(I am in college, around the turn of the century. I work as a lab operator in the computer labs, keeping an eye on things and helping students. One of the labs that I work in most frequently is located within the library. A student approaches me holding a soda cup and asks for help with… something.)

Me: “Sure, I can help with that; let’s go take a look. But first, I have to tell you that no food or drink is allowed in any computer lab, let alone the library.”

Student: “Oh, it’s okay. It’s just my spit cup.”

(Sadly, I was too young, timid, and shocked to kick him out, or even to explain that a cup full of spit and chewing tobacco would actually be worse to clean out of a computer keyboard. I just let him set it down nearby and helped him with Excel or whatever it was.)

I had a customer call and ask for pricing to make a key for a motorcycle. He brought it in an hour or two later and dropped it off. A lot of locksmiths just simply don’t deal with motorcycles because of the hassle, and we were one of maybe two companies that did within at least a 30-mile radius.

I was usually the guy that got to do these, because I was pretty quick at it. I made a key for the bike, called the guy, and he came and got it.

That night on the news, there was a story about a local Craigslist sale where a guy met another guy to make a sale and got murdered… for a motorcycle. The pics they showed on the news looked exactly like the one I had made a key for.

I called the police when I got to work the next morning and told them about it, and gave them the name and number that the guy had given me when he dropped it off.

So, the guy not only took a stolen bike that was taken in a murder to a local shop, it turned out that he ended up calling the police and talking about buying the bike. Perhaps it was initially to try and cast suspicion away from himself, but he ended up confessing to it.

I just found out today that I won’t be testifying at his trial because he just plead out to 60 years in prison, and therefore won’t be having a trial.

(I don’t have kids of my own, but I have lots of nieces and nephews, and I enjoy every minute around them. My sister is feeding her three-year-old son.)

Sister: *cheerfully hands him a cup of milk* “Drink it, my little boy! Drink it, and you will grow to be so tall and strong!”

Boy: *drinking, it really excited* “As tall as [Tall Guy he knows]?”

Sister: “Yes! As tall as him!”

Boy: *still excited* “And as tall as [Another Tall Guy]?!”

Sister: “Yes! You will be even taller than both of them!”

Boy: *suddenly stops drinking and looks at my sister, confused* “Mom, you didn’t finish your milk when you were little?”

(I have a sleep disorder. This disability is mitigated by my service dog, a Labrador. I am taken to a store for some items I need. This is generally not an issue. My service dog goes with me, because it isn’t safe to leave her home. Unfortunately, I begin to have issues. My dog alerts me, so I quickly stop what I am doing to find a worker.)

Me: “Listen. I have exactly one minute before I pass out. Please do not call the EMTs. I will be fine.”

(My service dog is whining and pawing at me, basically getting in my way, and trying to get me on the floor before I pass out — basically, what she’s trained to do.)

Employee: “Yeah, whatever.”

(I knew this was a bad sign, but I didn’t exactly have the time to find someone else. I sat on the floor nearby and promptly passed out. I woke up being loaded into an ambulance while animal control was taking my service dog into a cage. My dog was understandably freaking out, trying to come to me, because they were disrupting her work. I have a medical alert bracelet that says NOT to separate my dog from me on my wrist. I was still a bit out of it from passing out. I did the only thing I could think to do: scream at the top of my lungs. Everyone stopped to look at me. It took ten minutes to convince the EMTs to let me go, and longer to get animal control to give my dog back to me. This was all because an employee didn’t listen. Apparently, they had panicked when they saw me on the floor. They ran over, which prompted my dog to gently nudge her away from me — not aggressively, just a gentle push. She is a larger dog, though. The employee called 911, saying that my dog had attacked me and tried to hurt them. Mind you, my service dog was in full dress: a harness that says, “service dog.” on both sides, a collar that also says, “service dog,” on it, a tag stating that she is for medical alerts, AND a leash that says, “Service Dog. Do Not Pet.” I realize that retail isn’t a fun time, but that whole incident could easily have been avoided. I did inform their manager, but they still work there, so I don’t know what all happened. They glare at me every time they see me, though.)

(I work at a grocery store chain, and today I am out collecting carts. I notice a customer parked in a disabled spot, having problems getting out.)

Me: “Sir, do you need help or anything?”

Customer: “Oh, no, I’ll just wait for this lady and use her cart.”

(There is another customer at her car next to his putting her groceries in. I assume this is the end of it, and walk away to go collect carts. When I turn around, the lady is still putting her groceries up, and the man is more than halfway to the doors. I try to catch up to him, but he’s just getting a cart.)

Customer: *sees me just as I stop to wait, so that I can put the carts in* “Well, you’ll just have to wait! Thanks for not giving me a cart!”

(He then proceeded to almost toss a small cart across the lobby. Fifteen minutes later I was back inside bagging. He came through my lane and acted like he hadn’t yelled at me or anything.)