Information as to where payphones are by their telephone numbers has been removed from the telephone company operator’s access for security reasons. For example: a person may call an estranged spouse or significant other from a payphone, so their location remains unknown. Otherwise, the person receiving the call may actually try to track someone down if they learn the location, and the end result could be tragic.

Caller: “I want the location of this payphone. The telephone number is [number].”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that information is not available to telephone operators.”

Caller: “Hold on there. I need the information.”

The caller starts into a long-winded explanation as to why he needs the information.

Me: *Trying to interject* “Excuse me, sir—”

Caller: “LET ME FINISH!”

Me: “Okay.”

The caller continues with a convoluted story lasting over five minutes.

Me: “We still don’t have access to that information.”

Caller: “WELL, THEN, F*** YOU, A**HOLE!” *Click*

I overhear this in the fitting rooms as I’m dealing with a giant mound of customer clothing to put away.

Customer: “Don’t waste time putting those back on the hanger; the girl needs something to do all day.”

This happens a few years ago, before the US lifts its embargo on Cuba. My roommate has an American cousin who’s come up to Canada for the weekend. One of my other roommates is a bartender and has mixed up some drinks for us while we’re hanging out.

American Cousin: “Wow, that’s really good! What’s in it?”

[Bartender Roommate] reels off a list of ingredients, including rum.

American Cousin: “What kind of rum?”

Bartender Roommate: “Ah, my very favourite, [Brand].”

American Cousin: “Never heard of it. Is it Dominican?”

Bartender Roommate: “No, it’s Cuban.”

American Cousin: “Dude! You’ve got a hookup for Cuban rum?!”

[Bartender Roommate] laughs because she thinks he’s joking.

Bartender Roommate: “Yeah, my super-secret connection, the [Provincial Government-Run Liquor Store].”

American Cousin: “No way! Can I get in on this?”

I cut in because I can see he’s actually serious.

Me: “You can pick it up at most liquor stores here.”

American Cousin: *With a wink* “Sure, sure. So, you’ll hook me up, yeah?”

No matter how hard we tried to persuade him that it was completely legal to buy Cuban products in Canada, he kept thinking we were pulling his leg because “Cuban stuff is illegal.” Even taking him to multiple obviously legitimate liquor stores and a specialty tobacconist didn’t convince him. However, he seemed happy to go home with two or three bottles of rum and some cigars, so all’s well, I suppose.

In high school, I am good friends with a guy whose family is military. They live in military housing on the base in town. The housing itself is outside the base proper, but the property itself is still considered part of the base and is patrolled by the Military Police rather than the local cops.

I am going over to visit my friend at his house one evening, and as we are both too young to get licenses of our own yet, I have my dad drive me out. Upon getting into the car, he discovers his seat belt is broken. It’s not great, but there’s not much that can be done about it, as by this time of the evening, the repair shops have all closed. So, he basically just shrugs.

Dad: “I’ll get it fixed tomorrow.”

He drives me to my friend’s house and drops me off, and then goes home. As it happens, on his way off the base, he comes to a Military Police roadblock.

Military Police: “Sir, may I ask why you’re not wearing your seat belt?”

Dad: “I just discovered tonight that it was broken. I’m going to take it into the shop tomorrow and have it fixed.”

Military Police: “Well, sir, you’re driving without a seat belt. I’m going to write you a ticket.”

Dad: “I just told you it only broke tonight. Can’t you just write me a repair slip?”

Military Police: “If you don’t like this, sir, feel free to dispute the ticket in court.”

At this, she hands my dad his ticket and walks smugly away, convinced that she’s gotten the better of him.

Several weeks later, my dad has indeed disputed the ticket and is appearing in court for the pretrial.

Judge: “All right, Mr. [Dad’s Last Name], you’re disputing this ticket for a broken seat belt. You understand all your rights and responsibilities in this regard?”

Dad: “Yes, I do.”

Judge: “And would you like to be tried by judge or by jury?”

Dad: “I would like a trial in front of a jury, please.”

At this, the Crown Prosecutor steps over to my dad.

Crown Prosecutor: “Mr. [Dad’s Last Name], do you realize how much expense the Crown would have to go to in order to convene a jury over a broken seat belt?”

Dad: *Smugly* “Yep.”

There is a long pause.

Crown Prosecutor: “Let me speak to the judge.”

Long story short, the Crown Prosecutor, who was supposed to be ensuring my dad had to pay the ticket, went to the judge and got the case thrown out. My dad didn’t have to pay a cent.

And incidentally, the seat belt was fixed first thing the morning after he first got the ticket.

I teach bike lessons to toddlers as a high-school summer job. This encounter happens one week while I am teaching the youngest age group.

Me: “This must be a mistake. All of the kids on my list have the same parent name and contact info.”

Supervisor: “Weird. It’s probably a typo.”

Half an hour later, three kids come riding toward me on their bikes.

Me: “Hello! Can I get you guys signed in?”

Caregiver: “This is Leo, Liam, and Lucas.”

They are very similar-looking triplets with matching bikes and matching helmets, and none of them speak English.

After the class, I go to speak to the mom about their poor listening and to discuss plans for the week. Four caregivers arrive to pick them up.

Me: “Hi, everybody! Who here is Mom?”

Woman #1: “Oh, none of us. We’re just their nannies.”

It was a long week.