One day, after picking up a few friends in my car, we happened to drive past an art gallery that had a display about art’s role in advertising and marketing. One of my friends works in that area, so he was pointing out some interesting parts of the display through my window to the other passengers as I was parked next to it waiting for the lights to change.

Just as the light turned green, a police officer started knocking very aggressively on my passenger side window. I rolled the window down and asked the officer what was happening. He pointed aggressively at my friend.

Officer: “You! Out of the car right now!”

As you can imagine, we were all very confused. As my friend got out of the car, the vehicles behind me were all beeping their horns because I was blocking traffic, but the officer closed the door as soon as my friend got out and wouldn’t let anyone else in the car follow. I asked him what he wanted us to do.

Officer: “I don’t care. Get lost.”

We had missed the light, so we had to wait for the next green light, at which point I parked in the first space I could find so that the cop couldn’t get me on a traffic offence. This took five minutes, and we were just about to get out of the car and go find my friend when he came walking along.

Friend: “Hey! Where did you go?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, [Friend]. The cop made us leave. We were just coming back for you. What happened?”

Friend: “Oh, you’re not going to believe this. He thought I had stuck my finger up at him. I told him that he was mistaken — I was pointing at the art exhibit — but he wouldn’t believe me. He asked me if I could prove my story and I was like, ‘No, you made my friends leave!’ I think he was trying to show off for his partner, because he asked his partner if he had seen anything and he just looked really uncomfortable and said no. That’s why he let me leave.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t get the officer’s badge number and decided to let it go instead of filing a complaint.

Many years ago, I worked in a trendy bar in the centre of Glasgow. The team was very cliquey and would often stop to chat between themselves and customers, even when we were really busy. It got to the point where I was the only person trusted to leave the bar area, do a job, and come back without wasting time. That’s how it fell to me to take all of the bins out, collect glasses, and replenish the stock.

One day, I was putting some rubbish bags in our holding area and noticed one of our metal buckets — used for serving multiple bottles of beer — balanced precariously on top of a number of bags. It started to tip toward me, but I caught it before it fell, which turned out to be extremely lucky because it was filled with vomit.

I took it inside and tipped the contents down the toilet before disposing of the bucket and starting to make enquiries about who was responsible for this. Eventually, someone directed me toward [Coworker] and we had this little chat.

Me: “Hey, [Coworker]. Did you have to clean up someone’s puke earlier?”

Coworker: “Oh, hey, yeah. It was disgusting, but y’know, I was the only guy on duty and it was in the gents, so needs must.”

Me: “Yeah, that makes sense, but why did you use one of our good beer buckets?”

Coworker: “[Manager] told me to do it.”

Me: “Ah, right. Did [Manager] tell you not to empty it and to stack it on top of a pile of bin bags?”

Coworker: “Erm, no. I just didn’t think.”

Me: “Okay, you’re a lucky guy, then.”

Coworker: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Well, when I took the bins out, the bucket nearly fell on me. Let me tell you, if it had, then you and I would be taking this outside right now. As I said, you’re a lucky man.”

[Coworker] stared at me until he realised I wasn’t joking and then pretty much ran off. I’m not a particularly violent or scary guy, but I think my anger was quite apparent. Whatever. It never happened again.

I am third in the queue at a local supermarket. At the counter, there is a lovely, polite, elderly lady with the telltale jerking movements of Parkinson’s. Her voice is a little slurred, soft, and monotonous.

Lady: “I’m sorry I’m so slow. Can I just get these?”

She puts through five items, mostly lunch stuff.

Cashier: “No worries, not a problem at all! Would you like a bag?”

The next customer cuts in.

Man: “Well, I’m f****** worried! You shouldn’t be allowed out in public like that.”

He gets up in the old lady’s face.

Cashier: “Stop that immediately!”

Man: “Listen, b****, I shouldn’t have to wait in line because some old f***** can’t handle her highs!”

Meanwhile, the old lady is calmly putting her stuff in her bag… except for a can of soda which she holds in her hand.

Cashier: “Excuse me. That is my mother, and she has Parkinson’s Disease; it is a neurological degenerative condition that causes those movements.”

The manager can be seen approaching but is still a few moments away.

Man: “Like f*** she is! She’s just high!”

The lady opens the now very well-shaken can of soda and proceeds to drop it at the man’s feet, causing it to spurt upward in a jet of foam and thoroughly soak him.

Lady: “Oh, I’m terribly sorry! I have Parkinson’s disease. There was a spasm in my hand and I let go of it. I’m soooooo sorry!”

The other customer shouts for a bit and then gets thrown out by the manager.

The elderly lady then waits at the end of the checkout to speak to her daughter after she finishes serving me, and that’s when I notice her mischievous grin.

Me: “You totally meant to do that, didn’t you?” *Smirks*

Lady: “H*** yeah, I did!” *Smiles sweetly* “I may have Parkinson’s, but I can still deal with an a**hole or two!”

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My mother is a high school maths teacher working with some of the younger and more difficult students. To try and encourage her students, she stamps their work with various motivational phrases.

A few minutes after giving her class back their homework, she notices one student looking a bit puzzled for a few minutes before putting his hand up.

Student: “Miss, what’s a eunuch?”

Although this isn’t exactly a maths question, my mum decides to try and answer anyway.

Mum: “Uh, well, a long time ago, in some countries, nobles used to have lots of wives or girlfriends who were all housed in special rooms within their palaces. You know how dogs can get neutered to prevent them having puppies? Well, they used to do that to some of their male servants so that they could be trusted to look after the women, and those servants were called eunuchs.”

As you can imagine, all of the students in the class have stopped what they were doing and are watching this scene. The student looks even more puzzled and a bit angry.

Student: “Well, why did you call me a eunuch, then?”

Mum: “What? What are you talking about? When did I call you a eunuch?”

Student: “You did! You wrote it on my homework!”

Mum: “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Show me.”

The student stormed up to her desk with his homework in hand and showed her the message she had stamped on it. What did it say?

“You’re unique.”

When I am still living with my parents, I buy a box of Red Bush (Rooibos) tea for myself, and I have just made a cup one evening when I run into my dad in the kitchen.

Dad: “That doesn’t smell like normal tea. What is it?”

Me: “It’s Red Bush tea. Someone told me that it’s decaf and healthy, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

Dad: “What is it, though?”

Me: “Oh, it’s also called Rooibos tea. Is that what you mean?”

Dad: “No! What is it?”

Me: “I don’t know what you mean! It’s tea! Tea from a red bush!”

Dad: “WHERE IS IT FROM?”

Me: “Somewhere in Africa, I think.”

Dad: “THANK YOU! THAT’S WHAT I WAS ASKING!”

Me: “No, it wasn’t!”

I’m not sure if the tea is meant to have a calming effect or not, but it certainly didn’t when we stormed off in opposite directions.