When we moved into our house, it was December, and all the trees were bare. An engineer from [Satellite Broadcaster] installed our satellite dish for us, but it had to go on the side of the house as he could not get a signal from the back. He did say it might need raising in the summer, but we will see how things go.

It is now June, and at the time of this story, both the health crisis and a major football tournament are taking place. A rather large tree in our neighbour’s garden is in full bloom. Our satellite signal keeps cutting out and the channels are patchy at times. We know what the problem is and that we can’t do anything about the tree, so we decide to contact [Satellite Broadcaster]. I go online and find they have an appointment free that afternoon. Excellent! [Engineer #1] arrives at about 3:30 pm.

I explain what the problem is and what we would like done.

Engineer #1: “Yeah, I think I can do that.”

Due to the ongoing health crisis, I have to keep my distance from the engineer, so I let him get on with things and do a few jobs around the house. He gets several phone calls and I do hear him saying something about, “I can’t; I’m on a job,” but I don’t really pay much attention to it. After about fifteen minutes, he comes back in.

Engineer #1: “Um, I left my drill at my previous job. I’ll just need to go and get it.”

And off he goes. A couple of hours pass and it is very clear he isn’t coming back. We suspect he has bunked off to watch the football! Furious, I call [Satellite Broadcaster] and explain the situation.

Operator: “I am so sorry about this! There are no notes on the system about this. If he had to leave for a reason, he would have put something there. Can I put you on hold for a moment whilst I try and contact the engineer and see what happened?”

He comes back to the phone a few minutes later.

Operator: “I tried both the engineer and his manager and can’t get a hold of either of them. Once again, I deeply apologise.”

Me: “That’s okay; it’s not your fault.”

The operator gives us a voucher worth £14 to download some movies onto our box and then speaks to his manager to see what they can do.

Operator: “The next available appointment is not for a few days; however, we do have a team that deals with emergencies that can get to you faster. They will contact you later tonight or tomorrow morning, to book a time slot.”

Me: “Thank you! I appreciate that.”

We have also had a few problems with our broadband, also provided by [Satellite Broadcaster], which the operator notices, so he helps us with that, as well. He is a very friendly and helpful guy and I end the phone call feeling relieved that something will be done.

The next morning, I have to head to work, so my partner, who is working from home, keeps an ear out for the phone. The phone rings.

Scammer: “Hello, I am from [Satellite Broadcaster] and your broadband will be cut off within twenty-four hours…”

Partner: “…unless I download a program which allows you access? No, thanks. I am terminating this call.”

He then called [Satellite Broadcaster] to double-check and to report the call, and they were also able to sort out a new appointment for the engineer. Once again, we were in luck; a spare slot was free that afternoon. [Engineer #2] arrived.

My partner explained what we wanted done and what had happened with [Engineer #1]. [Engineer #2] was genuinely shocked at this and was able to move our dish so the tree was no longer blocking the signal. He did this with no problems at all, and whilst doing so, he made phone calls trying to see if [Engineer #1] was anyone in his team. To his relief, he wasn’t.

Our satellite signal has been absolutely fine ever since, with no more pixelly programmes. We never found out what happened to [Engineer #1], but if he did skive off to watch the football, we hope it was worth it.

This was in the early 2000s when chat rooms and Yahoo/AOL were the de facto standard of communicating on the Internet and it was a lot harder to verify things people would tell you about themselves.

I had a girl who looked to be in her late teens move in with me after I advertised an empty room in my house. One grating thing about her that I discovered right away was that she talked incessantly and often told far-fetched stories about herself. Many of her stories often appeared to garner sympathy — i.e. being sexually assaulted in a subway, having to give the resulting child up for adoption, etc. As tempting as it was to give her back her rent money and tell her to move along, I grinned and bore it only because I lived with my elderly grandma from ages seventeen to nineteen and drove that poor woman up the wall with my teenage antics.

Over the following two months, I noticed that my roommate received an unusual amount of mail and packages. The packages were always small gifts like teddy bears, chocolates, inexpensive jewelry, and such. I figured they were from her family and found it endearing. The house phone also frequently rang with calls for her.

One late evening, I was coming from work and was shocked to find a mass of police cars, EMT workers, and an ambulance congregating around my house with my front door smashed in.

After letting someone know that I was a resident of the house and wanted to know what in the world was going on, I was let in. There was my roommate sitting on my couch with officers screaming at her: “You need to stop lying! You have the entire police force here looking for a dead woman, etc., etc., etc.! This is the third time I’ve had to deal with you this past year alone, and this town has been putting up with your s*** since you were ten!”

As it turned out, when the story unfolded, the girl had been talking on romance chat rooms and dating sites posing as a dying cancer patient, using fake photos of a seriously ill and emaciated cancer victim, and getting lonely and gullible guys to shower her with gifts and money.

One of the guys fell so much in love with her that he insisted on coming to visit her even though he lived several states away. Figuring that the jig would have been up with this particular mark, she then pretended to have a medical emergency on the phone with him and, according to him, began gasping and wheezing and became unresponsive.

What she didn’t count on was him dialing 911 in his state, giving the dispatch my address, and that dispatch quickly connecting to the dispatch in my area to alert them. After the police broke my door in, since no one was answering, they found the idiot hiding in a closet.

The girl turned out to be only seventeen years old; she’d left home and gotten a fast food job, and her parents simply never reported her missing.

I ended up giving her a three-day notice.

I’m doing my pre-close cleaning. My boss has let me make a sandwich. I put it on top of the oven wrapped in aluminum foil to keep warm while I work. My boss is making a salad for a walk-in customer.

I come back to that area of the store to see that my sandwich is missing. I look at the customer who is standing nearby.

Me: “Did you take my sandwich?”

Customer: “No.”

I walk over to him and poke the suspicious bulge in his jacket.

Me: “Is that my sandwich?”

He unzips his jacket and pulls out my sandwich.

Customer: “I thought it was part of my salad.”

Me: *Disbelieving* “You thought a sandwich was part of your salad?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

When has a sandwich ever been part of a salad? Jerk.

We have a non-emergency centre in our city; anyone can walk up and be seen, but after a certain time, it isn’t fully staffed. Then, you have to call them first and they will confirm whether they can see you there or refer you to the nearby emergency centre at the hospital. Or, they just tell you to take it up with your general doctor.

There are no costs or waiting times, and it’s clear on the website and signs are plastered over the centre, yet people still don’t get it.

I call ahead and ask to come in. As I walk the path, a couple is having a conversation in hushed tones.

Woman: “You are not listening; they won’t see you.”

Man: “No, but when we get there, I will pretend to have chest pains. They can’t refuse to see me then!”

Woman: “Oh, good idea.”

I follow them to the door. The man immediately grabs his chest and staggers to a nearby bench, draping himself over it like a Renaissance painting. The woman presses the intercom.

Intercom: “Did you ring ahead?”

Woman: “No, but my husband is having chest pains.”

Intercom: “Is it bad? Is he having any problems breathing, confusion?”

Woman: “Well, yes, a little.”

Intercom: “Okay. I will call an ambulance. Stay there and someone will come out in a second.”

Woman: “No, no no, it’s not really that bad.”

Intercom: “No, is he having issues breathing?”

Woman: “Err, no. But his foot hurts. He dropped something on it earlier.”

Intercom: *Sighs* “If it is only his foot, he needs to call the number and they will assess him.”

Woman: “But his foot really does hurt.”

Intercom: “And if you ring the number, someone will talk it through with him.”

The woman says something quietly.

Intercom: “Call the number like everyone else has. There is a queue of people that need our help and you are stopping us from helping them.”

Woman: “He needs help! We are not leaving this spot.”

Intercom: “Call the number. They will diagnose you; it isn’t urgent so you can do that. If you refuse to move, you will be arrested.”

The woman went back to her husband, who miraculously stopped clutching his chest, and they walked off. He didn’t even have a limp.

I was walking to my car after work and a coworker was already at her car. She saw me and started ranting about some damage done to her car. I asked her what was wrong and she said her car was all scratched up by a coworker of ours and to come to look.

Coworker: “That b**** scratched up my car and [Boss] didn’t do anything about it. Just look at it.”

I looked at the damage: a bunch of scratches above and on the inside area of the driver’s door handle.

Me: “Oh… That… looks like it was caused by long nails.”

Coworker: *Stutters* “Uh, yeah, she had long nails. I can’t believe she did this.”

She ranted a bit more but trailed off and got in her car and just left. Her nails? Suuuuper long and, oddly enough, the same color as the scratches on her car.