I work for a small non-profit museum in a neighborhood of Boston that draws a lot of tourists but sometimes we are a hidden gem for local folks. As I am unlocking the front doors to head inside and start the opening procedures, a woman walking her dog (clearly a pet and not a service dog or even an emotional support dog) approaches me.

Dog Walking Lady: “What is this place? I walk my dog by here all the time, but I’ve never been in before.”

Me: “This is [Museum]!”

I explain the museum.

Dog Walking Lady: “Is it okay to bring dogs into the museum?”

Me: “We only allow service animals.”

Dog Walking Lady: “What if I just lied and told you he was a service dog?”

Me: “…um… you’ve… already told me he wasn’t.”

She just pouts and slinks away. I’m assuming she never tried to actually pull that stunt because I don’t remember seeing her again.

Don’t pretend to have a service animal! It makes life harder for people who actually rely on them!

Related:

Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 8
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 7
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 6
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 5
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 4

Years ago, I was flying to Florida. As I was walking through the airport in Boston, I saw a family walking single file, each one with their own rolling carry-on bag. The last one was a boy, apparently six or seven years old, and plainly feeling very grown-up.

It turned out they were on my flight. They were a couple of rows ahead of me, and both the boy and I were on the aisle. As soon as the seatbelt light was turned off, he opened his bag. It was full of action figures — you have to bring the essentials.

He was also a very social little guy, so everyone within a couple of rows had met him by the end, so I very easily heard him as we were landing at Miami. He looked out the window, sighed, and said, “Oh, well, back where we started.”

It’s flat, it’s got planes… close enough.

It’s around 2016. The newspapers have been reporting on scammers calling people at home and on their mobile phones, allegedly to raise money for various Police Support Funds. There are also legitimate fundraisers for police officers, too, but it’s difficult to tell them apart, although generally speaking, the legitimate ones at this point in time either call your home phone or send you something in the mail.

One day, I’m sitting in my car waiting for my wife to come out of her office when my mobile phone rings. I answer it because I am expecting a call and don’t know what number will show on my display. The caller is a man who sounds roughly middle-aged with not a hint of a foreign accent.

Caller: “Hello, my name is [Caller], and I’m calling from [generic sounding name for Police Fund] raising money to support our local Police Officers who have been wounded on the job. Would you like to donate $100 today? The donation will appear on your next cell phone statement.”

That makes me feel somewhat suspicious.

Me: “I’m not interested in doing so right now. Could you send me something in the mail that has more details on your charity?”

Caller: “I understand; $100 is a bit too much for some people. How I about I put you down for $50 for now?”

Me: “No, I’m not comfortable doing transactions like this based on a cold call to my mobile phone.”

Caller: “Well, how about I start you off with just a $25 donation?”

Me: “Look, I apologize if you are a legitimate charity, but I have no idea who you are, nor any way to confirm it. I did not give you permission to use my mobile phone number to call me to raise money or for any other purpose. I’d be happy to give something once I confirm who you are and that the charity you represent is legitimate, but I’m not doing that with someone who cold-calls my mobile number without my permission. Again, if you want to mail me something that I can read and check out, I will consider a donation.”

Caller: “I understand your hesitancy, and I appreciate your concern. How about just a modest ten-dollar donation to get us started, then?”

Me: “No, thank you. You don’t appear to be listening to anything I’m saying here. Please take my number off your list. Goodbye.”

I hung up. Afterward, I looked up the name of the charity he said was representing and I could not find anything by that name at all.

Yeah, this is why I don’t respond to cold-callers of any type, especially when they call my mobile phone number without my express permission. If I don’t know who you are, you aren’t getting any money from me!

I’m in tenth grade and I have a tough teacher. Her grading system is inconsistent, but I do well for the first semester. In the second semester, we are assigned to do a long research paper and an hour-long presentation on one poet, basing our premise on one poem.

On the day of my presentation, I am very stressed, but I get through the first part of it okay. Suddenly…

Me: “In The Rime Of The Ancient Mariner, Coleridge… Um, Mrs. [Teacher]?”

Teacher: “Did you have a question?”

Me: *Holding up my hand* “I’m bleeding. Can I get a bandaid?”

Teacher: “After class.”

Me: “Can I get a paper towel or something?”

Teacher: “Fine.”

No matter what, I can’t find a single cut or scrape. I just find my hand covered in blood. I go back to the classroom.

Teacher: “Because you disrupted your presentation, the highest grade you can get is now a C. Resume.”

I finished and got a D+ because I stopped discussing Coleridge and the feminine divine to bleed on my notes.  

I’ve since discovered that I sometimes bleed without apparent cause during severe episodes of anxiety.

I work as a faculty assistant. In early 2020, one of my professors ordered a set of nesting tables for her office. When the tables arrived, we discovered that they were both the same height. The company asked only for a picture to prove this and said they’d send the correct (shorter) replacement out. About a week later, states began going into lockdown due to the health crisis, and the company reached out to say that the delivery would obviously be delayed.

Fast forward eighteen months. Since neither of us has been in the office all that time, my professor and I have both forgotten the incident entirely until I get an email from the company asking if I’ll be available on a specific day to accept delivery. As it happens, I won’t be — we’re on a hybrid schedule and it’s my remote day — but I make arrangements with a colleague to let them into the office. That evening, I get an email from her.

Colleague: “I left [Professor]’s key on your desk. I think you’ll have to contact [Company]; they brought the wrong table again, identical to the one she already has. The delivery guy and I walked into the room, he unwrapped the furniture, and we both just stared at it, dumbfounded. He went, ‘Umm… let me go make a phone call.’ He came back moments later, rolled his eyes, took the table, and said he would be back in touch, with apologies.”

I haven’t heard from them yet about rearranging the redelivery. Hopefully, it’s not another year and a half.