We have been fundraising for charity. Many students take on a sponsored activity and get people to pay them. Some run and get paid per mile; others bake and sell cakes. [Student], the class voice box, decides to do a sponsored silence.

Everyone is surprised; [Student] cannot keep quiet even when saying nothing at all. But all day, she says nothing at all, not even on break.

The next day, everyone is talking about donations and collections. [Student] pipes up.

Student: “I raised £53!”

Me: “That’s really good.”

Student: “Yeah, I got my whole family to sponsor me, as well as people from school.”

Friend: “Well done.”

Student: “Yeah, I don’t know what I will spend the money on.”

Me: “You don’t get to keep the money. You realise that? It’s for charity.”

Student: “No! I did the sponsored silence; I raised the money.”

Friend: “Yeah, I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, [My Name].”

Me: “You guys know this is for charity, right? The whole day is for charity.”

Student: *Sarcastically* “Yeah, sure. Don’t forget you both owe me money for yesterday.”

I blew her off. I’m not paying when she was supposed to be donating it. Apparently, many others didn’t, either. [Student]’s mum ended up coming to the school to complain only to be told that she needed to give the money to the school. I don’t think that money ever made it to the charity.

I am collecting a child’s seat that I bought on social media. I pay, and as soon as I get it inside the car, the stench of cigarettes hits me.

I put it in the boot so I won’t have to smell it. I go home and scrub the seat clean, soak it in disinfectant, and when it still smells, I clean it again. I really wonder what effect it had on a child’s health when a plastic item stinks so badly.

I set it out to dry, and then I notice a message from the woman.

Woman: “Can you return the item? A friend wants it now.”

Me: “Sorry, I paid for the item and have spent a lot of time cleaning it. I don’t want to return it.”

Woman: “How dare you? I cleaned it this morning. And you have to return it; I want my property back!”

I think about it some more. While it’s clean, a new one isn’t that much more expensive, so I make her an offer.

Me: “You can buy it from me, but I want my time, fuel, and cleaning costs compensated for.”

Woman: “How f****** dare you, you f****** scammer?! I should come round and take it myself!”

Me: “You don’t know where I live, so good luck with that.”

She did contact me again, pleading that her friend had no money, wanting me to drive across the city to drop it off to her friend. I didn’t validate that with a reply.

Our youngest child has grown out of her baby things, so we decide to sell everything off cheap, as we remember how difficult it was when we started out.

We are inundated with messages from many young parents, many of whom have no transport to collect. I end up making many stops to many grateful parents, some in some pretty dire states. We don’t make much more than it costs me in petrol, but it does feel good.

For one drop-off, I drive up the street to a small two-bedroom house with a majorly modified car in front of the house; clearly, a lot of money was spent on it, which is odd for parents buying cheap second-hand items, and for a woman who gave a long sob story about how hard it would be to get two busses over to me. I knock on the door and a woman answers.

Woman: “What?”

Me: “I have the baby items you wanted.”

Woman: “Oh, yeah.” *Shuffles through them* “Bit tatty, aren’t they?”

Me: “Plenty of life left in them. It was on the advert.”

They are a little worn but barely noticeable.

Woman: “I can give you £10.”

Me: “We agreed on £15; there is easily £60 worth of stuff here!”

Woman: *Puts her hands on her hips* “Well, that’s all I got. Take it or leave it.”

Me: “Fair enough.”

I walked back to the car and threw the box of items in the boot. I could hear the woman swearing and hollering at me from her doorstep. As I started to drive away, she tried to get in front of the car, but I managed to put my foot down and get out of there.

I received abusive messages from her and what I assume were her friends. We decided to come off social media for a few months after that.

I’ve been taking martial arts classes for years. I’m not very good, but I enjoy it and the fitness element is great. Part of the class involves the use of basic weapons — staffs, sticks, nunchucks, etc. — and we are encouraged to buy our own if we want to practise at home. Every week, I take my staff to the car, drive to the lesson, and drive back, and every week, my neighbour heckles and asks the stupidest questions to try to undermine me and my interests.

[Neighbour] is an overweight, middle-aged man who sits outside his house smoking most of the afternoon. He is miserable and a pretty lousy neighbour all round.

Neighbour: “Off to your little fitness class?”

Me: “Yes, [Neighbour].”

Neighbour: “No, wait, you’re little karate boy, aren’t you?” *Laughs to himself*

Me: “Very funny, [Neighbour].”

Neighbour: “Why don’t you take up a proper sport like boxing?”

I stay silent but walk faster across the carpark.

Neighbour: “I was the star boxer. That will get you fit, not prancing about doing stupid flips.”

Me: “[Neighbour], there are people in comas in better shape than you. I don’t want to hear your advice on fitness.”

Thankfully, I reached my car and drove off. I would let off some steam in my lesson, but unfortunately, things got stressful before I even made it home. I returned to find a police car in my parking space.

It turned out that my neighbour told them I threatened him with a weapon. Of course, I didn’t, and I had video to prove it, both on my car and on the carpark CCTV.

I couldn’t press charges, but I did get a type of restraining order in place. He couldn’t go near me or better still talk to me or about me in earshot. It was bliss.

I just started a new job in a lab and picked up the work quickly. After a few months, I’m introduced to [Coworker], an old guy who has been with the company for decades. I’ve never had much to do with [Coworker]; he does whatever he has to do, away in the corner.

It turns out much of the work in the lab has changed dramatically in the last ten years, and [Coworker] just can’t keep up. They keep him on to work some of the older machines and that’s all he does. [Coworker] is taking a holiday and they ask me to try to learn how to do the basics of his work before he leaves.

It turns out that [Coworker] is a bitter old technophobe. Any discussion or any mention of anything new in the past twenty years is met with derision. He has nothing good to say about anyone or anything. Whenever his PC throws up an error message (by his doing), he complains and mocks “how great modern technology is.”

The training is painfully slow. I sit in silence for most of the week. Eventually, it is over and [Coworker] goes on holiday.

Boss: “If you need any help on [Coworker’s machine], let me know and we can go through it together.”

Me: “Oh, thanks. But I’m finished.”

Boss: “Already? Well, you can make a start on the work pending after your break.”

Me: “I did that, too. I was going to ask, is there much more for today? I can go back to my normal job, otherwise.”

Boss: *Pauses* “No, that was the work for the week.”

Me: “Oh, okay. Slow week, I guess.”

Boss: “Can you show me how you did it? Not that I don’t believe you.”

Me: “Err… sure.”

I show him how I used the machine, just like I was trained. He runs a few through tasks himself and gets the same results.

Boss: “Keep this between you and me, but this work normally takes a full week, and you did it in a few hours. But [Coworker] only has two more months at the company. “

Me: “Okay, I get it.”

[Coworker] came back, and the first thing he asked was if I’d broken the machine; the youth of today don’t listen so he would have to recheck everything. My boss stopped him there and let him know that I had done a great job and would be taking over full-time after he retired.

More negativity and derision.

Thankfully, a few months later, he retired, but not before one last act of pettiness: he took the books and notes for the old machines. Luckily, my notes were more than enough, and the machines were replaced a year later, anyway.