In the late 1980s, the XO [Executive Officer] on my dad’s ship at the time told the sailors going out on the town that Spanish cops carried automatic weapons — but don’t worry; they use rubber bullets.

After some drinking, one of the sailors decided it would be fun to go down the street smashing the mirrors off of cars. A pair of cops caught him in the act and yelled for him to stop. He didn’t stop but instead ran.

It turned out the XO was wrong about one thing: they were not using rubber bullets. The captain, on being informed that one of his sailors was recovering from gunshot wounds before being processed into jail, decided it was best to leave the sailor to deal with all legal consequences there and that someone else back in Virginia could handle the rest.

This is the same XO who got relieved of duty, on the very same cruise, because he also kept getting arrested in foreign ports.

My neighborhood grocery store is part of a chain. In any of the stores, you sometimes find something out of place that someone changed their mind about — often something like a package of cookies left among the bread.

The one nearest me has this to insane levels: cooked deli items in with the bread, ice cream with the flour, and on my most recent visit, a package of batteries in the fridge unit with single sodas. I keep hoping to catch one of these nitwits doing this, and I came close with the fridge.

Just as I was noticing the batteries, a twenty-something woman walked past me and set a big convenience store soda cup on top. I had seen her crossing back and forth near the checkout without adding anything to the collection of things in her other arm.

As I watched her retreat in the other direction, I contemplated saying something, but I wasn’t sure what. Then, I saw her reverse and come back my way again. As she was just about to pass, I said:

Me: “Excuse me! I think you forgot your drink.”

She gave me a blank look, grabbed the drink without a word, and then kept walking. Then, she suddenly turned into one of the cashier aisles that was, momentarily, without staff. She was there boldly shoplifting. Apparently, she had it down to an art.

Thanks, “lady,” for being one of the reasons we pay more for our things.

A few years back, our electricity supplier at work stopped sending us regular bills for some reason. I knew the cost was always about £1,000 a month, so just tracked it in the accounts and waited for a bill.

Six months later, just before I would have begun harassing them as I knew our contract was going to expire soon and probably be moved to someone else, a bill arrived.

It was for £62,000.00.

I’ve just had a look back at my email records, and I have fifty-five emails regarding the discussion that followed over the next six months. I dread to think how long I spent on the phone.

They promised not to take the direct debit from our accounts, but then they did.

They claimed they couldn’t stop the direct debit in time and that they understood why we reclaimed it. They then applied late fees and threatened to take us to court.

They promised to send engineers to check the meter, but they never did.

They promised so many return phone calls. None happened.

They promised that this would have no impact on our impending supplier switch. Then, they blocked it.

Eventually, I reached a stage where I clearly hit the “stall and refuse to help” level of their customer service. The person on the phone would do nothing and claimed they could do nothing, but there was no one else for me to speak to at a higher level.

So, I contacted the Ombudsman. Only then, once they were under official investigation, did they accept that, yes, they had “misinterpreted” the meter readings and reduce the charge to £4,700.

Of course, they then tried to vastly overcharge us for the period of time we were out of contract because they hadn’t let us change, with another overinflated meter reading and more than double the price per unit.

That led to me going back to the Ombudsman before the first complaint was even finished.

We never did get the apology letter promised by [Electricity Supplier] as part of their settlement with the Ombudsman. They did give us the £50 goodwill credit, though!

CONTENT WARNING: Repeated Abuse By Sibling

My older sister was physically abusive toward me. At the slightest — accidental — provocation, she would attack me.

My parents generally laughed it off because I was a boy and she was a girl, and I should suck it up; she couldn’t hurt me that badly. 

One time, she nearly drowned me by holding my head underwater in the bathtub, but it didn’t leave any marks, so my parents didn’t care.

I guess I was the one with all of the empathy in the family; I never hit back since I was afraid I might actually hurt her.

One time, I turned the light on in our bedroom while she was asleep so that I could put my stuff away and go to bed. She leaped out of bed, grabbed something heavy, and smacked me with it. She broke my leg.

The nurses and doctors at the hospital actually listened to my story about how my sister abused me, and all the times she had abused me before.

The doctors got CPS involved. They had my parents move me out of the room with my sister into my own room, and they insisted that any disputes between me and my sister would have to be mediated by a third party, or else my parents would lose custody of both of us.

This helped a lot, and by high school, I had almost forgotten how abusive my sister had been, until the day before prom. She was in college by then, drinking and partying, and often spent the night in my parent’s house rather than the dorm because they cooked and did laundry for her.

That night, she was very drunk, our parents were already abed, and her eyes lighted upon me when she got home. “I always hated you, you little f***er,” she said. And then she attacked me.

I managed to get away and lock myself in my room, but I was covered with bruises, bite marks, and scratches. I was a mess. I thought about stealing Mom’s makeup to cover up the bruises like I had done in the past to dodge awkward questions in grade school, but then, I decided, “F*** it.”

I went to prom covered in open, obvious, injuries. I got my prom pictures taken looking like the victim of domestic assault — which I was. One of my friends encouraged me to let the police know what my sister had done, and I did.

She was arrested, and as she was old enough to be legally an adult, she was tried as one. She went to prison and lost her scholarship.

My parents blamed me for it, so after I left for college myself, I never came back. I don’t know how they’re doing now. And I don’t care.

My mother-in-law calls my husband one day, clearly angry about something. I can only hear his half of the conversation, but he gives me the short version on our way to the hospital: his mother was in an accident involving a motorcyclist. We get to the hospital and find her in a room in the Emergency Room. She has a bandage on her forehead, a few scratches on her arms, and blossoming bruises, but she is otherwise outwardly unharmed.

Mother-In-Law: “Finally! Tell the nurse there to discharge me.”

The nurse at the nearby station glares at us and shakes her head “no” before turning away.

Me: “What happened?”

Mother-In-Law: “I was driving, and this motorcyclist stopped right in front of me!”

Me: “Okay, well, did you talk to the police? Is there a video?”

Mother-In-Law: “Yes! They’re saying it’s my fault because I hit him! If he saw my car coming why didn’t he move?”

Husband: “I… I don’t understand. Why was the motorcycle stopped?”

Mother-In-Law: “He said the light was red. I didn’t see it, though, so I think he was lying.”

Me: “You rear-ended a motorcyclist making a legal stop at a red light?!”

Mother-In-Law: “I didn’t know he was there! I was using my phone for GPS, and I dropped it, and—”

Me: “Jesus. Why—”

Mother-In-Law: “Well, if he had been paying attention, he could have moved!”

Me: “If you had been paying attention, you could have stopped!”

Husband: *Carefully calm* “Mom. You could have killed him.”

Mother-In-Law: “But I didn’t! So I should get to go home.”

Husband: “You have to stay here. They need to make sure you don’t have a concussion or anything.”

Mother-In-Law: “Take me home. Now.”

Husband: *Leading me toward the exit* “We’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

After all kinds of legal issues and [Mother-In-Law] being her usual stubborn self, her license was revoked, and she paid some fines and had to pay the motorcyclist’s medical bills. She thought all of this was unfair since she still believed she wasn’t at fault. A gas station at the corner submitted their security camera video as evidence, showing the motorcycle stopping a full fifteen seconds before [Mother-In-Law]’s fifteen-passenger van plowed straight into him and the SUV in front of him. The motorcyclist had a long recovery ahead of him, but he did make it through. [Mother-In-Law] will still tell anyone who will listen that she shouldn’t have been blamed because the motorcyclist should have seen her coming and moved.