"The Dogs Died, Then Mom and My Brother Ended Up in the Hospital" – True Stories When Things Just Keep Getting Worse

I locked the car keys inside the car, but I had to leave urgently because I was driving my parents to my dad’s funeral. I pried open the trunk, but before climbing in, I took off my jacket—it slipped off the car roof into the mud. I squeezed through the seats while half the street rushed out at the alarm noise—my outfit was now a disaster—and finally reached the key to turn off the alarm.

Relieved, I stepped out to collect myself, but the door shut behind me, locking the keys inside again. Wait, it’s not over: I kicked the tire in frustration and broke my leg. With a broken leg, I had to climb back into the car for the keys, arriving late to the funeral, limping behind my dad’s coffin in muddy clothes.

I worked as a receptionist at a fancy hotel when this happened. A middle-aged guest woke up with severe diarrhea. He rushed to the bathroom but accidentally ran out the front door, which closed behind him, locking him out. Naked and desperate, he banged on other doors until he startled a terrified man who thought there was a fire.

The naked man dashed into a room but didn’t make it to the bathroom—he relieved himself on the way. Crying, he begged forgiveness from the awakened neighbor—who vomited from the smell and sight—until the cleaners arrived. They moved the poor guy to another room, but wait, there’s more: at breakfast, the two met again, locked eyes, and the memory made the awakened man vomit once more.

I failed my makeup exam, and my teacher told me I’d have to repeat the year. I went home to find our 12-year-old dog having a seizure. My family rushed her to the vet, where we learned she had to be put down. All four of us cried in the car on the way home, but wait, there’s more: my parents chose that moment to announce they were getting divorced.

I was a hostess at a fancy restaurant when an elderly regular couple came in one evening. The lady had trouble using one hand, but her husband never helped—never opened doors or pulled out her chair. One night she asked me to accompany her to the restroom. I thought she just needed help opening the door, but she dragged me along and said she’d soiled herself. I had to get her a bag for her dirty underwear and stand guard while she cleaned up. I even helped pull up her pants, and when I touched her bottom, I almost threw up on the spot.

I took her back to her husband and told him what happened, but he said he wasn’t leaving his nice dinner that had just arrived! I couldn’t believe it. And wait, there’s more! Ten minutes later, the lady came back again apologizing—she’d soiled herself again.

We repeated the whole restroom routine, but this time she’d also wet her pants, so I had to find her sweatpants from the staff locker room. The whole women’s restroom reeked, and even the cleaners were overwhelmed. While we helped her clean up, her husband calmly finished his meal. We called them a taxi, and they finally went home. Three months later, I saw them again, and the lady didn’t recognize me. They had barely sat down when she came over and said, “Sweetie, I could use some help in the restroom.”

My dog choked on something and died, then a week later a car hit my mom’s dog. Two weeks after that, my mom had a stroke and died in the hospital. My brother flew in but got into a car accident; his car was totaled, and he’s been in the hospital for a week. His wife told him during a visit she wants a divorce and will take the kids. Today, my boss called me in and said I won’t have a job next month. Wait, there’s more: I came home to find a pipe burst in the upstairs neighbor’s apartment, ruining a painting my mom left me—the only valuable thing I had and was about to sell.