I’m cleaning the mouse cages. I’m working on the top one, so I’m standing on a stool stretching my short self to reach the bottom. A group of guys approaches me as I’m doing that and begins to ask questions about the animals. I’m female.

Guy #1: “Hey, how do you guys keep them from making babies?”

Me: “We keep the males and females separate.”

Guy #2: “Yeah, but how do you know they’re separate?” 

He’s looking as if he is thinking hard and raising an eyebrow at me, reeking of attitude. His buddies are in the background trying unsuccessfully to not smile like preteen boys whispering the word “penis” in class. I stop my work, get down from my stool, and look the main one in the eyes.

Me: “Sir, they have balls. Fairly noticeable ones. You’re familiar with balls, right? Males have them… normally.”

One April morning, the student body got an email.

“In an emergency announcement, it has been reported that the beavers that own [School] are tearing it down. It will be closed Friday, and on Monday, we will resume study in dams. I have included their locations and which students will be attending them in the attachment.

[Attachment]: Beaver Dam Classroom Arrangement

Mabel Syrup

CEO, Beaver Loan Corp”

When I opened the attachment, it had only two words:

“April Fools!”

I see a customer with an armful of Bibles. He’s heading towards the fiction section. I approach him.

Me: “Sir, please put those back.”

Customer: “Why? How do you know I’m not going to buy them?”

I hold up my hand.

Me: “Look, drop the act. We all know you’re going to put these in the fiction section because you think it’s funny. But you’re the fifth person to do it this month and it’s not funny; it’s just a lot more work for us to find them and put them back. If you’re going to actually buy them, then the checkout is in the opposite direction from where you’re walking. If not, please just hand them over so I can put them away correctly.”

To his credit, he looked defeated and handed them all over.

Parent and child spaces are vital; baby seats just cannot fit through the gap in a normal space. Even with older children, having a safe space for them to stand getting out of the car, reducing that risk of being hit by a parking car, makes so much sense.

I’m pulling into an outlet store car park. We drive down one of the car park aisles when a work van going the wrong way cuts us up and takes the last parent and child space. He gets out of the van alone, sees us, laughs, and flips us off. A real piece of work.

We drive around the car park and find a space on the far end. As we walk toward the store and pass the van, I get an idea. I take the baby back to the car and send my wife into the store ahead. I join her a few minutes later and we walk back to the car together.

Wife: “Oh, did the guy with the van drive off? He was in this spot before, wasn’t he?”

Me: “Yeah, he rushed off shortly after I got back to the car.”

Wife: “Hmm, how did you manage that?”

Me: “I don’t know what you mean. He probably had some urgent job on the other side of the city.”

Wife: “You didn’t?!”

Me: “Hey, if some elderly person calls you up and asks you to put ‘winter roof tiles’ on your house and you take advantage of them, you deserve it.”

Wife: “He is going to be annoyed at you.”

Me: “Yeah, especially when he gets there and realises there isn’t a house with that number on it.”

I got a lot of angry voicemails after that, but I blocked his number. It was childish, but maybe the lesson here is not to park like an idiot in your company van, especially when you have your work phone number on the side.

Not long after graduating college, I am inspired to donate my kidney as a non-directed donation. I originally choose to keep the donation a secret from all my immediate family, due to some foolish notion that I want to make sure I am doing it for the right reasons and not just so I can brag about it. That means that none of my coworkers know anything about my donation plans yet.

Not long after starting that job, I tried and failed to talk my coworkers into joining me at a blood drive. Ever since then, it has been a slight running gag that I have to donate enough blood to make up for the rest of my colleagues who won’t donate.

One day, some coworkers are visiting my cubical mate and they are talking. I’m not paying attention to the conversation at all until this happens.

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], you’re donating blood all the time; you should donate your kidney.”

I still don’t know how kidney donation came up in their conversation. Since I’ve resolved to keep the donation private, I try to redirect the statement.

Me: “You won’t even donate blood and you expect me to donate a kidney? That hardly seems fair.”

Coworker: “I’d totally donate blood if you donated a kidney.”

Me: “Really? You’re going to promise to donate if I give a kidney?”

Coworker: “Yeah, sure.”

I struggle to keep a straight face.

Me: “You know if you make that promise, I’m going to show up here in a few weeks and tell you I’m donating a kidney just to make you donate blood, right?”

Coworker: “Pssh, sure you would.”

Me: “You two heard him say it, right? I need witnesses for when I demand he donate blood!”

Coworker: “You wouldn’t donate a kidney just to make me give blood.”

I eventually get a second coworker to make the exact same wager. Getting two pints of donated blood seems more important than sticking to my rather silly intent to keep the donation a secret, but I want to wait until everything is finalized to tell anyone.

The next week, I come into work with a can of kidney beans and explain to the coworker that I am “donating” them to him, so now he has to donate blood. He laughs at me and says that doesn’t count, but that’s fine; the point is just to make sure he doesn’t forget his ill-fated wager.

The subsequent week, I have Monday off to do a day-long process at the hospital, learning more about the donation process, being put through a few tests to ensure I am healthy enough to donate, meeting with the surgeon who will do the surgery, etc.

That Tuesday, I come into work with a folder filled with paperwork they gave me about kidney donation. I print out a list of all the local blood drives and put it in the left flap of the folder, while making sure the top page on the right flap is one with a giant picture of a kidney on it that can’t be mistaken for anything else. I then surprise my coworker by holding the open folder in front of him without explanation.

Me: “So, here are all the places you can donate blood. The one on Friday is the soonest, but there is one next week that is closer to work if you prefer.”

It takes a minute for his eyes to wander to the rest of the folder and for him to put together the implication, but it is worth it to watch him as he slowly realizes I have every intention of holding him to his commitment. He is rather incredulous at first, believing this is all a prank and insisting that I tell him if I am making it all up, but I remember my favorite question.

Coworker: “Why didn’t you tell me you were already planning to donate your kidney?!”

Me: “I did warn you I was planning to do this — multiple times, in fact. It’s not my fault you didn’t believe me!”

Of course, word got out after that, and soon, my whole office knew of my plans. They even had a surprise party for me before I took off which included a cake made out of kidney beans and a hoodie they bought me with the phrase “Living Donor, see inside for details” written on it that I loved.

In the end, the surgery went fine and the kidney went to a two-year-old boy. I got to meet him for the first time a month after the surgery was over and he was doing well.

I used some of my recovery time to interview with other companies, so I ended up coming back to work only to give my two-week notice not long afterward. That means I never got to hang around to confirm that either coworker donated blood as they had promised, but I definitely kept up with my side of the bargain, so hopefully, they did theirs.