My partner and I have been on holiday for two weeks, ending in a lovely country town. My partner is a wheelchair user, and we have been generally allowing ourselves extra travel time to make sure we make any buses or flights. This town has no rideshare services available, and our accommodation has no airport transfer bus available.

We check out from our hotel shortly after 4:00 am and request a taxi. Until this point in our trip, taxis and rideshares have been quick and efficient; our longest wait time has been fifteen minutes. Our flight is after 6:30 am, and the airport is twenty to twenty-five minutes away.

Reception says that they have made the request, but it hasn’t been accepted. They say that the taxi company (which has twenty-four-hour service) might be in shift changeover. After ten minutes, they assure us that the request has been accepted. They continue to tell us that the taxi company has accepted our request over the next thirty minutes.

It’s nearly 5:00 am. I crack and call the taxi company myself and put in another request. I am assured by the operator that a taxi should be with us within ten minutes, fifteen at most.

After another forty minutes or so, the taxi finally arrives. We throw our bags in, break down my partner’s chair, and get going. Check-in for the flight is meant to close in under twenty minutes. We are meant to be there now for assisted check-in.

As we’re driving, I’m already looking at the later flight in case we need to rebook. The taxi driver repeatedly mentions how busy they are in the mornings and how we need to plan better for our travel. My partner repeatedly tries — and fails — to redirect the conversation.

Ten minutes in, I can no longer bite my tongue.

Taxi Driver: “People need to plan better. I always say that people should allow thirty minutes for a taxi to make sure they get one. Otherwise, they miss flights.”

Me: “I agree. That’s why we had reception call for a taxi forty-five minutes before I called. And then no taxi came, so I called, more than half an hour before you got there.”

Taxi Driver: “Oh.”

We all sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. The taxi driver starts driving faster — like, significantly faster.

Taxi Driver: “Don’t worry; we’ll make it before check-in. You—” *to me* “—run in and check in. You—” *to my partner* “—and I will sort the luggage. We’ll get there with plenty of time.”

We arrive at the airport at the check-in cutoff. I run into the terminal, clutching our IDs and paperwork. Fortunately, the airport is tiny, and the check-in desk is right by the door.

Me: *Gasping* “Hi! Please, can we check in? I’m so sorry we’re late. It’s okay if we missed it.”

Agent: “No problem! We can check you in! Did you get a taxi? They’re terrible. My sister missed her flight a few weeks ago because the taxi never showed up. Don’t stress. It’s quiet this morning; we don’t need to rush to get you both on board.”

Me: “You are a lifesaver.”

Lesson learned: next time I travel to that region, figure out absolutely any other way to get to the airport.

I am famous among my friends for having animals like me. I managed to worm a cantankerous cat — who’d claw anyone with the thought of giving him a pill — in under two minutes with no damage. I’ve been adopted by several cats and dogs, and I’ve had strangers’ animals run up to me and beg for attention, their owners baffled as their critter “doesn’t like people”. I’m a human capybara.

I currently flat in New Zealand, meaning I live in a small house with others. I’m lucky enough to have my own cat at home, but it does not stop me from learning about the others in the neighbourhood and making sure they know me.

We have only recently moved into our current place, and while I’ve made friends with a few of the cats up and down the street, I keep seeing one who seems to flee if a human so much as breathes near it. I always see a brief flash of a seal-point face before the fluffy tail streaks into the nearest cover. The closest I have managed to get is about four meters (around thirteen feet) with me holding perfectly still, only to have tried a half step toward it and have it flee again.

One day, I was walking home from a shopping trip. I didn’t have much, and nothing perishable, so when I saw the fleeing kitty, I was able to stop, and it stopped running.

It was inside a fenced-off yard with a wrought iron gate with gaps big enough for me to put my hand through. I stopped by it and crouched so the kitty could see me, put my fingers out as always, and made soothing sounds while looking away so it didn’t feel it was being watched. In this position, after about five minutes, it slowly crept to the garden beside the gate, sniffing at the wind. I realised I was downwind instead of upwind. I nearly lost the kitty to another fleeing moment as I moved to the other side of the gate — not far, but so I was a little more upwind. It settled again to stare from its long distance. I settled in, reading my book and letting my hand rest where it could creep up to sniff it.

Then, I heard it!

It was making a soft “Murroh?” sound at me, far removed from the usual sound I heard from nervous cats. I looked up and made the sound back at it. It looked so startled, jumping up and staring like I’d just screamed. I thought it was about to run again!

“Mrow?!” the cat asked.

“Mrow!” I mimicked.

Suddenly, the cat was charging at the gate like I’d opened a can of tuna. For a moment, I was sure it was about to bite me from the ferocity of the change. It hurled itself at the fence and butted, meowing loudly, and arching itself to demand pets.

When I responded to it, it realised that it had a friend, and it wanted to talk to me about everything it had seen and done. I spent a good fifteen minutes petting and praising it before moving to head home.

I have made a new kitty friend.

Guest: “Excuse me. We’ve just been into the theatre to find our seats, and we’re in the front row?”

Me: “Yes, if you selected row A, that is the front row.”

Guest: “But I wanted seats at the back! I chose them specifically!”

Me: “Row A is the front row, ma’am.”

Guest: “But I picked them online! I clicked the little seats!”

The online booking system clearly shows “SCREEN” in front of Row A, and the “little seats” she selected are orientated toward the screen.

Me: “Row A is the front of the theatre; Row Z is the back. If you wanted to try to switch your tickets, the candy bar may be able to help, but this is a full session, so it’s unlikely.”

Guest: “BUT I CLICKED THE LITTLE SEATS AT THE BACK!”

Me: “Row A is the front of the cinema. It should have indicated where the screen was on the selection page.”

Guest: “BUT I CLICKED ON THE BACK ROW! THE LITTLE SEATS!”

Me: “Row A will always be the front of the theatre, ma’am.”

Guest: “WHY ARE WE AT THE FRONT?!”

Me: *In my head* “BECAUSE YOU CHOSE THE FRONT ROW, MA’AM!”

Me: *Out loud* “I apologise, ma’am, but for next time, the back row is Row Z.”

Guest: “BUT I CLICKED THE LITTLE SEATS! SPECIFICALLY!”

I get a call over the radio to help clean a theatre.

Me: “Again, ma’am, row A is the front of the cinema. If there’s anything else you need help with, please head to the candy bar and they can assist there. I do need to go help clean another theatre.”

Guest: “I CHOSE THEM SPECIFICALLY!”

If you know anything about New Zealand, you should know about our birds. We have multiple smart, playful, and above all, CHEEKY birds. You probably have even heard of the one I’m about to talk about, the Kea, most often known for their love of taking apart cars.

At the nearest zoo to me, they have recently added a walk-through aviary with airlocks for this mischief-maker on wings. The zoo is partnered with our conservation department, and a lot of our natives are here for breeding purposes or (the little blue penguins) because they can’t be released due to injury.

During this visit, we watch the Kea carefully tear apart some enrichment for the treats within, and we listen to the keeper talk about their habits and their intelligence — considered to be on par with a three-year-old human.

A little later on, we come to look at them again, and now they’re being weighed! It is a hilarious scene, and we are delighted to be able to watch. We all notice that the keeper is taking down the notes on a heavily padded digital tablet.

Me: “Oh, wow. That’s a big case you have on that thing.”

Keeper: “Hah, no kidding. We need it. If I put this down for a second, these guys will go for it.”

The keeper showed us a few beak-marks on the edges, chuckling.

We continued to watch as she tried to coax one of the birds out of a spot it was napping in, and, as we humans do, put the tablet down for a split second on the surface beside her thigh.

INSTANTLY, a bird on the other side of the enclosure RACED across the floor, running over my friend’s foot, in order to grab the tablet.

No destruction was to be had, thankfully, but we still laugh at how eager that Kea was to get to their desired chaos.

Seeing a few recent stories on here reminded me of my experience. I’m a new hire, and my coworker is showing me how to stock the small pharmacy section of the convenience store.

Coworker: “Make sure the pads are kept on this side, as far from the condoms as possible. Some of the guys get a bit weird seeing them next to each other.”

Of course, as if on cue, a male customer has overheard us and feels the need to bless us with his opinion.

Customer: “It’s because men should be able to get their things without seeing that! They don’t need to be reminded about all the holes you’ve all got going on down there!”

Coworker: “Sorry, but how many holes do you think we have down there?!”

Customer: *With a comical amount of confidence* “Women have five holes: one for p*ss, one for periods, one for sex, one for birth, one for s***! Five holes, all in a line!”

Coworker: “Sir, we’re human beings, not flutes.”

This story is part of our Editors’-Favorite-Stories-Of-2024-(so far!) roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

The Not Always Right 2023 Mid-Year Retrospective: 23 Of Our Favorite Stories!

Read the first story!

Read the roundup!