I work in a big box retailer. I spot my coworker in Electronics trying to calm down an angry customer. Over the next half-hour, each time I pass that area, I see that same guy still at the counter, arguing.

Eventually, later in the shift, I walk by to find the customer gone and my coworker laying with his head on his arms at the counter.

Me: “You okay?”

Coworker: *Groans*

Me: “That bad, huh?”

Coworker: *Looking up at me* “That guy wanted me to retrieve photos from his camera. A waterproof camera that is currently at the bottom of the ocean after he literally threw it off a cliff, and from which he expected us to be able to magically access and download pictures.”

I gave him a sympathetic pat on the back, and he groaned again and went back to laying on the counter.

This is about a haircut that I got around 2019, and it still frustrates me. 

I have this habit of growing my hair out to try and do braids and other fancy things, getting sick and tired of how much my hair weighs, and chopping it all off into a pixie cut. This is something I’ve been doing since I was around ten years old, and at the time of this story, I was several years out from graduating college. 

Another thing about me that isn’t REALLY necessary to know but helps set the scene is that, at the time of this haircut, I had bleached my hair at home and it had gone poorly. As such, while I had relatively long hair — a couple of inches past my shoulders — it was unhealthy. I had several inches of roots growing in, and it felt like straw. 

With these things in mind, I went to the hair salon with my reference pictures to get my hair chopped into a pixie cut like I had so many times before, and even though I showed the salon lady my reference pictures — pictures of MYSELF with my desired haircut — she STILL tried to argue with me about how short to cut my hair!

Stylist: “Are you sure?” 

Yes! And here are over ten years of reference pictures OF ME to prove it! 

She did cut my hair how I wanted eventually, but it was so aggravating.

My roommate and I play an online open-world survival game on Xbox. One player hosts a server and invites other players. The game has amazing building mechanics, so we spend a lot of our time constructing massive and ambitious forts, castles, cities, etc.

My roommate discovers that there is a way to use cheats to build without any resources. This cuts the building time to a tenth of what it would usually take. Unfortunately, only the host of the server can use the cheats, so I have to continue building the old fashion way: by running back and forth to grab materials.

One day, we are creating this massive castle. Two hours in, we update each other on our progress.

Roommate: “Yeah, and look here! I got the whole garden leading up to the fortified gate. That leads to the bridge that crosses the moat. And that leads to the large doors of the front of the castle! I even got a massive throne room with a giant feast table. I’m working on the towers now leading up to my lord’s chambers! What have you got?”

Me: “Oh, cool… I, uh… I built a door… That won’t close all the way…”

Roommate: *Awkward pause* “Great. That can be your entrance. Peasant!”

When I was about twenty years old, my friend and I went to see a movie together. When the movie had about fifteen minutes left, it suddenly stopped and the lights came on. The manager came in.

Manager: “I’m very sorry, but unfortunately, we have to cancel the movie today and close. On your way out, there are ticket vendors out front who will give each of you a ticket for a free movie. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

We all got up, grumbling, and headed out. The moment we entered the lobby, we were hit with the smell of smoke, and there was a slight haze in the air. I knew immediately what was wrong.

Friend: “Oh, jeez! How much popcorn did they burn?!”

I leaned over and whispered.

Me: “That’s not burnt popcorn.”

Friend: “Huh? Then what is it?”

Me: *Quietly and calmly* “The building is on fire.”

Friend: “What?! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!“

Me: “Shhhh!”

Friend: “Why aren’t you freaking out?!”

Me: “Couple of reasons. One, we are five steps away from the doors; we’re going to be fine.”

We stepped outside as a few firefighters rushed inside.

Me: “Secondly, you see that firefighter over there? That’s the Captain — and my oldest brother. He’s not panicking, so we’re fine.”

My brothers are sixteen and eighteen years older than me.

Later that evening, I asked my brother about the fire. He got this annoyed look on his face and told me about the conversation he’d had with the manager.

Brother: “You need to evacuate the building — now. We can’t find the flames, but we’re getting a lot of smoke.”

Manager: “Is that really necessary?”

Brother: “What? Yes!”

Manager: “But we’ll lose money. The movies are all going to end in about fifteen minutes. Can’t we wait?”

Brother: “We can’t find the flames! Which means it could be in the walls or higher! The ceiling could come down in fifteen minutes or less and kill everyone!”

That was when the manager begrudgingly shut down the theater.

The theater was fine. They were able to stop the fire, and only one theater screen was damaged in the end. It was not accidental, but I have no idea if they ever caught the arsonist.

I was walking through a parking lot heading for one of the businesses in the lot when a car pulled up next to me. I looked at the driver, and he looked at me and waved, so I started to walk on by. At that point, he honked his horn and then rolled down his window.

Driver: *Demanding* “Where are the hotels downtown?”

The city we were in is fairly small, and the last hotel it had had in the downtown region closed long before I was born. And I wasn’t exactly feeling too helpful after he honked at me; I’m on the autistic spectrum and I absolutely hate unexpected loud noises.

But in an effort to be polite, I just said:

Me: “Sorry, but there aren’t any hotels downtown anymore. The nearest hotel is down that way.” *Pointing back the way he came*

Well, this wasn’t good enough for him, and he started screaming at me about how I was going to tell him where the downtown hotels were. I’d had enough of him by then, so I told him to get stuffed and dashed into the comic book store I’d been heading toward.

From the window, I saw him circle the parking lot before trying his same tactic on someone else, who chose a significantly less verbal means of responding. At that point, the guy finally drove off.