Shortly after this story was published, political season rolled around again, and thus the sequel. To clarify for non-Americans, junk mail comes in via non-postal-workers, usually volunteers in the case of political fliers.

I send the usual alert when the first flier comes, a polite message to the political party’s website. It points out that my sign is quite clear and asks for them not to do it again.

Two weeks later, there’s another one from the same party. The fun times begin!

I find a list online of every party member and go through adding their emails to a single bulk email. Once again, I politely inform them that their letter has ended up in my box and that since my first request against this was ignored, I am making sure that I send the message to every person who might be able to stop it. It includes a slightly less polite comment that I feel it shows their lack of commitment to listening to the voting populace and a lack of respect for people’s choices, and that this action will prompt me to try and dissuade others from voting for them.

Forty-five people in all are privy to this email. Some have automatic replies; some don’t. I leave it a few hours, and by the end of day four, members of the party have apologised and forwarded my complaint to the area manager for the volunteers. I thank them and go on my merry way.

Then, the next day, somewhere around 5:00 pm, one of these people emails me back angrily saying that they didn’t want my spam email, and I should know they’re in another part of the country and therefore they don’t have to listen to me or my complaints.

I thank him, too, pointing out that by his very response, he has proven my point about the sign on my letterbox.

I then forward this reply to the four of his colleagues, who also don’t live in my area, but were willing to help and apologise for a mistake by others of their party. I get the feeling number five is going to regret that response very soon.

Related:
Junk Mail: Universally Hated

I was inspired by this story to recount my own encounter with unwitting stage fauna.

Some years ago, I was in a summer production of The Merry Wives of Windsor in an outdoor venue. This venue was near a pond and had various birds wandering about. This included a few chickens and roosters.

In a particular scene, a washing basket was onstage at the beginning of a scene. As the actors went about the scene, they noticed they were getting more laughs than usual but thought nothing more than how responsive the audience was. As they got closer to the climax of the scene, they were getting more and more laughs and titters, so they amped up their energy.

In the climax of the scene, Falstaff had to hide in a panic and threw himself into the washing basket…

…to be encountered with a face full of enraged chicken, whose nice cosy resting spot had been disturbed by an actor almost landing on her. Apparently, the hen had been poking her head out of the basket, enjoying the show, to the amusement of the audience, without the actors noticing. The poor chicken took flight, squawking, through the audience, emptying herself on the actor as a final act of revenge. After a momentary pause, during which everyone attempted to pull themselves together, the show resumed. Poor Falstaff had to have a quick costume change.

Related:
A Harmless Necessary Cat

This story is part of our Best Of September 2020 roundup!

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This occurs at the end of a call with a customer who has been constantly friendly and funny.

Me: “Thanks for calling, [Customer]! I hope you have a great day.” 

Customer: “Oh, trust me, I will, unlike you. I don’t have to work for a living or deal with idiots like me all day!” 

Cue my bemused shock trying desperately to not agree with him.

We are in a lockdown with the recent health crisis. Supermarkets have a limit on how many people can enter, which is enforced by security at the doorway. Naturally, this means there are lines to access the supermarket. 

I’m immunocompromised, with a condition that means my immune system attacks and fights my organs, so I have to take specific medication that suppresses my immune responses. This puts me in the “vulnerable” bracket to lots of things, not just the new crisis. I’m basically 80% liquid sanitiser and soap at this stage. 

I’ve not been able to organise home delivery for groceries — all the slots were full — and it’s been hard to get anyone to collect groceries for me. But luckily, our store has an option for a “click and collect,” where I qualified to place an online order and pick it up at a special counter at the store. I go in a mask, gloves, and all. 

Part of going for the click and collect, however, involves strolling past the large lines of people waiting to collect my order at the counter. While I have the immune system response of a weak tea bag, I’m in my twenties and look fairly healthy. This, of course, attracts a lot of foul-mouthed comments from people I walk past with my groceries, ranging from “faker,” to “selfish, taking the slots from those who need it,” as well as “hoarder,” for having a full cart and being a single person — it was a normal shop. 

Please, guys, don’t judge everyone. You don’t know if they are themselves vulnerable or collecting for someone else who is.

During the lunch and dinner shifts, we have an all-you-can-eat buffet, including a selection of pizzas, salads, and chips, as well as dessert. It is the Saturday lunch shift. I worked until late last night at another job, and I have only had about five hours of sleep when my manager calls me to ask if I can cover a shift for a girl who just didn’t show up.

In addition to being sleep deprived, I am annoyed at my coworker and peeved that I am unable to do any school work that day because I have to come in. When I am tired, I have a bad habit of being snarky.

Customer: “Excuse me, miss?”

Me: “Yes?”

They point to the pizza buffet.

Customer: “Could you tell me what pizzas these are?”

Me: “Sure. This is a pepperoni, that’s a Hawaiian, and those are the spicy and the vegetarian.”

Customer: “What is that one?”

They point to an empty tray. I am unable to stop myself.

Me: “Invisible pizza.”

The customer has a surprised blink and then bursts out laughing. I realise how rude that was.

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am—”

Customer: “That’s all right, dear, that was very clever!”

She had meant to ask what kind of pizza normally went in the empty place. Luckily for me, she had a good sense of humour!