A long time ago, I made some memorial armbands for Christopher Reeve, because he was a hero of mine. One side had the birth year, one side had the death year, and the Superman symbol was in the center. Really beautiful pieces, if I do say so myself.

I’m showing them to a friend, who’s never been in immediate danger of joining Mensa, but they really outdid themselves by asking:

Friend: “They’re nice! Are they autographed?”

My grandfather is having a friendly argument with his friend. They’re trying to figure out who is older, not by actual age, but through the old-fashioned things they’ve experienced.

Grandfather: “I’m old enough to remember when an escalator was installed in the mall, and all the kids got excited and took turns riding it up and down.”

Friend: “Well, I’m old enough to remember having to work in the store during the moon landing, which I hated as we had no customers because everyone was watching it! I could have witnessed history!”

Grandfather: “Well, I’m old enough to remember having no ID when boarding a plane from California to Washington, so I showed them a picture of me from my graduation yearbook, and they let me fly.”

My grandfather won.

I had a friend (note, had) who bought a gaming console (N64, I think) from one of the old mail-order catalogues. He did so through my mum as she pretty much did all of them back then (yes, I know it’s a s***ty scheme, but I knew no better as I was just leaving school, and he’d left a year or two prior.

He initially was paying, but after a few months, the payments stopped.

Mum: “[My Name], please remind [Friend] that he’s a few days late for the N64 payment.”

When I met him and reminded him later that day:

Friend: “Oh, yeah. I sold it.”

Me: “Okay, but what does that have to do with the payments?”

Friend: “I don’t own it now, why would I still pay for it?”

Me: “Uh… because you still owe the rest of the balance on it?”

Friend: *Speaking like he’s imparting wisdom.* “You can’t owe money on something you don’t own.”

Me: “Uh… yes, you can! The debt doesn’t just vanish! My mum is still paying the mail order company on your behalf.”

Friend: “Why? I don’t own it anymore!”

Me: “Because it’s not like the company goes, ‘Oh well, as you don’t have it now, you don’t owe anything!’ You need to pay my mum.”

Friend: “Just tell her to stop paying them, then. Whatever happens is between her and the company.”

I tried explaining this to him, lock, stock, and barrel, but he refused to understand. I think he actually did understand, but admitting that would mean he would need to start repayments. 

The next day, I went over to his house while he wasn’t home. His dad let me borrow my friend’s car for a couple of hours. I drove it everywhere, running some errands, until it was almost out of petrol, and then left it parked in the centre of town.

Later that night:

Friend: “Where’s my car?!”

Me: “I borrowed it for a couple of hours.”

Friend: “So then where is it?! My dad said you borrowed it this morning!”

Me: “I parked it in town. Don’t worry, I only borrowed it for a couple of hours, so I was true to my word.”

Friend: “So then bring it back!”

Me: “Why would I do that? It’s not my car.”

Friend: “Because you borrowed it! You used it!”

Me: “Just like you used my mum to get that N64?”

Friend: “Are we back on this again?!”

Me: “Tell you what. Pay my mum the rest of what she’s owed, and I’ll tell you where your car is.”

Friend: *Click.*

I know my friend, and I know how he thinks. He is now arguing with his dad, blaming him for letting me borrow the car, and trying to get him to fix it. His dad, whom I know to be a fair man, is likely laughing at him right now and telling him that he needs to dig himself out of his own mess.

Ten minutes later, he’s calling back:

Friend: “How much is left on the N64?”

Me: “£300.”

Friend: “What?! That’s too much!”

Me: “Those mail-order items have high interest on the payments, remember?”

Friend: “F***! I’m not paying that much!”

Me: “How much did you sell it for?”

Friend: “None of your business!”

Me: “Okay, well, goodnight.”

I hang up this time. 

Ten minutes later, he calls back and agrees to pay my mum the rest of what is owed. I even make him do a bank transfer and have my mum confirm it. I then tell him where his car is parked.

Me: “Oh, you might need to bring some petrol with you. I left it on fumes.”

Friend: “What! You need to pay to top it up!”

Me: “Why? It’s not my car.”

I hung up on him, and that was the last time we ever spoke.

My friend, a couple of years younger than me, has just turned eighteen. Our group does what we always do when they turn eighteen; we take them to the pub and congratulate them on buying their first legal pint.

The next morning, I’m talking to my friend on the phone.

Friend: “I think I’m allergic to alcohol!”

Me: “What makes you say that?”

Friend: “When I went home after the pub yesterday, I threw up!”

Me: “Well, I only stayed for the one pint. Did you drink any more after I left?”

Friend: “Yeah… ten or eleven.”

Me: “…”

Friend: “You there?”

Me: “Mate, I don’t think you’re allergic to alcohol, I think you’re just stupid.”

That was a few years ago now, and he’s never had more than one pint per occasion ever since!

I’m working in a bookstore, and I overhear two girls browsing the young adult section. One of them is on their phone.

Girl #1: “Girl, I think he might be the one!”

Girl #2: “How do you know?”

Girl #1: “He texts me back!”

Girl #2: “Yeah, he’s the one.”

Girl #1: “And get this, he texts in complete sentences!”

Girl #2: “Lock… that… s***… down!”