Reading this story reminded me of a time when I lost my own keys.

I was in my first year at university, living in self-catering shared accommodation. At my university, there were no classes on a Wednesday afternoon and I was determined to spend my free afternoon being lazy. I came back to the accommodation, dropped my bag off in my room, and went upstairs to the kitchen to make some lunch.

With lunch out of the way, I came back downstairs, unlocked my room, and went inside. I sorted a couple of things out, went to lock the door, and realised that I couldn’t find my keys. I checked my bag, but they weren’t there. I looked on my bed and under it, but they weren’t there, either. Frantically, I turned the place upside down, throwing clothes, books, and other things into the centre of the room. My keys were nowhere to be found!

Panicking now, I phoned my mum. I’m not sure how I thought phoning my mum would help since I was in Belfast and she was two hours away and didn’t even have a spare key for my room, but I phoned her.

Me: *Panicking* “Mum! I’ve lost my keys!”

My mum was level-headed as always.

Mum: “Calm down. Where are you?”

Me: “I’m in my room.”

Mum: “You must’ve had your keys to get into your room. Try looking in cupboards and under your bed.”

Me: “I’ve done that! But I didn’t…”

I trailed off because I’d just looked down. There, in my left hand, where they’d been the whole time, were my keys!

Me: “I’ve found them.”

Mum: “Oh, good! Where were they?”

Me: “In my hand. I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

My mum laughed and assured me that things like this happened and it was part of adulthood. I hung up the phone and tidied my room.

Years later, I look back on this incident and laugh, and now I have a good story to tell anyone who’s embarrassed because they’ve lost their keys!

Related:
The Key To Getting Your Lost Property Back

It is December 23rd, and I am working in a high-end homewares store. The mall where the store is located is open until late at night, and it’s getting to that angry, stressed-out, desperate stage — the stage where you could wrap a turd in Christmassy paper and someone would buy it.

A middle-aged woman comes in with her teenage daughter. The daughter is a walking cliché: eye-rolling, glued to her phone, and answering her mother with grunts and theatrical sighs.

Mother selects an expensive cookbook and stand, and she wants them wrapped together. I am not an expert gift-wrapper, so it takes me a while. We give Mum a ticket, and she comes back about thirty minutes later.

Something has clearly transpired between Mother and Daughter by the time they come back. Daughter is looking sulky, and Mother is fuming. She slaps the ticket down.

Customer: *Harshly* “I’ve changed my mind! I want a refund!”

Then, the floodgates open.

Customer: “This store is too expensive! Your products are tacky! You should be open more hours! You took too long, and your attitude sucks!”

Me: “Okay… here’s your refund, ma’am. Merry Christmas.”

She was back ten minutes later with some stuff she had fished out of our discount section, and she wanted it wrapped IMMEDIATELY.

So, I did.

I also left the discounted price tags on everything.

In The Netherlands, the traditional treat to celebrate a newborn baby is “beschuit met muisjes”, a round cracker (beschuit) with sugar-coated aniseeds (muisjes) — blue for boys and pink for girls.

A man comes through my checkout lane. He looks exhausted. He has eight rolls of beschuit, a tub of butter, and two packs of muisjes, one blue and one pink.

Me: “Congratulations on the twins, sir!”

Customer: “Thanks!” *Pauses for a second* “Wait, how do you know they’re twins?”

I hold up both packs of muisjes.

Me: “A boy and a girl?”

Customer: “Ah.” *Another short pause* “It’s been a long night…”

This happened when I was ten. My parents were members of a policemen’s club that featured a small, private swimming pool. Three of my friends and I were in the changing area — a small area barely bigger than my bedroom — when a woman walked out of the toilet cubicles. The only people who had been in the pool at this point were this young woman, a mother and young child, a lifeguard, and a swim teacher.

Woman: “Which one of you moved my clothes?”

She pointed at a pile of neatly folded clothes.

Me: “It wasn’t me.”

She looked at each of us in turn, all three of my friends parroting the same words. The woman starts to look slightly cross.

Woman: “You shouldn’t tell lies, girls. Then people won’t believe you when you tell the truth.”

She walked back into the pool area. We left the changing room a few minutes later to wait for my friend’s dad to pick us up.

Later that afternoon, I was having tea when my parents called me in.

Dad: “[My Name], I’ve just received a very interesting call from the pool today.”

Dad explained that just after we’d left, the changing room had been found in a mess. A few bath toys belonging to the mother and child had been thrown about and placed in unlocked lockers. A towel was on the floor. The mother’s purse had been wedged into the wall where a brick had fallen out ages ago. The mother’s bra was also missing.

Of course, I protested that we hadn’t done anything.

Me: “There was another woman in there. She could have moved those things.”

Mum: “[My Name], why would a grown woman do something so ridiculous?”

Dad: “You were the only others in there, the lifeguard said.”

After endless pleading, with my parents saying things such as, “You don’t need to defend your friends,” and, “It’ll be much easier on you now if you just own up,” and, “[My Name], don’t you realise the consequences of this? They may not let us back in,” they decided to search the house. I don’t remember much about what happened, as I was crying with frustration that they didn’t believe me.

The next day, the pool called up and said that the mother’s bra had been found in the bushes outside the changing room window. Since two of my friends weren’t members of the club, I hated the fact that they may be banned.

While the pool didn’t ban me or my friends, the parents of my friends who weren’t members never took them back.

A customer is ordering for himself and his son.

Customer: “I’ll take an Italian sub, extra cheese.” *To his son* “What do you want?”

Customer’s Son: “I want the burger and fries!”

Customer: *Looking at the menu* “What, for that price? No way!”

Me: “Actually, sir, the—”

Customer: “That s*** is full of carcinogens and free radicals and chemicals and all that nasty stuff! You shouldn’t be putting that stuff on the menu where kids can see it and order it! No way! I can’t order this stuff for him and call myself a responsible parent!”

Me: “Sir, I was going to say that his kids’ meal is actually free since you’re ordering a full adult meal.”

Customer: *Smiling* “Oh, well, that’s okay, then!”