I work in a small open-plan office. I have just finished writing a technical manual, so I hand the hard copy over to my technical manager for checking. As a precursor to asking if anyone else wants a drink, I make a comment.

Me: “Well, I think I’ve earned myself a cup of tea.”

Before I can ask if anyone else wants one, my technical manager responds.

Technical Manager: “You get paid in tea now, do you?”

Me: “There’s a thought.”

Coworker: “The rate you go, you’d be paid a fortune.”

Me: “Can you imagine the problems that would happen if anyone found out about me being paid in tea? Trouble brewing!”

There are a lot of groans around the office, and the admin assistant’s head falls into her hands with a comment of, “Oh, [My Name]!”

Me: “You don’t know how much pleasure your collective cries of agony gave me.”

I live in Belgium and am visiting my brother in Bratislava for a few days. For dinner, we go to a nice restaurant in a not-too-touristy area. When ordering our food, I ask the waiter which beers they have. I’m something of a beer lover so I love to sample as many of the local beers as possible when I’m abroad.

With a hint of pride, the waitress tells me, “We’ve got something special. We have [Belgian Abbey Beer I can buy in any supermarket at home].”

I ordered the wine.

I live in a small town. I recently enjoyed some sake at a hibachi steak house. I stop by the local liquor store to purchase some for home consumption. I look around the store but can’t find sake. I approach the cashier. Let’s call him “Pete.”

Me: “Do you have any sake?”

Pete: “Any what?”

Me: “Sake.”

Pete: “Hmm… over here.”

He takes me over to the import beers and points to a six-pack of Dos Equis.

Me: “No, sake. Japanese rice wine.”

Pete walks us back to the counter and gets the manager out of the back room.

Pete: “Do we have sake?”

Manager: “Yeah, it’s over in the corner.”

Pete walks us to a corner of the store that looks seldom traveled. I get the feeling this is where purchasing mistakes and forgotten special orders go to die.

Pete: *Points.* “This?”

I grab a bottle of sake and blow a few years’ worth of dust off it.

Me: “Yeah, that’s it. Thanks!”

I miss that small town and that liquor store.

A friend of mine was appointed executor of their mother’s will. Not knowing what to do, they asked my help. There were a few issues that needed addressing: a joint savings account naming [Friend] and their late mother, a bequest to friends of the late mother, and a brother of my friend who had not been named as a beneficiary, any of which alone would have been too complex for [Friend] to deal with without legal representation.

I asked my attorney, who had drafted my will, how to proceed. My attorney doesn’t do estate law, so they referred me to a colleague.

After some preliminary conversations by phone with [Colleague], my friend and I visited their office and were greeted by their assistant. We waited and waited and waited until finally [Colleague], who’d been on the phone all that time, came in looking somewhat bemused.

It seems that, about the time we’d arrived at [Colleague]’s office, [Brother] had phoned [Colleague] for a free phone consultation — in response to [Colleague]’s advertising, we presume — and was looking to employ [Colleague] on his behalf. [Colleague] had spoken to him seriously about his case until it became obvious that he was referring to exactly the same mother and will that [Colleague] was present to consult about, and that there would be a serious conflict of interest if [Colleague] accepted [Brother]’s case!

A couple of years after the fact, [Attorney] mentioned that they still marveled over that coincidence.

I have a friend staying over from the US for about three weeks who has some mobility challenges. On short walks, she can use a cane, but whenever we really go out she will use her wheelchair.

One day, an unfortunate bump from the sidewalk pops the tire of one wheel. We try to fix it at my place, but between these things being incredibly tight fits and me having no specialised nor tools in US sizes, I call around to find a repair service.

We find one and make an appointment for two or three pm the next day. At about 2:45, we get a call. They can’t make it, because the scootmobile of an elderly person gave out in the middle of the road. Annoying for us, but totally fair to give that person priority. We get an appointment for the same time the next day.

Around 3:15, it’s pretty clear they aren’t going to be on time, so I give a call.

Operator: “Yes, our mechanic was at [Street], number eighteen, but nobody knew anything about a wheelchair so they moved on to the next appointment.”

Me: “I’m sorry, did you say number eighteen? I live at 118!”

Operator: “Ohhh. Well, let’s make an appointment for tomorrow, okay?”

The next day, they showed up reasonably close to on time and quickly had things fixed, so in the end, not too many days of my friend’s holiday were lost. But still, they had proven to be capable of calling me, yet when it looks like the address is wrong the protocol is to move on without offering information?