, making it maybe half a kilometre away. Only when I could no longer see the door did I let myself fall to the ground face first and gave up consciousness. - The doctors said I had pneumonia, which I suppose made some kind of sense. I might have even believed them were it not for the Sheriff’s visit, asking strange questions of me as I lay in bed about what I may or may not have seen. I dismissed them to the best of my ability. I wasn’t interested in chasing that particular nightmare down, figuring out if it had been real or not, at least not while I lay there half-drowning in my own infection. To be fair, I had at least some sympathy for why the police had done so little to seal that place off. I have, on occasion, thought about going and doing the job myself, but to this day I still have nightmares about being pulled into the dark beyond that door. Not just the bunker door, the one I narrowly avoided at the end, but the one below. What I saw was a kind of madness, I’m sure of it, and I often think of Daniel’s words. It didn’t need a reason, just an opportunity. Somehow, the Vances were that opportunity. Maybe they built their bunker on a leyline, or a weak spot between dimensions, or the site of former Satanic rituals. I’m not sure it even matters. They went into the dark thinking it’d be a safe place to wait out the world’s troubles, but something had been down there waiting for them, waiting for a chance to get at a family of seven people, to lock them in and deprive them of escape and slowly take from them everything it could. I’ve moved since then. Couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just the memories you see. It was the short-wave radio I kept in my basement. Something my father passed onto me when I was just a boy. God I’d forgotten about it… at least until I woke up one day to the sound of it blaring white noise down in the dark. And buried in that sound was the faint whispering of a man, his voice barely recognisable, but unmistakably his. …let them go let them go let them go let them go let them go let them go… submitted by /u/ChristianWallis to r/nosleep [link] [comments]

I don't like 'Julie'. But rent is cheaper in this apartment complex and it's even cheaper spilting it with someone while the city we're in is really expensive. I'm 24f & she's 32f. She has an aggressive dog. It chewed up too many of my things to count, barks for 10 mins straight until Julie tells her to stop. Her dog is territorial and she would growl at me when I try to step into the living room when she's there, so no the living room is the dog's territory, which means it's Julie's property, so to say. She doesn't do anything about it and just says the dog is still a young puppy and is energetic. Julie is a vegan and she takes a lot room in the refrigerator, and she has a specific space for her face masks. She said that my meat products need to be vacuum-sealed to not contaminate her veggies. I told her no and she can vacuum-seal her own shit. She often complains how she barely has money to pay rent every month because her groceries are expensive and raising a puppy is also expensive. I don't help her out simply because I don't like her and I don't care about her. Call me heartless, but I wouldn't mind her getting evicted. These are only tame. She once let her dog into my closed but not locked room when she had a friend over. It was humid and hot day, and her dog pooped on my rug. I came back to the most disgusting smell and I know she saw the brown poop on my white rug because she let the dog out and closed the damn door back. We had a big fight and she said I was the one who said no one can go inside my room so she can't go in and clean it. Last month, her dog was in the vet because she's trying a new brand of food. Then they detected something bad in the abdominal and blockage, but the dog is fine after surgery. They made a payment plan and she has to shell out 300 every month towards the bill. She asked me for some money to pay the monthly vet bill and I said no and she accused me of not loving her dog. I told her that she's right. Before you hate on me, I never liked dogs before meeting her but I can tolerate living with one for the sake of rent. Julie's now saying I'm heartless, she's gotta 'betray her belief as a vegan' and start eating meat cause it's cheap. I told her there are other cheap vegan options but she says they're bad for her body and it makes her sick. Update: I've spoken to my parents and they want me to return home. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it took many Redditors to tell me I'm being stupid for staying under the same roof with Julie for so long. Circumstances beyond my control played into it. Our lease is month by month, so I won't be renewing it and Julie can take on the full rent. I've told my landlord about how I can't live with her anymore and given reasons why. I talked to Julie last night and also told her that I'm leaving. She demanded that I stay and spilt the rent because her dog's vet bill is drowning her. She's blaming everything (her need to stop veganism, rent, bills, and lack of companionship) all on me and how I'm a horrible roommate for leaving her at a time of dire need. I understand she's struggling financially, but I've made up my mind and I'm leaving this unhealthy living environment. She's been sobbing all night and now I'm fucking wondering if I'm making a big ass deal out of this and if my living situation with a dog is mild compared to others. I don't want her to get in trouble with the landlord or eviction, but I don't feel comfortable in my own home. Some of you say that I'm being unsympathetic and I'll never sympathize with what Julie is going through because I'm not a dog lover or a dog parent, so idk what to do now. submitted by /u/soda-creme to r/AmItheAsshole [link] [comments]

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