My husband and I were shopping at a big chain store a couple of days ago. We were heading toward the home goods area when I heard a couple getting frustrated, by the tones of their voices, a couple of aisles away. I told my husband I’d be right back and went over to ask them what was wrong.

Lady: “We’re looking for folder tabs to put into folders in order to mark different sections.”

I keep a database of seeds because I collect packets of seeds the way some people collect baseball cards — yeah, I’m a botany geek — so I knew right where those were.

Me: “Hey, I know where that is. You’re in the wrong area; it’s in with paper, folders, and stationery in office supplies. Follow me.”

I led them right to where the tabs were.

Guy: “Hey, they need more employees like you, helping people on your day off.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Me: “Sorry, I don’t work here. I just happen to know where a lot of the stuff is around here.”

They both laughed, too.

Guy: “Well, you should be; you’re at least helpful.”

They asked me where a few office supplies were, and then where the women’s clothing was; they apparently had everything else.

It was no biggie; as I said, I know where everything is there, and they don’t change the store around much. I was glad to help.

I don’t work there, but it still felt good to be useful. All in all, it was a great day.

I’m a twenty-three-year-old male who lives alone. I practice nudism when and where possible, and as such, I am naked about 80% of the time I am at home.

This morning, I wake up and go about my usual stuff. Still naked, I notice that the kitchen bin is rather full; I had a rather large delivery dinner last night, and it is utter chaos in there! I pull the bag out, tie it up, and throw on my dressing gown/bathrobe to take the bag outside to the bins by the road.

It is a crisp 3 degrees C (37F) this morning, so I don’t want to be out there for long! The bins, yet again, are full — people dont bother to put them out properly and wonder why they fill up so fast — so I move my own bin onto the pavement where they are able to be collected easily. I throw the bin bag in it and am just heading back up the pathway to my front door when I hear a voice.

Woman: “EXCUUUUUUUUUUUUUSE ME?”

I roll my eyes, take a breath in, and turn around.

Me: “Yeah?”

Woman: “Are you wearing anything under the robe?”

Me: “Uh… why does that matter?”

I know that it is done up correctly. I double-knotted the tie-up thing to make sure of it and wrapped it very tightly around me so it couldn’t slip open in any way.

Woman: “Well?! Are you?”

Me: “I don’t think that’s any concern of yours. I’m just putting my bin out—”

Woman: *Interrupting* “That means you’re naked under that robe. That’s illegal!”

Me: “Uh, no. No, it’s not. I’m covered, so it’s legal.”

As I turn away to open my door with my keys, she suddenly lunges up the path and grabs me by the arm.

Me: “Don’t you touch me! Get off!”

Woman: “YOU’RE NAKED UNDER THERE! THAT’S ILLEGAL! I’M CALLING THE POLICE! IT’S DAMAGING TO CHILDREN!”

Is it? Wearing a bathrobe is damaging to children, is it? Sure.

Me: “If you don’t let go of me, I will report you for harassment and violence. F*** off, woman, and leave me alone, I’ve done nothing wrong here.”

She let out an unintelligible grunt-scream-screech-type noise that made her sound like something from “Doctor Who” circa the 1970s. It ended with “…police!” so my guess is that she was screeching about getting me in trouble with them or something. I dunno.

Well, it’s 8:00 pm now with no sign of the police, so unless they take thirteen hours to respond, methinks she was either bulls***ting or the police told her to bog off.

While being naked under a bathrobe outside is not illegal, it might be considered odd, I suppose. But I didn’t see the point in putting anything else on for a two-minute task before being naked once I was back inside. I was fully covered up, so I don’t see what her problem was at all!

You’d like to think you’re safe near your own home, but they’re out there — crazy neighbors! Check out more weirdos near you in our roundup: 23 Crazy Stories About Nosy, Naughty Neighbors!

My pharmacy has a patient who is on workers’ compensation. Every month, the workers’ comp needs prior authorization for his prescription, and every month, he yells at us telling us that we are doing something wrong.

On a Thursday, he calls us and I pick up.

Patient: “My insurance told me the prior authorization went through on Tuesday. What’s taking so long?!”

I go and retransmit it, and of course, it doesn’t go through. So, he starts yelling.

Patient: “You always mess this up! You’re not doing it right!”

Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Me: “Is it [Insurance Company]?”

Patient: “Yes!”

Me: “Well, it’s still not going through, unfortunately, so I’ll have to call you tomorrow.”

He starts yelling again, and I stop him.

Me: “Sir, I’m not going to have this conversation with you if you continue yelling at me.”

Patient: *Still yelling* “I’m not yelling at you! If I were yelling at you, your eardrums would burst!”

I don’t know why his insurance is telling him the claim has gone through when it clearly hasn’t, but this man is truly awful to deal with.

I was at my local discount store, just buying some discounts and other fun things, when I encountered someone who was absolutely transfixed on a bag of something he’d apparently never seen before. He looked at me, and with the strangest combination of confusion and delight, he hissed:

Customer: “What is this stuff?”

He was holding a bag of birdseed.

Me: “Birdseed.”

He looked confused.

Me: “Food for birds.”

He looked strangely excited about this information.

Customer: “It’s food?”

Me: “For birds, yes. I suppose you could eat it, but I’m not sure what you’d get from it…”

I paused and read the label to him, and before I could get through the list, he interrupted me to announce:

Customer: “I’m gonna eat it!”

He grabbed several bags off the shelf and hurried off excitedly. I hope he enjoys his weird dinner.

I am at an arts and crafts store in search of picture frames. I’m searching for a precut natural white matte board in my desired size because the store is grotesquely understaffed and there is a line at the framing counter. I hear [Woman #1], an older lady, ask [Woman #2] for assistance; [Woman #2] is wearing a shirt that matches the employees’ smocks.

Woman #2: *Quickly and almost rudely* “I don’t work here.”

She grabs her cart and walks away.

I don’t know why this attracts my attention. Maybe it’s the desperation in [Woman #1]’s voice, or maybe it is store acoustics funneling their voices to me. I really don’t know.

[Woman #1] stands for a moment before she uses a seeing-impaired cane to walk toward me in the main aisle.

Me: “I don’t work here, but can I try to help you?”

She gives a huge sigh and smiles.

Woman #1: “I need help finding yarn; I’m making a baby blanket. The colors needed are white or cream, yellow, pink, and blue, and I can’t see enough to pick them out.”

Me: “I can definitely help you with that.”

Woman #1: “Can you lend an arm? It’s crowded here, and I walk faster with a person leading.”

Me: *Laughing* “Well, speed isn’t on my menu. I have a walking boot and crutches. If you want, I can lead and you can follow. Unfortunately, I don’t have an open arm.”

Woman #1: “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll just find an employee.”

Me: “No, it’s not a problem! I’ve only seen one employee anyway, and they’re at the framing counter with a line of people.”

We figure out all the logistics, and as we get to the yarn, we share names. I learn that she had her vision until “a pair of hands and a foot ago”, and that her husband dropped her off while he went to the hardware store. We get to the yarns and start by finding what feel of yarn she wants. Then, I start describing the colors.

Me: “They have barely pink, light salmon, and cotton candy pink. Here there’s banana skin yellow and banana flesh yellow. And this is almost an orange-pink.”

Woman #1: “You’re describing them so well! Thank you!”

We gathered the bundles of yarn that she wanted, finished our shopping together, and even checked out one after the other. She insisted on buying me a chocolate bar as a thank-you.

Total grandma move there, right?

Mama Setia, I hope your great-grandbaby’s blanket turns out wonderfully soft and as loving and sweet as you are.