(Both my parents are doctors, which means that they have very little patience with any of their children’s health problems. The rule growing up was, “If you can complain about it, you can go to school!” At age 12, I have a terrible skateboard accident and walk into our home with blood pouring out of a massive gash in my head, and several broken ribs. I gasp to my parents:)

Me: “Guys, it hurts when I breathe.”

(My father looks up from his book.)

Father: “Then don’t.” *goes back to reading*

Mother: *screaming* “And stop bleeding on the floor; I just mopped it!”

(I went next door and our neighbours took me to the emergency room, where I spent the night. My parents didn’t even notice I was gone, and gave me grief for missing school.)

(For those that don’t know, head shops sell products for “tobacco use only,” but are generally used for weed. This interaction starts with a man coming in my store, requesting that I “don’t judge him,” and telling me that the woman who is about to walk in is “crazy.” I oblige and say no judgments.)

Me: “Hey, how’s it going? Anything I can help you find today?”

Woman: “Yes, I’m looking for straight glass pipes.”

Me: “We sell glass blunts; every other glass item is either flared or a standard pipe.”

Woman: “No, like I’m looking for a pipe, like for crack cocaine.”

Me: *standing awkwardly* “Ma’am, we don’t sell those here.”

Woman: “YES, YOU DO; THEY’RE RIGHT THERE!”

Me: “Ma’am, those are downstems, for water-pipes, and they are flared at the end, not straight.”

Woman: “Well, I need something like this.” *pulls out used and broken crack pipe*

Me: *wide-eyed and staring* “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave…”

(She returned ten minutes later, and another two times after that in the span of an hour, each time with more money falling out of her bra, and purchasing increasingly random combinations of items each time. No other mention or sight of illegal substances or devices.)

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

(My friend and I are walking down the street when an old man suddenly collapses in front of us.)

Me: “Sir? Are you all right? SIR?!” *no answer*

Friend: “Call 911!”

Me: “On it.”

(The ambulance arrives in less than five minutes. Sadly, the old man has died. He had a massive heart attack and was probably dead before he hit the ground.)

Me: *suddenly realizing* “Wait a minute. [Friend], don’t you know CPR?”

Friend: *looking shifty* “Yes. Why?”

Me: “Why didn’t you do anything for him?”

Friend: “Because he looked gross. I didn’t want to catch anything. Besides, he was dead already; it wouldn’t have done any good, anyway.”

Me: “…”

(We’re still friends, but I lost a lot of respect for her that day.)

(There is this store where if you return five containers that are empty, you can get a free face mask. I’m a customer, watching this happen.)

Customer: *buying a bunch of stuff* “I also finished five containers.”

Employee: “Oh, do you have them with you?”

Customer: “No, I threw them out.”

Employee: *pause* “I’m sorry, but we have to have the five containers, or we can’t give you the mask.”

Customer: “But I emptied them out! I want my free face mask! Won’t you just throw them away if I gave them to you?”

Employee: “Actually, we recycle them into the signs.”

Customer: *looks around, pays for stuff, and leaves in a huff* “Fine, but the next time I come back with the empty pots, I want two free face masks!”

My sister has gone to a sleep-away summer camp for a number of years. One of the girls turns out to talk in her sleep, but it is mainly quiet mumbling, so no one is too bothered.

There are a number of crows that love to be near the camp, an easy source for food and entertainment. They will start cawing at dawn, every day, without fail. No one can get much sleep with them partying with the sunrise.

After five days of this, my sister and her bunkmates watch as the sleep-talker grabs the pile of shoes that are at the front door, stomps to the porch, and hurls each and every shoe at the crows. She promptly goes back to bed, and the crows disappear.

After finding all of the flung footwear, my sister asks the sleep-talker what happened. It is then that she learns that the sleep-talker has no memory of the incident, and is also now a sleep-walker. At least the crows didn’t reappear for the next few days.