In his early twenties, my brother went through a rough patch. Although I say, “brother,” he was technically my cousin but was adopted as a small child as his mum — my aunt — was a heroin addict. My brother started to go down a similar path.

Upon returning home one day, my mother had found that he had taken every item of jewelry or value in our home. He had also stolen my engagement ring and TV. He had been stealing for years, but my mum refused to believe it until he went crazy one day and literally stole everything in sight.

We took him to court, and as my mother sat waiting to be called in front of the barristers, a police officer came to inform us that his trial wasn’t going ahead that day.

My brother, being an idiot, had been unable to find a lift to court. Instead, he walked up to the local police station, five minutes after the trial was due to start. He asked them for a ride to the courthouse.

They immediately arrested him for missing his court appointment.

(My cousin is cursed and blessed with a very young-looking face. Despite the fact she is 35, she sometimes still gets asked for ID. I am 21 and have also inherited the family baby-face. We’re walking round a well-known mother-and-baby store chain. She is pushing her oldest child — still a toddler — in a pushchair, whilst I have her younger baby in a papoose on my back, to make things easier for her whilst she shops. We get everything she wants and join the line for the tills. Behind us are a pair of older women who start to make snippy comments about us.)

Old Lady #1: “Look at those two. Can’t keep their legs shut!”

Old Lady #2: “Ridiculous. Our generation didn’t fight in the war so that ungrateful girls like them could sponge off our war pensions.”

Old Lady #1: “I hope their mothers are ashamed.”

Old Lady #2: “I bet they’re not married. Probably no father in sight!”

Old Lady #1: “Probably a [racial slur] who slept with them for drug money.”

Old Lady #2: “Disgusting.”

(Finally, my cousin has had enough of this and turns around to speak to them.)

Cousin: “Excuse me, were you talking about me and my cousin?”

Old Lady #2: “Your ears work as well as your ovaries, then, love?”

Old Lady #1: *sniggering* “As if they know what ovaries even means!”

Cousin: “Not that it’s any of your business to judge who would and who wouldn’t make a good parent, but I’m 35, I’m married, I have a biology-based PhD, and I’m the head of Science at [Local Large Secondary School]. [My Name] here is my cousin and is just carrying my youngest daughter for me so I don’t have to use the bulky double pram on what I’d only planned as a very quick shopping trip. You’ve done nothing but make hateful assumptions, which, whilst we’re on the subject, reminds me, if – unlike me, obviously – you look your own age, then there’s no way you’re from the WWII generation. This would make you baby boomers, who’d be relying on my and [My Name]’s generation to foot your whopping NHS bills. I suggest you think before you open your mouths next time.”

Old Lady #1: *massively backpedalling* “Well, I didn’t mean my generation; my father…”

Old Lady #2: “We didn’t mean you, dear, we meant…” *looks around hoping to see a legitimate teenage mother in the store* “I… uh…”

Cousin: “Come off it! I don’t want to hear it. But I seriously hope you think before spouting any of your nonsense to your children or grandchildren without being sure of your facts!”

(They didn’t quite have the good grace to apologise, but did at least look a bit ashamed of themselves.)

(Right before my shift, management, unfortunately, had to call the police to remove an unruly guest from a movie about fifteen minutes in. In order to make up for the inconvenience, the theater handed out free passes and concession vouchers to the thirty-or-so others in the theater, and give them an option: they could either stay and finish the movie, switch to another showtime any day and time during the coming week, or get a refund for their tickets and concessions if they bought any. Everyone is fine with this option, since hey… they’re getting about three times what they actually paid for. Until, of course, one cranky old man comes up to me at the concession stand a while after the film…)

Customer: “I want something to sweeten the pot!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “I was in that movie the cops stormed! I want something to sweeten the pot, or I go to the papers!”

Me: “Oh, did they not give you passes?”

Customer: “I got passes. I just want something to sweeten the pot! Or else I’m blasting you in the papers for scaring me half to death with cops swarming in left and right the whole d*** time!”

Me: “Let me go get a manager for you. Perhaps they can resolve this better than I can.”

Customer: “I already went to the managers!”

Me: “Well, sir, if you’ve already gotten passes, I can’t really give you anything else.”

Customer: *beaming; looking at my name tag* “Popcorn and soda, [My Name]! Or else your name will be all over the press for bullying an old man!”

Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to get authorization from my managers first.”

Customer: “But they said no!”

Me: “Then my hands are tied.”

(Suddenly, my manager bolts up behind me.)

Manager: “Sir, we’re calling the cops again if you don’t leave. Out! Now!”

(The man turned and fled out of the door. I asked what was going on. Evidently, he was the customer who had been removed by police, and he was denied passes or a refund. He’s evidently one of the local “old, crazy guys” who goes into businesses and starts trouble. He thought that the managers wouldn’t notice him coming back in and demanding free stuff.)

(I’m 17 and I have low-level tinnitus, and have used music the majority of my life to keep my mind off it, much like Miles in “Baby Driver.” The vast majority of people either know that I have my reason for always using earbuds, or they don’t mind and don’t ask. This happens when my regular history teacher is away and we have a substitute teacher who is in her mid-20s.)

Teacher: “[My Name] take your headphones out; it’s against school policy.”

Me: “I could, but I use them to offset my tinnitus.”

Teacher: “Take them out.”

Me: “I just explained why I ca—“

(She walks over to me and forcefully takes them from me, shattering my phone in the process.)

Teacher: “Come on. We’re going to the office.”

(I stand up, calmly picking up my phone and following her to the office. By the time we get there, I have a mild headache and am visibly uncomfortable. We walk into the office and the principal and receptionist’s eyes go wide.)

Receptionist: “[My Name], are you all right? [Teacher], what happened?”

Teacher: “This student refuses to take his headphones out.”

Principal: “Because he has tinnitus!”

Teacher: “Nonsense!” *to me, literally yelling in my ear* “You’re fine!”

(The sudden increase in noise makes me scream in pain and defensively swing at the teacher. When I realize what happened, I am standing over the teacher clutching my ear as she covers her nose, which is visibly broken.)

Teacher: “What the h***?!”

(The principal came over and returned my headphones, then proceeded to help the teacher up. My parents and police were called; my father arrived and absolutely lost it on the teacher. Afterward, assault charges were filed against the teacher, and I had to go to the hospital to get the ringing to subside.)

(I’m on my lunch break at a shopping centre. As per my company’s uniform policy, I am wearing a jacket over my work shirt so it isn’t visible at all. Occasionally, a regular customer at my shop will see me elsewhere in the centre and ask for help, usually directions or recommendations. Then sometimes, this happens:)

Customer: “Where are the shopping carts?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Well? Aren’t you going to get me one?”

Me: “A… What?”

Customer: “I need a shopping cart! I can’t carry it by myself.”

Me: “Well, you’d have to look in the shop you’re buying from. They have their own.”

Customer: “But aren’t you going to get me one?”

(I try to walk away, thinking that I have more than enough on my plate as it is. The customer then attempts to grab my arm; fortunately, I move away fast enough.)

Customer: “This is outrageous! I am going to report you to [My Company].”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m not at work right now. We don’t have shopping carts in our shop, and I don’t know where you are going or what you want to carry.”

Customer: “The vase. I said I wanted the vase!”

Me: “And where is this vase?”

Customer: “[Shop a few feet away], obviously! Can’t you see the vase?”

(I had noticed a window display featuring a collection of ornamental pots, so again I suggest that she asks an employee of that shop to help her. Then, I speedily make my way into the staff-only part of my own shop. Later that day…)

Manager: “[My Name], I had a rather weird complaint about you earlier.”

Me: “Was is a lady who wanted me to get a shopping cart so she could buy a vase at some other shop?”

Manager: “Uh… Maybe. A lady came in screeching that one of our employees refused to help her carry her purchase to the car. She insisted that it was you and waved this bag from [Other Shop], and I just said that our policy wasn’t to carry things for people unless they had particular needs. Then she screamed and asked why we didn’t have any carts.”

Me: “I was on my lunch break. I think she might have seen me working at some point but I wasn’t in uniform.”

Manager: “We got security in the end. She wouldn’t stop shouting that we needed carts and better staff. But I think one of the big security lads did manage to carry her vase for her.”