About ten years ago, I was working as a bank teller. I was pretty new, so I followed all the rules about checking IDs, even when my coworkers would sometimes be lax about it.

A man came in to cash a check drawn on our bank, but he said he didn’t have an account. I asked for his ID, required to cash all checks if you weren’t a customer of our bank. He pitched a fit (which happened a lot in that area), but he eventually handed it to me. It immediately looked… off. So, I asked him for a second form of ID. The fit escalated and he asked for my manager. We didn’t have one, but my supervisor was there, so I got her.

She took one look at the ID.

Supervisor: “We can’t accept this without a second form of ID.”

Man: “I don’t have one. Demanding that is illegal! I’m going to call the cops. They’ll tell you it’s a real ID, and then you’ll have to cash the check!”

Supervisor: *Very calmly* “We are not advising you to do that, but we also can’t stop you.”

The man made the call anyway. Around this time, the man’s companion, who had been waiting in the car, came in to see what was taking so long.

Man: “I’ve called the cops! Now we’re waiting for them to tell these people that my ID is real!”

The companion looked panic-stricken.

Companion: “We need to leave. Now.”

The police showed up. The companion looked like she was going to spontaneously combust. The man handed over his ID.

Man: “tell them it’s real, so they’ll cash my d*** check.”

The cop looked at the ID.

Cop: “Can’t. Where’d you get this?”

The man pointed to the companion now trying to go out the front door. 

And that’s how a guy called the cops on himself and his girlfriend for making and using fake IDs and got them both arrested.

I’m a police officer, and the strangest call I had around the holidays was a supposed domestic violence situation in progress that my partner and I responded to on Christmas Day.

It turns out Dispatch had called it a domestic violence call because the line had connected, but nobody was on the phone. All Dispatch could hear were the sounds of destruction going on, as well as shouting, loud jangling, and occasional screaming in the background. 

We found the whole family waiting outside. 

Man: “We’re not mad at each other. We’re just upset because we wanted to surprise the kids for Christmas. We got some deer and dressed them up, and now they’re destroying our house.”

My partner and I had to have them repeat themselves because in no way, shape, or form could either of us comprehend the stupidity.

It turns out that, yes, there were literally three fully grown white-tailed deer in the house, somehow dressed in full bell harnesses like Santa’s reindeer. The family had “borrowed” them from a nearby deer ranch (without the owner’s permission). The wife couldn’t understand why or how “sweet, gentle, herbivores” could get so violent.

I had to call the game warden and the ranch owner down, who were then able to help me remove the deer from the property without injury to us or them.

The parents were then read the riot act about their stealing what was classified as livestock from a ranch. Yes, it was still stealing, even if they intended to return the animals. Also, an herbivore’s instincts said that things clinging to them were life-threatening predator attacks, so of COURSE, the feel of the harness had been unwanted, and the jangling of the bells had probably made the situation worse for the poor animals.

The ranch owner was thoroughly disapproving of the theft of his deer, but he decided not to press charges due to the level of destruction in that house. Nothing breakable was left intact; they lost the flat-screen TV, presents were smashed, the tree was overturned, Christmas decorations were broken, the furniture was damaged, and of course, there was deer poop on the carpets.

In the end, at least someone got a guffaw out of the situation.

Although, how the parents even managed to get the deer and actually dress them up is still a mystery to this day.

I’m working at a call centre. Our company is taken over and our upper-level management leaves, replaced by medium-level managers from the new parent company.

Our terms and conditions of employment are very good, not just for a call centre but in general. The new company’s terms are… less so. Thanks to European Union employment law, they can’t make our jobs redundant because they’d need to hire people to do those jobs and the only people they’d be allowed to hire would be us, on the same terms and conditions.

My boss’s boss has a way around this, however. She just makes all of us very, very miserable. Impossible targets are set. Mistakes as small as typos are treated as gross misconduct. She very publicly conducts interviews for people to replace us, down to introducing the candidates to us and saying that they’ll be taking our jobs because we’re useless.

[Boss’s Boss] introduces a new rule: for staff flexibility, so she can alter our hours of work at will, we must all have our own transport — we cannot use the local buses and trains. I come in by bus every day, but I go out and buy a stinker of a secondhand car to come to work in.

Eventually, one by one, the staff from the old company leave, either on their own in disgust or by being fired for gross misconduct like making typos in the non-public notes fields in the computer system.

I eventually walk out, the last of the old staff, when I’m dressed down in front of everybody for being two minutes late during a snowstorm when I was asked to come in on my day off to cover others who couldn’t come in due to a snowstorm.

Cut to a year later. I’m happy in a new and better job, but I still have my terrible old car. It has developed yet another fault: on starting, it runs for a minute or so and then loses power, requiring the engine to be gunned for a minute to get it working again. I only use the car for trips to the supermarket, having gone back to using the bus for my new job, but I book it in to have it repaired.

While it’s with the mechanic, I get a knock at the door. It’s the police.

Police: “Do you drive a [Car]?”

Me: “Yes. It’s in with [Local Mechanic]. Is there a problem?”

Police: “Were you at [Supermarket] last week?

Me: “Yes, on Tuesday, I think. After work, probably about 6:00 pm.”

Police: “Did you see a woman in the car park?”

Me: “Not that I remember. Nobody specific, anyway.”

Police: “We’ve had reports that you stopped in front of a specific woman and threatened to run her over. She was terrified.”

Me: “Blimey! It wasn’t me, but poor thing. Why?”

Police: “Do you have a former boss that you hate? Someone you’d like to run over?”

Me: “Not that I know of! I’ve had my fair share of terrible bosses, but nobody I’d threaten.”

Police: “Is one of those bosses called [Boss’s Boss]?”

Me: “Umm, possibly. I did have a terrible boss called [Boss’s Boss] about a year or so ago. Well, she was my boss’s boss. Awful person. [Boss’s Boss] Green? [Boss’s Boss] Brown? [Boss’s Boss] Gold? It was something like that.”

Police: “So, you do know the complainant?”

Me: “Oh, it was her? Yeah, but she lives in [City thirty miles away] I think, so… I’m confused now.”

Police: “You saw her and revved your engine at her and tried to run her down?”

Me: “In [City thirty miles away]? No. And also, no, not at all.”

Police: “Well, she lives here now and says you did. Wait. Why is your car in the shop again?”

Me: “It’s got a weird power failure; the engine needs gunning to get it to work, so I’m having it repair— Oh.”

Police: “Oh.”

Me: “So, err, [Boss’s Boss] lives here now, does she? I thought my old company went bankrupt?”

Police: “Yes, after she bought a house here. She’s unemployed and convinced that her old staff is out to get her.”

Me: “Poor thing! She was a terrible boss, but she was only terrible because of the circumstances we were all in. And she thinks that I was trying to run her down?”

Police: “Well, she was in the entrance to the supermarket, saw you revving your engine, and assumed that you were doing it at her and would run her down later as you know where she lives.”

Me: “Oh, bless her. She was a terrible manager, but I’ve not even thought about her once in a year or so. I’m sorry I scared her, if I did.”

Police: “I don’t think you did. I think she was perhaps a bit… Well, anyway, we’ve got other people to see that have been harassing her. We won’t take up any more of your time.”

Part of me feels sorry for her. Part of me hopes she was charged with wasting police time.

A man with learning differences works at our police station. We’ll call him Peter. What Peter’s story is, I don’t know, but he is a hard worker and mostly happy. Peter understands French, German, and Italian, but he replies to everything in English. He also ignores a lot of instructions.

He once wouldn’t let a senior officer into the station, instead leaving him out in the rain. An angry, soaking-wet lieutenant came into the office.

Lieutenant: *In German* “Peter! Why didn’t you let me in?!”

Peter: “No police ID.”

Lieutenant: “But you know me! I’m [Lieutenant].”

Peter: “Rule [number]: no entry without police ID. Orders by [Lieutenant]. I check bins.” *Walks off*

Me: “What do you want me to do, tell him to ignore the security rules which you wrote?”

[Lieutenant] never forgot his ID again.

Peter does well, and we need someone to manage lockers — for storing guns, shields, laptops, etc. That is an unpopular job, but Peter loves it. He politely explains why someone isn’t allowed a locker, and he makes good use of short space. When an officer doesn’t use it properly, he pranks them by removing the door or filling it with bricks. They learn their lesson. We all love him.

One Friday afternoon, we leave Peter alone for thirty minutes. The next Monday, he arrives at 10:00 am, looking sad. He won’t say what is wrong. After lunch, he comes back happy.

Me: *In German* “Peter, why are you so happy?”

Peter: “Talk to Brigadier. Secret.”

I hear there was an incident that Friday. [Officer #1] wanted TWO lockers, but for some reason, he went to the Brigadier’s private office instead of emailing Peter. The Brigadier’s private office then demanded one for the same officer, followed by [Manager #2] and [Manager #3] in Peter’s office. Peter told them, “I haven’t decided if he gets a locker at all,” then closed the office, and went home, since it was 5:00 pm on Friday.

I get an email.

Brigadier: “I’m looking into Peter’s complaint. Police officers need lockers, but he isn’t talking. I need to know why he disobeyed me and how he works.”

Peter won’t talk to me, either. That week, I see him talking to an interpreter, who is there to interpret a meeting… in sign language.

Me: *In German* “Do you understand him?”

Interpreter: *In German* “Yes. His sign is a bit confusing, but he is very intelligent and chatty.”

Me: “Right… This is Peter. He can hear fine. Can you talk to him and ask him about the locker incident? We need to know how he sorts out lockers.”

The interpreter talks to Peter over coffee, lasting about ninety minutes.

Interpreter: “Peter doesn’t understand the concept of a chain of command.”

Me: “What? In a police force?”

Interpreter: “He doesn’t care what your pay grade is. He decides whether you get a locker and what size. Does he take pride in his work?”

Me: “He’s meticulous about it. Where did he even learn sign?”

Interpreter: “Interpreters on TV during [health crisis], apparently. I mean, he isn’t fluent. He is upset that [Officer #1] didn’t just ask him directly like everyone else. He should have been told he would have to deal with managers he didn’t know. Anyway, why did they harass him on a Friday afternoon when it wasn’t urgent?”

Peter: “Rude SCUBA diver.”

Me: “So, Peter, you wanted to read the reasons why he needed a locker?”

Interpreter: “Yes. He is working hard to get respect from officers, but he can only do that if he is seen to make the decision… like for this police diver with SCUBA gear. He also wants advice from [weapons department], because he thinks a stun grenade in a personal locker is a bad idea.”

Me: “WHAT?”

Peter: “Gun? Meh, okay. Stun grenade? Accident, k’boom explode.”

Interpreter: “Peter felt he couldn’t explain that verbally, because he was being forced to do something. Clearly, he understands the safety risk. Peter, can you do lockers if you get to decide yourself?”

Peter hugs the interpreter.

Peter: *In German* “Ja!”

Interpreter: “Here’s my business card; let me know if you need me.”

Officers were told to contact Peter — nobody else — about lockers. Peter granted [Officer #1] two lockers, on the condition that they didn’t contain stun grenades. [Manager #2] and [Manager #3] were told to stay out of locker decisions.

Out of snarkiness, Peter asks [Lieutenant] for his ID card every time he sees him in the corridor.

I share my [Paid Streaming Service] with some of my friends, and I haven’t used it in a while. One of my pals messages me.

Friend: “Oh, [My Name], you’re so silly, changing all the profiles to different languages!”

I’m like, “Pardon me? No, I would not do that.” I change the password and contact [Service]. They don’t seem to care.

Then, I get this email from a stranger.

Stranger: “G’day. This message might be a bit strange; you don’t even know me, but I have a request. I recently bought a piece of your [Service] account — let’s say a profile — at [Website that sells third-party merchandise]. The password was [password].

“All worked well for a few days. Now, something has changed; I can’t log in anymore. The seller on [Website] doesn’t reply. Since he’s got my money, he will not respond ever again.

“Could you be so kind as to provide me with the password?

“I hope you will help me. Best regards, [Stranger].”

Thus began a flood of emails saying, “You are trying to change your password,” for all of my social media apps. I changed all of my passwords to more complex ones, set up two-factor authentication for everything, and cancelled my credit card. I contacted [Service] again, but again, they didn’t care.