Everyone is tired of the health crisis restrictions in the UK. We have just gone into a second lockdown, largely because idiots do not think the rules apply to them or don’t care that their actions have consequences.

We have lost family members directly due to the crisis and missed big family events, and our children have struggled, both through school and just quality of life.

All of this could have been prevented by just following some basic guidelines, so I don’t have much patience for these idiots.

I am in a popular clothing and home goods shop around mid-morning and am doing my best to keep well away from anyone. I see a guy down an aisle standing next to what I need. He is taking his sweet time, but I wait and wait. Clearly, he takes offence at this.

Man: “If you want to go past, just go!”

Me: “You’re not wearing a mask, so I’ll keep my distance, thanks.”

Man: “I’m exempt!”

Me: “Don’t care. If you’re not wearing a mask, I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

The man goes into a tirade of whiny BS about being persecuted and about how I should be banned from the store. As I wait for him to finish, he starts to walk up to me and I step back. He takes even more offence at this, getting louder and animated.

He has the store’s attention now. A few more customers are gathering around both ends of the aisle. I see a young staff member approach, looking tense.

An old guy sitting in his mobility scooter pipes up.

Old Man: “Young man, I am seventy-two and have a collapsed lung. I have to use an oxygen tank to breathe, and I can still wear a mask! What’s your excuse?”

The irate man looked around at the onlookers and there was a long silence before he stormed off.

A friend who used to live on my street moved out rather suddenly and then moved house again quite a bit thereafter. It was a little strange, but eventually, we found out that her parents divorced and the housing situation was a bit screwed up because it’s Australia and our welfare system is a bit… stupid.

Her dad has finally settled into a place more permanently and decides to host New Year’s. My friend invites me along, and despite having not really met that side of her family, I agree to come and join in the festivities.

On arrival, I’m introduced to an uncle who is probably only five to seven years our senior at best and who has been drinking rather heavily since yesterday afternoon. He gets to chatting and we learn that he has only recently recovered from a nasty car accident that shattered his legs. He’s all healed up and ready to celebrate the New Year, loudly proclaiming to all who’ll listen that next year will be his year since everything has gone so wrong in this one. I’m sympathetic to the poor guy; the accident was 100% not his fault and it was a horrendous and intense path to recovery. With a small child in his care, I can only imagine how hard the recovery must have been, so I don’t begrudge his drinking. Out of everyone present, he probably has the best reason to be overindulging, and he isn’t an angry drunk by any stretch of the imagination.

The night wears on, and we are about an hour away from midnight. The local sports grounds is hosting a fireworks display, and from the backyard, we will have a great seat for the show. Suddenly, the drunken uncle staggers over to the trampoline and claps enthusiastically at the kids all doing little tricks. One of those kids asks uncle if he ever did tricks and the uncle puffs with pride and declares that he used to be part of his high school’s gymnastics team. The kids all ooh and ahh in admiration, and it isn’t long before they vacate the trampoline and start coaxing [Uncle] to show them some tricks. Bad idea.

He climbs up and starts to bounce. My friend’s dad rushes over and tries to convince the uncle not to do anything silly, but [Uncle] is too caught up in nostalgia and alcohol to listen to reason and decides that trampolining couldn’t be that much different from doing flips on a gym floor. He then jumps super high and starts a backflip; sadly, he isn’t very well in control of the bounce and the trajectory sends him off the mark and he hits the ground hard. There is a sickening, cracking crunch on impact, the kind of sound that reverberates in your teeth and reminds you of nails on a chalkboard.

The ambulance is called immediately and they arrive extremely quickly. They pull up and rush over to [Uncle], who is still very much in a good mood; apparently, he didn’t feel a thing and has spent the time waiting trying to convince us all he is fine and attempting to stand up. The paramedics assess his injuries and gather information from the surrounding family, hand the poor guy a painkiller, and set up a stretcher. Just as they heave him up to slide the stretcher under his prone form, another horrible crunch is heard, and the paramedics lower him carefully to the ground again. A female paramedic feels about his waist and hips and realises that there is more than likely some pelvic bone damage and asks the host for a set of scissors.

[Uncle] is still happy as a clam and suddenly seems to register that there is a beautiful young lass attending to his pants line and becomes very flirty. The paramedic allows the flirting as uncle isn’t being belligerent and it seems to be keeping him relatively still while my friend’s dad runs for the scissors. 

Uncle: “So, what’s a sweet young thing like you need scissors for? I hope we aren’t doing surgery here.” *Laughs* “Though, if it’s you, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much. You’re lovely!”

Female Paramedic: *Laughs* “Oh, no need to worry, sir. No surgery here in the grass. I just need to see your hips a bit better in case there’s more damage we couldn’t see through your clothes. I hope you’re not attached to these shorts, though; we need the scissors to cut them off.”

[Uncle] suddenly starts blushing madly, and the flirty tone is now a little fearful and embarrassed.

Uncle: “Oh, um… It’s just, well, it’s a rather unpleasant job… that is… would your partner here approve of removing my pants?! And… and there are children here! Oh, God! Someone take the children away; I don’t want to be a flasher!!” 

The male paramedic lost it, and through his laughter, he assured [Uncle] that it wasn’t a problem, that they were both trained professionals, and that the kids would be fine as they weren’t planning to cut them off in full view of spectators. [Uncle] was blushing and stammering objections the entire time as a screen was set up and his pants were removed in moderate privacy. 

Finally, they got [Uncle] loaded into the ambulance. The female paramedic was gathering some last bits of information from the family and organising a support person to ride along with them to the hospital. I couldn’t help but ask if this kind of thing was routine for New Year’s. The paramedic laughed and said that, sadly, it was their busiest time of year, but if it’s for someone like [Uncle], she didn’t mind so much. He’s lovely.

[Uncle] just blushed all the harder and covered himself more with the blankets piled on top of him. It was an exciting New Year’s, that’s for sure, and the timing was brilliant, as the ambulance pulling away coincided with the fireworks starting.

The poor guy had re-shattered the old injuries and done some rather significant damage to both hips and pelvic bone. I think he needed pins and plates, and unfortunately, the recovery was a lot longer this time around. It was not exactly the best way to ring in the New Year, but at least he had wonderful paramedics who possessed a great sense of both humour and duty of care.

I work at a sandwich shop. It’s usually quiet in the mornings, but this morning, I have a few, shall we say… interesting customers.

The first few customers come in. We have a policy that no more than two people are allowed in the store at one time, but we make exceptions for people from the same household, families, etc. These customers are nice but clearly unaware of how the shop works.

Group: “Can we please have extra meat and bacon in our wraps?”

And then they are baffled by the price.

Group: “Do you serve pizza?”

We very obviously do not.

Group: “Can we eat in the store?”

This is during England’s Lockdown, Part Two (Electric Boogaloo).

It’s somewhat annoying, but excusable, and otherwise not really something to write home about.

But then… Oh, boy, but then.

Two guys come in, neither of them wearing masks. [Guy #1] says they’re exempt, with no proof of that statement, but I let him off. It’s the law to wear masks in shops and takeaways in my country, exemptions aside; however, store policy is that we are not allowed to enforce that law because we’re often alone in the store and there’s the risk of people getting aggressive. It’s very annoying, but oh, well. [Guy #2] is apologetic and puts his sweater in front of his face, at least making an effort.

They order weird sandwiches, but I figure hey, you like what you like.

They go toward the till to pay. There is a plastic screen in front of the till creating a barrier between me and the customers. [Guy #2] goes to pay. [Guy #1] comes round the barrier to open his sandwich on the surface, now less than two metres from me. First of all, the store is takeaway only, and people cannot under any circumstances eat in store. Second, obviously, he is not socially distancing himself from me.

Me: *Politely* Please step behind the screen, sir.”

Guy #1: “You really believe in that?”

I think to myself, “OH, BOY, this is about to go way downhill.”

Me: “Yes, I know someone who died from it.”

Guy #1: “Oh, yeah? Were they tested?”

Me: “They tested positive and died in the hospital.”

I realise that this isn’t really his business, but I am getting angry.

The guy spouts some more bulls*** that I can’t remember, and I tell him that I believe in the many, many deaths from it.

He gives the classic line:

Guy #1: “People die from things every day.”

Me: “At least the flu has a vaccine.”

He kind of repeats his crap, but to be honest, it’s a bit of a blur because I am shaking with anger, and I tend to block out confrontation.

After his friend pays, I turn to him as he’s still talking.

Me: “Buy a mask. Goodbye.”

And I turned and walked to the back room. He continued to rant as he left.

I then made a “Back open in ten minutes” sign, locked the door, and went out back to have a cigarette and a cry. I don’t remember the last time I was this furious.

Related:
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 7
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 6
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 5
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 4
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 3

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

I live with my husband and six-year-old daughter in a house on a pretty quiet street in a small town. On one side of our house is a house that gets rented out as a short-term rental; sometimes it’s an AirBNB and sometimes there’s someone there for up to six months. We’ve just had a couple and their two young children move in. The dad is a doctor and was born in Australia before working overseas for years, and he has only just managed to get his wife and kids over from their home country.

The kids speak both English and Farsi. The dad knocks on our door to introduce himself and let us know they will be there until they buy a house of their own, and to let us know that his wife doesn’t speak a lot of English, so please don’t think her rude. We don’t; she often tries her best to greet us and make small talk, and we don’t mind helping her practice. Her older child is a five year-old-boy who sometimes comes over and knocks to see if my daughter can come out and play. The younger kid is a tiny little toddler girl with a gorgeous smile, but she can’t speak much yet.

One day, the older kids are in school and I hear a tiny knock on our door. I open it to find my neighbor’s toddler crying on my front step.

Me: “[Toddler]?! Honey, what’s wrong?”

The toddler continues to cry and babbles in a combination of Farsi and English. The only word I can make out is “Mama.” She is absolutely beside herself.

I scoop her up and give her a cuddle, trying to calm her down. I yell my neighbor’s name over the fence, thinking maybe the toddler ran off while in the yard with her mother and she might be frantically searching. No response.

Toddler: *Still crying* “Mama fall. Mama bang, bang bang! Fall down.”

My heart about stops. I scramble over the fence and find their door open. I call out to my neighbor again. No response. I carry the toddler into the house, and I realise I can smell burning. I get to the kitchen and find my neighbor on the floor, bleeding from her head, not breathing, with a toasted sandwich burning on the hot plate. I turn it off and call an ambulance, putting the toddler down so I can start CPR.

I did CPR until the ambulance got there and took over. Realising the toddler had nowhere to go, I opted to come to the hospital with them and figure out how to contact her husband from there, as I had no idea where he worked. I’d assumed he was at one of the medical practices in town. Imagine everyone’s stunned surprise when we climbed out of the ambulance and the toddler started yelling, “DADA!” and tried to scramble into her dad’s arms as he stood at the doors of the ER.

It turned out the mother had been electrocuted by the electric kettle and had fallen down, hitting her head on the way. Her toddler had somehow gotten out of her highchair, unlocked the front door, gone out their gate, found my gate, somehow opened it despite it being out of her reach, and climbed up the ten steps to my front door and knocked on my door. We still don’t know how long her mother had been unconscious and not breathing on the floor before I found her. She managed to make a full recovery after a hard slog in hospital and at rehab, all thanks to a very determined little girl who knew her mother needed help!

This story is part of our Most Inspirational Of 2020 roundup!

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Unfortunately for me, during the lockdown, my sciatica has gotten much worse. Sciatica is a strange diagnosis and seems to be a label for any kind of pain radiating from the sciatic nerve that runs from the lower back to the soles of your feet.

When I return to work after several weeks off, I provide a doctor’s note to my manager informing her that my doctor’s advice is to keep active as before, in hopes that my sciatica will fade with time. Unfortunately, that does not happen.

As per my doctor’s note, I am meant to be allowed a small break and sit down, even though my current place of employment doesn’t allow breaks for shifts under eight hours. It’s illegal, I know.

For the first week, I am allowed to sit when performing various tasks. Everyone on staff is informed of why I am sitting. But, because I have led by example, apparently, people start sitting and leaving the bar and hostess stand unattended.

Manager: “You are no longer allowed to sit while you’re working. If I see you sitting during your shift, you will get one warning before being fired.”

Even though I had a doctor’s note, I was the only one to get in trouble.

I start the next week as usual, walking like a robot but taking painkillers to try and power through. Even with my doctor’s note, I have been branded “lazy” by all of the managers, so I have been given more physically demanding jobs than usual — moving crates and barrels, for example.

But then, during my first shift after the telling-off, my legs stop working.

I am carrying a heavy tray and I collapse in the middle of the floor. I’m unable to feel my legs, only pain when I try to move them.

An ambulance is phoned.

The diagnosis? Sciatica.

Apparently, no one had believed my doctor’s note and thought that I was faking. I returned to work two weeks later to simpering apologies.

I need a new job.

And possibly a lawyer.