(I’m a young woman in my late twenties — though I do look younger — walking home one evening. I pass a woman, vaguely noting there’s a boy, maybe twelve or so, behind her heading in my direction. As I walk past, the boy suddenly falls. I start to bend towards him, to help him up.)

Boy: “Sorry, I just fell for you.”

(I can’t help laughing as he stands up, thinking he’s saying it to save face.)

Me: “Very smooth.”

Boy: “So, how about it?”

(I shake my head and start to head on, now assuming it’s a joke)

Boy: “I’ll take you to [Coffee Shop]!”

(I laugh, shake my head, and keep walking.)

Boy: “F***. Why doesn’t it ever work?”

(I’m still in two minds as to how serious I thought he was being, though I’m fairly sure it was a joke. I decided not to suggest that if he is going to go for random strangers, he might want to try someone who’s not over twice his age!)

(I get a call to go and pick up my very independent girlfriend from a nightclub because her overprotective work friends won’t let her leave without either getting in a taxi or having me come pick her up. The club is roughly a ten-minute walk from the house. I start to head to the club, carrying only keys, and clock a stranger on the other side of the road. He is walking in the opposite direction until he spots me and crosses over. I am rather tall and, according to my girlfriend, rather intimidating… until I open my mouth, because of my posh accent. I am always wary of people, as I was bullied at school by short people wanting to pick a fight, wanting to make their mark.)

Stranger: “Hey there!”

(He starts walking in the direction I am going, walking fairly quickly to try and keep pace. I am crossing a long bridge without any possible escape routes, putting me on edge.)

Stranger: “Where are you going?”

Me: *still walking, but determined to remain polite and non-provocative* “[Nightclub].”

Stranger: “Meeting someone special?”

(There is a creepy tone in his voice, which makes me even more wary.)

Me: “Yep.”

Stranger: “It’s a girl, right?” *gives a cocky grin* “I’m going there, too! Let’s get a taxi!”

Me: *thinking how he was initially walking north when the club was south, setting off more alarm bells* “I’m all right, mate; it’s not far.”

Stranger: “I don’t mind. We’ll get a taxi!”

Me: “You can get one if you want, but I don’t have any cash on me. It’s not far, though.”

Stranger: “Don’t worry; I’ll pay for it!”

(We get to the end of the bridge as he repeatedly tries to get me to flag down a taxi. I carry on down one side of the road whilst he starts to cross over to the other. My route involves crossing a road south, then going east; his route involves going east and then crossing the road to go south.)

Stranger: “Where are you going, mate? It’s this way!”

Me: “I’m going this way. Have a good evening!”

Stranger: “It’s this way, [gay slur]!”

(He continued walking his way to the nightclub, which was retracing the direction he originally came from. I can only assume he wanted to stiff me for a taxi fare. As it was so close, it was not worth getting a taxi to go a distance of two streets.)

(I work in a fabric store. I get a phone call from a customer looking for pleather. He asks for white, but upon finding out we don’t have that, he asks what other colours we have. We have every colour but red. Later on, a man arrives in the store asking for pleather. He chooses the black one.)

Me: “Did you happen to ring a little while ago asking for this?”

Customer #2: “No, it wasn’t me.”

Me: “Okay. It’s funny; I don’t often get asked for it, but I got asked twice in the last half hour. It often goes like that.”

Customer #2: “Really?”

Me: “Yeah, but it’s always in threes; there will be a third sometime today.”

Customer #2: *laughs* “Good luck with that.”  

(It’s the end of the day and I have shut the doors when a customer knocks on the door. We’ve closed an hour and a half earlier than usual due to it being a public holiday. I go to the door to explain to the customer why we are closed early. He is there with his young son.)

Customer #3: “Oh, no, we really need to get something. Can’t you help us?”

Me: “We are closed but I will try. What is it you are after?”

Customer #3: “I need pleather; do you have it in red?”

(I work in a bank. We have just closed up for the night. My coworker and I are balancing the vault when we hear a loud crash and feel the building shake.)

Coworker: “HOLY CRAP! What was that?!”

Me: “Sounds like it came from the drive-up. You don’t think someone hit us, do you?”

Coworker: “Oh, no.”

(We run out of the vault, across the lobby, and into the drive-up area. Thankfully, there is no hole in the wall, but there is a slightly damaged car parked at an awkward angle in our business deposit lane. The customer in the car looks very confused.)

Me: *through the mic* “Sir, are you okay?”

Customer: “Did I hit something?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “What did I hit?”

Me: “You hit the wall, and you hit it very hard. We felt the building shake. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Customer: “I need to make a deposit!”

Me: “Sir, we’re actually closed for the night. Can I call someone to come pick you up? Your car is damaged.”

Customer: “NO! I’m FINE! It’s still drivable, so I’ll come back tomorrow!”

(He reverses out of the lane at a crazy angle, and speeds off. My coworker and I stare at each other.)

Coworker: “At least there’s no hole in the wall…”

When I was in elementary school, there was a fourth grade teacher who was a little… crazy. One of the many insane things she would do was walk around the lunchroom chanting the phrase, “Don’t eat your dessert first,” over and over again. The teacher would always bring her class to lunch around 15 minutes late; we only had 25 minutes so by this time many kids were almost finished with their food.

I was sitting at my table and had already finished my sandwich and carrots. The teacher walked in with her class, grabbed her lunch, and walked past my table. I was opening my [fruity rolled snack] when she leaned over my shoulder and screamed, “DON’T EAT YOUR DESSERT FIRST!” She then grabbed the treat out of my hand and walked away. I have very bad anxiety and am on the autism spectrum. This startled me so much I almost started to cry. She took food from a five-year-old! Who does that?

Later that day I went home and told my mom what had happened, but she did not believe me. My older sister had had that teacher five years earlier and had had no problems with her, so obviously I must have been lying or exaggerating.

I still remember fifteen years later how scared I was when this grown woman screamed at me for enjoying my sweet treat after my lunch and stole it from me. I doubt she even thought I wasn’t finished with my meal; nearly everyone else, besides her class, had finished, as well. Later, when I had her for fourth grade, I found out that she would constantly take sweets from children and eat them if she suspected they were eating them before their other food.