Caller: “What’s the cheapest vehicle you have available for rent?”

Me: *Checking the computer* “We have a two-door coupe for [price] a day. Did you want to reserve one today?”

Caller: “Yeah, I’ll take it! Is there, like, a passenger limit?”

Me: “There are only seat belts for up to five people.”

Caller: “Is that a strictly enforced rule or like a guideline?”

Me: “Well… it’s really safety and plain common sense not to have passengers riding without seat belts, especially in such a small vehicle. How many passengers do you have?”

Caller: “Well… there are twelve of us total.”

Me: “FOR A COUPE?!”

Yes, I suggested our vans. No, he wasn’t interested. And no, I didn’t book his reservation.

I am sitting and sipping on a coffee, all pepped up for the day, when these two pretty girls walk up.

Girl #1: “Excuse me. You’re [My Name], right?”

Me: *Perking up* “Yeah, do I know you?”

Girl #1: “My sister is your coworker, and I’m one of your followers on Facebook. I just wanted to say that I think you have a really nice and interesting personality, and your writing has me either totally cracking up or really thinking deep. You have such an interesting perspective on common issues. Honestly, I couldn’t personally date you myself because I don’t necessarily find you that attractive, but I just wanted to say I think you’ll make some girl out there really happy and I wish you the best of luck.”

I stare at her and an awkward silence falls.

Girl #1: “Oh, my God, that… totally came out all wrong, didn’t it?”

Me: “Yeah, thanks for walking up and politely telling me I’m too ugly to date. Anything else you’d care to depress me with?”

Girl #1: “Sorry, I—”

Her friend starts pushing her toward the door.

Girl #2: “Nice job, [Girl #1]!”

Teacher: “For our next science test, I will award the person who scores the highest a $20 prize.”

To a ten-year-old kid back in the 1990s, this was serious cash.

A few days later, I went into the empty classroom during lunch break and spotted a stack of the aforementioned tests on the teacher’s desk. Devil horns sprouted out of my head as I grinned from ear to ear, snatched a test off the stack, and stuffed it in my backpack.

I figured the teacher would get suspicious of a C-average student suddenly scoring a perfect on a relatively difficult exam, so that evening when I was at home, I memorized that test forward, backward, out of order, sideways, upside down, and even made flashcards for myself. The following morning, I took the test, and the day after that — just as I was fully fearing — the teacher stopped me at the door as the class was filing in to begin the day and marched me straight to the principal’s office. After presenting her accusations and hearing my denial, they demanded I retake the test in front of them.

I wish I could describe the bewildered looks on their faces after the teacher graded my test, only for me to score another “perfect” score. The teacher then tried asking questions from the test out of order and then rewording the questions to trip me up into giving an incorrect answer. Then, suddenly, she flung the test down.

Teacher: “He’s not even hesitating to answer or taking any time to think!”

I ended walking out of that office feeling like Billy Bada**.

She later did give me the $20 — begrudgingly, with an “I know you did something” look on her face.

Does the story end there? Unfortunately for me… no. For the rest of the school year, every time a science test was approaching, the teacher would announce the date of the test, and would always end the announcement this way.

Teacher: *Ominously* “And I expect a certain someone in this classroom to score no less than 100%, or he will be in more trouble than he has even been in in his entire life!”

And for the rest of the school year, I made science my number one subject to focus 90% of my attention on, and I would spend hours frantically studying for each approaching test — far too terrified to score less than 100% each time. Once, I scored a 95% and nearly pissed myself.

Disclaimer: Cheating on schoolwork is something I now as an adult do not condone; you are only robbing yourself. I am only laughing at the humor of this situation which occurred nearly thirty years ago.

When I was young, I was pretty well known as a smart kid with a smart mouth. I was also known as the super short girl who always had a book. Luckily, my class was pretty nice — we didn’t have nearly as many bullying problems as other grades — because I would’ve been an extremely easy target. But whenever someone did pick on me, it made my blood boil.

Toward the end of middle school, I was in the last book of a series I’d been reading for several months. A boy I didn’t talk to all that often walked up to where I was reading at my desk.

Boy: “What are you reading?”

Me: “[Book].”

Boy: “Have you read it before?”

Me: “No, this is my first time!”

Boy: “[Favorite Character] dies.”

My little eighth-grade self was ready for murder. Sadly, he was correct, and my favorite character died, but he was later granted his life back. For the rest of the year, I used a cloth cover on all of my library books so the boy wouldn’t be able to spoil them for me again.

I’m picking up a few groceries and a bottle of rum at a packed store. There are three people ahead of me. I’m only twenty-eight and everyone constantly tells me I look half my age. I know that the cashier will need to see my ID; I try to pull out my debit card and license while I’m waiting my turn. Unfortunately, after spending the few minutes I’m in line looking, I discover that I am missing my ID. The line behind me has grown exponentially. I address the cashier as soon as she is finished with the customer ahead of me, in an attempt to not waste anyone’s time.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pass on the rum; I just realized that I misplaced my ID.”

Cashier: “I need to see your ID for the liquor.”

Me: “I know. I thought I had it, but I can just put it back.”

Cashier: “I do believe you that you’re old enough, but I do need to check, or I can get in trouble.” 

Me: “I know, I just realized after I got in line that I do not have it. I have a bad habit of not putting it back in my wallet after I use it. I do not have a problem coming back for the rum later, after I find it.”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, but I can not sell you this without seeing your ID.”

Me: “I understand. I can just skip it.”

She has not rung out a single one of my items, and I’m getting frustrated. I realize forgetting my ID is my fault but mistakes happen, and I told her at the beginning of the transaction that I was aware that I would not be able to purchase the rum. I cannot understand why she is trying to argue with me about it. Finally, she picks up the rum after wasting about two minutes asking for my ID.

Cashier: “Since you do not have ID, I’m going to have to put this behind the counter to be put back.”

After placing the bottle behind the counter, she finally starts to ring up my groceries.

Me: “Thanks for putting that back for me. Most likely my ID is in my car, but I didn’t want to hold up the line trying to run out and grab it.”

After only ringing up one item, she stops.

Cashier: “You know you cannot drive without a license.”

Me: “I know you’re not supposed to, but until I got in line, I thought mine was in my wallet. I’m sure it’s in my car or I’ll find it when I get home. It’ll be fine.”

Cashier: “If you get pulled over, you’ll go to jail for driving without a license.”

She has still only rung up one of my items, despite the fact that I have been at the front of the line for several minutes, and I am beyond frustrated.

Me: “I understand. I just realized it was missing after I got in line. I doubt I’m going to get pulled over in the two minutes it will take me to drive home. Can you please just ring me up, so I can go home and find my missing ID?”

Cashier: “Okay, but you can’t drive home without your license. You’ll need to walk or have someone come get you.”

I have given up and just stare at her.

Cashier: “You can’t drive without a license.”

I continue to just stare at her silently. After about thirty seconds of awkward silence, she reaches over and starts ringing up the rest of my groceries. After she finally starts to ring up my groceries, the transaction takes about one minute. I look apologetically at the now extremely long line behind me as I grab my one bag of groceries.

Me: “Thanks, have a great day.”

As I walk away, the cashier, ignoring the man that is next, takes a few steps toward me away from the register.

Cashier: “Don’t forget that you can’t drive home without a license.”

I just rolled my eyes and left the store. She continued to yell about my missing ID as I walked away, still ignoring the man that was in line behind me looking as frustrated as I feel. I got into my car and drove home without incident and found my ID after I got there.