My husband and I jokingly say that we encounter people from the town we grew up in everywhere we go. We now live twenty kilometers from that town. For instance, we met my father on a stretch of road fifty meters long on the other side of the country when we both didn’t know we would be there. We also encountered my parents-in-law when we were out cycling one day on a road close to us, where my parents-in-law had never been before, and they had no idea we would be there.

When we go to an island for our holiday, the first person we meet is our former neighbour from [Town]. A few days later, we are out walking in the dunes, on a path where clearly not many people go. From a distance, I spot a brightly coloured stone. It’s been painted and it’s a Happy Stone (which can be taken away and left somewhere else). I go and grab it. It’s beautiful and I’m really happy with it. I turn it over and read, “Happy Stones [Town].”

I can’t help but laugh out loud about it.

Me: “[Husband], remember how we always say we find people from [Town] everywhere?”

Husband: “Yes?”

Me: “Look!”

He found it just as funny as I did.

We used to live in an apartment with a balcony facing the street. There was a unit next to us, so their balcony was a few feet down from us along the side of the building, facing the same direction. It was a busy street and that was our only “outside area,” so my boyfriend and I liked to spend time out there, and we noticed that our neighbor had some odd habits.

He would put up tall pieces of plywood on the side of his balcony when he was out there, facing toward our balcony only, not toward the street. Despite this, it was easy to see that he would sit outdoors, shirtless and only wearing tighty-whity style underwear, and rub his bald head while watching the foot traffic and cars below.

It seemed harmless enough — we could always see his hands, at least — so what did we care? 

Our big ginger cat loved going out on the balcony and would sit for hours on the railing and watch the birds. One day, I had the sliding door open to let the cat in and out as he pleased and not play butler every five minutes. I saw that the cat was sitting on my boyfriend’s grill. It was closed, but it still was probably not the most hygienic place for a giant cat. 

I poked my head through the open screen door and told him sternly, “Get your butt off of there!”

I had barely noticed that the next-door side partition was up and our neighbor must have been enjoying a head rubbing session because, the next thing I knew, there was a half-naked-and-tighty-whity blur visible in the gap between the door and the makeshift partition, diving headfirst into his apartment at my remark!

Thankfully, his apartment’s access was on the opposite side of the building and we never ran into him other than on the balcony, but we’d glimpse him in the parking lot occasionally, always in a very straight-laced banker-type suit!

I work in a delicatessen in a very Italian-American neighborhood. Around Easter time, we sell a traditional quiche-like dish called a pizza chiena that’s filled with ham and cheese. A woman comes in, presumably from out of town. She points to the pizza chiena through the glass.

Customer: “Oh, what’s this? It looks interesting!”

Me: “It’s called pizza chiena! It’s very popular around this time of year.”

Customer: “What does it taste like?”

Me: “Well, ma’am, I’m Jewish, so I haven’t actually sampled it myself because there’s ham in it, but—”

Apparently, this is the wrong thing to say.

Customer: “How dare you try to sell me something that you’ve never eaten?! It’s your responsibility to know your product!”

I can only stand there in shock as this woman screams at me.

Customer: “You know what? I’m not moving from this counter until you eat a piece in front of me! I’m going to watch you to make sure you do!”

I’m probably moments away from bursting into tears, but thankfully, my coworker notices the commotion and swoops in to save me.

Coworker: “I’ve tried the pizza chiena, ma’am. It’s very good!”

The woman INSTANTLY calms down like a light switch has been flipped.

Customer: *Sweetly* “Oh, okay! I’ll take a piece!”

My coworker cut her a piece and packed it up for her to take, which she did with a huge smile and then went on her merry way like she hadn’t just been yelling at me — no apology, nothing. We never saw her again.

My uncle is very sweet, but sometimes I’m not 100% sure how his thought processes work. My birthday is coming up, and today I got a letter-sized envelope from him in the mail. Inside, stacked on top of each other, were:

1) a small gift card, which would easily fit inside a greeting card;

2) a birthday card (folded in half to fit into the envelope);

3) a taller, narrower envelope, perfectly sized for the birthday card, clearly bought with the birthday card, and also folded in half to fit into the letter-sized envelope. 

I can’t figure out why he didn’t use the birthday card’s envelope; the gift card was nowhere near big enough to keep it from fitting, and he wouldn’t have had to fold the birthday card. But even if he did have a reason for wanting to use the letter-sized envelope, why did he send me the one that came with the birthday card?

I was running the self-checkout when this guy gave me the strangest look, called me by a name that was not mine, asked with a big smile if I recognized him, and then asked if he could hug me.

Normally, I wouldn’t freely hug a stranger, but I was in such shock and confusion that I just kind of stood there while he hugged me like an old pal. I’m pretty sure he was just trolling me, seeing as his friend was laughing his guts out.

After the guy left, my coworker told me that the same guy asked her if he could film inside the store. I didn’t see anyone filming, but if you ever come across a video on YouTube where a guy randomly hugs a blond-haired, wide-eyed, clueless-looking girl at the US’s largest employer… that’s probably me.