For whatever reason, our corporate office sent us a life-size statue of a sheep. Our business is assisted living; we have nothing whatsoever to do with sheep or sheep products. Our local mascots are not sheep. There is really no local sheep industry in the area. So, basically, it’s just a random sheep. They never told us why they sent it.

I should mention at this point that although it is life-size, it doesn’t look real at all. It’s entirely a lovely cream color, but has no eye color, hoof color, etc. It’s the one solid color. And yet, I have had no less than four people say something along the lines of, “Oh! I thought it was real!” in complete, honest-to-God seriousness.

So, we moved it outside and put a scarf on it in the colors of the local university, just for fun. I kind of forgot it was there until not a week after it was out there and a lady came in and went, “There’s a sheep in your yard!” She honestly thought we had a live-a** sheep just hanging out in our yard with no fence, right next to a busy road, in the middle of the d*** city.

You’d think this would be the end of the story, but it’s not. Just yesterday, we got another huge box delivered. Guess what was in the box?

Yep, another sheep. I have no idea what the f*** is happening.

One summer I fell over quite badly, resulting in a severely sprained ankle. For about two months I was on crutches, with my lower left leg encased in a solid, bulky, black boot for support and protection. I had physio appointments at the city centre hospital, after which I usually went to the food court in the shopping centre on my way home.

This shopping centre has two main levels with stairs, escalators, and lifts between them both. The food court is on the first floor, overlooking an entertainment and display area on the ground floor. I couldn’t handle stairs at that time, for obvious reasons, and I was wary of trying to go up the escalators on crutches, as well. This meant I had to use the lifts, an experience I usually try to avoid.

One time, I went to the lift nearest the entrance where I came into the shopping centre. I was tired and wanted to sit down, and I knew there were seats near the lift upstairs. There were about half a dozen parents with pushchairs waiting to use a lift that can carry four at a time, so I knew I’d have to wait. The first group went up, and while waiting for it to come back down another pair of pushchair-wielding mothers joined us.

When the lift opened again, these new arrivals physically pushed me out of the way in order to get in the lift first. “Mothers before cripples,” one announced, with the other rebutting, “She’s probably faking it, anyway.” The lift was gone before I could get back up off the floor.

On another post-physio visit, I decided to use the lift nearer the food court. Like the other lift, it can hold four pushchairs with accompanying adults. There was only one pushchair waiting when I limped over. The lift arrived, disgorged its occupants, and the man with the pushchair got in and immediately turned the pushchair sideways across the entrance. He was completely blocking it, preventing me from getting in the lift myself. He didn’t explain himself or say anything; he just blocked me from getting into the lift so he could have it to himself.

After those two incidents, I started coming into the centre via the street entrance of one of the shops, and using their lifts to get up to the first floor instead of hoping that the centre lifts would be usable first time.

I worked at an animal shelter a few years ago. An older woman came in looking for a small dog. She wanted to visit this small, white poodle that had just been put on the adoption floor that morning. I put them in a meet-and-greet room and placed the dog on her lap. A few minutes later I went in to check on her and she started telling me her story.

Her twenty-year-old daughter had been murdered three weeks ago. She told me how she had to spend $7,000 to bury her baby and that there were over twenty possible suspects.

As she cried telling me her story, this older poodle sat in her lap quietly and let her pet him. She asked if she could put in an application for him and what the adoption fee was. She started crying more when I told her it was $110, because she couldn’t afford that much right now.

I told her to hang on, to put the application in, and that I would work out the rest. I could tell that both the woman and the dog needed each other. I spoke with a coworker and told her I was going to pay the adoption fee. She decided to split the fee with me, instead. Her application was approved, and she somehow cried more when I told her the fee was taken care of. She thanked me over and over again as she carried that little dog out.

I cried when she left, happy to know I could help someone piece things together again.

I’m taking the bus home. You can meet some… interesting… people on public transportation. This older woman gets in and starts yelling at a man sitting in a disabled seat the moment she sees him.

The man stares at her for a minute, seemingly bored, and then nonchalantly raises his pant leg to reveal a prosthetic. The woman’s expression is priceless. She stutters an apology and then sits far in the back.

I’m driving, with my husband in the passenger seat. We pull into the local grocery store parking lot that is always crowded. Every space is taken in the first aisle we drive down. As we pull around to go down the next aisle, we find the path blocked by an SUV. There is no traffic coming either way and at first, we don’t know why it’s just sitting there, until I notice the passenger side door is open and a foot is hanging out. Considering that we’re right in front of the store, I naturally assume that the passenger is being dropped off so that the driver can find a spot to park without the passenger — probably elderly because we live in a county with a large retirement community — having to walk too far.

At first, we sit there and wait, but the passenger never steps out, never even opens his door all the way. Eventually, I check to make sure there is no oncoming traffic and start going around the SUV. Next thing I know, it starts honking and, as far as I can see, there’s no reason for it, since they’re blocking and we’re just trying to get down the aisle. And then I have to put on the brakes because a car has started to back out of a space that’s right in the front. I think nothing of it; I don’t even consider taking the spot since we don’t need one that close to the entrance, but that was before I noticed the SUV pulling in uncomfortably close to my car and I finally put two-and-two together.

Blocking the roadway, the passenger taking his time to get out, or at the very least the honking was all because they thought we were trying to take the spot, when we couldn’t even see the car that was getting ready to leave. So, of course, I take the spot. A d**k move on my part, I’m sure, but if you’re going to be that rude and inconsiderate to other drivers, you’ll get the same in return.