I work at a motorway service station and have just finished an eight-hour shift. I go to my car to find the woman next to me has parked at such an angle that her bumper is very close to my driver’s door. I drove into the space forward; she had reversed in.

I open the passenger door to put my things in and then carefully squeeze in the driver’s door. In the process, I bend my leg at such an awkward angle that I end up with a cramp in my hip, which is very unpleasant.

Before I drive home, I have a call to make, so I just take a moment to use my phone. While I am doing this, the woman returns, glares at me, and makes a massive deal of trying to open her door. She then slams it, and shouts through my closed window:

Woman: “Are you moving or what? I need to get in my car!”

I hastily finished my call and left. I’d spent the day dealing with rude customers and didn’t have the energy to argue.

Sorry, lady, if you want to get in your car, perhaps learn to park properly! To make it worse, she had actually bent in my wing mirror as if I was the one in the wrong taking up too much room!

The next day, I made a point of parking in a space beside a no-parking zone so I could go over the line a little. I internally face-palmed when I went to my car to find someone still parked dangerously close to me again.

I have two dogs I love to take on walking tours in Saint Augustine. One is a pointer Dalmatian and the other one is a small black dachshund cocker spaniel mix. On this occasion, the smaller dog is in his stroller and I am walking my larger dog while holding his stroller. I am fine doing this as I have had both dogs for years and they both know how to behave. It is also important to note that the smaller dog, Eraser, is extremely sensitive. He doesn’t let ANYONE hold him except for me and my grandmother. Petting is fine! Just don’t pick him up.

While on this tour, a couple is nearby, and the woman keeps eyeing Eraser in his stroller.

Woman: “I can help you walk your dogs.”

Me: “No, thank you.”

Woman: “No, but I can help you with them. You can trust us; we have dogs at home in [City out of state].”

Me: “Well, that’s fine, but they don’t let just anyone walk them.”

Woman’s Husband: “[Woman], leave her alone.”

Woman: *Whining almost* “But look at her! She needs help!”

Me: *Sharply* “No, I don’t. I’m fine, thank you.”

This shuts the woman up for a few minutes and I continue my walk with my dogs. Eraser is now standing in his stroller trying to get pets from the other people before sitting back down, and the woman approaches me again. This time she grabs the stroller and tries hip-butting me out of the way. I keep a firm grip on the stroller. 

Woman: “Let me just walk him!”

Me: “I said no!”

Woman: “Come on, it’ll be fine. See?”

She walks around and tries to pick Eraser up, which causes him to bark at her and growl. The woman yanks her hands back and then looks at me, completely shocked

Me: “I said no! Do not touch my dog!”

The woman sheepishly went to stand next to her husband as everyone in the tour group had now stopped to see what the commotion was about. I was pissed but calmed down and checked on Eraser, who was happily wagging his tail just fine. After that, the woman didn’t speak to me again, and she and her husband left the tour early. I have a feeling she wanted to steal Eraser as he is a small and adorable little dog; plus, it made no sense that she wanted to walk him when he was in his stroller and just fine.

This story takes place when I first moved out entirely on my own. I’d lived with roommates previously, but this was my first apartment that was 100% truly JUST mine. I had been living there for about a week and was still in the unpacking process, but I had all the essentials up and running. That basically boiled down to TV, game consoles, Internet, and computer.

At around 9:30 pm, I was settling in for a nice night of quality PC gaming when I suddenly heard someone at my door. Keys jangled, the knob was turned, different keys jangled, and the knob turned again. Someone was thumping at the door, trying to force it open. I screwed my courage to the sticking post as it were and went over to the door.

Looking through the peephole, I saw a young lady trying desperately to get the door open. There was nobody else in the hall I could see, so I opened the door.

Me: “Um… Can I help you?”

The lady looked suddenly very alarmed.

Lady: “What are you doing in my apartment?!”

Me: “Er… I think you’re confused. This is my apartment. I moved in a week ago.”

Lady: “NO! This is my apartment! I’ve lived here for months!”

Me: “Are… you sure? Because I’ve been here for a week, and the last guy who rented this place only left because his work visa expired. So…”

She finally paused for a moment. She looked at me, then at the apartment number on the door, then back at me, and then back at the number. She sort of nudged her head and shoulder under my arm and looked into the apartment. She ever-so-slowly pulled back out into the hallway, looked at me, and looked back at the apartment number.

Lady: “Oh. This isn’t my apartment. Maybe that’s why my keys didn’t work.”

Me: “That.. makes sense. So… um… Did you need anything else?”

Lady: “This is building 300, isn’t it?”

Me: “No. This is 500. Thus the… you know.”

And I gestured at the apartment number on my door, which, of course, started with a five.

Lady: “Oh.”

And off she trotted, back to the stairs and outside — presumably. I never actually ended up seeing her again, and I did mention it to the landlord. Since I didn’t have a name, and only the vaguest of descriptions, there wasn’t anything they could actually do about it. I hope wherever you are, you figured out where you live!

I’m grocery shopping, mask on, staying six feet away from everyone, minding my own business. At some point, I kneel down to get something from a bottom shelf when two feet appear next to me, WAY too close.

Creepy Guy: “Yeahhh, that’s what I like to see: pretty young girls down on their knees.”

I freeze. It feels like this guy is literally drooling on me. I’m so disgusted. I get up slowly, shake my head at this sixty-something creep, and put on my most arrogant and disapproving voice.

Me: “Now, now. That’s not a thing that a big mister such as yourself is supposed to be saying, is it? That’s more like something a fourteen-year-old who just discovered his little wiener would say, wouldn’t you agree?”

Creepy Guy: “Well… you… I… It was just a joke! Sheesh, stupid girls can’t even—”

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence because another guy suddenly smacks the back of his head, hard!

Other Guy: “You stupid a**hole! I can’t leave you alone for two minutes! One of these days, you’ll say it to the wrong person, and I’m not visiting you in the hospital or bailing you out of jail! Stop making an a** out of yourself everywhere we go!” *To me* “Ma’am, I’m very, very sorry.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Seriously, who thinks it’s okay to talk to a complete stranger like that in this day and age?

I’m in the park and I overhear a heated conversation between two people about people being transgender.

Woman #1: “There’s no official test for it! It doesn’t exist!”

Woman #2: “There were no official tests for oxygen until 1774. By your logic, that would mean there was no such thing as oxygen prior to then!”

Woman #1: “That’s not what I meant!”

Woman #2: “Fine! The test for determining someone’s sexuality is, ‘Who do you find sexually attractive? Men, women, everyone, nobody?’ Right?”

Woman #1: “Well, yes.”

Woman #2: “And that’s perfectly valid, right?”

Woman #1: “Yes.”

Woman #2: “So then the test for being transgender — ‘Are you more comfortable presenting as the gender you were assigned at birth or a different gender to the one you were assigned as?’ — is valid as a test.”

Woman #1: “No!”

Woman #2: “Then it’s not fine for the other one to be decided by one’s own opinion, either!”

Woman #1: “That’s not—”

Woman #2: “You are part of the LGBTQ+ community; you should respect all letters that are included.”