My dad grew up as a poor Cajun boy who was, and still is, known for not being able to say no to people that need help. However, in high school, he somehow became best friends with the youngest son — known to be a troublemaker — of a rather rich and influential family in our area. My dad told me this story from back when the two of them were in their twenties.

It is the day after a massive rainstorm so there are puddles everywhere on the roads. They’re on the interstate with my dad’s friend driving, and a middle-aged woman passes them while smoking a cigarette with her window down.

Friend: “Hey, [Dad], watch this!”

He proceeds to all but slam on the accelerator and manages to time it perfectly so that he hits a massive puddle on the road just as they catch up to this woman’s car. This causes a massive arc of water to go through her open window, completely drenching her. According to my dad, she chases them for several miles, understandably VERY angry, but his friend manages to lose her.

I never really had that high opinion of this family friend to begin with for other reasons and learning this story definitely didn’t help that. Why my dad is still so close to him, I have no clue.

I’m cashiering at a busy restaurant on a Saturday night. A man marches up to the counter to pick up a to-go order. Having dealt with many surly customers tonight, I’ve found the best way to avoid getting yelled at is to smile brightly and ignorantly while saying as little as possible.

Me: *Smiling widely* “Hello! It looks like your food is ready; I’ve got it right here for you! Your total is [amount over $40].”

Customer: *Grumbling* “I’ve only got seven.”

He pulls out his wallet and takes a single bill out.

Customer: “No, I’ve only got $5.”

He places the $5 bill on the counter between us, steps back, and gives me a hard stare. I don’t move to touch the money. Still smiling, but feeling a bit uncomfortable under his glare, I respond the only way I can think of.

Me: “We’re still $38 short.”

The man continues to glare at me, hard. I can feel my smile fading, turning into a deer in the headlights look. Just as I’m about to turn to grab a manager, he grabs the money off the counter, pulls his wallet back out, and hands me a card. I quietly swipe it and hand him the receipt to sign.

Customer: *Shrugging harshly* “This is ridiculous.”

Now just trying to get him out, I shrug back and avert my eyes. Suddenly, the man’s face turns into a grin.

Customer: “You know I’m just messing with you, right? Just thought I’d lighten up your day a bit!”

Relieved, but still on edge, I smiled back. In one fluid motion, the man signed the receipt, handed me the $5 bill as a tip, grabbed his food, and left, chuckling on his way out.

My late uncle could be the soul of kindness where his nieces and nephews were concerned… but he could also be the most irritating man on the planet.

He was a security guard at the university I attended and was often stationed in the library at the front door, checking book bags, usually with a male student who was part of the on-campus student patrol.

Whenever I came through the line, Uncle Irritating would announce, “Oh, this one looks like trouble; better go through everything.”

And he and the student would gleefully remove all my stuff from my pocketbook and my bookbag. One day, after he had made me late for a class, I decided that was it.

The next time I heard him say he would be at the library, I fixed up a bag and headed to the library after a class. When I made to leave, my uncle announced that I was a dangerous thief and he and the male student started opening up my bookbag and pocketbook.

Maybe it wasn’t the best revenge, but they had to remove lots and lots and lots of individual sanitary napkins and tampons in order to get to anything important. The student guard was turning bright red and my uncle was truly peeved. They stuffed everything back in and returned it to me.

“Are we done?” I asked.

My uncle smiled sweetly. We never mentioned it to the family. Ever after, I was able to go through the book check line without being treated as a subject in a Candid Camera episode.

I’m a nurse working in a drive-thru screening clinic for a widespread illness. 

Getting swabbed for this illness involves a throat and nasal swab and it is not a pleasant experience at all. I try my absolute best to be friendly, courteous, gentle, and comforting to make the best of a bad situation for our patients. 

And most patients are lovely. 

But some are not.

I have one guy drive up with two peers in the car, and he is clearly trying to impress them with bravado.

After ranting at me that “all this s***” is just a scam and how I must like hurting people if I do this job, giving me fake, rude names, etc., we finally get around to taking his throat swab. 

I have the swab in his mouth when he lets out a sudden, loud shriek, obviously with the intention of frightening me and making me jump as a “hilarious” joke. 

However, due to the fact that I have the swab in his mouth, when I do jump slightly, I end up jabbing his throat with the swab.

“Mate, maybe don’t do that when I have a stick deep down in your throat, okay?” I suggest.

With his eyes downcast, looking humbled and like someone who just got poked sharply in the back of the throat, he says in a small voice, “I’m sorry.”

My brother is about five years older than me and very smart, and, for most of my young life, I was his little minion. Needless to say, we could be complete terrors to our parents at times. This is one such incident; I am around five or six and my brother is ten or eleven.

We’re playing in the backyard and notice that our dog has created a rather sizable crater. It’s large enough to say, fit a small child. I lie in it to check the fit and we get a couple of shovels to expand it when it’s not quite big enough. Then, I lie down in the hole and my brother puts a piece of plywood over me, asking me to push up on it to make sure I can escape easily. With a hollowed-out dog bone by my head as a snorkel and a thin layer of dirt on top, our trap is set, and my brother goes inside to find Mom.

Brother: *Excitedly* “Mom! Try to find [My Name]!”

I hear Mom walk around for a few moments.

Mom: “I don’t see her.”

Brother: “She’s here. Look harder!”

Mom: “Is she hiding?”

Brother: “Yep!”

I hear some slightly more frantic footsteps.

Mom: *Getting hysterical* “[Brother], where is your sister?!”

Brother: *Gleefully* “I buried her!”

Mom: “YOU WHAT?!”

Taking my cue, I sat up, pushing the dirt and plywood off of me like a zombie rising from the grave, to the gobsmacked shock of our mother.

I don’t remember what punishment we received for our little prank, but I think it involved a spoon and a promise from both of us to never entomb our sibling again.