I am a closing manager and I get called to the registers. There is a lady with a baby stroller who has already paid for her items.

Me: “What can I do for you today?”

Customer #1: “My dog was stolen from right in front. She was tied up and now she’s gone!”

Me: “Okay, have you called the police?”

Customer #1: “No, I don’t have a phone.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll let you use the store phone while I go look it up on camera.”

I do this and find the exact moment on camera. I immediately recognize the person who takes the dog as a somewhat regular, [Customer #2], who I cashed out about ten minutes ago. I watch on camera and see him ask two of my cashiers about the dog, confirmed by both of them. [Customer #2] goes in and buys dog food, waits a few more minutes, and then unties the dog and walks off. The dog is very friendly, so she goes without any fight.

I get an accurate description of the person and give it to [Customer #1], and she passes it along to the police.

I think that’s the end of it, but I answer the phone about an hour later. Plot twist! It’s [Customer #2]!

Customer #2: “Yeah, I was there a little while ago and I ended up taking a dog home with me. She was really skinny, and I talked to a couple of guys who said she was out there for a while. I just wanted to know if anyone was looking for it?”

Me: “Yes, there was someone here who was looking for her dog. She isn’t here anymore, so here’s what I recommend. I recommend calling the police, giving your side of the story, and then releasing the dog to them to be returned home.”

Customer #2: “Okay, I’ll do that.”

He ended up calling back, he said he was told there wasn’t a police report yet, so he left his name and phone number.

Another plot twist! [Customer #3] came in and explained that his friend had her dog stolen at my store, so I was able to facilitate an exchange, and hopefully, the dog was returned safely within an hour of submitting this story.

What none of us could understand is why the first option that [Customer #2] took was stealing the dog. We collectively agreed that he should have asked for me to make an announcement. Then, all of this could have been avoided.

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains content of a medical nature. It is not intended as medical advice.

I was out drinking with friends. Inside got a bit overwhelming, so I went outside for a bit, and there were some drunk ladies dancing in the street.

A younger woman exited the pub next door, but she tripped on the curb and banged her head against the road.

Two of the drunk ladies immediately sobered up and went over to her.

Drunk Lady #1: “We’re nurses.”

They started trying to check where the woman had hit her head. I used my phone as a torch so they could see better; I didn’t really know what else I could do.

The woman’s friends came over, and one of the drunk ladies explained.

Drunk Lady #2: “Head wounds can be really serious. Keep an eye on her for the next twenty-four hours, and make sure she stays awake for the next six.”

After the young woman and her friends went on their way, those drunk ladies were back to their drunken dancing. It was a little hard to believe they’d been so sensible just minutes beforehand.

This happened some years ago when I was in my early twenties, living and studying in Iceland. I once had to do a Uni assignment on heavy metal music. I went to borrow the only book in the city library about the history of heavy metal music.

I couldn’t find it, so I asked a librarian for help. Next to her was another patron who had been chit-chatting with her. As soon as I mentioned the book, he jumped up.

Patron: “I know that book!”

And he went to find it for me — all the while sort of complaining that it’s the devil’s music and so on (both in a joking but also serious tone).

He only pointed the book out for me but refused to touch it. As soon as I picked it up, the guy seriously made the cross with his fingers against the book!

The librarian and I talked a bit about this type of music, while the guy rambled on and on about it being bad and associated with the devil.

Then, he made the assumption of the year for me.

Patron: “Since you’re such a big fan of metal music, you must be covered in tattoos! And you probably smoke and drink and party all the time!”

None of that was true in any sense.

In his (tiny) defense, I was covered up in bicycling gear due to a fairly cold spring day, so he could only see my very plain face.

And then, he gave me the best offer ever: a promise to introduce me to the world of classical music. The joke’s on him, though.

Me: “Actually, I’ve been playing the flute since I was eleven, played in a harmony orchestra for many years, and am an avid fan of classical music, operas, and many others.”

The look on his face when I revealed that none of his assumptions and heavy metal stereotypes were true to me was absolutely priceless.

Client: “I’ve never worked with anyone who has completely avoided emails as you have. I don’t know if you decided that my project was too hard, too small, or what, but you’ve shown incredibly bad manners and a lack of professionalism. I’ve found someone else to work with and her portfolio is very good. I hope that, in the future, you have the decency to respond and let people know they might be best going elsewhere.”

Ouch.

Of course, this was the first email I got from this person.

One hot summer, many years ago, my wife, five small children, and I were living in a small rental home that had no air conditioning. To make matters worse, all the bedrooms were on the second floor where it was even hotter. Temperatures were in the high nineties and above, and it didn’t cool down much at night. We opened all the windows and ran fans to make it nights bearable.

The house was on the main street in our small town and right next to the parking lot for a park. The house’s yard was surrounded by a chest-high concrete fence. On weekend nights, the teenagers and twenty-somethings would “drag Main”, driving up and down Main Street honking and calling to each other, and they would often congregate in that parking lot next to our home. And they weren’t particularly quiet as they talked loudly and gunned their engines.

One unbearably hot weekend night, it was 1:00 am and my wife and I were trying to sleep. Suddenly, the noises of the main draggers reached a crescendo pitch. My wife had had enough. Ignoring my advice to let it be, she marched down the stairs, out the front door, and across the lawn to the concrete fence next to the parking lot, wearing nothing but a thin nightgown. She slammed her hands on the fence and yelled at the ten or so young people congregated there. This is basically what she said.

Wife: “Hey! I have had it! You are making too much noise, and if you wake up my baby, I will grab you by the ears, pull you into my house, and make you put that baby to sleep! Now be quiet!”

Without waiting for a reply, she marched back into the house, slamming the front door behind her. I peeked out a few minutes later and the parking lot was deserted. We never saw the main draggers again for the rest of the time that we lived there.