I’m the idiot customer here. I’m in Edinburgh for the Arts Festival and Fringe, and many of the Fringe shows are in student union buildings, so I decided to take advantage of student union food prices and have dinner while I’m there.

This particular building has a QR code that lets you order from your phone; just enter the table number on the website. So, I do that, pay, and get a drink while I’m waiting, and start reading NAR on my phone (really!)

It occurs to me that it’s been a while. I look up, and there’s a waitress two tables away asking if they ordered anything. I can’t make out if it’s what I ordered, but it looks like it might be. I consider making myself known, but my anxiety kicks in, and I decide to wait. She’ll probably approach me next anyway.

She doesn’t. She disappears, possibly to the lower level of the seating area. I’m perplexed. Did I put the right table number in? Must have, right? It’s right in front of me. Yes, it’s upside-down from where I’m sitting, but even a dyscalculic like me can read a three-figure number upside down, especially when it’s as straightforward as 211…

…Wait. I surely didn’t…?

I go back into my emails and check the confirmation. Yep, I looked at the upside-down number and turned each digit round in my head individually. She’s looking for table 112.

After a bit more anxiety, I try to find her again. I can’t. I see the serving hatch and force myself to go there and explain that I’m an idiot. The nice woman there says she’ll try to get it sorted. A security guard then stops me on the way back to my table, double-checks my story, and goes off to find her. Eventually, the security guard, the nice woman from the serving hatch, and the waitress all converge, and I get my food. I thank everyone and apologise again.

And then I realise that I missed that it comes with fries when I ordered an extra serving of fries. I don’t care. I’m not making things any more complicated by bringing this up, and after all that, I feel like I need extra fries anyway.

I’m walking through a busy street in central Edinburgh with my mum, and my own two daughters. A guy with a clipboard approaches us, and I think it’s going to be a charity bit. I am wrong.

Clipboard Guy: “Ladies, what are your thoughts on illegal immigration?”

Me: “I’m guessing since you’re out here asking, probably different from yours.”

Clipboard Guy: “So you think it’s a good thing?”

Me: “I think it’s a bad thing that those poor people are so desperate that they’re willing to risk their lives to get on to a boat just to be here and face an uncertain future because it’s always going to be better than what they’re coming from.”

Clipboard Guy: “So you’re okay with immigrant men roaming the same streets as your daughters, are you?”

My mum decides it’s time our family got moving.

Mum: “Okay, bampot. My daughter has said her piece, and so have you. Let’s get moving. Be quiet now.”

Clipboard Guy: “Don’t go crying to the police for help when they’ve all been replaced by Muslims!”

Mum: “I see God gave you two ears and one mouth, and you’ve decided that’s a ratio to ignore. I said we’re going, and I said be… quiet!”

We proceeded with our shopping trip, with Clipboard Guy (at a loss for words) left behind us.

Related:
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 11
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 10
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 9
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 8
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 7

About ten years ago, I worked at a bookshop. There was going to be a changeover with the website, so I created a very simple placeholder webpage that listed the contact details for the store. I double-checked all the contact details and, satisfied it was correct, put the page online.

The next day, I received a call while at home.

Me: *Answering on autopilot* “Hello, [Bookshop]. How can I help you?”

As I spoke, I realised what I had done and readied myself for an explanation.

Caller: “Ah, yes, hello. Can you tell me if you have [Book] in stock?”

Me: “Uh… of course! However, can you please call this number, instead?” *Gives the actual store number* “I’m afraid the number on the website isn’t for the shop front.”

Caller: *Slightly confused* “Okay… Thanks!”

After the call ended, I immediately contacted my colleague, who managed to update the site. Somehow, in checking the contact details, I hadn’t noticed that I’d entered my personal address and landline instead of the bookshop’s! In fairness, however, they were on the same road and shared an area code.

Thankfully, there were no other calls to my home number… and I never answered the phone in the same way again!

Two friends and I (along with several thousand other knitters from all over the world) descend on the ancient and beautiful city of Edinburgh, Scotland for the annual Yarn Festival. I’ve booked rooms in a guesthouse, and at breakfast the first morning, we discover that everyone else at the table is there for the same reason. There’s a total of four Americans and two Austrians. We quickly calculate that it will be slightly cheaper and much faster for us to split a taxi fare six ways than to ride the bus to the venue every day.

Although we have all signed up for classes, the real draw is the stunning variety of beautiful wools offered by two exhibition halls worth of vendors. We hold back the first day, but at sunset on the second day, the six of us stagger out of the venerable Corn Exchange heavily laden with purchases.

Our driver watches as we pack bag after bag after bag into his Tardis-like black taxi.

Finally, he asks slyly:

Driver: “Wouldnae it be cheaper tae just tak’ a sheep home wid ye?”

This story is part of our Halfway-Through-2022 roundup!

Read the next Halfway-Through-2022 roundup story!

Read the Halfway-Through-2022 roundup!

I paid my way through my degree working part-time around my studies in a job that paid slightly more than minimum wage. Although I was staying with my parents, I was pretty much living from payday to payday.

It was coming up for my sister’s birthday and she asked for a loan.

Me: “I’m really, really skint at the moment. I could loan you £30, but your night out is a week before I get paid. If you don’t pay me back first, I can’t afford to go to your night out.”

Sister: “Of course I’ll pay you back; I want you there for my birthday. Thank you so much.”

The night out came along and I met her at the bar, gave her my gift, and used my last £10 to buy us both drinks. I waited for her to pay me back and the night went on and on and on without her mentioning it.

Me: “Hey, sorry to ask, but do you have the money you borrowed? Remember I told you I was skint? I only have my bus fare home left at the moment.”

Sister: “I can’t believe you are asking for money on my birthday! That’s really classy.”

Me: “Hey, I told you before I gave you the money that I needed it back or I couldn’t come. You promised it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Sister: “Whatever, f*** you.”

She took the money out of her pocket, threw it at me, and stormed off.