A delivery driver comes to our office front door, looking for a nearby company with a similar name to ours. I answer his knock.

Me: “The roads here are a bit of a spider’s web, but if you take the first left and turn right immediately, their office will be straight in front of you.”

Driver: “There’s no road to turn right onto.”

Me: “You need to turn left and then immediately turn right.”

Driver: “I can’t turn right; there’s no road.”

Me: “I get that. You need to turn left and then right immediately after.”

Driver: “There’s no right to take.”

Me: “Because you need to turn left. After you’ve turned left, you can then turn right.”

Driver: “There’s no right there. Can you get someone else to help who knows what they’re talking about?”

Me: “You need to turn left, mate. Left. Turn left.”

Driver: “I CANNOT TURN RI— Oh, you meant left? Why didn’t you say so?”

Me: “I did. You need to turn left and then turn right.”

Driver: “Why didn’t you say that to start with, you [slur for a foolish person]?”

Me: “I’m done here. Good luck, and also f*** off, pal.”

I slammed the door. To heck with him!

We’ve all been told to clear our desks. We are moving to “hotdesks,” which means that you book any desk available and sit in a different one each day. While a lot of people don’t like it, I don’t mind at all. Frankly, I don’t particularly like the people who sit next to me. [Coworker] in particular always “borrows” things and never gives them back.

I’m clearing out my desk. I get most of it done then move on to the top drawer. It contains many dried-up pens, some miscellaneous stationery, and a big pack of sweets that went out of date months ago. I grab the odd nicer pen from the drawer and commit the rest to a pile on my desk.

I go to look for some bin bags and return to see my desk clear. I guess that someone must be collecting rubbish, as many of the bins have been emptied, too. I put it down to an over-enthusiastic cleaner. Good job I wasn’t keeping anything!

Before I leave for the day, I’m making sure I get my “borrowed” stuff back from [Coworker]. He can find someone else to steal from, from now on.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], I need my calculator back.”

Coworker: “I don’t think I have it.”

Me: “Top drawer, left-hand side, can’t miss it. It has my name on it.”

Coworker: “Oh, so it is. How did that get there?!”

Me: “Yeah, okay, thanks. I’m packed up so I won’t be sitting over there anymore.”

Coworker: “That’s a shame; I will miss you. Want a sweet?”

Me: “Oh, my favourites. Thanks.”

I look down and it’s the same packet that I was going to throw away — the same ones that are at least seven months out of date. He has eaten half of them, and they look sticky and discoloured.

Me: “You know what? I’ll give it a miss, thanks.”

Thankfully, I have sat far from [Coworker] since. I won’t miss his kleptomaniac ways.

I’m shopping in this family-run record store. The sweet old guy who normally runs it is in hospital. While the service sucks now, I still try to make the effort to go there first before shopping online.

No sooner do I step in the store than I get barged forcefully to one side by a guy running with armfuls of CDs. I turn to see him get into a waiting car and crash his way out of the car park.

I’m pretty shocked to see the member of staff on duty not even looking up.

Me: “That guy just hit me and ran out the store. I’m guessing he stole all those CDs.”

The worker stares at me blankly.

Me: “You’re not going to call the police or ask me for his licence plate?”

Worker: “They don’t pay me to care.”

Me: “Wow. Well, I doubt the owner of that Fiesta shares your sentiment.”

Worker: “What?!”

He ran outside — just short of pushing me out of the way, too! The thief had hit the corner of his car. It looked pretty bad; the wheel was bent at a weird angle. The worker wouldn’t be driving that car any time soon.

Suddenly, he wanted to hear what I had to say, and as tempted as I was to tell him that he didn’t pay me to care, I told him to call the police and figure out what was missing (several times) if he wanted me to make a statement.

The old guy who runs the shop got out of hospital and made a full recovery. The worker was his nephew, and he nearly ran the place into the ground. The store slowly got back to where it had been before when people heard the old guy was back running the store.

I’m sweeping up some clippings after an afternoon of gardening outside the small front of my house.

A man and two women stroll past, talking jovially, but I can’t understand what they say. Weirdly, they stop a few feet from me. The guy stares at me and then clicks fingers at me.

Man: “What is that?”

He points at me.

Me: “What is what?”

Woman #1: “The watch — what is it?”

Me: “It’s a watch; tells the time.”

I go back to sweeping.

Man: “Let me see.”

He snaps his finger and reaches out his hand.

Me: “Nope.”

I pick up my tools and walk back to the house.

Woman #1: “You come back here! We want to know where you got that from.”

Me: *Lying* “A watch shop. What is it to you?”

Woman #2: “People around here, so rude.”

Me: “Please and thank you will get you far ‘around here.’”

I chalk it down to rudeness, maybe a failed robbery attempt. I put it out of my mind, and I don’t see them around for a few days.

Then, I get a note through my door.

Note: “I want to buy your watch, £5. Not worth any more than that.”

It wasn’t until I checked the local social media pages that I discovered that these three had been approaching people all over the neighbourhood, poking around people’s open garages, and looking in the back of cars. They’d been looking to rip people off, lying about the value of things and trying to buy cheap.

It turns out that they did me a favour in a way; I got the watch valued and it was worth way more than I thought. I still have it, but I don’t wear it to do the gardening anymore!

Finance has given everyone a talking down to about how they treat the company credit cards. People have been buying non-work-related items, repeatedly losing the cards, and not signing the back of the cards, which can lead to more fraud and losses.

Someone from finance has come around to make sure they are all signed. [Coworker], who sits next to me, huffs and puffs about getting her card; clearly, she didn’t sign it.

Coworker: “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Finance Rep: “If you don’t sign it, someone could find it and sign their own signature, meaning they could use it to buy whatever they wanted.”

Coworker: “But how likely is that?”

Finance Rep: “This is, what, your fifth card due to loss?! I would say it is pretty likely.”

Coworker: “Fine! Look! I’m signing it. See?!”

[Coworker] signs her card in block capitals, making it so easy to forge.

Finance Rep: “I’m going to have to have a word with my boss.”

[Coworker] got her card revoked, meaning she had to make a claim for everything she bought, which is a massive pain of paperwork. She moaned and wailed about how the finance team “didn’t understand money,” all while putting through things she shouldn’t be claiming for in the first place.