I store some things for a friend. About a year after he collects his stuff, I realise that he left behind a box. I let him know and he sends his little brother, who I’ve not seen since he was little.

Me: “Hey, did [Friend] send you?”

Brother: “Yeah. You have a box or something?”

Me: “Sure. Here you go.”

Brother: “Am I supposed to be paying you or something? I didn’t really get the message.”

Me: “No, no. Nothing to pay; it’s his stuff.”

Brother: “Oh, cool, thanks.”

He walks off with the box, down the street back to their house.

Some random sketchy guy is eyeing me up at the end of the drive.

Me: “Can I help you?”

Guy: “Yeah, [Friend] sent me for the free stuff.”

Me: “You’re [Friend]’s younger brother?”

Guy: “Yeah, yeah, he said pick up the stuff.”

This guy must be at least ten years older than [Friend], and he’s completely the wrong nationality.

Me: “Yeah, right.”

Guy: “Come on, I’ve driven from [Faraway City that my friend doesn’t live in].”

Me: “Oh, okay, sure. Let me just grab the box.”

I walked back to the garage, stood next to a random box, turned back to smile at the guy, and pulled down the garage door.

I went inside and called the police, but the guy ran off. The nerve of some people!

Our old windows were frosted glass, but they were ancient, and when we replaced them, we couldn’t afford the extra cost so we had to opt for clear glass.

The company finishes the windows and I’m outside admiring the work. Some little old lady walks up to me.

Woman: “Very nice.”

Me: “Oh, thank you.”

Woman: “Much nicer than the last ones.”

Me: “Oh. Thanks?”

Woman: “Yes, you can see right in now. Much nicer, more inviting.”

Me: “Err, okay.”

Woman: “Yes, I walk my dog up and down this road, and it’s so much nicer for everyone if you can look inside and see what’s going on.”

Me: “Oh, sure, thanks.”

I bought some frosted film that night. I had never noticed before, but I see the old lady walking up and down the street, peering into windows all the time now. I mentioned it to my neighbours, and they have done the same.

Sorry to ruin your fun, creepy old lady.

I decide to go for a drive because there really isn’t anything to do with a combination of bad weather and ongoing lockdown mandates in Hawaii. My adventure takes me to a town where I come across a small ramen shop in a strip mall. The largest business here is a grocery store that sits among a variety of small restaurants, and the parking lot is extremely cramped and small.

When I arrive, I end up behind a Hyundai Sedan. The woman in the Hyundai parks in a five-minute parking stall which is clearly marked as such with three signs as well as banners painted on the ground across the front of each stall. These spaces have the advantage of being pretty much right against the doors of the restaurants and seem to be for picking up to-go orders.

I take the stall directly behind the stall she selected, across the aisle, which, as far as I can tell, is the only other available stall in the entire parking lot.

I sit in my car for a moment as I am on a phone call with one of my friends, and as I am sitting there, the woman gets out of her car, looks at the five-minute parking sign, looks at the painted stall markings, looks back at the sign again, and gets back into her car. She starts reversing and it soon becomes clear that she is attempting to back into the space I took, so I lean on the horn and flash my high beams to alert her of my presence. For the record, my car is almost NEON red; I don’t understand how she didn’t see me. She pulls back into the five-minute parking stall and gets out of her car.

I shake my head and resume my phone call when it becomes clear that she is attempting to talk to me by shouting from her car to mine. I wind down my window.

Woman: “Hey! You need to move!”

Me: “What?”

I open my door, look at the ground, and look for overhead signs just in case I have accidentally parked in a handicap stall or loading area, as some of these small shopping centers have bad markings. I find that my stall is a normal vehicle stall.

Me: “What do you mean?”

Woman: “You weren’t supposed to park there.”

Me: “Why?”

Woman: “I was trying to park there!”

Me: “No, you weren’t; you parked there! I even waited until you turned your car off before turning in.”

Woman: “Well, this is five-minute parking.”

Me: “Yes, I am aware; it is clearly marked as such.”

Woman: “I need to go to [Grocery Store]. That’s going to be longer than five minutes, so I need you to park somewhere else!”

Me: “Oh, no, I have business here, so I’m going to keep the stall.”

Woman: “No, you have to move! That stall was empty when I arrived! You shouldn’t have taken it.”

Me: “But you parked there, not here! You can’t claim a parking space just because it was open when you arrived. You chose your space. I chose mine.”

Woman: “Well, I didn’t see the five-minute parking sign.”

Me: “That’s not my problem, lady.”

For the record, if she had a handicap placard or plate, or even if she had just asked nicely, I would have moved because I am literally there on a whim to eat at this random noodle shop. I have nothing but time to burn and could gladly find a new place to be, but now I am irritated by this entitlement, and because of that eating, at this ramen shop is now my number one priority.

My outright refusal to cater to her needs, as well as my brusque response, do not please her as she gets out of her car and starts approaching mine, all huffy, pulling out her cellphone.

Woman: “You have to move.”

Me: “No, I don’t, and I’m not going to.”

I shut my car and the lights off finally.

Woman: “Well, I don’t—”

Her eyes catch my movement as I turn my dashboard camera to face her and she stops mid-sentence, staring at this black square mounted under my rearview mirror.

Me: “Yeah! That’s a dashboard camera, with audio, and it has been recording this whole time, so guess where you’re going to end up?”

This was an empty threat; as good as this camera is, it would not have — and in fact, did not — catch the whole conversation since it was situated inside the cab of the car. The woman, however, did not know that, and all the fight seemed to blow out of her as soon as she thought her behavior was on camera and subject to be posted to the Internet.

She turned on her heel and pretty much ran to the grocery store.

The woman ended up leaving her car in five-minute parking. By the time I left the ramen shop, it had already obtained a parking violation from the mall’s onsite security, though I doubt those carry any weight at all.

The ramen shop was amazing, by the way.

A few Yiddish-speaking relatives of mine moved to the USA during World War II, not particularly speaking English. Some years after they arrived, someone from the home country who only spoke Yiddish came for a visit. By this time, the original folks had learned what is technically English but is spoken with Yiddish grammar and such a thick Yiddish accent as to practically be a language all its own. This language was fairly commonly spoken in their neighborhood.

Their visitor wanted to purchase some food item and my relatives sent her off to find the store: Achrusdestrit.

Out went the visitor who politely inquired of a passerby, “Achrusdestrit?” Fortunately, the person seemed to have heard of the store because they pointed to the other side of the block. The visitor happily headed off in that direction. 

However, after wandering for a while and not seeing any place with a name on it that seemed right, they asked someone else, “Achrusdestrit?” And again, the neighbor had heard of it and pointed… to the other side of the block. The visitor headed off in that direction, but again, no dice.

This repeated for about half an hour, I believe, until the visitor came back home, incredibly frustrated.

It wasn’t until years later when my relatives’ English improved even more that they were able to more clearly point out to visitors that the closest grocery store was “across the street.”

My dad worked as a cook on freight ships for several years when he was young, in the mid-1960s. He saw a lot of the world and had some interesting adventures in far-off places, like becoming involved in building the city of Brasilia and getting stuck in the Suez Canal because the Six-Day War broke out around him. His most perilous adventure, as he calls it, was, however, in our own home country of the Netherlands.

The ship he was working on had just docked in a Dutch port that evening, and dad decided to go look for a bar and have a beer or two. For whatever reason, he was alone that night. At the first bar he found, he looked in through the window to determine if it was any fun. Suddenly, one of the locals spotted him, jumped up, and started shouting.

Random Local: “That’s him! That’s the scooter thief!”

Dad had no clue whatsoever what this guy was talking about. He had never stolen a scooter, and he had never seen this guy before in his life. This was not his hometown; he was from the other side of the country. But this random guy was apparently completely convinced my dad was guilty, because he and three of his friends burst out of the bar, yelling that they were going to teach my dad a lesson. An important fact here: my dad was: A) alone, and B) sixteen years old, while his four attackers were all adults.

There was absolutely no reasoning with these guys, so Dad did the sensible thing and started hightailing it back to the ship. His four would-be attackers were apparently so h***-bent on violence that they chased after him, and a few streets over, they managed to corner him on a bridge over a canal.

You know how Sun Tzu stressed the importance of knowing your enemy? A prime example here: the four knuckleheads from the bar thought they had cornered a local scooter thief, but instead, they had encountered a former student of both boxing and full-contact karate (a precursor to modern Mixed Martial Arts), and one who’d been in enough scrapes to know how to translate those skills to an actual fight. Dad would have preferred to run and avoid the fight, but if these guys wouldn’t let him go, then so be it; he was not letting them kick his a** for something he didn’t do.

The night ends with the four brawl-happy bar patrons in hospital… and Dad in a cell at the local police station. Apparently, the cops, attracted by the fisticuffs, decided the only person still standing must be the guilty party and hauled him off on assault charges. The risk of getting into a fight somewhere where nobody knows you is that the police are more likely to pick the locals’ side. Dad figured he’d explain to the judge that it was self-defense, and then surely he’d be let go… right? Well, that turned out not to be as easy as he hoped, because after the explanation had been given, the judge delivered this gem of an idea on how Dad could have avoided the fight.

Judge: “You were on a bridge. Why didn’t you just jump off into the water?”

Yes, this judge actually thought THAT was a good idea. My dad never told me how high that bridge was, but even if it was low enough, jumping into unknown water, at night, with no idea how to get out again? Not to mention the first thing that popped into my dad’s head and out of his mouth:

Dad: “In the middle of winter? There was ice floating in it!”

Apparently, the judge agreed that hypothermia was a real danger, but he still seemed rather reluctant to let Dad off the hook. But acquitted he was, and he stayed on board the ship for the rest of their stay in port, which I think is understandable.

I’ve heard my dad tell that story several times. Every time, people are baffled by that judge’s reasoning. Seriously, who thinks throwing yourself off a bridge is a good way to avoid a fight?