I had a hard time finding a job in my educated field so, like many, I started working at a call center for the biggest box office in my country. People called us to book tickets for many things: TV recordings, musicals (tours and location-based), dance events, and other events. I have many stories, but this is one that actually scared me.

Our box office sales are final. You can get insurance for the tickets, but that only works for things like sickness and death.

This guy had booked a family outing. I have no clue anymore about the details, but I do know that he had booked the wrong tickets and wanted to exchange them. I tried my best, but there was no way we could exchange them according to policy.

The guy started threatening me, calling again and again and asking for me. He threatened me with waiting for me after work, since our address was public. My supervisor called him back and blocked his number. This only got worse.

The guy found me on social media. He kept telling me information he had found out, like where I went to school and information about my friends and events I planned to go to. I wasn’t allowed to press charges from my work. I was just twenty-one, female, and petite, and he was a grown man, so I was scared.

He even got my phone number from my uncle by telling him he was an employer that had lost my number. (My uncle knew I was applying for other jobs.) I just blocked his number, but I was still properly scared. It was at this time that I informed my parents and my dad told me to tell him when the man called again.

The next time the guy called, I handed the phone to my dad.

Guy: “Hi, I’m looking for [My Name]?”

Dad: “Is this the guy that’s been threatening my daughter?”

Guy: *Silence*

Dad: “Look. You have my daughter on social media. Could you look me up? She has me listed as her dad.”

My dad was, at the time, a member of a global motorcycle club. You know, the one with wings. He was proud of it and had lots of pictures on his social media to show this.

Dad: “You don’t have our address yet, right? Next time you contact my daughter, she will give me your address and I’ll stop by with my ‘brothers’.”

Guy: “You don’t have my address!”

Dad: “[My Name], you have his address, right?”

Me: “Yeah, I can look it up in my system at work.”

Dad: “Right. So… Oh, he hung up.”

And I never got called by the dude again.

My husband and I are not rich, but we manage our money very carefully — used cars, cheaper model TVs, a modest home, etc. [Husband] is also VERY tight with money.

[Husband]’s younger brother is constantly struggling with money. In his defense, he works hard, but he doesn’t make much money although; he isn’t really a skilled laborer. About every other month, [Brother] calls and doesn’t have enough money for groceries, utilities, etc. I’ve told [Husband] that I don’t think [Brother] manages what little money he does have very well, but I don’t say anything when [Husband] sends him money.

Then, this happened. I broke my iPhone. [Husband] was NOT happy about it. (He thinks I was careless in handling it; I left it on top of the car.) He had the following conversation with his brother.

Husband: “My wife broke her iPhone — like we are made of money or something — so she had to spend $300 to get a new one.”

Brother: “$300?! What did she get?”

Husband: “A renewed iPhone 8.”

Brother: “Are you kidding?! I could not possibly do with anything less than a 12.”  

Husband: “You have a 12? How much did that cost?”

Brother: “Oh, only [amount] per month.”

Husband: “So, you don’t think that [amount] per month should go to groceries?”

Brother: “You don’t understand. I have to have it.”

The next time [Brother] needs money, [Husband] plans on telling him to sell his phone.

My infant daughter has several food allergies, so we are trying foods out very slowly. For the past two months, we haven’t been able to find a single definitely suitable food, so currently she only has eight solid foods in her diet. This obviously stresses me out as she approaches the one-year mark, and some of her allergies are so bad that I can’t have those foods either while breastfeeding.

I’m visiting my relatives in my old hometown, and the visit starts on shaky footing when my mum first wants to serve me breaded fish (can’t have wheat) and then cream stewed fish (can’t have dairy). I end up cooking the fish myself, which I’m perfectly happy to do.

As we’re getting ready to eat, my daughter is happily sitting in her high chair with her food while I’m getting myself a plate. When I turn around, I notice that my cousin has given her a piece of lettuce from the salad bowl. Instead of getting angry like I should, my brain kind of freezes, unable to process the situation. Eventually, I take the piece of lettuce from my daughter — luckily, she has only eaten a tiny piece — before addressing my cousin.

Me: “Please don’t give her more lettuce.”

Cousin: *Huffily* “Well, of course not!”

Me: “It’s just that, even if lettuce was okay, there are tomatoes and cucumber in there, too, and we haven’t tried those yet.”

Cousin: “Oh, come on. No one is allergic to cucumber! It’s mostly water!”

Me: “Actually, you can be allergic to cucumber, and since she’s allergic to bananas, she’s very likely allergic to cucumber, too, since they have crossed allergens.”

Later on, when insistently being offered sweets with coffee, I explained that I couldn’t have any since there’s wheat and dairy in them, and my cousin blew a raspberry and rolled her eyes.

At least now I know who DEFINITELY won’t be babysitting my daughter, ever. The worst part is that she knows very well how allergic my daughter is. She knows all about the first two months of non-stop screaming and crying, day and night, that my daughter did before we figured out she had allergies. She knows about the terrible rashes that still sometimes break out, the gastrointestinal pain, the diarrhoea, the constipation, and the acid reflux, and she STILL behaves like this.

This is a story told to me by my grandmother. My grandad was an Irishman who came to England during World War II, married Granny, settled down, and had my dad. For most of their marriage, they would take trips to Ireland on the ferry to visit his family.

This happened on one of their earlier trips before Dad was born. Granny was talking to the woman in charge of the dormitories on board.

Ferry Lady: “Where are you going?”

Granny: “[Grandad’s Hometown].”

Ferry Lady: “Are you driving there?”

Granny: “No, my father-in-law’s picking us up.”

Ferry Lady: “Who’s your father-in-law?”

Granny: “[Great-Grandad].”

Ferry Lady: “Oh, he’ll be late.”

Back when my sister was a toddler, we had a dog — a German shepherd/rottweiler mix to be specific, meaning he was both fairly smart and very loyal. He absolutely adored “the human puppy” (my sister) and was very sad when she wasn’t home. My sister also adored the dog and would play with him often.

When my sister was in the middle of her “imitating the adults” phase, she noticed that we would give the dog treats for doing tricks. She decided she would do this, too, but being too small to reach the treats, she simply settled for taking a bit of food out of the dog’s bowl to reward him with, instead.

We all thought this was very funny, and the dog didn’t seem to mind being rewarded with his own food since it made my sister happy. To keep her from making a mess, my mom taught her only to give the dog “treats” on the hallway carpet. 

One day, when my sister wasn’t home, the dog was sulking as he usually did when he missed my sister. Suddenly, he left the room. I followed him to see if he would like some treats to take his mind off things, and I found him standing by his bowl. He gingerly took a bit of food, went over to the hallway carpet, and gently put it down. Then, he did a trick, waited a few seconds, and ate his “treat”.

I found this hilarious, as did my mother when she came home with my sister and I told her.

From that day forward, whenever the dog would miss my sister, he would do this. He never did it when my sister was home but almost always did it when she was gone. 

Dogs are great.