(I work in a bookshop where we have two large windows at the front. We create really elaborate window displays, all instructions passed down from corporate. People will often ask for things out of the window, even if they are on display in the store. One day, a middle-aged man marches in and points to the window.)

Customer: “I want the book in the bottom corner of the window. Get it for me now!”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t get you that specific book, as it’s at the foot of the tower, but I have plenty in the stockroom. I’ll go get one now.”

(I walk away and go into the back to find the customer’s book. It’s a huge hardback of Dante’s “Inferno” with all the pictures, so whilst we have one on the shop floor, it’s a display model. Even if it wasn’t at the bottom of the pile, I have to go to the back for a real copy, anyway. I take two minutes max. We are not a big shop. When I get back, the customer is nowhere to be seen.)

Me: “Hey! [Coworker], have you seen the guy that wanted the illustrated Dante?”

Coworker: “He ran out of here like his a*** was on fire! I have no idea why!”

(Like his a*** was on fire? Close. What had actually happened was that he had tried to squeeze into the small doorway to the window and snatch the book so he didn’t have to wait. He then knocked the entire tower into the HOT lights illuminating them. We didn’t notice until the entire display was in flames about five minutes later. The front of the shop was ruined and the bookshop had to close for six months.)

(This happens several years ago, when a now former friend who was in his late 40s and I are at a bar. At a table not too far away is a young woman about half his age with her boyfriend and another guy.)

Friend: “I’m going to ask her out.”

Me: “Dude, she’s already got a boyfriend.”

Friend: “I’m going to fight him for her, then.”

Me: “You’re what?

Friend: “I’m going to start a fight with them and win her.”

Me: “…”

Friend: “You got my back, right?”

Me: “You’re starting a fight for a stupid reason. Yeah, you’re on your own here.”

Friend: “But I want her…”

(He didn’t end up starting anything, fortunately for his sake, as these guys looked rather large. Incidents like this, turning aggressive when drinking, are part of why we aren’t friends anymore.)

(I am with my parents in a cheap hotel. I am six and my parents are sleeping because of jet lag. I am still awake and decide to look under the bed. I find handcuffs! I decide to handcuff my parents together. When they wake up I am asleep in the next bed. Their panic wakes me up but I still look asleep. I know I am in trouble. I don’t remember what really happens, but they eventually get the handcuffs off and are about to talk to the hotel people.)

Me: “You got the handcuffs off!”

Parents: “…?”

Me: “…”

Parents: “What do you know about this?”

Me: “I found them under the bed.”

Parents: “You are lucky that those were just magic trick handcuffs so we got out of them easily!”

(It wasn’t until much later that I found out what those handcuffs were probably really used for despite the innocent manufacturer.)

(My path walking home from school takes me by a mini-mart. It isn’t unusual for me to run in and buy some candy. On this particular occasion, I’m getting a sour gummy candy and one chocolate bar that contains coconut. As soon as I walk through my door, my uncle asks me for help with his computer. I drop my backpack on a chair and leave my candies on the table. I don’t think much of it since I’m the only one who eats any of that stuff — more on this later. However, when I get back from helping my uncle, my chocolate bar is missing. Naturally, I blame my dad first.)

Me: “Dad, did you take my [chocolate bar]?”

Dad: “No. I hate coconut.”

Me: “I know, but I left it on the table and it’s missing.”

Dad: “What about [Uncle]?”

Me: “He was with me the whole time. He didn’t take it. Besides, he swore off chocolate years ago.”

Dad: “Don’t know what to tell you. Are you sure you didn’t drop it?”

(He stands goes to examine the area himself. I follow behind him.)

Me: “Positive. I even made sure to leave it close to the center of the table so [Dog] wouldn’t be able to get at it.”

(As we look around the table for it, we hear a loud stomping approaching. We look up to find my mother running past us towards the bathroom, covered in hives.)

Me: *to my Dad* “Was she really that stupid?”

Dad: “Hey, [Mother], did you eat any of [My Name]’s candy?”

Mother: “Yeah, I took the [chocolate bar]!”

Me: “You’re the one who told me those have coconut! You really ate something you know you’re allergic to?”

Mother: “I wanted chocolate!”

Me: “Then walk to [Mini-Mart] and buy something!”

Mother: “This was closer!”

Me: “It was also coconut! And mine! Paid for with my money from my job!”

Mother: “It was chocolate!”

(What she does know is that after that, I never left my candy in plain sight, even within my room, again since she obviously can’t take responsibility for her own safety. What she doesn’t know is that night I took the price of the bar out of her purse as compensation. I was tempted to take some extra for an idiot tax, but then I figured the replacement epi-pen would be sufficient for that.)

(My Saint Bernard is still only a puppy, so while I still can, I’m taking him on a walk around the area so he can learn his way around if he gets lost. Despite me only having him for a couple of months, he’s already protective of me, and quite strong, too. I’m at the milk bar at the end of my street and the only pole I can tie him to isn’t in sight from within the shop. I will only take about two minutes, so I leave him there. Upon coming out of the shop I see someone dragging my dog down the path. I’m only twelve and around 5’4″, while this guy is at least 6’4″, muscular, and in his mid-30s.)

Me: *while running* “Hey! That’s my dog!”

(Upon seeing me, my dog starts to pull as hard as he can to get to me, and the guy starts to move faster.)

Me: *getting in front of him* “Didn’t you hear me? That’s my dog!”

Stranger: “Out of my way, girly. Bruno and I are trying to get home.”

(My dog’s name is not Bruno.)

Me: “If his name is Bruno, why does he respond when I call out ‘Bailey’? Why does he seem so eager to get away from you and back to me if he’s your dog?”

Stranger: “Because that’s how he acts around everyone.”

(The shop owner hears me calling and leaves the shop to see what is going on.)

Owner: “Both of you! What’s going on here?”

Stranger: “This little girly here was trying to get my dog!”

Owner: “Really?” *to me* “What was going on here?”

Me: “I came out of your shop and found this guy dragging Bailey down the street!”

Owner: *to the stranger* “Can you prove he’s your dog?”

Stranger: “Well, erm…”

Me: *remembering the tag on his neck* “I can prove he’s mine.”

Stranger: “As if!”

Me: *to the owner* “Look at his tag around his neck! I can tell you the address, the phone number is my mum’s, and his name is Bailey.”

(The owner asks me what the various details are and I answer them. The stranger looks angrier and angrier each time.)

Stranger: *yelling* “YOU JUST LOOKED AT THE TAG BEFORE!”

(The yelling scares my dog, who has been pulling on the lead. When he pulls the lead once more it snaps, and my dog bites the stranger before running to me.)

Stranger: “Give me back my dog! I’m calling the police!”

Owner: “And I’ll show them the security footage.”

(The police were called, and when shown the tapes they took him to their car and the shop owner gave me a new lead.)