(I am in line at a local poultry place with a guy in front of me ordering.)

Cashier: “That will be $8.48, please.”

(The guy gives the cashier a credit card. The cashier looks at it.)

Cashier: “May I see your ID, please?”

(The guy hesitantly hands over his ID.)

Cashier: “Sir, is your name Mohammed [Last Name], or Jeff [Other Last Name]?”

(The cashier gave the credit card to the manager and not back to the customer.)

My dad is a big fan of bikes; he’s the kind of guy who has three bikes on the wall and is still searching eBay for a deal on more bikes. One day, he has gone to the local bike shop near our house to get one of his bikes fixed. He loads his bike back into the back of his truck and the repair guy asks if he wants to do a survey. My dad agrees.

After five minutes, he returns outside to find his truck has been busted open and his bike missing. He asks the bike shop guy if they have security cameras and they say no. Desperate, he goes to the biltong shop next door. (Biltong is South African snack food; it’s like dried meat sticks.)

After asking the guy if he has cameras, the man asks what was stolen. After my dad explains, the guy tells him to say he was in the biltong store instead of the bike shop, and then the guy calls someone. A few minutes later, a very buff man comes in and asks my dad what was stolen. My dad explains that his bike was stolen while he was in the shop and the owner tells the buff guy that they have a deal and they don’t steal stuff from customers of his store.

They argue for a bit and then the buff guy makes a call. Then, another guy shows up with my dad’s bike. The buff guy then asks my dad if he wants to beat this guy because he broke the rules! My dad says he just wants his bike back and, after a few rounds of, “Someone has to,” and, “Are you sure?” he hands my dad his bike. The buff guy says that the bike looks very expensive and he thinks he deserves a “reward” for getting it back.

The shop owner starts talking about their deal and the buff guy leaves. My dad takes his bike and goes home. In short, my dad accidentally discovered that our local biltong shop pays off criminals so they don’t steal from customers.

I used to live with my parents just outside of a small town about thirty minutes away from where I live now. When I lived with my parents, I moved to the night shift at work, because it’s a shorter shift and still gives me freedom to get stuff done during the day.

December of 2018, I move into a house with my now fianceé and her mother. It’s not the greatest part of town — a group of kids between 12 and 18 recently went around and robbed stores and carjacked two cars at gunpoint, to give an example — but it’s the only house we can get a loan for, and we are desperate.

I’m still working the night shift, and three times now I’ve had to call into work because of gunshots nearby, and police have been looking for suspects. This third time, my supervisor asks me if this is real, so I tell him the general area of where I live, and then I tell him to watch the news the next day. Sure enough, it’s on the news the next evening about someone found dead in a suspected drug-related incident, and the police are looking for suspects. My supervisor pulls me aside to ask me if I want to switch to day shifts.

(A customer sets a large amount of chains on the counter.)

Customer: “Do you think this is enough to hold down a body?”

(I work with patients at an eye specialist, checking vision and administering eye drops. One day, one of my newer coworkers comes to me about a patient.)

Coworker: “He’s complaining about his eye being sore, but he’s asking way too many questions about [expensive temporary numbing agent for office use only].”

(I trust his judgment, so I ask another technician to casually restock something in the exam room where the patient is waiting for the doctor and take the numbing drop with him when he’s done. Not ten minutes later, when the doctor goes to see him…)

Patient: “Hey, Doc, why can’t you give me some more of those numbing drops?”

Doctor: “Because too much is toxic for your eyes. A patient stole a bottle years ago and used it non-stop for days; it really damaged their eye.”

Patient: “Good thing you said that, Doc, because I was planning on stealing that bottle!”

(He said this without any embarrassment whatsoever! I only hope he learned not to mess around with that sort of thing.)