This happened about thirty years ago when our children were toddlers. My husband was an E5 in the Air Force and I was a stay-at-home mom, so money was tight, to say the least. My mother-in-law was coming to visit for the first time since my father-in-law had passed, and we wanted her to have a nice time, so we squeezed the budget relentlessly for months to have some extra funds while she was here.

[Mother-In-Law]’s lifelong friend was a snowbird with a winter place in Port Richey about an hour away, and we invited her to dinner so the “girls” could catch up. Dinner went well, and as beverages were enjoyed, [Friend] crashed on our couch. 

The next morning over breakfast, we made plans to visit Coquina Beach to search for shark teeth. This sounded great to [Friend], and she decided to join us. We covered all expenses, including lunch at a nice restaurant on the pier. By the time we got home, cleaned up, and enjoyed the stew I had left in the crock-pot, we were tired, and [Friend] crashed on our couch.

The next morning over breakfast, we were making plans to go to the Dali Museum in Saint Petersburg. This sounded wonderful to [Friend] so she accompanied us. We covered entry fees and lunch at a nice restaurant.

Rinse and repeat for nine days. [Friend] never offered to buy groceries or pick up a tab. We had worked hard to be prepared for one extra person; having two was devastating our budget. 

On the morning of the ninth day, I asked [Friend] if she thought she would be here for dinner as the roast I had planned was not adequate. [Friend] was furious and offended that I would say such a thing to my mother-in-law’s oldest friend. She stormed out. 

She never spoke to me again.

I had to take my husband to the emergency room for a broken foot. As we were waiting to be admitted because they wanted to do more in-depth testing due to his many health issues, we were seated next to an older woman. To be honest, I don’t know if she was just old, lonely, and scared or an entitled jerk. We suspected the latter. 

She kept going up to the nurses saying how she was sick. They kept saying they knew, but she had to wait her turn which would be a while because she was not a priority patient. At one point:

Woman: *In a shaky voice* “I’m going to pass out!”

Nurse: “Then you definitely need to sit down.”

I got the impression it was not their first time dealing with her. She was carrying on like she was going to pass out and throwing up in a bag when in reality she was just trying to spit into it.  

After twenty minutes, the woman got up and left the ER. I watched her through the window as she went across the street and made a phone call. Less than five minutes later, an ambulance pulled up.

Yep, she had called an emergency number for an ambulance. They put her in the ambulance and brought her to the ER… where they promptly put her back into the chair next to me. 

Woman: *Crying* “But I’m sick!”

Nurse: “So is everyone else here. And now, since you left the ER, you have lost your place in line and will have to wait again until we have room.”

At this point, the woman harrumphed, crossed her arms, and pouted. She gave us a dirty look when they came out with a wheelchair to get my husband. She started loudly complaining to the nurses about it. I gave the nurses a sympathetic look and walked away with my husband. It’s people like her that make it difficult for real emergencies to be handled.

This takes place around 2007. I am a freshman in college. I’m a fairly introverted girl who literally just turned eighteen. I’m studying in the student lounge between classes when I notice a much older man walking back and forth, staring at me. I go back to my notes, but he continues doing it, getting closer every time.

I am contemplating what to do when a tall, intimidating-looking guy in his early twenties plops down across from me.

Guy: *Loudly* “Hey, you’re in my Statistics class, aren’t you?”

Me: “Um… maybe?”

I’ve never seen him before in my life.

Guy: *Loudly* “What did you think of that exam? I think I passed, but man, it was tough. What are you reading now? Mind if I hang with you until my next class?”

Me: “I, uh…”

Guy: *In a normal voice* “Okay, he’s gone.”

I look around and realize that the creepy man has vanished.

Guy: “I was sitting on the other side of the lounge, and he’s been eyeing you up for a while. Gave me the creeps. Sorry to startle you.”

Me: “No problem. Thank you for that. How did you know I was in Statistics?”

He points at my Statistics textbook sitting next to my bag and we both laugh.

Guy: “Are you a freshman?”

I nod.

Guy: “Me, too. I did the military thing for a couple of years and now I’m here. My name’s Wilson, by the way.”

I introduced myself. We chatted for a while and then went to our respective classes. I saw him in passing a couple of times during the semester and we always waved at each other. I didn’t see him after that.

Wilson, if you read this… thank you! I still appreciate what you did.

I’m a senior in high school. I’ve been in chorus since I was a freshman. We are having our annual Broadway-style revue, and everyone is running around like crazy backstage getting ready. There are several stage moms helping with makeup.

One of my friends warns me that one stage mom in particular is walking around with a tube of lipstick and putting it on the girls that she deems “not made up enough.” I have very sensitive skin, so I do my own makeup with my own products. I have done this every year with no issues.

I come out of the bathroom in full costume with several minutes to spare.

Stage Mom #1: “[My Name], you look so nice.”

Me: “Thank you, Mrs. [Stage Mom #1].”

Stage Mom #1: “What makeup brand do you use?”

Me: “[Brand known for sensitive skin].”

Stage Mom #1: “Really? I didn’t know it could look that nice. I’ll have to check into that for next year!”

I smile and thank her again. She walks off to help another kid with his costume.

I head back to my stuff to grab my water bottle when [Stage Mom #2] walks over with lipstick in hand. I don’t get along with her daughter, so she’s never been nice to me.

Stage Mom #2: “Are you wearing any lipstick?”

Me: “I have my own, thank you!”

Stage Mom #2: “[My Name], that is not enough lipstick.”

Me: “I’m going to add some more right before I go onstage. That way, it’s totally fresh.”

Stage Mom #2: “No, you’ll add some right now.”

She opens the lipstick and attempts to put it on me. I dodge out of the way.

Me: “I have my own!”

I reach into my bag and pull out my lipstick, along with my shimmer gloss.

Me: “I’m all set.”

Stage Mom #2: “No, you need this stuff.”

She comes at me with the lipstick again and I step back.

Me: “I’m not wearing that. One, that’s not my color. Two, I have sensitive skin and I can’t wear that brand. Three, you’ve been using that on everyone. That’s germy.”

Stage Mom #2: “You’re going to look washed out on stage. Stop being disrespectful and let me help you!”

She has a smug look on her face as she opens the lipstick again. In one smooth motion, I grab my makeup bag, step back, and bolt for the nearby single-stall bathroom. I lock the door in record time. [Stage Mom #2] bangs on the door.

Me: “Mrs. [Stage Mom #2], I am putting on my lipstick and more gloss.”

Stage Mom #2: “You’ll be sorry! Just wait until [Director] hears how disrespectful you are!”

She stomped off. I added more lip gloss and cautiously slipped out of the bathroom with just a minute to spare. Our number went well, and I did not get in trouble with our director. However, half the girls in the class ended up sick a couple of days later.

I’m a junior in a senior-level math class. Our teacher is this hilarious man in his early seventies who loves his job but hates the “bureaucracy” for getting involved in everything. Students love him because he speaks up for them. One of the things he does is give every student who turns eighteen during the school year a dollar to buy their first lottery ticket. We are a couple of weeks away from finals. He’s talking about how he enjoyed teaching us this year.

Teacher: “…and I gave out a lot of money to you kids to buy lottery tickets. I feel like I’m missing someone, though. Whose eighteenth birthday hasn’t happened yet?”

I raise my hand.

Teacher: “[My Name]! So, you’re a summer kid, huh?”

Me: “Yep!”

Teacher: “When do you turn eighteen?”

Me: “[Month and Day]—”

Teacher: “Oh, right around the corner!”

Me: “—of next year.”

He cackles with laughter.

Teacher: “I forgot I had a junior this year!”

Me: “Do I still get $1?”

Teacher: “Nope. Nice try, though.”

Fast forward to the day of the final exam. When each person is done, he grades the exam in front of them and calculates their final average. I have finished. I walk up to his desk and he reads through my exam, making corrections occasionally. An 80 to 89 is a B and a 90 or higher is an A, and he never rounds up.

Teacher: “Okay, [My Name], you got an 85 on the exam, which takes your semester average to…”

He scribbles in the grade book.

Teacher: “…89.5.”

This particular class was HARD, so I’m perfectly fine with a B!

Me: “Sounds good to me!”

He stares at the grade book for a minute, then erases the grade and enters something else.

Teacher: “90.”

I stare at him in surprise.

Me: “What?!”

Teacher: “You were the only junior in a very difficult senior-level class, and you worked hard all year. You deserve it.”

Me: “Wow! Thank you!”

Teacher: “You’re still not getting your dollar. But you do get the A.”

He shook my hand and I exited, still in shock. He retired soon after.