At 22, I decide to go back to college and get some much-needed A-Levels, since I have none.

During the length of my course, we cover numerous topics, including one on politics and government. Perhaps because I am older and therefore more aware of the things that go on in the world, I tend to find this class rather easy.

Perhaps one of the best moments is when I and the laziest member of the class are asked to do presentation on a political party. It just so happens we get the BNP, which, for those unaware, is a very right wing party in the UK that is associated with very racist ideals. I do all my slides, and at about 9:00 pm before the deadline, my partner calls me to admit he hasn’t done any work. I don’t really panic; I just stick in a few slides to cover his work and figure he can sink or swim.

The next morning, we give our presentation, and my tutor calls it the best of the lot and praises the content and the delivery.

The next year, the lazy classmate is not invited back for the second part of the course, and I have a conversation with my tutor, who explains that the current group hasn’t done anything near as good. I own up and admit that the lazy classmate didn’t do anything, and that I did it all.

The tutor responded, “Oh, I knew as soon as you stood up that he hadn’t done anything; he never handed in a single piece of coursework. I knew it was all your work and that he was just reading the info on the slides. All the praise was meant for you, because, honestly, that guy wouldn’t scratch his own a*** if he thought he could get someone else to do it for him.”

Me: “Hello, [Library]. How can I help you?”

Woman: “Yes, I’m wondering if you’ve found some lost property.”

Me: “I can check. What was the item you lost?

Woman: “A big, black strap-on.”

Me: “Could you repeat that please?”

Woman: “A strap-on.”

Me: *deciding to see if I could wind them up in return* “I’m not sure what that is.”

Woman: “Well, it’s big and black… Are you sure you don’t know what it is?”

Me: *trying not to laugh or give the game away* “No, could you tell me more about it? What is it used for?”

Woman: “It’s a toy.”

Me: “So, you lost this in the children’s library?”

Woman: *sounding a bit put out* “No! Why would it be there?”

Me: “You said it was a toy.”

Woman: “But…”

Me: “Let me just go and have a look in our lost property drawer.”

(I put the call on hold, waited ten seconds, and disconnected the call.)

(My friend is around eight months pregnant, and we’ve gone to a cafe for lunch together. Note that in the UK, soft cheeses such as Brie are on the list of foods that pregnant women are recommended not to eat, along with raw eggs, undercooked meat, etc. because there is an extremely small risk of listeria. However, there is no law preventing the sale of any of these foods to pregnant women, and it’s a woman’s individual choice whether she eats these foods or not. My friend picks up a Brie and bacon baguette from the fridge, and goes to the counter to pay.)

Cashier: “Okay, so that’s a Brie and bacon…” *spots my friend’s belly* “Oh. Oh, no, I’m sorry.”

Friend: “Sorry? Is there a problem?”

Cashier: “You can’t have this. I can’t sell this to you.”

Friend: “What do you mean?”

Cashier: “You’re pregnant. You’re not allowed to eat this.”

Friend: “Um, I think that’s my choice, don’t you?”

Cashier: “But… you’re pregnant.”

Friend: “Yes, and I’d like to have that sandwich for lunch.”

Cashier: “But this has Brie in it.”

Friend: “I know. That’s why I chose it. I assume the cheeses you use are all pasteurised?”

Cashier: “Well… yes. I think so.”

Friend: “Well, then, the risk of me getting ill after eating that sandwich is negligible. And anyway, it’s my choice whether or not to eat it. Please just let me pay for it.”

(Eventually the cashier scanned the baguette and let my friend pay, but all the time she was muttering about how pregnant women shouldn’t eat Brie and she really shouldn’t be selling it to her.)

The museum I love to visit has a huge central hall, with a big staircase at the back that splits to both sides about halfway up. On that landing, there’s a statue of Charles Darwin. Until quite recently, the view of the statue from the front of the hall was obscured by Dippy, a life-sized model of a Diplodocus skeleton, so to first time visitors, the Darwin statue would come as a surprise.

One time when I was visiting the museum, I was standing to the side of the hall near the stairs, not looking at anything in particular, when I saw three teenage girls passing Dippy on the way to the staircase.

As soon as they saw the statue of Darwin, their whole demeanour changed. They started squealing as if they’d just seen a boy band there, and then they raced each other up the stairs and took selfies with Charles Darwin.

Seeing that kind of happy nerdage at a time when mindless entertainment and pseudoscience seem to be on the rise everywhere really gave me hope for the world.

(It is my little sister’s birthday. To celebrate, we have booked into a favourite restaurant in the city centre, where one of my university friends waits tables. As usual, I go in about two hours prior with a birthday cake, and ask the staff if they would mind bringing it out after we finish our food. I bake and decorate the cakes myself as a hobby, and I get carried away, so they’re usually quite extravagant. I’ve themed this one around Pitch Perfect, one of my sister’s favourite films.)

Other Customer: “Excuse me, [Waiter Friend]. Could you tell me where I can order one of those cakes?” *she points at our table*

Waiter: “I don’t know about that. [My Name] makes them herself, but we do parties often, and I can recommend some oth—”

Customer: “No! Don’t fob me off. I’ll ask them myself.”

(She gets up and walks over to our table.)

Customer: “Excuse me; I am sorry to interrupt your meal, but I was wondering if you could tell me where you ordered that cake? I need one identical for my daughter’s graduation.”

Me: “I made it myself, but I don’t do this as a business. I’m sorry. I believe [Waiter] has a list of approved affiliate bakeries they use for parties. Contact one of them?”

Customer: “NO! You’re as bad as [Waiter]. You’re just saying that so I stop disturbing you.”

Me: “I’m telling the truth, but you ARE disturbing me. It’s my sister’s birthday. We are trying to enjoy it, but you’re causing a scene.”

Customer: “Stop LYING. You just don’t want me to have a cake as nice as yours.”

Sister: “Look, lady. She makes cakes for all her family and friends! Here; I’ve got photos of her making other ones.”

(My sister pulls out her phone and flips through it to show pictures of the two of us fooling around in the kitchen, making cakes. The customer watches.)

Customer: “Okay, fine. Whatever. You make them? Good. You WILL make one of those for me; I’ll pay you a reasonable amount, if I’m satisfied with the work.”

Me: “Nope, I’m not in the business. Sorry.”

Customer: “Well, you should be! I need that cake. You do understand I’m offering to pay you, here?”

Me: “People like you are exactly why I’m not. I would like for you to leave us in peace now, if you don’t mind.”

Customer: “Well, I never! So rude! [Waiter], fire her!”

Waiter: “Ma’am, she is a customer. How can I fire her?”

Customer: “Kick her out and bar her. She is so unhelpful!”

Waiter: “She is a customer; she can be as ‘unhelpful’ towards you as she pleases if you’re going to harass her. I’m going to fetch you your bill. I don’t want gratuity, and I’m knocking 25% off before you even START to quibble on the price like you normally do. Please pay it and leave, before I call the police.”

(The lady opens her mouth with half a mind to give my friend a dressing down, but shuts her mouth, pays up, and leaves. I guess she knew eventually to admit defeat.)

Waiter: “Sorry about that, you guys!”

Me: “Don’t mention it. Here, put that lady’s 25% in the tip jar; I’ll cover it. Thanks for getting her out; I thought she was gonna punch me!”

(The owner ended up giving us the meal for free, so we put the entire meal cost into the tip pool. They said that the lady was also a regular, whom they disliked and were trying to get banned, but that she hadn’t been back since our “altercation.” I guess cake can solve almost anything!)