I needed to get my car inspected for registration, so I went into one tyre store that does rego inspections. I was told the minor things that needed to be fixed — e.g., the number plate light — and that I’d also need new tyres.

Since they were a tyre store, I said that they could replace them.

Later that day, I got a call from one of the workers saying that a wheel stud had been sheared.

“Okay, how long until you get the replacement?” I asked.

“We’ve got some in stock; it’s going to cost you [price],” the worker said.

“Excuse me?” I said incredulously. “You broke the wheel stud; you have to replace it.”

This went back and forth for a while. Eventually, I got the manager to call me back.

This call did not go well.

“We take great care with all of our customers’ cars,” he claimed. Meanwhile, I could hear a rattle gun in the background definitely over-tightening a wheel nut.

The manager ended up yelling at me and hanging up. I came and got my car, and it took a call to the regional manager to get my replacement stud.

I found that they had sheared another stud and stripped one more when I got home.

After having to pay for two more studs, I took my car to the place I normally get my tyres and they replaced the tyres without incident, and for less money.

My workplace is situated in an outdoor arcade with shops down each side and stalls in the middle. I have been frequenting a stall close to my shop for years, buying drinks and chatting with the owner on my lunch breaks. I am smoking a cigarette as I buy a drink.

Owner: “Busy today?”

Me: “Nah, pretty quiet.”

Owner: “We’ve had a few through. Here you go, that’ll be $2.”

Me: “Thank—”

Just as I am handing my money over, something from behind me hits me in the face and knocks off my glasses. Then, I feel a whack across my wrist, causing me to drop my cigarette.

Lady: *Screeching* “You’re disgusting! Disgusting filthy smoker!”

An old lady has whacked me in the face with her walking stick!

Owner: “Hey!”

The owner reaches over the counter and snatches the lady’s walking stick right out of her hands.

Lady: “That’s mine! Give it back.”

Owner: “Not a chance. I’ve told you before about bothering people around here. I’m keeping it this time. Now, get lost before I call the cops and have them book you for assault!”

The lady grumbled a bit and left without her stick. It turns out that she regularly bothers smokers in the area, hitting them with her stick and slapping “No Smoking” stickers on their faces and in their hair. This wasn’t even the first time the owner had taken her stick away!

I gave the owner a big tip and we’ve joked about the crazy No Smoking Lady ever since.

The store where I work has self-checkouts, and the following story happens more often than you’d think it should.

When a machine is having an error dispensing or accepting cash, or it is out of cash to dispense, we put up a sign above and over the part where you put cash in stating, “EFTPOS ONLY — NO CASH OUT.”

Customer: “Where do I put my money in?”

Me: “Sorry, this one is EFTPOS only at the moment since there is a technical issue.”

Customer: “But the sign only said, ‘No cash out.’”

Me: “Yes, it also says, ‘EFTPOS only.’ There’s an issue with it giving out change.”

Customer: “Well, it doesn’t say, ‘No cash in,’ so I should be able to put notes in.”

This happened often enough that we eventually added on all our printed, laminated signs a line in permanent marker saying, “NO CASH OUT/IN,” just to stop the constant arguments.

I’m at my local roller derby game, and I decide that a beverage is just right for the occasion.

A local brewery is supplying the beers, and the bar is run by skaters from the league.

I buy two beers, and the total comes to something like $18. I hand the lady a $20 and three dollars in change. She looks at me weirdly and says, “It’s only $18.”

I reply, “It’s so you can give me a $5 note instead of coins.”  

“Oh! That’s clever. Did you work it out when you were queueing up?”

I just let it slide, thank the lovely lady, and leave with my cans.

(An elderly woman comes in off the street and approaches me.)

Customer: “Hello. I was hoping for some advice.”

Me: “Certainly. Are you looking for a gift or something for yourself?”

Customer: “Myself. I recently sold my car and I need to know if I’ve completed all the right paperwork.”

Me: “I see. Well, unfortunately, we don’t have any legal texts in stock covering car ownership—”

Customer: *interrupts* “Oh, no. You misunderstand me. I don’t want a book; I just want advice about my sold car.”

Me: “From me?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “In a bookshop?”

Customer: “Yes.”

(I am perplexed, but I play along.)

Me: “Well, did you have insurance on this car you sold?”

Customer: “Yes, I do!”

Me: “You should probably contact the insurance company and cancel it, then; no point paying insurance on a car you no longer own, right? And while you’re there, I would ask them for advice, as they deal with cars all the time and would know more about it.”

Customer: “Thank you! You’ve been so helpful! I’ll go to my insurance company right away! I love bookshops! Everyone is so helpful.”

(She leaves, very happy. A regular turns to me:)

Regular: “Maybe it’s because we read what we have to do about something before we do it.”