I have a semi-regular weekly dinner with a friend who’s been suffering from depression and anxiety, to help get them out of the house. Unfortunately, this person can be very intense and draining for me, an introvert. They also don’t believe that “quiet and alone” is how I regain my mental energy, and so they think me leaving to be alone is terribly dangerous for MY mental health. They are always convinced they are correct, especially if they’ve seen a video about something on Youtube, to the point of telling someone who had studied the subject they were “wrong” on more than one occasion. Still, depression, anxiety… so I try to be a good friend and make sure they get some world time.

This is the story of when I realise I need to cut them out of my life to stop myself from spiraling into heavy depression and anxiety trying to help them.

We are having dinner in a pub, discussing what provisions there are in place for victims of abuse; there is a sad amount of abuse in our country, and my friend was a victim of it in another country. Wonderful dinner discourse, but it’s interesting and needed nonetheless. Then, this gem pops out of their lips.

Friend: “[Woman’s Shelter Group] is an anti-men hate group.”

I’m startled, thinking I’ve heard them wrong.

Me: “What?”

Friend: *totally straight-faced* “[Shelter] is biased against men; it won’t let men into the shelters and it’s teaching women to hate men. It’s an anti-men hate-group.”

I just stare for a good half-minute.

Me: “I’m sorry? They have ‘women’ in the name, and we have an overwhelming majority of women needing shelter. I don’t know if they’d be able to find a shelter for men, but they’d try to help. They’re not… anti-men?”

Them: “No, they totally teach those women to hate and fear men; they won’t even make them interact with them. They shouldn’t be allowed!”

Me: “What? I just… Wow. Nope, that’s it. I’m done.”

And with that, I walked out on them and haven’t seen them since. I’d already paid for and finished my meal, so no dining-and-dashing was involved. They sent me some… interesting texts afterward about how it was very rude of me to just up and leave and that I was a bad friend for it. They also ranted that saying a guy was in the “friendzone” was the worst insult a man could receive.

To this day, I don’t know what they wanted out of that interaction, and I support that group more than ever to try and level out that weird, fixated bigotry.

I am setting up the concessions stand before opening. There is a group of men working outside the building. [Manager #1] walks by and tells me that the man in a blue shirt with blonde hair is our landlord. I am too short to see over the box office and out the window, so I think nothing of it. A few hours later, a man with blonde hair wearing a blue shirt walks in just as the men outside are finishing up.

Man: “Hey, can I get a cup of water?”

Me: “Of course.”

I hand it to him and he starts asking me questions.

Man: “So, how do you like working here?”

Me: “Oh, I like it a lot.”

Man: “What’s your favorite part of working here?”

Me: “Oh, I like my managers and my coworkers. And the hours are pretty good.”

He keeps on asking me questions for fifteen minutes, each one making me more and more uncomfortable. Something about this man is… off. He’s asking me what my favorite movie is and when we close, and at one point, he even starts trying to guess how old I am. I keep on answering these questions even though I am visibly uncomfortable, thinking he’s the landlord and maybe just has an odd personality. Maybe he’s just trying to get to know the people who work in his buildings? He then realizes how uncomfortable I am.

Man: “Listen, I’m not trying to make you nervous.”

He repeats this several more times, and the way he says it just makes me more nervous. Finally, [Manager #2], who is not in her work uniform yet, comes in and is about to clock in when she sees what’s going on. She comes up and starts talking to me.

Manager #2: “Hey, how’s it been today?”

Me: “Oh, it’s been fine. Maintenance finally fixed the lights in auditorium one…”

I keep going on about the morning, wishing the man would just leave. He finally speaks up.

Man: “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to bother you guys.”

Manager #2: “Oh, it’s okay. I’m not buying anything.”

She then walks away, giving me a look that says, “Call for help if you need it.”

Man: “Did I get you in trouble?”

Me: “Oh, no, it’s fine.”

I now think that this is definitely the landlord, because he recognized [Manager #2] as my manager and not some other guest, even though she was in her plain clothes. He keeps asking questions and [Manager #2] returns, now in her uniform.

Manager #2: “Hey, can you do something for me?”

Before I can answer, the man interrupts.

Man: “Hey, are you the manager? I came in and bought a ticket earlier but I can’t find the d*** thing. Is there any way I can get a copy of it?”

I know he’s now lying because, one, I’ve been the only person here selling tickets all day and I don’t recognize him, and two, I can see that there are no pre-sold tickets to any of the later movie showings.

Manager #2: “Well, unfortunately, without proof of purchase, we are unable to verify that you bought the tickets.”

Man: “Oh, okay. Well, I’ll just go look in my truck.” *Looks at me* “Will you be working later?”

Me: *Lying* “Unfortunately, no.”

Man: “Well, maybe I’ll see you before you leave.” *Winks*

He finally leaves.

Me: “That wasn’t the landlord, was it?”

Manager #2: “No? He’s a regular. He always comes in and lingers around the concessions stand. He knows you guys can’t stop talking to him because he’s a guest. Just tell me if he comes back, okay?”

Luckily, he never came back.

I’m a university student sharing an apartment with two other people. Despite the health emergency, my flatmates have decided to keep inviting people over for the night, albeit at specific four-person schedules. Aside from not being too keen on their behaviour right now, I usually don’t mind it too much, as we eat at different times and they take care of aerating places and wiping things down after all is said and done.

I go to bed rather early on a night when someone’s been invited over. The morning after, as I wake up, I feel something blocking me from rolling over. Startled, I look to my side and see a person curled up next to me.

Me: “Holy f***, who the h*** are you?” 

I hear a groan.

Girl: “Don’t be so loud. I have a headache.”

Me: “I’m going to give you more than a headache if you don’t get off the bed!”

The girl groans again as she slowly sits up and massages her head. At this point, a foul smell hits me, so I crane my neck over to the other side and see there’s a puddle of vomit on the floor and some of it splashed on my sports clothing.

Me: “That’s nasty.”

Girl: “Look, man, I was drunk, and now I’m hungover. Just let me get out of here. I need to get back home before my parents rip off my arms.”

Me: “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me who you are and who let you in my room, and you help me clean up.”

She sighs and gives out a pained moan.

Girl: “Ugh, and here I thought you were chiller than this. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to [Bad Flatmate].”

My eyes go wide open. I get up, put on my slippers, and furiously bang on [Bad Flatmate]’s door.

Bad Flatmate: “Jesus f***, mate, calm down. What’s the deal with you?!”

Me: “What’s my deal? What’s your deal?! Why is there a girl in my bed and why did you let her in?”

Bad Flatmate: *Annoyed, opening the door* “Because she came here by car and was drunk. We didn’t have enough room in the living room, so we figured you wouldn’t mind if—”

Me: “When did I say you could enter my room to give a bed to random people?!”

Bad Flatmate: “What, did you want to have a dead girl on your conscience? She couldn’t drive!”

Me: *Gritting my teeth* “You shouldn’t bring people home to hold parties, yet here we are, with a hungover girl that shouldn’t be here vomiting on my clothes while sleeping in my bed, when I didn’t ask or explicitly allow it, because of you, you f****** moron.”

Bad Flatmate: “You’re a little b****, you know that? Y’know what, fine. I’ll help you clean up if that’ll shut you up.”

By the time he agreed to help me clean, the girl was already gone. I think I’m going to need to invest in a new lock.

About five years ago, I am visiting a well-known book and stationery store in my local mall. I used to work here, so I am familiar with how their system works.

I am waiting in line to pay for a card and gift wrap. A customer in her forties is in front of me, arguing with the boy at the register — in his late teens or early twenties — because she wants to know if they have a book in stock. The book is in stock but only available when ordered from the online store, as it is old and no longer being sold in-store. So, this lady will need to purchase it herself, online.

When ordering from this company’s online store, it will be shipped to the address of your choice via courier. Of course, this comes with additional shipping costs. This woman, however, seems to think this means he can order the book in and she can pick it up the next day. That is not the case, as the stores, while operating under the same company name, are completely different.

Thus, the argument begins.

Customer: “Well, can’t you just order it in?”

Sales Assistant: “Sorry, our system doesn’t allow us to do that.”

Customer: “Yes, it does. I’ve done it before.”

Sales Assistant: “Sorry, since the company is under new ownership, all stores are separate now, including the online store.”

Customer: “It’s the same company; you’re just being lazy.”

Sales Assistant: “Sorry, you will need to order it yourself online.”

They go back and forth a couple of times before I spoke up.

Me: “He’s right; that’s not how the system works.”

The customer turns and glares at me.

Customer: “Do you work here?”

Me: “No, but I did work here a year ago. That’s how I know how the system works.”

Customer: “But you work in the mall.”

She then proceeds to look over my clothes for a name tag or uniform logo.

Me: “Nope. Nice try, though.”

I unzip my jacket so she can get a better look at my civies.

Customer: “Well, where do you work?”

Me: “That’s literally none of your business.”

Customer: “Yes, it is my business; your employer should know how you behave in public.”

Me: “Actually, that’s not how the world works, lady.”

I can see the rage building inside her as she realizes she has no power over me. I, too, notice that I am in a unique position where I can call this lady out for basically being a butthole and there’s nothing she can do about it… or so I think.

Customer: *Looking smug* “Well, you probably don’t even have a job.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m not falling for that.”

She is obviously trying to bait me into telling her.

Me: “You can think what you want, lady, but at the end of the day, I’m not the pathetic person whose only sense of control in the world is threatening a person’s livelihood to get what they want. You know you’re a s***ty person, right?”

The woman storms off, absolutely fuming.

I then pay for my card and gift wrap while having a laugh with the sales assistant at the register about what just happened.

Now, you would think this is the end of my encounter with this customer, but oh, no. She still thought I worked in the mall. As I left the store, I stopped and got a coffee from the small kiosk cafe just outside. I noticed [Customer] watching me. And I s*** you not, this psycho continued to follow me into every single store I entered and ask the person behind the register if I worked there. At this point, I felt that I couldn’t go back to my car, because she would see my license plate numbers and be able to look up my information, and then Facebook-stalk me or something. I ended up calling a taxi and going to see my dad who lived about ten minutes up the road, and I got him to take me back to my car an hour later.

If that customer hadn’t turned feral the moment that I spoke to her, there was a way the store could have ordered the book for her. They aren’t supposed to do this, but when I worked there, I would often do it for nice older people who weren’t comfortable with online shopping. Keyword: NICE. Her loss.

My father and I have just been visiting his sister who lives in a distant country town and we’re driving to visit another sister who lives in the next town about two hours away. He takes a route I have never been on before instead of the shorter, direct route we usually take as he wants to show me where his grandparents used to live.  

Driving down country roads in Australia, it’s common to see cattle, sheep, and horses in the fields, but as we round one curve, we see something we didn’t expect.

Me: “Hey, look at the camels!”

Dad: *Concentrating on the road* “Camels? Are you mad? Why would there be camels out here?”

He slows down to take a look.

Dad: “Well, look at that. Camels!”

We mention it to my aunt.

Aunt: *Laughing* “[Cousin] will be glad to hear that; he thought he was going mad last weekend. He and a mate camped out that way last weekend, and they woke up to the strangest noises outside of their tent, so they peeked outside and they were surrounded by camels. He was sure it was just some weird, vivid dream because there was no sign of any camels the next morning.”