I did a zombie event like this one in Glasgow, and other than an awkward moment with some confused junkies in a car park the event was a lot of fun.

I did nearly flatten a zombie at one point, though. The actor stepped in front of me when I was sprinting at my top speed, and I couldn’t stop or sidestep.

Apparently, body-slamming zombies is a viable survival strategy. Who knew?!

Related:
The Mental Imagery Alone Is Both Adorable And Terrifying

I’m waiting in line to pick up a prescription. There are two women in front of me being served.

Mother: *Eyeing the large paper bag that is handed to her daughter.* “Why do you need all that?”

Daughter: “Like I said last month, [Son] needs it for [condition]. He inherited it from his father.”

Mother: “He doesn’t need that. I’ve told you; they need to go to church more. Jesus heals all who come to him.”

The daughter then picks up the bag that the mother just received.

Daughter: “Oh? Well, I guess you won’t need your insulin.”

The daughter then walks off. The mother is standing there dumbfounded before running after her.

Me: *To the pharmacist.* “That was… odd.” 

Pharmacist: “They do it every month. Rumour is the mother was a smackhead in the 60s and her memory is totally butchered. Given it’s been like a year now, I’m starting to believe it.”

This is a story from my first year of high school. A young boy with mobility issues attended a number of my classes; some days he would get around using a pair of crutches, and on bad days, he would use a wheelchair. He was also well below average height and suffered from what is known locally as “Wee Man Syndrome”. In other words, he would regularly try to pick fights with people much, much bigger than him for little or no reason. Although, he was fairly safe in the knowledge that nobody wanted to be known as the person who fought the small kid in a wheelchair.

That is, until the events of this story.

One day, in the middle of a class, our teacher had to step out. I don’t know why, but we were left unsupervised for what felt like a really long time, and most of us kids started to have a laugh and carry on.

Now, I forget what started it but the kid, who was using his crutches on this occasion, took exception to something a much taller boy said and made a critical error of judgment.

Wee Guy: “I want to fight you.”

Tall Kid: “What did you say?”

Wee Guy: “You heard me: I want to fight you. Square go, right now!”

His error of judgment here was that the kid he was speaking to had a reputation for being a bit wild and for not taking crap from anyone, not even from teachers (hence having spent a fair bit of time in detention).

Tall Kid: “Aye,. Okay, then. Let’s go.”

At that point, he got out of his seat and walked over to the Wee Guy’s desk. The Wee Guy promptly panicked and tried to hit him over the head with one of his crutches. The Tall Kid snatched the crutch out of the air, threw it away, and then picked the Wee Guy up by his collar.

Tall Kid: “Listen very carefully because this is the only warning you are getting. I don’t care that you can’t walk. I think you’re a coward because you pick fights knowing people don’t want to fight you. Well, the next time you talk crap to me or any of my pals, I am going to make you eat your crutches.”

Then, he shoved the Wee Guy back into his seat, picked the crutch up, slammed it onto the desk in front of him, and walked back to his own seat.

The teacher came back to class not long afterward, so that was pretty much the end of it, but funnily enough, I don’t recall the Wee Guy picking any more fights after this incident. I don’t remember what the class was, but I do remember the lesson.

We’re having a sale (Boxing Day), and some of our best deals are sold out within the first hour or two from opening. One customer is particularly upset with this.

Customer: “You’ve totally sold out of [dress]?! That’s bloody ridiculous! It’s not even 10:00 am!”

Manager: “Yes, that was our most heavily discounted item. It was always going to fly off the shelves.”

Customer: “Well then, you’re going to order one for me.”

Manager: “I’m afraid that was on sale because it was the last of that particular stock. It’s not being manufactured anymore.”

Customer: “So, how do you propose to get me one, then?!”

Manager: “Uh… I don’t? Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

Customer: “You get me one of those dresses, or I’m leaving.” 

Manager: “I understand, ma’am.”

Customer: “I’ll walk out, and I won’t buy anything!”

Manager: “I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am.”

Customer: “Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m leaving!”

Manager: “Yes, ma’am, I heard you. This isn’t an airport; you don’t have to announce your departure.”

I’m working at the only checkout lane in a small corner shop in a small town in Scotland. The weather has been bad lately, so a lot of locals who usually drive to the larger supermarkets or people who would usually be spending their weekend in the town are forced to use our little shop.

A younger man is in the queue, and he is making his personal distaste for having to wait his turn quite loudly known.

Young Man: “F*** me, this store is slow! What are you doing up there, counting it out on your bloody fingers?”

Me: “Sir, I apologise, but it’s just me today, and we’re not usually this busy. I am going as fast as I can.”

Young Man: “Well, your fast-as-you-can is slower than a snail with [derogatory term for people with a developmental disorder]. Hurry the f*** up!”

At that, the older woman immediately in front of him in the queue turns on him.

Old Woman: “Listen, boy. This is one of the few stores in the area that still accepts checks, I have a big fat checkbook in my bag that I am happy to use, I have nowhere else to be today, and I have forgotten my glasses. Don’t… test me!“

He was silent for the rest of his time in line. The scary old lass somehow got a staff discount… 

Related:
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 3
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 2
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman
Tell Me You’re In Scotland Without Telling Me You’re In Scotland
Nothin’ Like A Good Old Existential Meltdown