I follow a car onto my tiny PRIVATE road. On this road, we pass a “Private Way” sign, multiple signs saying, “No Trespassing,” “No Parking,” “Parking for Residents Only,” and other variants of those signs. The car then pulls into my driveway. As I wait, thinking this person is just lost and turning around, which happens quite a bit, a woman gets out of the car and starts to walk past me.

It’s a strange driveway and parking area that’s actually across the street from my house, it is still my property. I spent over $10,000 having it professionally built up, leveled, and then paved. It’s mine, and it’s for my personal and work vehicles, my tenants, and our guests. I didn’t do all of this to be denied access by anyone.

Never wanting to assume arrogance, I treat everyone with the respect I would want them to treat me with. I put down the window.

Me: *Politely* “Excuse me, but that’s my spot. Could you move your car?”

Woman: *Giving me the finger* “Do something about it.”

Me: “That’s at least a hundred bucks.”

She then gets into my neighbor’s car. My neighbor’s knowledge of the property lines has been clearly established by her arrogance in the past, but instead of telling her friend to move, she drives off down the road. I then drive up to take the LAST available spot on my property, leaving nothing for one of my tenants despite there being FIVE empty spots at my neighbor’s house.

This woman clearly saw my neighbor’s car parked in the dirt parking area that isn’t on my property, PASSED the empty spot before my neighbor, my neighbor’s car, two or three more empty spots next to my neighbor, and two more cars, and parked in the clean paved area in front of my house next door.

I send a picture to a towing company, and about a half-hour later, the car is towed and impounded.

About six hours after that, the woman comes banging at my door.

Me: “You need to leave.”

Woman: “NO!”

She continued to refuse and was eventually removed forcibly by the police. She was also told to never return. She did return and was promptly arrested.

What she DIDN’T do, however, was ever even attempt to contact the impound yard to get her UNCLE’S car back. About fifty days later, after racking up almost $2,000 in impound fees, in lieu of payment, her uncle handed over the keys and signed the title over to the impound yard — my friend’s impound yard.

It takes about six weeks for a new title to come in, and the impound yard was getting overcrowded. Since I had just sold one of my cars and now had an empty spot, I offered to store the car at my house until the title came in. I never got the opportunity to see the woman’s face when she visited my neighbor again, but I imagine it was priceless.

I am totally blind, and therefore I need specialized training to navigate public transportation, street crossings, etc.

I come to an intersection with my teacher and, as per usual, I end up standing at the curb, totally confused. When I think I have it figured out, I tentatively begin to walk, first checking with my teacher.

Teacher: “You’re right, but don’t wait too long or you’ll miss this chance.”

I begin crossing the street, quickly but cautiously, cane in hand, sweeping it left to right as I am supposed to. I’m maybe a quarter to halfway across the street when my cane smacks into a car, whose music is blaring loud enough to be heard over all the other sounds of the intersection.

Teacher: “Come back to the curb!”

I come back and my teacher explains:

Teacher: “You definitely had the right-of-way. The lady driving the car actually had the nerve to give you a dirty look!”

While she may not have said as much to me directly, I get the feeling my teacher would’ve torn her a new one right then and there.

Because of how long it took me to get that right, only to have it ruined, the lesson was pretty much over by then. My teacher allowed me to take her arm and cross the street, and then, shortly thereafter, took me home. My teacher and I were more often than not at loggerheads with one another, but this was one instance that proved she actually had my back.

I’m visiting my friend in London; we’re both women who prefer to wear smart-looking clothes over casual. I’m a low-income earner whilst she earns much higher, but we are both working class. We’re walking down a street when we are approached by two men a bit older and a lot taller than us who appear to be homeless.

One man is looking somewhat hopeful whilst the other looks wary; both look very desperate. My friend immediately tenses and looks uncomfortable. The men stop.

Hopeful Man: “We don’t mean any harm or anything. We don’t want money. Just… can you spare anything? Please? A chocolate bar or… crisps… or even like… deodorant or something so we don’t immediately get shooed out for smelling when we do have some cash to buy stuff?”

Wary Man: *Almost inaudibly* “Come one, [Hopeful Man]. Look at them; they’re not gonna care.”

My friend is pulling at me to leave but I take my handbag off my shoulder.

Me: “I don’t carry cash, and I know it’s not much, but I’ve got some drinks and some chocolate?”

I offer the men two bottles of drink and two chocolate bars that I have in my bag. They take them.

Hopeful Man: “Thank you! Thank you so much!“

Wary Man: “Yeah… Yeah, thanks!”

They leave. I feel good. My friend, however…

Friend: “Why did you do that? They were probably druggies!”

Me: “I… What?”

Friend: “THEY WERE DRUGGIES!”

Me: “One, you don’t know that. Two, even if they were, that doesn’t mean that they should starve. And three, it’s £1.50 worth of drinks and chocolates — hardly breaking the bank.”

Friend: “Still!”

Me: “No. It was my food; I can do with it what I want.”

We still chat, just not nearly as much as we did before.

I’m in a coffee shop with my very attractive female friend. She’s the sort of attractive that if you stare directly at her you get mesmerized. A group of young men has come in to queue, and one guy has completely blocked the walkway with his body. My friend is coming back from the toilet. She gets to the back of the guy, who’s laughing with his mates.

Friend: *Cheerfully* “Excuse me, please.”

She is ignored; they don’t seem to see her.

Friend: *A bit less cheerfully* “Um… excuse me, please?”

She is ignored again.

Friend: *Raising her voice* “Erm, I’m sorry, but could I just get past, please?”

She is once again ignored.

Friend: *Snapping* “MOVE!”

The guy turns, looking all irritated.

Guy: “Listen, you stupid b****, men are talking. You could have asked nice—”

He stops, taking her in. He’s stupefied. I’m sure he’s hearing an angelic choir. His mates are looking between the awed guy and my annoyed friend.

Nearby Old Lady: “She asked nicely three times, you oblivious ignoramus! NOW GET OUT OF THE WALKWAY!”

The guy scurries into the line properly. My friend thanks the lady and rejoins me. We’re chatting and the guy rocks up with his coffee. His mates are watching and one is shaking his head.

Guy: *To my friend* “Hey.” 

There’s a really awkward pause as my friend clearly ignores him.

Guy: “You’re beautiful.”

He’s still ignored.

Guy: “I’m sorry for being in the way”

Still ignored.

Guy: “I’m… wondering if I could get your number?”

Friend: *Not looking at him* “This stupid b**** doesn’t date oblivious ignoramuses.”

Guy: “Er. I’m sorry for—”

Me: “Oh, piss off. Even your friends know you’re making a t**t of yourself. Stop giving them more to roast you with later.”

There was an awkward shuffle of shame as he headed back to his laughing mates.

We’re visiting a theme park that features two new rides, one of which consistently has a queue time of at least three hours all day. Since we’re in Orlando for three weeks, we figure we’ll just try again another day.

Fast forward two weeks and our efforts so far have been in vain. The queue just refuses to ever dip down below the three-hour mark no matter what we do. We’ve pretty much resigned ourselves to either not going on it at all or just sucking it up and losing the three hours.

On our penultimate visit to the park, we are at the complete opposite end of the park when a bout of tremendously heavy rain starts and, not being the sort of people to get upset about being wet, we decide we may as well quick-march over and see if people got rained out of the queue.

Nearing our destination, we see a family of five huddled under a tree frantically extracting ponchos from a backpack. This family looks at the pair of us marching through this downpour like we’ve grown extra heads. We just shrug and say, “British.”

The family laughs and nods in understanding and we carry on our way. We find a forty-minute queue which we happily jump in. We’re completely dried out by the time we’re halfway through it. Success!