When I was in my mid-twenties, I used to live on the bottom floor of a two-story house in a very popular beach town in North Carolina. The upstairs was rented out to four college-aged guys. So, there were five people with five cars, and the driveway was built for four, so one of us would either be on the grass or in a paid spot. If you had bills with your name and address, the city would give you a pass to park in certain paid spaces, so it wasn’t a big deal, but finding a spot in the middle of summer was hard.

The house was maybe 100 yards from the beach — a pretty short walk, five minutes tops with beach gear and little ones. I would leave for work at 6:30 am and return around 5:00 or 6:00 pm. By the time I got home, most of the crowds would be gone, so a paid spot was easy for me to get, so I’d typically leave the driveway for the upstairs guys.

One day, I was running late and didn’t get out of my house until nearly 8:00. The other guys had left, and the driveway was empty. I was walking out to my car, and of course, the lots were already 90% full or more. As I was crossing the street, I saw a minivan come up and pull into my driveway. I didn’t recognize it, so I waited to see if I knew them or if they knew the upstairs guys.

Out stepped a dad in a polo shirt, a visor, and bowling shorts and an overly peppy mom with three screaming kids — obviously, no one I know. I backtracked toward them.

Me: “Excuse me. Do you know the tenants upstairs or have their permission to park here?”

Mom: “It doesn’t matter. No one’s parked here, and [Kid #1], [Kid #2], and [Kid #3] have to get to the beach.”

Me: “There are five people living there, myself included, and we need to be able to park.”

Mom: “Oh? So, where’s your car if you live there?”

Me: “In that spot there because I have a pass.”

Dad: “Don’t lie to us. You’re here just the same as us and upset that we know how to park for free.”

Me: “I’m not lying, dude. It’s 8:00 am and I’m wearing my work uniform.”

Mom: “We don’t need to listen to you. We’re going to park, and you can do whatever you want. My children have to get to the beach. You’re ruining our vacation, so go away!”

Meanwhile, the kids were climbing on my fence and trees, in and out of the street.

Me: “Okay, I’ll just have you towed, and you can deal with it later.”

The dad got in my face, practically nose to nose,

Dad: “TRY IT AND SEE! THIS ISN’T YOUR HOUSE! YOU’RE JUST A LITTLE S***!”

Mind you, I’m 5’11”, roughly 190 pounds, and in fairly good shape.

Me: “Okay, have a nice day.”

I went to my car and waited until they were pretty much at the beach. Then, I went inside and looked up a tow service on the other side of town.

Me: “Hello, I’d like to report a car illegally parked on my property, [address].”

Towing Company Owner: “Sir, that’s an hour away.”

Me: “Yeah, I know. I’m not paying; that’s their problem.”

Towing Company Owner: “Okay, we’ll be there in about an hour and a half.”

Then, I called my boss and explained what had happened and that I wasn’t going to be in. He’s a pretty easy-going guy and just told me to keep him informed.

The tow truck arrived, and by 10:30 am or so, the van was gone. I left my car in the spot and waited.

Sometime around 2:00 or 3:00 pm, there was a very angry knock at my door. This was gonna be fun.

Imagine the shock when I answered the door, beer in hand, grinning like an idiot.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Dad: “YOU! WHERE IS OUR VAN?!”

Mom: “HOW DID YOU GET HERE?!”

Me: “Oh, yeah, here’s the card; I had it towed across town. Gonna be a fun cab ride.”

I shut the door in their faces. There was more angry yelling and knocking, so I opened the door again. 

Me: “Yes?”

The dad started trying to get into my house.

Dad: “You’d better get us our van back! I’m gonna kick your a**! I’ll have you arrested!”

Me: “Get outta my house! And call the cops; it’s not gonna change anything.”

I managed to shove him out the door and get it closed and locked. Then, I waited. For the next twenty minutes, there was more angry knocking and yelling.

Finally, at about 4:00 pm, I saw some blue lights, and there was a much more polite knock at my door. I grew up on the beach, and it’s a small number of locals. I know 70% of the locals on the island — police, bartenders, shop owners, residents, etc.

Me: “Oh, hey, [Officer]. How’s it going?”

Officer: “Yeah, it’s good. These people say you stole their van and broke into this house.”

Me: “Nope, they pulled into the driveway as I was leaving for work, pulled an attitude, walked away, and said I couldn’t do anything. So, I called [Towing Company Owner] on the other side of town. Their van’s there; I even gave them his card and offered to let them use my phone.”

Mom: “He’s lying! He stole our car! I demand that he be arrested.”

The dad stormed up behind the officer.

Dad: “If you don’t arrest him, I’ll have you fired! This is ridiculous!”

Officer: “Sir, back up. I’m going to figure this out.”

Dad: “This is bulls***!”

He was now shoving past [Officer] and working his way into my house again. [Officer] was able to pull him out and managed to get him pressed up against his cop car.

Officer: “Sir, you are trespassing now.” *Looking over at me* “Would you like to press charges?”

Me: “Can you keep him in your car until they get a cab?”

Officer: “Yeah. I mean, I’ve got to get statements and everything.”

So, I gave my statement, went inside, grabbed a beer, and went out the back door, up the back steps, and around to the second-floor porch. And there I sat smiling until a cab came around 5:00 or 5:30.

My upstairs neighbors showed up, but they didn’t play any part in the story.

I’m a rural tow truck driver. We’ve got a very small fleet: only three trucks total. Two are meant for cars, and one is meant to pick up semi trucks and their trailers.

My coworker was called out to pick up a minivan that had broken down on the highway. He went out to take a look at it, and it turned out that the driver of the minivan had accidentally driven it into the ditch when trying to get on the shoulder as the brakes had failed.

[Coworker] started winching the minivan back onto the shoulder so he could tow it, but he messed up the chain, it got caught on a stump, and he managed to break the winch assembly. Worse, he broke the winch assembly badly enough that it twisted the bed of his truck.

So, they called me. [Coworker]’s truck was still drivable, so he took the customer back to the mechanic. I got my truck out there to pick up the minivan, but while I was attaching the winch to the minivan, a pick-up with a trailer full of poorly secured junk came by the bend. A riding lawn mower fell off of the pick-up’s trailer and slammed into the side of my truck, breaking the driver’s side door shut and misaligning the steering wheel badly enough that I didn’t feel that it was safe to drive it.

I practically s*** my pants; if I had been in the driver’s seat, that could have killed me.

The pick-up drove on without stopping.

I called for the truck that could tow a semi (or a tow truck) to get both me and the minivan (which I winched out of the ditch while I was waiting).

While the heavy tow was slowing down to pull over and pick me up, a driver — later revealed by the police to be drunk — slammed into the back of it hard enough to break the rear axle.

That’s how all three of our trucks were taken out of commission by one tow. It was very embarrassing calling one of our rivals for a rescue.

This was hands down the weirdest thing I’ve seen.

I do a lot of fieldwork at remote sites. “Remote” doesn’t really mean “inaccessible”, but it does mean it’s d*** hard to get to sometimes. I’m talking four to six miles into a wilderness, two miles from any established trail. Now, picture my coworker and me setting up a bark beetle trap in the middle of the forest in such a location. She squeaked a bit and pointed, whispering, “I think I see a bear!”

I turned my head and watched a fuzzy brown splotch moving through some thick undergrowth in the distance, kind of walking toward us, but it looked strange. It wasn’t really moving like a bear should.

A few minutes later, the shape popped out of the brush into a clearing, and I now knew why it looked weird. It was an extremely overweight man, I’m guessing in his mid-forties, buck-naked except for a bandana, eating… a KFC chicken sandwich, judging by the wrapper. He was just casually walking through the woods munching away, dangly bits and all flopping around like nothing was out of the ordinary.

I have no idea how he was even able to walk out there. I was wearing Vibram soles because of the random sharp rock pockets from the nearby lava fields and cinder cones.

We called it a day about six hours earlier than we should have and got the h*** out of there as fast as we could. My coworker refused to ever go back to that location, and I had to finish installing the trap by myself a week later.

The city I live and work in is one of the largest in the UK and has several universities in it. I work in the city centre and live close enough to commute on foot. I usually walk home on a major route that, if I were to follow it past my street and on for another half a mile or so, would lead to the largest and most famous of these universities. 

It’s spring, and there are a lot of potential students coming to the city to look at the different university campuses, take tours of the buildings, and generally try to prepare for their future. The city can be hard to navigate, so I like to keep an eye out for them and give directions where I can.

One day, I am at a point on my walk home that’s almost equidistant between the largest university and the two universities nearest to where I work. I spot two confused-looking young people. They are dressed in an eclectic mix of clothing that gives that hint of trying too hard to be quirky. One is looking around, looking half-asleep and helpless. The other is glowering with tightly folded arms and an about-to-ask-for-the-manager expression of rage.

Being too nice for my own good, I ask if they are lost.

Sleepy: “Yeah… We’re trying to get to the university.”

Me: “Okay, I can give you directions. Which one?”

I can almost hear the row of dots coming off them.

Sleepy: “…”

Grumpy: “…”

Sleepy: “There are two?”

Me: “Well, I’d say there are three in walking distance of here. What’s the name of the one you want to go to?”

Sleepy looks to Grumpy for help, but Grumpy just harrumphs.

Me: “Is it [University #1]?”

Sleepy: “Uhhhhh…”

Me: “[University #2]?”

Sleepy: “Uhhhhh…”

Me: “[University #3]?”

Sleepy: “…What was the second one again?”

Me: “[University #2]?”

Sleepy: “What was the first one?”

Me: “[University #1]?”

Sleepy: “What was the second one?”

This goes on for some time. Grumpy is no help, clearly getting angrier and angrier in the manner of a toddler whose mother is spending too long chatting outside the supermarket. 

Me: “Look, do you want to call somebody to ask? One of your friends or your family, maybe?”

Sleepy: “No! Our parents said we wouldn’t be able to do this by ourselves! We have to do it by ourselves! Help us!”

Me: *Ignoring the irony* “Well, can you remember anything about the university you’re trying to go to? What course you were interested in? What the logo looks like?”

Sleepy: “It’s in a train station.”

Me: “…Do you mean the train station called ‘University’?”

This is a mainline train station within the campus of the largest university — the one in the direction I’m walking.

Sleepy: “Yes, the university is in it. I think it must be the biggest station in the city.”

Me: “No, University Station is on the campus of [University #1]. Is that the one you want to go to?”

Sleepy, confused beyond the ability to speak, looks at Grumpy. Grumpy does an eye-roll the size of a planetary orbit, grudgingly pulls a sheet of paper from somewhere, and hands it to Sleepy. Sleepy holds it out to me. It’s a flyer for an open day at [University #1]. 

I decide that these two can’t be left to their own devices. I’ll help them find the campus and, hopefully, somebody there will help them get home after they do whatever they are going to do there.

Me: “Okay, I’m heading in the direction you need to go in for [University #1], so how about you walk with me? I can’t go all the way to the campus with you, but I can get you on the right street.”

They both agree, and we set off. I think they might like to chat about the city, but my attempts at conversation are met with looks of terror from Sleepy and glares from Grumpy. After we cross a major road at a pedestrian crossing, they decide to walk about five feet behind me, and every time I turn around to check on them, they are staring fixedly at me. I notice other pedestrians and even drivers giving us weird looks.

By the time we get near my building, I am seriously regretting trying to be helpful. I am at the point where I can safely part ways with them, though.

Me: “To get to the campus, you just keep going down this road. Walk another ten minutes or so. Don’t take any turns or cross the road. You’ll see a big building on the left with a huge banner hanging up on the front of it, saying what it says on your flyer. You can’t miss it. Go into that building and ask one of the staff where you should go. Okay?”

Sleepy: “Yeah.”

Me: “Any questions?”

Sleepy: “Uhhhh… no.”

Not foolish enough to expect thanks at this point, I walk up a side street, cross, go through the small gate that leads into the side of my building’s grounds, walk around to the front of the building, and take out my keys to go into the foyer.

Then, I turn my head and realise that the two have followed me.

Sleepy: “Is this the university?”

Me: “No. Go back to the corner where I spoke to you earlier, and then walk in the direction I told you to.”

Sleepy: “Oh! You were giving us directions!”

Grumpy: *To Sleepy* “Ugh, why are we even here?”

I just went inside.

That was a few years ago. I’ve helped out countless other visitors to the city since, and I’ve never met anybody who had as much trouble as those two. I sometimes wonder if they got into university, and if so, what they studied. I also sometimes wonder if they are still shuffling helplessly around, looking for something that might be a train station, hassling innocent bystanders, and avoiding calling their parents.

I think they might be.

We have an outdoor garden, which my mother loves, but she doesn’t always have the time to care for it properly, so it falls on me to do so.

A common reason potted plants can die is, surprisingly, overwatering. This is why I inspect the soil daily and skimp on watering for the day if it’s clear that the soil is still moist and needs a bit of drying.

Enter my elder sister, who I suspect is mostly doing this for a power trip, though I won’t discount simple ignorance completely. I won’t get into all my grievances with her, but in summary, I’ve been told by my parents to do as she says, purely because she’s older than me and therefore always in the right. I’ve explained to her why I don’t water every day. So, of course, she took it upon herself to water on my “off days”, despite clear evidence of the plants beginning to die of root rot.

At some point, she straight up told me, right when I was about to have breakfast, to drop it and water the plants immediately, and every single day, despite me watering them just the day before.

Sister: “It’s your duty, not mine. Water them every single day. They are not getting enough water, which is why they’re dying.”

Me: “The soil is still quite damp and a rich brown. They actually need drying a bit.”

Sister: “Don’t assume anything. That’s just the surface.”

Parents: “Do as she says. We’ll keep your food warm.”

At that very moment, I stopped caring. I’ve since begun to do exactly that every day. Rain or shine, the soil will get its fill, even as the plants begin to wilt and wither from overwatering, begging to be dried out for a bit.

At some point, they asked a professional for a second opinion, who suggested overwatering as the cause of the sudden malady inflicted on the garden. They either did not believe him or didn’t catch that detail, but they did swap out the soil of the potted plants. Of course, they’re still being watered every day, with predictable results.