I renovate furniture as a hobby. Most of the time, I intend to use it for my house, but sometimes it doesn’t turn out as I expect or, more often, it takes me so long to finish, I no longer need it.

I have had some good luck selling furniture. I get what I spent on it and sometimes a little more. As I say, it’s a hobby, so I’m not making massive amounts.

I find a table being sold for cheap. I message the woman selling it and pick it up. I rub it down and start the repairs. I have it sat to one side ready for painting when I get a message from the same woman.

Woman: “I need the table back; my sister wants it now.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’ve begun repairing it and it won’t look very good without a paint.”

Woman: “Well, how long will that take?”

Red flags appear, but she may have seen the renovated furniture I sell online.

Me: “A week or so, but I’ve not decided if I want to sell it yet.”

Woman: “I will message you in a week.”

A week goes by, the table is finished, and I am pretty happy with my handiwork. I’m not sure what to do with it yet, but if I could get a good price, I would part with it. Exactly a week to the day, the woman messages me again.

Woman: “Have you finished my table yet?”

Me: “I have finished the table you sold me, and I think I might be okay with selling it for the right price.”

I attach photos.

Woman: “I will pay you [the same I paid her].”

Me: “Sorry, but no. It cost me money to repair and paint it. If you want it, you will have to give me a fair price.”

Woman: “But it’s my table!”

Me: “I’ve decided not to sell. Thank you for your interest, but we have nothing more to discuss.”

I closed the conversation and listed the table for a reasonable price. I got many, many messages from her, from bargaining to threats, but none wanting to pay me what I’m worth.

I sold the table the very next day to another very happy woman. I decide to take a bit of a break in renovation, but I hope to get back to it soon.

I was a truck driver making a collection from a unit on an estate. The entrance has an “in” and an “out” with a gatehouse in between. I pull up alongside the window and hand over my paperwork. The guy looks at it for a while.

Guy: “What are you delivering?”

Me: “I’m not. I’m collecting.”

Guy: “What are you collecting?”

Me: “I have no idea; the paperwork says one pallet.”

He makes a phone call and someone says that he should speak to dispatch. Eventually, he sorts it out and then produces a clipboard.

Guy: “What’s your name?”

I tell him.

Guy: “Registration number?”

I tell him.

Guy: “What company are you?”

I point to the name on the driver’s door right in front of him. It’s also printed on the paperwork I gave him.

Guy: “Where are you from?” 

Now I am getting a little irritated by the interrogation, but I do accept that it’s not his fault. 

Me: “Do you mean originally, today, or my last call?”

He looks at me, clearly thinking I’m a smarta**e, so I make something up for him to write on his form.

When I get to dispatch, they load the pallet on with a forklift and then give me a multi-page printout to sign. It clearly lists all the various items on the pallet. This happens from time to time, so I write “UNCHECKED” and sign.

Guy: “You can’t do that.”

I point out that I will have to strip the pallet to check that every item is on there.

Guy: “I checked it; you can take my word for it.” 

I mutter something about “Company Policy” and ask if he wants to take the pallet off again.

Twenty minutes and a couple of phone calls later, I set off, complete with the pallet. I stop at the gatehouse and the same guy comes over to the window on this side.

Guy: “What’s your name?”

I just drove off. I never went there again.

My boyfriend can be a bit… different. One day, the phone rings, and I just hear his side of the conversation.

Boyfriend: “Running? No… it’s just sitting there watching me. Plotting! Waiting for me to let my guard fall. I think it hates me. I know it’s coming for me. Oh, no… It heard me. It knows I know! It’s coming! NO! NO! AAARRRRRRRRRRGH! AAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGHHH!”

And then he hangs up.

Me: “What the actual f***?”

Boyfriend: “Some kids called and wanted to know if my fridge was running.”

Apparently, they were really young and sounded completely freaked out, so if your kids are afraid to go into the kitchen… sorry? I really love my boyfriend but we’re never having children.

I was due to emigrate, but unfortunately, things were delayed. After a while, with money tight, I took a temporary job, any job I could find. It was particularly hard to find part-time work as no one wanted to hire an engineering manager to stack shelves or flip burgers.

But I found a supermarket nearby and got the job.

I’m pretty used to working hard in every job I do, so I did the same in this role. I was the first one there and the last one out. I took any job and task just to keep busy. I wasn’t trying to impress; it’s just the person I am.

I got a lot of hate from my coworkers; they saw me as a suck-up and a try-hard, no matter how much I tried to explain. But truly, I didn’t care what they said. In a month or two, I would be gone; they could hate me if they wanted for a while.

On the other hand, the management loved me; I didn’t call in sick, I worked without complaint, and I did as many hours as I could. In turn, I got the first pick on hours which, again, didn’t make me popular. 

Coworker: “Oh, I see someone got the weekend shift again.”

I ignore him.

Coworker: “Why is that, huh? Huh, bootlicker?”

Me: “Oh, talking to me? Well, if I had to guess, don’t be a massive screw-up who makes the same mistakes day in, day out.”

Coworker: “Mr. Perfect doesn’t make mistakes? Oh, why can’t we all be like Mr. Perfect?”

Me: “You put the stock in the right aisle; it’s not rocket science. How you manage to screw it up so often is beyond me.”

One of the managers walks in behind [Coworker]. I shut up. [Coworker] doesn’t.

Coworker: “Oh, so easy, that’s why you couldn’t do your own job? Why is it they fired you from your fancy engineering job?”

Manager: “[Coworker]!”

Coworker: “Some dumba** comes down here and sucks the d**k of these f***y, stupid, idiot managers.”

Manager: “[Coworker]!”

Coworker: *Finally turning around* “What? Oh, look who’s getting in trouble again!”

[Coworker] was led away; he didn’t return. With [Coworker] gone, the atmosphere changed, and suddenly, everyone was a lot friendlier. I made a few friends before I left. It’s amazing what one person can do to make life so difficult.

The work cafeteria is always overly generous with the little sauce sachets. Rather than putting them in the bin, I put them in my desk. Apparently, this is “weird” according to [Coworker] and a sign of hoarding. I have at most six; if I don’t get through them, someone will forget to pick one up and I give them one from my drawer.

I’ve been on a diet recently, so I have been bringing in my own lunch.

Coworker: *Sighs* “Do you have any tomato sauce?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Coworker: “You didn’t even look!”

Me: “No, but I know I don’t have any.”

Coworker: *Shouting* “Liar! You have hundreds in there! Now, suddenly, I ask for one and you run out?!”

Me: “Apparently so.”

Coworker: “Right! I’m not having this!”

She marches off and returns with a very confused woman from HR.

HR Employee: “What is this all about?”

[Coworker] looks at me with a smug expression.

Me: “[Coworker] asked to have some sauce, but I don’t have any.”

HR Employee: “Sorry, what?”

Coworker: “He’s lying. He has loads. He’s a hoarder!”

Me: *To the HR employee* “You can look if you like?”

I open the drawer I do have the odd packet but no sauce.

HR Employee: “Okay, well… I don’t really see an issue here. [Coworker], can you walk with me?”

I don’t know what is said, but it looks like [Coworker] has a bit of a reality check. I think the matter solved, but then I’m invited to another meeting with a senior HR staff.

Senior HR: “I presume you know why you’re here?”

Me: “I guess, but it all seems a bit of a waste of time.”

Senior HR: “I would agree, but a complaint has been made and I need to review it with you.”

Me: “Okay? So, [Coworker] complained that I didn’t give her my property, which I didn’t have.”

Senior HR: “Pretty much.”

Me: “So…? Was there anything else to discuss?”

Senior HR: “No. Thanks for taking the time to see me. I will recommend that this matter is dropped and [Coworker] apologises.”

Me: “Oh, that’s it? Great, thanks.”

[Coworker] never apologised but did at least avoid me from then on. Little victories.