I’m planning a trip to Iceland in August with a group of friends. We’re using a Google Doc so everyone can see the itinerary and the packing list. Since I’m the only one who has traveled internationally before, and a lot of us have health issues, I think it’s important that my friends know that 9-1-1 is NOT the emergency phone number in Iceland, but 1-1-2 is. (We are all American and used to 9-1-1.)

Although I plan to explain this on our next group call, I still type at the top of the “Good To Know” section: “112 is the Icelandic version of 911.”

My best friend calls me the next day with questions.

Friend: “What happened on January 12th?”

Me: “Uh… nothing that I know of? Why?”

Friend: “You put in the Google Doc that January 12th is Iceland’s 9/11.”

Me: *Laughing* “9-1-1! Not 9/11! 9-1-1!”

Friend: “Oh, okay. What is Iceland’s 9/11, then?”

Me: “I don’t think they have one.”

Friend: “But doesn’t every country have its version of 9/11?”

Me: “Darling. No.”

This was in a recession, right after my best friend at the time and I had finished high school. We were working at the Renaissance Faire. We had sewn period-accurate costumes from scratch, and what we were paid to work there barely covered the cost of materials and transportation. We didn’t have other jobs yet.

Friend: “So, I saw a mug I want to buy.”

Me: “Oh?”

Friend: “You know how the other guys have mugs with them for getting drinks?”

I looked over at someone pouring homemade alcoholic cider into a mug, out of view of visitors.

Me: “But you can’t drink yet, and you already bought a pretty flask for water. I’d love to see it, though; I bet it’s pretty.”

We walked around the fair and looked at various expensive handmade wares, including the carved modern mug. It was $60, and the minimum wage was about $7, so even if we had other jobs, that’d be a lot.

Later, I saw [Friend] with the mug.

Friend: “I had just enough money left to buy it.”

Me: “Do you have your debit card with you? We need to eat and buy gas, and I didn’t bring enough cash for both of us.”

Friend: “Oh, I don’t have other money.”

Me: “Bu… you… what? At all? Even at home or in a bank?”

Friend: “Yeah. I’m sure it’ll work out, though.”

Me: “?!”

I never looked at her the same after that.

It’s the Christmas of 2020, and I’m stuck secluded at home with you-know-what. Everyone in my family lives in another state, so I usually fly out there for Christmas. Not this year. So, there I am, sick and miserable, when I hear the doorbell. Confused and more irritated than I already was, I walk over to the window and open it, planning to tell the person that coming here really isn’t a good idea.

The person in question turns out to be my best friend, who tells me to come to the door and then runs back to a group of some of our other friends. Curious now, I do as I’m told. As soon as I open the door, my friends, who are a safe distance away, start dancing and singing!

Friends: “We wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; and a healthy New Year!

“Oh, please stay six feet away; oh, please stay six feet away; oh, please stay six feet away; you’re spreading it through the air!

“We won’t stay if you come outside; we won’t stay if you come outside; we won’t stay if you come outside; so, keep your a** right there!

“We wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; we wish you a merry Christmas; and a healthy New Yeeeeeeaaarrr!”

By the end of it, I was alternating between laughing and coughing but felt immensely better emotionally. I also finally spotted the gift boxes at my feet, each of which had a bag of cough drops taped to it. My friends insisted on watching me open my presents right there and requested IOUs for their own gifts.

I have the best friends ever.

When we just started dating, my husband told me how he met his best friend. 

He and his best friend were in the same class, but they were far from friends. Not only that, but [Friend] was the class bully and [Husband] was the meek victim.

[Husband] does not remember everything anymore, but he said that [Friend] was once again annoying him by poking his back. He had done this for months, so something finally snapped in [Husband]. He got up, turned around, grabbed [Friend], and tossed him over two rows of tables. He then jumped after [Friend] and started punching him. According to [Husband], adrenaline and rage combined are one h*** of a drug.

The teachers were aware of the bully situation, but since [Friend] made sure no one was looking, there was no proof of it. So, to the outside, it looked as if [Husband] had gone mad for no reason!

The teacher stormed at the two, pulled them apart, and yelled:

Teacher: “Enough! And now you two are friends!”

[Husband] calmed down and [Friend] nodded. [Friend] never bullied anyone again, and they indeed became friends. [Friend] eventually became my husband’s best man at our wedding. [Friend] told me he needed someone to “punch some sense into him” and was thankful [Husband] was the one to do it.

I grew up low-income and never had a bra that actually fit properly. So, when I’m twenty, my best friend convinces me to get a bra fitting done. Due to some traumatic things from my childhood, I ask [Employee #1] if [Best Friend] can be in the room with us — the fitting rooms are individual spaces, so no other women — and she agrees without any question. At the time, there are no other women trying anything on or getting fitted. It’s just the three of us,

I should mention at this point that my best friend is gay and has a boyfriend who he has since married. But even if he weren’t, I trust him completely.

Everything in the fitting room goes well, I get my proper sizing, and I leave to go look for bras. As my friend and I are exiting the fitting room, a woman sees us.

Woman: “What was he doing in there?”

Now, I absolutely get that she might be uncomfortable, and I respect that completely. It’s what happens next that is upsetting.

Me: “I asked him to be present for my fitting. It was just us and an employee back there.”

Woman: “Well, he shouldn’t be back there. He shouldn’t even be in this store. How do I know he’s not a pervert?”

Me: “I’m really sorry, ma’am, but I promise he was only here to help me.”

She glares at us and wanders off, and I think it’s the end of it.

Then, I hear yelling at the front of the store. The woman is actually screaming at the employees to call the police because of a “pervert” in the store.

Woman: “MEN SHOULDN’T EVEN BE IN THIS STORE, AND YOU LET HIM IN THE DRESSING ROOM! DO YOU KNOW WHAT KIND OF MEN WANT TO BE IN THE DRESSING ROOM?!”

Employee #2: “Ma’am, women are allowed to bring their boyfriends and husbands into this store.”

Woman: “CALL. THE. POLICE. NOW.”

Employee #1: “Ma’am, I was in the room with him, and he did not bother any women. He was on his phone the entire time, and there were no other women in the entire dressing area.”

Woman: “HE WAS PROBABLY FILMING! OR TAKING PICTURES! HE’S A PERVERT! NO MAN SHOULD HAVE A CAMERA IN THE DRESSING ROOMS!”

Employee #1: “Ma’am, please stop yelling.”

Woman: “IF YOU DON’T CALL THE POLICE, I WILL.”

True to her word, she dialed 911 and began screaming about witnessing a man taking photos in the dressing room. She began describing my best friend down to the clothes he was wearing.

Figuring it was better to just wait for the police, my best friend and I waited by the checkout. When the police showed up, the woman went running up to them, screaming about how she was in the dressing room when the “pervert” began taking photos and filming. 

Both employees, my best friend, and I explained what had actually happened and how her behavior rapidly escalated. My best friend even offered over his phone to be inspected, which, surprise surprise, revealed zero images of women in a state of undress.

At this point, the police asked if there were cameras for the store. They were not accusing us, but they were also treating the woman well and not acting until they could verify the story one way or the other. 

Obviously, no cameras were directed at the fitting room stalls. But they did show the fitting room entrance, and they showed that the whole time the three of us were inside, the woman was out browsing on the floor.

The woman’s story disproven, the police went over and explained to her that making false accusations of this matter is extremely serious and that all evidence disproved her story. 

She broke down crying and sobbing that nobody believed she’d been violated. 

At this point, the police told my best friend and me that we were free to go. We checked out and skedaddled out of there. And then, we indulged in some ice cream therapy at a shop near the mall.