Be proud of smuggling salt, people! We certainly are!
Is he carrying a horse
a whole horse
isn’t that how smuggling work?
True.
Just carry the whole horse plus load.
They never expect HORSE to RIDE MAN
The story behind this was that the guy was a prolific salt smuggler but he was also massive so one time he got caught in a snowstorm and ended up carrying his mule and his cargo of salt through the blizzard
Beautiful.
Actually! This is from a Slovenian legend, and is even more badass!
Gather around, let me tell you a story, people!!!
In a small village in Slovenia lived a huge strong man named Martin Krpan. Martin had a small mare, and together they smuggled english salt from the port by the sea to central Slovenia. Smuggling salt was strictly forbidden, but Martin did it anyway. As one does.
On a harsh winter day, when the roads were snowed over until only the smallest path was visible, Martin was smuggling when a fancy carriage came driving towards him. There being not enough room, strong Martin picks his mare up, salt and all, and moves her out of the way.
The carriage stops and out peeks the Emperor who was traveling to the coastal Trieste. Martin, being a simple farmer, had no idea who the man was. The emperor was very impressed by Martin’s strength, so he asked for his name and his home. Then he asks what Martin’s mare is carrying.
And Marin lies he carries whetstones, calm as you please.
Emperor asks why are whetstones in sacks like that.
Marin thinks fast and improvises that he worries the stones might crack in the cold.
(Slovenian winters really are bloody cold btw)
Emperor ah-s and hm-s and drives on.
A year after that, to Vienna comes a great hulking man from Turkey, named Brute.
(Slovenian: Brdavs)(Also, very descriptive name, that)
Brute brought with him great terror, as he challenged all the warriors and heros in the land to single combat. And killed them all. Seriously, they died like flies.
So now the Emperor, afraid he’ll lose all great men to this monstrous warrior, remembers Martin, the man who could lift a horse like it was made of feathers. So he sends a coach to get him.
They find Martin (How I’m not sure, him living in a tiny insignificant village) and supposedly come just in time to see the guy brawling with fifteen men and wining. So now they are absolutely sure they have the right man.
So off they go to Vienna, where the whole city is covered in black mourning cloth. Just that day, Brute killed Emperor’s son, and everyone is very depressed.
The Emperor is all relieved when he sees Martin, gets him all the food and drink he wants, and pesters him with questions about battle tactics all the while.
(I always imagine the Emperor as a small fussy man with a huge wig btw)
Martin just kind of grunts in answer, telling him not to worry. In as few words as possible. So after being fed and watered, the go looking for a weapon.
In the armoury, Martin tries handling each weapon and all just crumble in his hands. Just, break apart. Martin grunts again, the Emperor is wringing his hands.
In the end Martin maked his own weapon, something that looks a bit like an axe and a bit like a cleaver. Then he takes that blade and goes to the courtyard. And takes down the most beautiful young linden tree, Empress’s favourite. And he makes a club out of it. She is very furious. Spitting mad.
Then they go looking for a horse. He pulls them out of the stables one by one by their tails, with ease. Which offends him, like, very. And he refuses to fight until his trusty mare is sent for. Which it is. (I pity the poor guy who had to get her to Vienna. I wonder is he survived the trip)
Then it is the time for battle. Dramatically the opponents meet in the middle of the field, and the Brute sees this huge man on a tiny horse, a sight so comical he begins to laugh. Very loudly.
Brute humors Martin anyway, and they shake hands before the battle. And Martin squeezes so hard blood squirts out from Brute’s fingernails. (Ew.)
Now Brute is wary. Because, blood? But he thinks, whatever, he’s a peasant, he doesn’t know how to fight. So, tadaah, they fight.
And Brute swings his mighty sword, which is intercepted by the linden club. The soft wood gives like butter and the blade is stuck. Then Martin swings his axe and chops Brute’s head clean off. Chop chop.
Martin returns back to court with Brute’s head, and everyone is very relieved. So relieved in fact, the Emperor offers him all sorts of things, food and wine and even his own daughter in marriage.
(The Empress is murderous. Again. To marry her precious daughter to a peasant hulk of a man who doesn’t even wear nice clothes or high heals. Outrageous!)
But Martin refuses all, squints at the Emperor for a bit, then smoothly confesses to his salt smuggling business. And totally gets him to sign a royal permit on salt transportation.
So Martin the strongest Slovenian returned home, now legally transporting salt for all his days.
Local Man Just Wants To Be Salt Merchant, Accidentally Saves Country
a small bird got loose in the store earlier and it was super freaking out about being inside. bonking into the lights on the ceiling, frantically squeaking, etc. so of course, i want to help this tiny critter, and the managers want it out, because we’re a grocery store and we cannot just Have A Bird.
what i MEANT to convey to my supervisor was “i raised chickens for ten years and also sometimes i catch feral pigeons in the park to de-string their feet and do first aid so if you need help catching this finch i can probably do it.”
what actually came out of my mouth was “i catch birds in my spare time.”
which was, judging by the look on his face, the most terrifying thing anyone has ever said to him.
I lived across the street from a very bored stay-at-home mom whose excess idle time turned her into an insufferable busybody.
Her husband backed out of the driveway and slammed into my roommate’s car parked on the curb. He apologized, gave us his insurance info, and took care of it. He was never a problem, because he accepted responsibility for what he did.
His wife, however, demanded that we never ever park any cars at the curb again, because “we can’t get out of our driveway otherwise”. The street was very wide – she was just completely unable to accept that the accident was her husband’s fault, and figured we were somehow responsible for it, ergo we were responsible for preventing it in the future.
We told her that we would avoid parking there whenever possible, but that we still had the legal right to park on the street, and that if necessary we would still do so, and that it was her and her husband’s responsibility to avoid hitting other people’s legally parked cars when backing out of the driveway. She wasn’t happy with that answer, but just told us we better stay out of her family’s way, and stormed off.
One day, she came storming over, banging on the front door, cussing us out. We got her on our security camera saying “If you don’t move that f*cking car in the next 10 minutes, I am going to f*cking total it with my truck. It’ll be your fault, and you’ll have to pay for the damage to my f*cking vehicle”. To this, I simply responded: “I don’t know whose car that is, but I didn’t park it there. I have you on camera, so if you do anything to that car, I’ll have to call the police and hand over this tape”. She then threatened to sue me for invasion of privacy for recording her, and still insisted that we move the car, even though it wasn’t our property. We just ignored her, and she did not do anything to the car – we did keep the recording though.
A few weeks later, I had a friend visit from out of town. He parked his car on the curb, and then started unloading some stuff from his trunk. She came storming out, screaming and cussing at him “I have told you repeatedly never park your f*cking car on this curb. If you don’t move it, I am going to f*cking total it, and you can f*cking pay for a new goddamn car, as well as the damage you do to mine!” He tried to calm her down, and asked if there was somewhere else he could park, and she replied “You can park it in Hell, because that’s where you’ll be after I f*cking kill you!”.
Unfortunately for her, he had his dashcam running the whole time, and it captured everything. He called the police, and she was arrested for threatening to commit vandalism and for threatening violence.
A few days later, she left a long-winded hate-letter in our mailbox. It was written as if it were an open letter from the entire neighborhood, and it basically said that “nobody knows who you are”, and “Everyone wishes you would move away”, and “Nobody wants you living in our neighborhood”.
Thing is, she forgot about the security cameras. I took the video of her opening my mailbox – which included her taking all our letters out of the mailbox and rifling through them – and I gave them to the post office. This led to her getting arrested for a second time that week.
After that, we used her two arrests, our collection of security and dashcam footage, and her letter to get a restraining order against her that actually prohibited her from entering her own home, and then we called the police every time we saw her because she was in violation of the order.
She ended up having to live in a hotel room, and her husband came over, apologized to us, and asked if we would drop the restraining order so his wife could come home. I told him I would do it, but only if she wrote me, my wife, our roommates, and the friend of mine she threatened a 1-page apology for her harassment – and that she would promise to never ever contact us again for any reason whatsoever moving forward.
I received no apology, and the house went on the market a week later.
I’m a frequent patron of paranormal Reddit threads so I’ve read possibly well into the hundreds of short ostensibly true personal stories of the unknown befalling an unexpecting person, but absolutely none of them have been constantly on my mind like the short and baffling story of a man who, while at the grocery store, was pointed at by a toddler who proceeded to say his full name
What started off as a small lie, but snowballed into “this is my life now”?
My freshman year of college I was walking around campus when a very friendly looking girl waved at me. I’m awkward, so of course I waved back. The next week, the same thing.
This began the weirdest saga of my life.
For the next two years, we greeted each other as old friends every time we came across the other. She knew my name (somehow?), I never could figure hers out and it was WAY too late to ask. I just pretended I knew who she was and why she knew me.
Finally, I joined the honors program and entered my classes for my thesis. Who should be in this class but mystery girl! I was horrified. I wouldn’t be able to pass it off anymore.
First day of class we are all sitting there chatting and she greets me by name, again. I had finally learned her name from attendance, thank God. Someone asks, finally, “oh, so do you two know each other? Where’d you meet?”
Silence.
I stare at her. She stares at me. Finally she breaks down wailing. “I don’t know! I don’t know, okay, we’ve just been waving at each other for two years and it was too late to ask!”
Shes standing in my wedding next spring as one of my bridesmaids and very best friends.
Halloween a few years back my mates and I were dressed up for Halloween and my cat furry roommate (good guy, furries are entertaining folks) was wearing his partial suit out with us. We were in Boston proper and all of us were on a budget at the time, so the only option for a late night drink and dinner open to us was a place called Dick’s Last Resort.
If you’ve never been, the big draw at Dick’s is that they’re dicks to you. The staff are sarcastic, they throw your menus and straws and shit at you, and they make you hats that say mean stuff.
I don’t get it either. So anyways, we’ve got – I’ll call him Frank – the cat with us, and Frank’s 100% ready to go fuck with Dicks,
so we head on in.
The waitress starts doing her bit, but the cat in the room has thrown off her game and she doesn’t really know how to handle Frank in Full Cat mode.
He points out the drink he wants without speaking, with a paw, on the menu and she asks for an ID and starts saying ‘I swear to god your ID better have a big fuckkin’ cat on it or-“
She threw his licence back at us and walked away speechless. Didn’t talk to us the rest of the evening.
Anyways, I dug up this old photo today and thought it deserved to be preserved for posterity. So here you go, the day Frank broke Dicks.
I had a blind professor, last semester, and I swung through his office to make up an exam. It was a while before I knew he was in there because he was sitting with the lights off. I finally went in, apologized, and took the exam by the light of a nearby window (which was fine). Forty-five minutes into dead silence he panicked and yelled in this booming voiced, “WAIT, YOU CAN SEE!!!” before diving across his desk to turn on the lights. I’m sure he was embarrassed but I thought it was endearing and it highlighted a large aspect of disabled life that I hadn’t previously considered.
Sort of relatedly I once had professor who was deaf, but she had learned to read lips and speak so she could communicate easily with hearing people who didn’t know sign language. One day she had gotten off topic and was talking a little about her personal life, so that one of the students said “Oh, I know, I grew up in Brooklyn too.”
She stared at him for a long time and then said “How do you know I’m from Brooklyn?”
And he said “You have a Brooklyn accent.”
She said “I do?” and the whole class nodded, and then she burst out laughing and said “I had no idea! The school where I learned to speak was in Brooklyn. I learned by moving my mouth and tongue the way my teachers did. So I guess it makes sense that I have their accent, I just never thought about it.”
i found my yiff bracelet in my cupboard before and frankly i don’t know how to feel because it invokes my fight or flight response on visual contact
I both want to see it and forget this post exists
It’s also got a nifty story to boot:
When I was about 12, my family and I went on holiday to the Greek isles or something, and there’s this one island called Santorini which was placed lovingly at the top of some stupid high hill. You could either take the at least 400+ stairs to the top, or a rickety ass gondola to the top. we decided to not take the rickety ass gondola, but instead haul obese me up the stairs.
It was like nearly 40 degrees Celsius as we went up the stairs, it sucked. After about 45 minutes of trudging up these stairs and getting booted in the hip by some stupid fuckin’ donkeys, we finally made it to the top, and we were all fucking exhausted, but we wanted to find a cafe before we were going to actually rest.
On the way to the cafe, I saw this shop that sold “custom bracelets and necklaces” for like the equivalent of 5 pounds. Now 12 year old me was this unbearable gremlin of a furry. Y’know, the kind that will let you know within 30 seconds of meeting you that they are a furry, and wouldn’t shut up about anything furry-related ever, so I think you and I both know what kind of custom bracelet 12 year old me was going to buy. I walked into this shop with the biggest fucking shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen. Imagine a fat version of young Dylan Sprouse kicking down the door of this old woman’s corner shop and Chad striding towards the counter.
“Just 4 letters. These ones, please” I told the lady, clutching a Y, an I and two F’s in my hand. The poor lady didn’t know any better, she just placed the letter blocks on the string and asked for the money. I walked out of that shop as the most confident little fat blonde kid on the planet. I mean, I wasn’t going to walk up all those stairs and leave empty handed, was I?
I wore that bracelet with pride through the rest of the entire holiday, on the way home and even through the first week of school. But only the first week.
There were a small group of people in my Computing class that knew that I was a furry. Only 3. But they all endured my constant blabbering about nonsensical furry shit, and they were fine with it. Cut to about 5 days after I came back from the holiday, and I was sitting in my computing class, displaying in all glory a colourful bracelet bearing the word “YIFF”, engraved in 4 wooden blocks. People ignored it, my friends thought it was pretty funny and novelty, and so life just went on.
And then it happened.
“Yiff? What’s that?”
I snap around at mach 9, and there was my 40 year old computing teacher, towering over my arm to read the bracelet. The moment that word was uttered from his mouth, my 3 friends shot up and turned around like a pack of bleeding prairie dogs. They were eyes and ears on deck to this conversation. All of that childlike confidence I had gathered from this bracelet was just eviscerated right out of my head and replaced with the realization that I was just wearing a bracelet that just had the furry equivalent of the word “Porn” written on it.
“Uhhhh.. It’s, um… An inside joke.” I muttered desperately, giving death glares to my friends who were on the verge of exploding. The teacher just kinda shrugged his shoulders and moved on with the lesson, but that 10 seconds was fucking petrifying. After the lesson had ended, and we were packing our bags and leaving to go to lunch, I noticed the teacher switch off the projector, and kinda swivel his PC monitor away from the class. Tk. Tk. Tk. Tk. Four key presses from his keyboard and I knew exactly what the fuck was going on. I increased my pace, and darted towards the exit of the classroom.
The last thing I saw before I left was his face. It’s hard to describe, but imagine the face of somebody being confronted by the four horses of the apocalypse, and seeing cutie marks.
He looked at me for a solid half-second. We exchanged eye contact. At this point my life had finished. The old Securipun was dead, and like a fawn born in a wolfden, I fucking legged it. I think we both understood the next day that the day prior was single handedly the most jarring and uncomfortable moment of our entire lives, and that it should never be mentioned again, for the mental state of each other. The bracelet also never saw the life of day again, until I found it in a drawer like an hour ago.
“imagine the face of somebody being confronted by the four horses of the apocalypse, and seeing cutie marks“ has to be my new fovorite line
This is not my story. This was told to me by a woman I knew from work several years ago; she’s a very sweet nurse.
Nurse graduated from nursing school and decided with her friend to
move to one of the cities that was listed as having “the most eligible
bachelors” from some publication. She moves and starts dating her future
husband.
Future Husband’s mother is a viper and decides Nurse is not good
enough for her family. The happy couple eventually get engaged and
future mother-in-law is having none of it. Tries for several months to
break them up; tries to convince Nurse to go back where she came from
and simultaneously tries to gently convince her precious son that Nurse
may not be good for him.
To add some more context to this situation, this MIL is pretty nasty
to Nurse but hides it well to other people, always making sure she’s
super (fake) sweet to everyone when others are around.
Finally wedding plans are set so MIL gets desperate. She gets Nurse
alone with a “generous” offer: leave fiance and never come back in
exchange for $10,000 (note: this was almost 30 years ago so I guess it
was kind of a shitload of money for most).
Nurse is so sick of this woman’s shit and is incredibly insulted.
However, she’s intelligent and maintains her composure. Nurse accepts
the offer.
Nurse takes the money, does not leave, and gets married anyway. Nobody else knows about this.
MIL cannot say or do anything about it without exposing herself to her family as a horrible person.
Nurse and husband are still happily married; their kids are grown; husband still has no idea this went down.
A really harrowed-looking man who was probably in his 60s came into the shop today. He was wearing a gold-colored tie that kept sliding down the side of his neck because it was tied very poorly, and a rumpled light blue dress shirt. I did not see his legs or shoes. Part-time cashiers are sometimes just not afforded the luxury.
We said hello to each other as I scanned his items (diet coke and a nature valley granola bar- $2.69), me sounding more interested than usual just because he sounded so out-of breath and very engaged in his purchase. Also maybe because I could not see his shoes.
“How’s your life going?” He suddenly asked, swiping his card, not casually but almost pleadingly curious.
“Uhm, all right I s’pose” I said, too startled to think of a more cheery lie.
He nodded somberly. “Me too… I guess.” He paused and looked at me for a minute and then just said “it’s a Monday, ya know.”
“Mondays are like this sometimes” I supplied, feeling like we were having a really weird conversation hidden under the one that was actually taking place.
And then he left. I forgot to look at his shoes.
PART II
Honestly I had no idea that I would ever have the privilege of writing a sequel to this post. I considered it an odd moment, an interaction that changed me in a way, but a fleeting one. I automatically assumed our paths would never cross again, there was such a finality to that window of time on Monday August 22nd of 2016. And yet.
He returned.
I didn’t truly notice him come in, glancing up from whatever menial and already forgotten task I was busy with, but not registering who it was or why he seemed to put out an aura of familiarity. It had been weeks and I haven’t even caught a glimpse of him; the memory of Monday August 22nd of 2016 had faded like a dream. But lo he appeared before me, dressed in exactly the same fashion that made him look like he had just crawled out of carwash (albeit with a pink shirt and purple tie this go-around.)
His face lit up when he saw me, again holding a diet coke and a nature valley granola bar. ‘How is your day going?’ He asked earnestly.
‘Pretty well.’ I said, professionally containing myself, “how are you?”
“I’m good, I’m good” he said, sounding more cheerful than before but just as harried. When I handed him back his change and items and he looked like he was going to cry.
“Thank you” he whispered with a look of reverence I have only seen on the faces of ancient church members receiving the eucharist.
“It’s no trouble,” I promised, trying not to look perplexed.
He bowed (LITERALLY BOWED) and then made a hurried exit stage left, reminiscent of Lear just before the second act, halfway into madness.
A Lear I had again forgotten to note the footwear of.
PART. 3.
Okay I’m not even bothering with the pretentious Hemingway style for this one; I’m still reeling over the fact that he came back after four months AND on a Friday instead of a Monday no less.
Notes:
He was wearing literally the exact same shirt and tie he had on from part one, only with an orange sweater and fancy jacket over the ensemble to indicate that it was winter
He bought Lay’s sour cream and onion potato chips this time instead of his standard granola bar, but the diet coke was as usual
He told me that he always felt guilty for buying snack food but ‘you have to do what you have to do’
He then smiled sadly at me and said ‘enjoy your weekend… If you can.’
I sat in stunned, unblinking silence for about six minutes until a customer came up and looked me over worriedly
Who is this man
WHY DO I KEEP FORGETTING TO LOOK AT HIS SHOES
Part Four
First thing’s first,
Probably about two years of wear on them but otherwise well cared for. Socks were white, which I was only able to notice because this human being has zero clothes that fit and his pant cuffs were hovering about 3 inches away from his shoes. I keep thinking his outfits can’t possibly get any better, but this one takes the cake:
Crumpled white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, gigantic scarf that looked as though it were made out of mouldy carpet, neon orange striped tie, and a matching neon orange plastic digital watch that probably came out of a box of honeycombs back in 1988.
He did not grace me with his odd conversational charm today, but I received something better. A clue.
Today he was buying a red notebook and three ballpoint pens instead of snacks (which was questionable but this is a Thursday we’re talking about; the day that falls on the chaotic spectrum and which I am known for my overzealous distrust of), and when he pulled out his luxury black Mastercard to pay for his items he said eight words which shook me to my very core.
“I do get a staff discount on these.”
This has never come up before because discount plans don’t apply to food items. I have no need to ask the identity of a man buying a granola bar and a diet coke. But now.
I didn’t speak as I handed him his receipt, just nodded courteously. Only staff members know about the specific discount so I had no real need to ask for an ID for proof, and I was cursing my mistake in not asking for it anyway.
I must find this man. I have been here for three years and yet have only seen him within the confines of the store at odd intervals. I’ve never even seen him step into the store, or leave (another customer is somehow always in line behind him and demanding my attention.) I spent half an hour going through the college’s entire staff directory this afternoon… and may have found something. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, I am not yet certain and will have to gather a few more items of information, but for the first time I can promise a part to follow. Perhaps, an ending.
Cinq
Not an ending of any sort, but a very brief update from the field. My work schedule has changed since January and I was honestly beginning to wonder if I wouldn’t see the man again until the fall, as it’s been more than two months now. He startled me quite a bit when he literally blew in as if by a gust of wind right as my shift was ending.
He was in quite a hurry and only bought a diet coke ($1.50) before blustering(?) off, giving me no chance to run an investigation or perception check, but if fashion checks were a thing…
Please imagine, if you will, a man wearing a yellow polka-dot tie that was not even tied, an orange scarf, the watch mentioned in my previous entry, khakis, a bright periwinkle shirt… and an impeccably matching woolen periwinkle cape. He was also carrying a very large black satchel with tartan lining, every single pocket of which was unzipped.
He looked like a hedge wizard.
I want answers.
6.
I found him.
Masters in theology from Harvard
Distinguished professor of philosophy
God-tier identification photo; I cannot believe that I have not been hallucinating this man for the past 12 months and 41 days.
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