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14 People Finally Share the Stories They’ve Been Dying to Tell

I think that most of us have a story that we love to bust out with new friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and basically anyone who hasn’t heard it before – but sometimes there’s no way to bring it up without the right lead in, you know?

So, Reddit is giving people a chance to tell the story they always have on stand-by, no required lead-in in sight.

14. Someone’s mom fell down on the job.

I feel like a dork, but here goes. I didn’t know what periods were until I had them. So when I was bunking a class when I was 10 I told my teacher I had a stomachache and she asked me if I had periods, to which I said the next period is social studies. And she asked again and I said the last period was the Science period. She said nvm and told me to go off.

The same year when we were going for a trip from school when the guide teacher told us we had to take pads, I asked why we had to bring writing pads to my friend. She said sanitary pads and I said ” idk about y’all but my exam pad is pretty clean”

13. Wow. That’s…a lot.

A few years ago, I stopped at a post office in one of those towns that claims it would be the homicide capital of America if anyone actually knew it existed. In the parking lot, I was approached by a seemingly sane man who, without much context, gave me a copy of a book he’d written. I saw he had stacks of this book in the back of his old Camry so I figured he was just excited to share his work with everyone who came to the post office parking lot that day.

The book was called “Code 205 Part One: It’s Not Just a Code but Also a Way of Life” by Grimy Jones. That is not an exaggeration, you can look it up. It was published by an organisation that helps inmates self-publish books while incarcerated. The “About the Author” section (across from a full page advertisement for his friend’s rap/hip-hop mixtape) had a nice picture of ole’ Grimy and a description of his ambition to inspire others and make his family and friends proud through his writing.

Staring at this incredible book, I felt a wave of humility. I, too, desperately dreamed of becoming a writer but struggled to motivate myself to sit down and get the job done. But here was a man who against all adversity in his life had finished a book and achieved his dream. Even in prison, he bettered himself for the sake of his loved ones.

It was as if God himself had brought Grimy to me as a divine sign of the crossroads I had reached in my life. The book was a symbol for the choice laid before me, where I could choose to push myself toward my and Grimy’s goal, or continue to cower behind excuses and self-doubt. With it in my hands, my passion burned and my hope soared. I felt I owed it to Grimy to finish his book, regardless of the quality, and then begin my own writer’s journey.

Upon actually reading it, I discovered that Grimy had written more or less a series of disturbing, po*nographic vignettes in his own personal brand of English.

The titular “Code 205” is apparently a prison code for an inmate engaging in high risk s^xual acts – such the slightly autobiographic main character mast*rbating to the female corrections officers.

According to Grimy, these actions are offensive because it makes the female officers feel sad about how inadequate their boyfriends and husbands are when they see some nice prison meat. I gave the book a real effort, got to the part where the released main character j*zzes in a McDonald’s fryer after receiving a gummy blowjob from a grandma with her dentures out, and promptly threw the book in the trash.

12. So many questions.

This is a little off topic but it reminds me that when I was 10, we were learning about the human reproductive system and we learnt about how sperm fertilizes the egg and it eventually grows into an embryo and into a baby. This all made sense to me, except for the question of: The egg is in the woman, and the sperm is in the man. How is the sperm supposed to get to the egg then??

So I raised my hand and asked the teacher. And then the whole class including the teacher just stared at me for a while before the teacher continued with the lesson. I didn’t learn about how it actually happened until a long time later. It turns out most of my sex ed came from biology lessons.

Before that lesson I thought babies were implanted into the womb by God. My mom asked me if I wanted a younger sibling and I was like whoah you can decide when you have a baby???

11. A cool family story.

My grandfather was working on a US Navy base during WWII, as a welder (civilian) when he got his draft letter. He took it to the Admiral on base, to let him know that he’d be leaving. The Admiral called FDR and explained that my grandfather was the best welder he had, and that his effort towards the war would be better served if he stayed, working in his current role.

My family still has the letter from the President to my grandfather, commending him for his work and excusing him from the draft, so long as he continued working at the base.

10. At least she had the right idea.

I have never, ever told this to anyone before. EVER.

I knew all the body parts and what they produced (thank you, Encyclopedia Brittanica illustrations) from a very young age. I just could not figure out how sperm got from the penis to the fallopian tubes to get to the egg.

Then I saw a scene of a movie where a man and woman were doing a bit of (clothed) bump and grind. My little brain, not knowing what foreplay was, much less anything else, leapt to a conclusion.

I decided sperm must crawl out of the penis and up through the man’s clothing to his stomach area. Then when his belly brushed against a lady’s belly, the sperm would jump onto her clothes (dat da da dah! super sperm!), crawl down, into her underwear and up through the vagina to eventually find the egg.

My poor parents had no idea why I would freak out if boys brushed up against me for a couple of years. I knew I wasn’t supposed to look at those pictures, so I was afraid to admit to them I was just trying to prevent unwanted pre-pre-teen pregnancy.

9. A life-saving phone call.

It was a beautiful night, full moon and a sky full of starts. I was contemplating all while tying a noose to kill myself. I was at peace with the decision, couldn’t cope any longer with life.

I was putting it around my neck when my best friend calls me. He straight asked: “If you could drink milk, do you think you would have a favourite milkshake? And if yes, do you think it would be strawberry?”

It was so incredibly, beautifully, random. We ended up talking for 2 hours on that phone call, I cried in silence while he talked, and until today he has no clue about this and that he pretty much saved my life.

8. I hope she’s ok, too.

I was living in Madison WI and driving home from work one day. Traffic was horrible and I was just constantly looking in the rear view mirror because I am always afraid someone is going to rear end me.

But instead I saw a man (in the driver’s seat) beating the ever-loving shit out of his passenger. I tried honking my horn loudly to get his attention (didn’t work) so I slowed down so that he would have to pay attention to the road (also didn’t work) and he sped around me and got in front of me. I could tell he was still hitting and punching that woman so I called the police and told them his license plate number. He sped off onto the interstate before I could describe him super well but I told them the direction he was going. I hang up and continue on my way home.

A few miles down, like 4 or 5 exits, I see 3 or so police cars with their lights going. I was like “oh shit wonder what’s going on.” and as I pass I see it’s the car!! They had the guy in handcuffs and the police were checking on a very bloodied woman.

I still think about her. I really hope she is OK and that she took that opportunity to get out of whatever situation she might have been in.

7. I hate all of this story.

My grandmother’s house had a row of peony bushes in the landscaping. They were in full bloom, deep pink and white, and you could smell them across the yard. My grandma was busy hanging sheets on the clothesline.

The peonies smelled so tempting that 6 year old me just couldn’t resist. I walked over to the peonies. My grandma yelled not to pick them. And I leaned over and took a big exaggerated whiff.

I felt something that can only be described as what it would feel like if bugs were crawling all over my nose and throat and getting into my mouth. Because they were. The peony I smelled so deeply was covered in ants. What must have been 50 ants flew up my nose and down my throat.

So now, I hate the smell of peonies.

6. What a good man.

My great-grandfather lived in Kansas when the dust bowl hit the US. He and his wife lived in a really small town and he owned the grocery store.

After he passed away, my family was going through the stuff in his house and found a box of letters he had hidden from everyone. Every letter was a thank you from different families he helped during the dust bowl. People would be running from the dust bowl and pass through his town. He would give them free food to last them until they reached their destinations.

Many of the letters thanked him for saving their lives and stuff like that. He took this secret to the grave – literally. Not even his wife knew. (I’ve heard mention that maybe she wouldn’t have been quite as pleased but I don’t know about that). I just think that’s super cool and I’m very proud if him 🙂

I have a lot of weird stories about my family that I never get to tell haha

5. Kind strangers are everywhere.

I was over three weeks into a month long hike and I was starting to have major motivation problems. It was a rainy day and I decided fuck it, I’m not going to wear any rain gear because you just get hot in addition to being soaked.

I climbed to the top of a look out point and met a man with his two teenage children. He’s super funny and nice and we hit it off and chat for a bit. He asks me about what I’m eating and how my hike it going. After weeks of being mostly solo most of the time it’s so good to talk with a good conversation partner. But it’s storming and we’re high up so we shortly part ways.

Anyways, the next day of my hike is brutal. My gear is still damp and my body was not holding up as well as I hoped. I’m fatigued to my core, and I want to be done. But I’m determined to go 15 miles anyways (one of my longer days).

Mile 11-13 are a “beach walk” portion. I thought great, that’ll be fun. Absolutely not, walking through tiny beach rocks in hiking boots with a forty pound back is hard as fuck. I dumped a full cup of rocks out of my shoes afterwards.

I get to the end of the walk and there’s a little bridge leading back towards the woods. On the bridge there’s a sign that says “lowest elevation point of the SHT” (SHT being the trail). And I’m thinking to myself, I get it, today is the worst day, goddamnit SHT, you bitch, you really know how to kick someone when they’re already down.

So I keep going and I make it to a road crossing with trail signs on either side. And on the near sign, I see a gas station bag full of goodies. In my head, I’m thinking simultaneously no way and that it has to be for me. I get up close to it and in permanent marker, all caps, it says my very uncommon first name. I was speechless.

Inside there was a full sized bag of kettle chips, a 24 oz coke, an apple, and an orange. The kindly man I spoke to asked me what food I missed most and how far I was going. I said potato chips and 15 miles. He delivered. Best day on the trail. I don’t usually drink pop, but that coke, still a little cold, was maybe the best thing I ever tasted.

Tl;dr I was having a really bad stretch of days on a thru hike and a kind stranger gave me an amazing, surprising gift and made my day.

4. An interesting beginning.

In the early 60s, my dad had a nervous breakdown while in Army basic training, he was sent to a mental hospital and released to his family when he was deemed well. After a while, he started hearing voices and was re-admitted to another mental hospital.

Around that same time, my mother (who had recently gotten divorced from her first husband) lost her mother and she tried to commit suicide. She was admitted to that same mental hospital.

They got married in 1965.

3. Random act of kindness.

A few years ago I was working at a pretty miserable place.

When I got off work it had begun to rain and I had no umbrella. The crosswalk was red and there wasn’t any shelter from the rain nearby. So I just stood there getting soaked, desperately wishing I could be home.

A couple of drunk middle aged dudes came up waiting to cross the street. I didn’t look them in case they got rowdy. But one of the men looked at me and handed me his umbrella. I tried to refuse but he said, “Your head is more precious than mine.”

Then the light turned green and he stumbled along sharing his friends umbrella.

It was a simple and incredibly kind gesture that made me feel like I mattered. I still have the umbrella and I’ll never forget the moment a drunk old man cheered me up during a dark time. I also hope he didn’t regret losing the umbrella after he sobered up, it was a really nice one.

2. They have something in common.

I’ve dated two separate people I met in the mental hospital. I realize why it’s not an advisable idea, but those were both by far my healthiest and happiest relationships.

When you’re in a mental hospital you really have no choice but to be vulnerable and open with someone. After all they already know something you’ll probably try and keep secret the rest of your life.

I dated Chris for four months when we were 16 until he eventually committed suicide, and I dated Bella for a little under a year when I was 20 (she was 19) until a long distance relationship became too hard for us to keep up.

I don’t recommend you spend your time in a hospital scouring the ward for potential hookups, but if you do find someone, that will be the person that understands what you’re going through more than anyone else in your life outside and that’s a connection that’s hard to break.

1. Definitely a sad story.

My grandfather was committed for alcoholism in the 1940s and stayed several years in a psychiatric hospital. Fast forward 60 years and I’m touring that hospital for work reasons as I was part of the team planning its replacement.

I heard horror stories of how patients were treated in the past. I never told anyone my grandfather was one of those patients.

I’m so glad that I got to hear all of these, aren’t you?

If you’ve got a go-to story you love, drop it in our comments!