When I was four, our century-old wooden farmhouse burned to ash. It was January, so all our Christmas gifts went up in flames along with everything else we owned. We literally were left with only the clothes on our backs.

My parents didn’t know how they were going to afford to replace the necessities. They were not rich, and due to the age of the house there wasn’t much in the way of insurance. With two small children to care for, things were looking rather grim.

Then the donations started to arrive. Friends, neighbors, and local clubs and businesses all pitched in. These people, many of whom were strangers, gave money, clothes, furniture, and even toys. This support was especially heart-warming considering that January tended to be a difficult time of year for folks. Our rural community came together and did what they could to help my family through one of the most difficult periods of my life. Even though I was only four at the time, I still smile when I remember their kindness.

(I’m a tenth-grader taking driver’s ed because I ended up not taking it the year before. Three of the more popular ninth-graders sit in front of me.)

Girl #1: *out of nowhere* “You know, if chlamydia weren’t a STD, it would be a really pretty name.”

Girl #2: “Really?”

Girl #3: *mockingly* “Could you imagine? ‘Oh, hi. This is my daughter, Chlamydia, and my son, Herpes. Nice to meet you.’”

(I tried to not die of laughter because I didn’t want them to know I was eavesdropping, but I was also trying not to show my great disappointment with this statement.)

I’m working seasonally at a department store around Christmas. One day I’m in textiles and a pregnant lady comes up to me asking to help her with some pillows. We go to the pillows and she picks out 8-10 that she wants. She won’t carry a single one because she’s pregnant — her words. So I have to make two or three trips back up to the register. I ring her up and she leaves.

The next day I’m working in the kitchen department. She comes up to the register with a big box (heavier than pillows!) and says, “You again?” The box is a free gift with purchase. It even says so on the side of the box. It’s a set of three sauté pans that you get when you buy a larger set of cookware. I immediately tell her this is a free gift with purchase and point out the words on the box. She tells me she wants her money back anyway. The box is all faded and has huge grease spots all over it.

This store has customer return label stickers that act as a receipt. They get scanned and put on anything you buy. I scan the label because she doesn’t have a receipt and see that she “bought” (acquired?) the set last Christmas season, and it’s showing she’ll get zero dollars back for returning it because it’s a FREE GIFT WITH PURCHASE.

I show her the computer screen and she refuses to leave this store without some money for her used pans. She walks me over to the same cookware set and gift with purchase and shows me. Ok. You still didn’t pay anything for it. She insists she paid for it. I ring up one of the new boxes to show her it won’t even let you ring it up without ringing the bigger cookware set first.

I finally flag down a manager after what seemed like hours and ran away to tidy up another part of the department until she left, so I don’t know if she ever got any money for the pans she didn’t pay for and used for a year!

(My boss is an inept person who lacks most skills it takes to run a business. This takes place via text:)

Me: “[Name] called and asked that you call him as soon as possible. He did not leave a phone number.”

Boss: “What’s his phone number?”

(I am in bad shape after a rough breakup that involved several of my friends “choosing sides” in favor of my ex. This happens not long after my parents’ divorce, and I am also a senior in college with a thieving roommate. I am struggling daily with extreme stress and depression, and on a particularly bad day, I swallow a bunch of pills. A friend takes me to the hospital, where I am informed that my action has triggered some legal thing in which they must send me to a psychiatric unit, that I have no say in the matter, and that my friend must leave. I am horrified, ashamed, and alone. Hours later, after being locked in a dark hospital room, an “intake counselor” comes in and starts asking me questions before I’m taken to the psych unit. I answer him honestly and list all of the factors in the thunderstorm that was my life, including my parents’ divorce, a dear friend moving away, and my fiancé dumping me, and at the end of it all, I say:)

Me: “I just feel so abandoned, like people keep leaving me.”

Counselor: *puts down his pad, looks me straight in the eye* “Well, clearly, there’s something wrong with you.”

Me: “What?”

Counselor: “There’s something wrong with you, or people wouldn’t leave you. Something about you makes them leave.”

Me: *shocked and in tears* “There’s nothing wrong with me; I’m just having a hard time—”

Counselor: *cutting me off* “No. There’s something wrong with you. We’re going to take you to a place where they fix you. Then, this won’t happen anymore. We’re done. They’ll come for you soon.”

(He abruptly left, and I burst into tears, suddenly terrified by whatever this place was they were taking me to and what could be in store for me. The scary place turned out to be a rehab facility, not an electro-shock chamber with “A Clockwork Orange” eye clamps like I imagined, and I was actually able to get some help in dealing with my losses and grief. My friend who took me to the hospital continues to be amazing and helps me sort out things in my life so that I can get healthy. I have never gone back to that dark place, metaphorically or literally. Thankfully, when I told my parents about what the intake counselor said, they furiously called up the clinic. The clinic representative admitted it wasn’t the first time they had received complaints about how he talked to patients. A year later, I heard through my therapist with whom the clinic had placed me that the intake counselor had been let go. I was glad to hear, because his words haunted me, and still do to an extent.)