I was chilling in a fast-casual restaurant chain yesterday, and I decided to go fill up my drink. As I was standing in line to fill up my drink, this lady and her maybe six-year-old kid were right ahead of me. The kid was about to go get his drink when his mom stopped him.

Lady: “Put ice in your drink first. Everyone gets ice in their drink.”

The kid moved out of the way, and I went ahead to get my drink instead.

I was halfway through filling up my drink when this lady put her hand in front of my face and gestured to direct my eyes. She was pointing at the ice machine.

Lady: “Everyone puts ice in their drink.”

Apparently, I was tired as h*** because I looked her dead in the eye, and without cracking any smile or emotion whatsoever, I told her:

Me: “Oh, my bad. I’m allergic to ice.”

She had this shocked and confused expression. Then, she and her kid just went on their merry way. I filled up my drink and sat back down, and after looking at my phone for a few minutes, I looked up to see the woman arguing very angrily with a random worker, pointing at me.

Honestly, I decided it wasn’t worth it, and seeing as I was finished eating, I just threw my stuff away and bounced.

I woke up this morning thinking, “What the h*** even was that?”

Customer: “Are these shrimp cooked?”

Me: “No, ma’am. They’re completely raw.”

Customer: “Okay… do I need to cook them?” 

Me: “I’d recommend it.”

I’d just come off the motorway and I was cruising at 70 down the dual carriageway towards the city. There was a couple of miles distance between the motorway and the roundabout where I was to turn off.

So, I was in the outside lane, overtaking someone going a little slower than me, when some “prestige” car with tinted windows came hurtling up behind me to come really, really close to my rear bumper, flashing his lights to try and get me to move out of his way.

I took my sweet time finishing my overtake, and as I pulled in to the inside lane I gave the driver of the prestige car a “w**ker” gesture out of the window.

He was obviously not in quite such a hurry as he was trying to make people believe, as he had ample time to slow down to my speed and hurl abuse at me through his window. I just repeated the “w**ker” gesture at him, while keeping my distance from the car in front of me.

The w**ker in question gestured for me to pull over and reckon with him, but I continued making “w**ker” gestures at him, with a smug and insulting expression on my face.

Next thing I knew, he hurled something out of his window, which hit the side of my car with a clonk.

Soon after that, the dual carriageway was interrupted by the roundabout where my route towards the town centre was located. The w**ker was obviously in too much hurry to follow me down into town, as he pulled carried on going along the dual carriageway instead.

I was not able to identify what it was that he had thrown at me, but it left a chalky but also greasy mark on the side of the car where it hit me.

It sometimes amuses me to wonder what would have happened if he had actually followed me to my destination then confronted me on parking up.

(I have just been transferred to work in the Archives and Special Collections at my college. Its my first week there.)
Boss: “While you’re going through those folders, if you see anything related to [topic] could you snap a picture and text it to me?”
Me: “Er, alright, but would you rather me scan them and upload them to the drive? That seems a lot more secure.”
Boss: “Uh…no. That’s not necessary. Just text them to me.”
(It then dawned on me that 90% of my job here is digitizing and uploading documents so they’d be easier for the public to access. I transferred here from the Financial Aid department, so taking pictures at work always feels like a crime.)

CONTENT WARNING: Animal Neglect (Happy Ending!)

I’ve just clocked in as a groomer at an independent pet store. I look at my schedule for the day and see that all of my appointments have been scrubbed and my manager has just written, “SEE ME, EMERGENCY,” in big letters. Colour me intrigued but also concerned.

I walk across the building to my manager’s office and find her consoling a woman around my age — mid-twenties. There’s a husky frantically trying to lick her face, but the dog yelps every time it moves. It’s climbed into its owner’s lap. I can see from across the room that the poor thing is covered in matted fur, which has tangled so badly near its legs that it can’t stand or move without pulling at the skin and causing pain. The poor dog is also filthy, and someone has clearly tried to shave or chop off some of the matting and nicked the dog several times. The vet we usually get out for sedation and such is standing there, as bewildered as I am.

Manager: “Oh, good, here’s [My Name]! Sweetheart, I told you I would find you the very best to help Nymeria, and she’s it. If anyone can help her, it’s [My Name], okay? And [Vet] is here to have a look at the cuts. They don’t look too bad to me, but we’ll get it sorted out, okay?” 

Dog Owner: *Still crying and hiccuping* “I h-h-had to move here for my new j-j-job, and I left her with my brother. My h-h-house wasn’t ready, and she’d have been miserable in a flat. I s-s-sent him the money to take her to the groomer, but he never took her, and it’s been six months! The airport p-p-people said she cried the whole flight—”

She’s cut off by the dog yelping because her leg slid off the owner’s lap, which causes the owner to start sobbing even louder. My heart breaks; this poor girl clearly loves her dog. I can hear the vet muttering under his breath something unkind about the brother.

Me: “Okay. Deep breaths, everyone! Right. Tears aren’t helping, and they’re upsetting Nymeria. We can fix this. Could you introduce me?”

I was introduced to Nymeria who, to her credit, despite her pain, only gave me about thirty seconds of the husky side-eye before she realized I had dehydrated chicken livers in my pocket. After that, I think she would have gone home with me.

The vet checked the nicks out and found nothing but some surface scratches. There was one particularly deep one near her rear end that he popped some antiseptic on, and then he gave us the go-ahead.

He asked if she usually needed sedation for grooming. By then, my manager had gotten hold of the customer’s old groomer, who was LIVID at the brother. When Nymeria didn’t come in on schedule, she assumed the owner had figured out the housing situation quicker than she expected and had already brought her to live in our town. She gave me some tips for Nymeria — not a biter but tries to escape when you clip her paws, does fine with a sprayer but tries to eat shampoo, and not bothered by a blow dryer but LOVES to sing. She’d been grooming Nymeria since she was a puppy and said she was very loved, well-trained, and all round the goodest girl. She did thankfully warn me that Nymeria was not a typical husky; I couldn’t really tell through all the dirt and matting, but she’s wooly coated, which added an extra layer of complication.

Nymeria let me carry her to the bathtub, happy as could be, inspecting my ear for any hidden treats. It took me seven hours to painstakingly wash, brush, trim, and dry her, but she was a trooper. When I finally had her legs unmatted and she stood up without pain for the first time, she spun in circles for ten minutes and ran around the room like a wind-up toy to get a few months’ worth of zoomies out all at once.

She needed a more extensive haircut than I would have typically given a double-coated dog, but I’m confident that she’ll recover. She went home feeling like a whole new dog with a very grateful owner, who booked a standing appointment every three weeks for the rest of the year on the spot.

I still hope her brother steps on a Lego, though.

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