We are in lockdown here. All businesses and venues open to the public must be registered, and patrons must check in using an app or by providing the owner with their names and phone numbers. Owners are held responsible for making sure that patrons check in properly and can refuse entry to anyone who does not comply. If a patron makes trouble over checking in or not being allowed entry, then the owner is authorised to call the police to sort it out.

I am displaying the proper signs and check-in information, and I take the checking in very seriously. I see a woman enter without showing her phone.

Me: “Hello, have you checked in all right?”

I suspect she hasn’t.

Customer: *Irritably* “No, I can’t be bothered with all that trouble.”

I respond quietly, trying to be helpful without causing an argument.

Me: “You are required to check in using the app or give me your name and phone number so I can register your visit here.”

Customer: *Glaring at me* “No! I’m not giving you my phone number. That’s personal information and I don’t know what you are going to do with it.”

Me: “It’s not for me; it’s for your own benefit. If you don’t check in one way or the other, I can’t allow you to come in.”

She is already several metres inside and still moving forward. I move very slightly toward her but still keep a safe distance. The woman suddenly turns on me and starts shouting.

Customer: “Touch me and I will have you up for assault and discrimination because I’m a woman!”

I quickly step back, holding up my arms.

Me: “All right! All right! I wasn’t going to touch you, but if you don’t behave properly and check in, it is my duty to notify the police.”

She turns and walks out, shouting over her shoulder.

Customer: “Don’t be stupid! You don’t know my name, my phone number, or where I live, and I’m wearing a mask, so how are the police going to find me?”

Even though she had actually been inside and should have been checked in, there was not much I could do about it once she had gone. I was left bewildered and confused, wondering why some people feel that they have to be so troublesome.

I live in a flat near a woman who disturbs the whole block of flats with her very loud music. When we can’t stand it any longer, a group of us go to ask her to turn it down a bit. Because the music is so loud, it takes a lot of banging on her front door to get her attention. When she finally answers, we can’t talk to her because the music is still far too loud.

I push past her, go into her flat, and turn the volume down so we can talk to her. She looks very surprised.

Woman: “How did you do that?”

I’m a bit slow on the uptake here.

Me: “What?”

Woman: *Very puzzled* “How did you make it go quieter? I have been annoyed by it being too loud since I got it.”

I’m very perplexed, as we all are.

Me: “You just turn the volume control knob and it goes lower.”

Woman: *Even more puzzled* “What’s a volume control knob?”

After a demonstration, she finally came to understand that she could use the volume control to turn the loudness up or down. It appears that no one had ever told her that there was such a thing as a control to change the volume. She thought it was set at one loudness and she had to make do with it.

She still sometimes has her music a bit loud, but it’s nothing like it used to be, and now she can turn it down when we ask her to.

Shortly after I move into my first flat, the two young men who share the flat immediately below me pay me a visit. I’ve already found out they are drug dealers. Since I don’t indulge in any drugs myself, I’m not particularly pleased they have visited me.

Dealer #1: “We have come to tell you the rules if you are going to live here.”

I remain silent but a bit curious.

Dealer #2: “We don’t sell drugs to any of the residents of this block, and we don’t allow anyone else to sell here, either.”

Dealer #1: “And we don’t allow anyone in the block to use drugs.”

At this point, I’m a bit mystified and not sure what they are telling me. I’m puzzled and trying to think coherently.

Me: “So, you are dealers, but you don’t sell in this block, don’t allow anyone else to sell in this block, and don’t allow anyone in this block to use drugs?”

Dealer #1: “Exactly! And you don’t ever mention it to anyone.”

I’m not really interested, and mainly, I just want them to go away, but my curiosity won’t let me get rid of them while I’m so bewildered.

Me: “Do you mind if I ask why, if you are so involved with the drug scene, you are making those rules? It seems that you are just throwing away customers.”

Dealer #2: “Well, you see, if there’s no drug activity at all in this block, it won’t attract the attention of the Drug Squad and we can run our business in peace.”

As they made their way down the stairs, I had to admire their business sense and reasoning, even though I thoroughly deplored their actual business.

I went to my doctor for a very minor operation on my hand. He gave me two shots of local anaesthetic and we waited for a few moments for it to work. As soon as the scalpel touched my hand, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Doctor: *Puzzled* “You shouldn’t have felt that. You must be very sensitive. I’ll give you another shot.”

We waited a few minutes again. When the scalpel touched my hand, I jumped again.

Doctor: *Even more puzzled* “You shouldn’t have felt that. I can’t give you any more; it would be a bit risky.”

I just want to get it over and done with.

Me: “It’s not so bad. Go ahead and I’ll try not to react.”

The doctor carefully and successfully finishes the operation.

Doctor: ”Has this ever happened before? It looks like anaesthetics don’t work very well on you.”

Me: “I’ve never had any sort of anaesthetic, full or local, before.”

I drove home, a trip of about an hour. I sat down with a cup of tea, and suddenly, I lost all feeling in my body. Before I could react, I fell asleep. I woke up about three hours later with no apparent after-effects, apart from being worried.

A week later, I saw my doctor for a follow-up and told him what had happened.

Doctor: *Looking very concerned* “I’ve never heard of such a reaction before. It’s a good job it didn’t happen while you were driving home. I think that you had better be very careful about having any sort of anaesthetic in the future. I will put a DANGER note in your medical record.”

I now wear a bright orange “Anaesthetic Risk” medical alert wristband ALL THE TIME!

You meet some strange people when walking about. A stranger in the street asked me:

Stranger: “Do you know the time?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

They looked at their watch.

Stranger: “It’s just gone ten o’clock.”