A guy comes into our animal shelter over the Christmas period.

Guy: “Excuse me, but your sign outside says, ‘A puppy is for life, not just for Christmas.’ Is that really all that common? People giving up their dogs after Christmas?”

Me: “I’m afraid it really is, sir. Puppies are very common Christmas gifts, but as they get older, we see a lot of families who didn’t do the research and aren’t prepared for the realities of a growing and energetic dog.”

Guy: “That’s horrible! How old are they when they’re given up?”

Me: “It varies, but usually, we get them handed in by the end of summer break. That’s usually the point when the family is overwhelmed — or even worse, bored of them.”

Guy: “This is making me so angry. I have a big house and land, and I have two dogs who get along pretty well with each other and other dogs! If you get anyone handing their dogs in as unwanted Christmas gifts, you give me a call. I will make sure they get a good home!”

Me: “Sir, that’s very generous of you, but we also need to make sure the dogs go to good homes, and when kind people such as yourself ask for multiple dogs we need to make doubly sure.”

Guy: “My family lives in three big houses spread over our farm. We have lots of kids between us all, and they’re always asking for dogs. We can take a bunch; trust me.”

He pulled out his phone and showed me his house, his two lovely dogs, his adult children, and so many grandkids that I lost track.

That year, he and the extended family (one adult couple and two couples each with multiple kids) adopted six dogs from us. I track them all on Facebook, and they seem like the happiest dogs ever, despite having been Christmas “rejects”.

My mother got into an argument with an alcoholic family member. Now, this family member was calling us every ten minutes and harassing us; she was blitzed out of her mind drunk and thought this was a good idea. This was causing my mother undue stress, and my mother could not get a word in edgewise because this family member would scream obscenities at her until my mother hung up on her. Rinse and repeat.

Finally, after the third call:

Me: “Let me answer the phone next time. Don’t let her get to you. Go calm down.”

The phone rang again and I answered. [Family Member] started screaming obscenities at me, thinking I was my mother. I tried to get it through to her that she had me on the phone and my mother wasn’t going to be talking to her anymore, but like my mother, I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

Then, finally, I let out a deafening scream into the phone.

Me: “SHUT YOUR F****** MOUTH FOR ONE G**D***ED MINUTE, YOU F****** DRUNK, STUPID PIECE OF S***!”

There was a pause, and then she screamed back.

Family Member: “F*** YOU!”

She hung up on me, but she never called back again.

When I put the phone down, my mother was staring at me with eyes wide and jaw on the floor.

Mother: “I… have never heard you swear in my life!”

Me: “Sorry. It was the only way I could get through to her!”

In The Netherlands, the traditional treat to celebrate a newborn baby is “beschuit met muisjes”, a round cracker (beschuit) with sugar-coated aniseeds (muisjes) — blue for boys and pink for girls.

A man comes through my checkout lane. He looks exhausted. He has eight rolls of beschuit, a tub of butter, and two packs of muisjes, one blue and one pink.

Me: “Congratulations on the twins, sir!”

Customer: “Thanks!” *Pauses for a second* “Wait, how do you know they’re twins?”

I hold up both packs of muisjes.

Me: “A boy and a girl?”

Customer: “Ah.” *Another short pause* “It’s been a long night…”

We somehow chose a name for our second daughter that was close in spelling to her cousin’s name. I swear, my sister-in-law never told me it was her dream name for her child. Our child was born two years before and named Macy; our niece was Maiizelen, nicknamed Maizie. 

My child’s earliest memories were showing up at the two or so family events, and one of the cousins saying, “Did you know there are two Maizie [Our Last Name]s? I like the other one better.” There’s a back story about teen marriage and ugly divorce with the cousins’ parents, but it’s not important.

We brought up this behavior with the family (again, another back story).

Sister-In-Law: “They’re just children!”

Me: “You’re in your twenties; you know better.”

The cousins also used to lock the child of their father’s second wife in the closet at Grandma’s house.

Fast forward to Macy being twenty-three. It’s Christmas morning. The cousins have been pregaming for the 10:00 am brunch at Grandma’s, and they’ve brought along their red Solo cups. One cousin turns his cup away when Macy walks up to him, but not before she sees “#RealMaizie[Our Last Name]”. He’s embarrassed. So, the cousins have been pregaming by making fun of Macy once again.  

No surprise, Maizie was not invited to Macy’s wedding at the extremely nice venue — a thirty-fifth-floor private club in a major city with a live band, an open bar, and a flower wall for Instragam photos. But she did comment on Macy’s Instagram photo, which [Sister-In-Law] shared. 

Maizie: “Must be nice to be invited to a family event.”

Macy responded with a request for her aunt to take down the image, as well as:

Macy: “I don’t know why you would ever expect to be invited since my earliest memories of you were being bullied.”

This is one of those “don’t make a rash judgment” type of stories.

I’m working in a store. It is the middle of winter, around 10:00 pm, an hour before we close. My register is right next to the doors and it is freezing. I am bundled up and have a little heater going on my legs.

The door opens and in comes a man with his wife and their toddler. The husband and wife are bundled up in scarves, gloves — the works. The toddler, however, is in a diaper… and that’s it. During the summer, if a toddler comes in like that, no big deal. But it’s so cold!

I don’t say anything, but apparently, my face does. I am judging them. They look at me a bit sheepishly.

Father: “We’re on our way home, and our son has a stomach bug. It just keeps shooting out the back end, out the diaper, and up the clothes.”

Me: “Oh, my gosh!”

Mother: “We still have two hours to go to get home, but we need to get more clothes and diapers or we’re not going to make it.” 

I felt so bad for them — and so bad about my snap judgment on them — that when they came back through my line, I gave them a discount on everything. It wasn’t much since I’m only a cashier and have a limit on how much I’m allowed to do.