I worked in a thrift store, and we got a new store manager. She was a liability in nearly every way imaginable. Every single day, the store was littered with projects she would begin only to walk away from them and forget them about half an hour in, so our store would be full of half-assembled displays, tripping hazards, and collapse hazards. One metal rack did collapse with a crash, nearly injuring several customers and scaring nearly everyone on the floor. But if you dared to lay so much as a finger on [Store Manager]’s messes to try to make them better or safer, she would berate you for twenty minutes straight for messing with her “workflow.”

She decided that we were going to price items her way, and no other way was acceptable. So, I complied.

I came in to do my shift and signed in. [Store Manager] pounced on me as soon as the computer indicated that I was now On The Clock.

Store Manager: “So, [My Name], I wanted to talk to you about this…”

Me: *Silent sigh*

She walked over to a set of shelves behind the counter, where my higher-priced items were usually nestled. One particular purse brand had multiple shells that could be switched out, so you could have one purse, but a shell could make it red, blue, or any other color, depending on your attire for the evening. It wasn’t a high brand, but since it was an item with multiple accessories, I put them all together in a display to sell as a lot.

Store Manager: “You know, a lot of people wanted to see this, but when they saw that it was $5, they all decided they didn’t want it. They said $5 was too much for a purse that doesn’t have handles.”

Me: “[Store Manager], that’s a shell, not a purse. It’s a [Brand] shell. Remember that [Brand] clutch that had several different shells, and I sold them as a bundle? You told me that $10 for the lot wasn’t enough and you bumped it up to $25?”

Store Manager: “Well, they think $5 for the shell is too much.”

I held onto my temper as hard as I could. I had TOLD her that I had a year and a half of experience and that I knew what would sell, what wouldn’t sell, and what prices would get the product moving. She had given me a twenty-minute riot act about how it was now HER store and we were to do it HER way or be fired. Now, she was trying to give me another riot act about how customers were complaining about prices that SHE had demanded we set.

I walked to the computer we used to look things up and pulled the only site [Store Manager] was now allowing me to price my stuff with.

Me: “Large [Brand] shells start at $7, [Store Manager]. I priced this one at $5.”

I pointed at a screen full of $7 [Brand] shells. I could practically hear the screeching of tires and the shrill beeping of a vehicle in reverse as [Store Manager] backpedaled like mad.

Store Manager: “Oh, uh, um, of course. I was just… just… uh… saying how it wasn’t moving, is all.”

Me: *Shrugging* “It’s as cheap as I can make it according to your direct instructions.”

[Store Manager] very quickly found somewhere else to be, without another word.

I’m not going to lie; I spent the rest of the day smirking and doing a happy dance. She would rarely be forced to admit fault, so I took what small victories I could get.

Many years ago, I was in band in high school. We were raising money for a trip to play at a festival at a famous theme park by selling chocolate bars.

I stopped by the house of a family friend, and the woman agreed to buy a few. Her young daughter, around three or four years old, happened to witness the transaction and, having found a dollar bill lying around the house somewhere, insisted on giving that to me, too. 

Nothing Mom or I could say would dissuade her from her newfound mission of handing the dollar bill to me. I didn’t want to put Mom on the hook for any more chocolate than she’d already agreed to buy.

Suddenly, inspiration struck!

I gave Mom a knowing look and accepted the money, thanking the girl. Then, I reached back into my pocket and pulled out a different dollar bill. “Here’s your change!” I told her, offering it to her. She took it happily and toddled back off into the house, presumably to wherever she’d found the money in the first place.

I live near a national forest, and it’s not uncommon to see minor wildlife ambling through. The biggest is a bobcat though, and we don’t have a problem with mountain lions or bears.

Unfortunately, we have a neighbor who is very irresponsible with their pet cat, whom they allow to wander around at will. Now, I don’t know whether the cat is this way because he has had to contend with various wildlife his entire life, or whether he’s just a furry little jerk, but he will fight anything his size or smaller. He’s taught another neighbor’s Scottish Terrier to fear him, and he bullies other cats mercilessly.

Then one night, he got taught a very rude lesson. It was a nice summer evening, and we had all the windows open to enjoy the cool air, when I heard a feline yowl. The neighbor’s cat had found some poor critter to pick a fight with.

Neighbor’s Cat: *Angry growl and hiss.*

Neighbor’s Cat: *Louder angry yowl.*

Neighbor’s Cat: *Furious yowling and a scream that means he’s in full attack mode.*

Neighbor’s Cat: *Sudden, very shocked, very “I regret everything in my life that led me to this moment” screech and the sound of scrambling paws as the cat flees.*

Then I uttered a string of curses and bolted for the window to close it. Outside, a small black and white animal strolled away from the light from my window.

Yep, the neighbor’s cat decided to bully a western spotted skunk, a slightly smaller, more weasel-looking kind of skunk than the usual kind. It probably looked like a small, easy victim to bully. And of course, the furry little jerk picked a fight directly outside my window, much to my dismay.

It was a week before we saw that cat again, and even then, he was never outside after dark when skunks liked to prowl.

Every time I see him, I snicker at the thought of the thoroughly skunked cat fleeing into his owner’s house: reeking to high heaven, and needing to be bathed. I also suspect his human lost a lot of blood before the stench was washed away since he was a scrappy little fighter.

Lesson learned for both of them, I hope!

Shortly after my mum and dad got married, my dad decided they should go camping, since my mum had never been. They went with my dad’s friend and his friend’s wife. After they set up camp and had a fire going, it became dark. My mum leaned over to my dad.

Mum: “Um… I have to go to the bathroom.”

Dad: *Hands her a flashlight and some toilet paper.* “Alright, here you go.”

My mum stared at my dad like he was insane. She was a city girl and so had never not used a toilet before. The friend’s wife took my mum into the woods to do her business.

Shortly after they returned, my dad announced that he now had to pee. My mum tried to hand him the flashlight, but my dad waved it off, boldly stating that he didn’t need it. He walked off into the darkness… a few moments later he comes running back, yanking his pants into place and screaming:

Dad: “I TOUCHED SOMETHING FURRY!”

Mum and the friend’s wife got in the truck and locked the doors, while my dad and his friend grabbed flashlights, a shovel and a stick and went back to where my dad had been. They found the spot.

While my dad had been relieving himself, he had put one hand on a tree branch to steady himself. Right where he had put his hand… was a shaved baby doll’s head. And my dad, being my dad, took the head with him.

For years he would take it camping and hunting with him.

I work as an advanced technician for a satellite TV company. I get the customers with repeated issues with their system, and most of them are rightfully frustrated and, to be fair, unpleasant to deal with.

I get a call from Texas, and the caller grudgingly goes through the troubleshooting steps. The end result is that a service call is needed.

I look up the first available appointment and see that it is over six weeks away. I audibly inhale, expecting a tirade of abuse.

No, the caller just laughs, says, “That’s harsh, buddy,” and takes the first appointment.