For Christmas, my mother ordered some blue light-filtering glasses online as a gift for my dad. Package theft isn’t a major concern in our area, but some delivery drivers had been leaving packages by the garage door, so she chose an option for the driver to take photos of the delivered packages so we’d know for sure when they arrived.

Lo and behold, she gets a photo of the box with the glasses on a neighbor’s porch across the street. No big deal, though it is odd that the neighbor doesn’t call us about it or drop it off. Once my mom figures out which house it is, she calls to ask for it. At first, our neighbor is genuinely confused, though.

Neighbor: “I didn’t get any mistaken packages! What was in it?”

Mom: “A pair of blue light-filtering glasses.”

Neighbor: “Oh! I know what happened!”

Her daughter and son-in-law had been visiting from out of state, and in a total coincidence, he had ordered the exact same glasses to their house! The neighbors were getting a lot of packages at the time, so they hadn’t bothered checking the address before opening it. When they opened the box, he figured they were the ones he ordered. By the time Mom called, he’d already returned to his home state, taking the glasses with him.

Our neighbor was mortified and apologized profusely. My mom was totally understanding, and I think she just took the pair the neighbor’s son-in-law ordered when it arrived or ordered another pair. The glasses were fairly cheap and not a “major” gift, just something she ordered on a whim, so even if she hadn’t been able to replace them it wouldn’t have been a big deal. Still, what are the odds that they’d deliver it to someone who ordered the same thing?

Two friends and I are driving down a scenic road on the river. This area is known for big mansions, and most of the residents make at least half a million dollars a year. We drive past and wax poetic about if we had the money to afford any of them. We pass by a home under construction with two massive staircases and huge bay windows with balconies. I raise my hand out the window.

Me: “I am open for a sugar daddy! I’ll even do weird stuff!”

My friends both burst into laughter.

Friend: “That’s going on your tombstone.”

I pull into the petrol station which is quite busy. The pump I am aiming to pull up to happens to be near the entrance door. As the pump is currently busy, I pull up behind the car using it but leave room for the people who are walking toward the door to enter the station and pay. They do that little dance you do when you’re not sure if a car is stopping for you, so to clarify, I wave them through.

Two of the people about to cross seem to be together. The first man walks on as I wave him through, but the other man stops to wave me forward. I’m a bit confused because I can’t move forward as there is a car at that pump, something that he’d notice if he turned his head even slightly. I give him another friendly (albeit a bit confused) wave to go ahead and he absolutely loses his mind!

Man #1: “GO, C***!”

He has his chest forward like he intends to come at me. I’m utterly in shock. Part of my brain wants to wind my window down to calmly explain that I can’t move forward, but luckily, my shock keeps me motionless. He eventually walks toward the door, still ranting and raving, and the guy he is with physically turns him around.

Man #2: “Walk back to the car.”

I was still sitting in my car in shock. Another customer, an older man, had been watching the scene unfold as if he was going to jump in if need be. He walked past my car window and gave me a sympathetic and confused look. That made me feel a bit safer about the situation, but I spent the rest of the day wondering how someone could become so angry so quickly about someone giving them the right of way that they’d scream, swear, and physically threaten a mum sitting in her car with her toddler. And it was only 9:00 am. I’d hate to see how the rest of his day played out.

I have an overgrown piece of land that I haven’t touched in many many years, partly as I’ve never had a use for it and partly the cost of a skip or hiring a van. A friend offers the use of his dad’s old landscaping tools, so I figure I should at least cut it back, even if I have to figure out how to get rid of it later.

I start with the dead trees, cutting them down and then into smaller logs. I sit them around the front, well out of the way of the path still. Then, I head round back to tackle some of the bushes and thorny vines. It takes a few days. Then, I have another small tree I can now reach to cut up, again into small, movable pieces. I bring them round front and go to stack them with the rest, but they’re missing.

I search around to make sure they haven’t rolled away or some kids haven’t kicked them down the road. But no, gone.

Good job, as I didn’t want them, I suppose. I stack the rest of the wood, slightly closer to the path, to lure my wood thief into unwittingly doing me another favour. Sure enough, a few days later, the wood is gone. I get on with the rest of the weeding and digging.

I get a knock on the door. A middle-aged guy is stood there.

Man: “Got any more wood?”

Me: “Oh, no, sorry.”

Man: “What about them?”

He points to the neighbours’ garden and two ornamental trees.

Me: “No, they belong to the neighbours.”

Man: “That one?”

He points behind himself.

Me: “That would be the council’s tree.”

Man: “Oh, can I borrow your saw?”

Images of several missing telegraph poles going missing flash to mind.

Me: “Sorry, no. Try the DIY store up the road.”

I shut the door but kept a watch. He tried looking through to the back anyway, hoping no doubt for some hidden forest, but then he dejectedly loped off. It was that very day I put up some cameras and hid all my wooden spoons, just in case he returned.

Some friends and I are leaving an end-of-season event for the sports club we represent at University. We’ve just piled into a taxi to take us back to a friend’s house, where we’re staying.

Since this event hosts dozens of University teams, and it’s just ended, there are a lot of almost identical-looking taxis lined up, waiting to collect their passengers.

The six of us are getting situated and we’re about to close the door, when a drunk young woman climbs into the taxi, SITS ON MY LAP, and closes the door behind her.

Friend: “Erm, [My Name], you can’t bring her back to my house!”

Everyone turns to stare at me and this person who I now realise is NOT another of our friends trying to catch a ride and is, in fact, a complete stranger.

The driver, of course, is annoyed that this girl is not seated safely, and my friends are giving me raised eyebrows, evidently thinking she’s a one-night stand in progress.

Me: “No idea who this is!” *To the girl* “Hey… I don’t think this is your taxi. Do you think you could get out? Maybe we can find the one you’re supposed to be in?”

After about ten seconds, it dawned on the girl that she was in a vehicle with people she didn’t know, and she opened the door and hopped out. I got out, too, so I could make sure she at least found someone she DID know, instead of leaving her swaying on the footpath alone.

Thankfully, the taxi behind ours had some confused-looking people waiting beside it who spotted our interloper and called her over. Satisfied she’d been returned to her friends, I got back in, CLOSED THE DOOR FIRST, and then buckled up so that we could finally be on our way.