My family is visiting me, and I’m looking to find somewhere to eat with them for an early lunch before I have an important exam. We just want something basic, so we wander down to the shopping centre near my flat to see what is on offer. During the global health crisis, the centre set one door to act as an “entrance” door and the other as an “exit”. Since things have settled down, they’ve removed these signs and this is no longer enforced. Only one set remains and cannot be seen from the outside going in.

As any rational human being would do, we go to enter the shopping centre from the door closest to how we approach. As we do so, we encounter this elderly lady exiting. Naturally, we step to the side so we can walk in while she is walking out; however, she puts herself right in the centre of the door and yells in German:

Lady: “This is an exit!”

While true during the health crisis, no one is enforcing this, so I turn to my aunt and casually say (slightly smarta**e, I will admit):

Me: “It’s a door.”

The lady did not like this and started yelling in incomprehensible German as she walked out the door.

It gave us a good chuckle on a slightly stressful day.

I parked my car in a multi-level parking deck attached to a shopping center. There were only about five levels, but I don’t trust my sense of direction, so I made sure to consciously check and memorize the number of the level I was on when I entered the building.

When I returned, my car was gone and instantly replaced by panic.

I’m too socially anxious to talk to customer service or call the police or anything, so I paced around the parking deck for a while, back into the building, back to the parking deck again, and back into the building, panic constantly increasing. And then, I noticed that the level number I’d been looking at… was changing. After way too many seconds of confusion, I realized it was not actually the parking deck level, but the elevator’s display showing which level it was currently on — so I had carefully memorized a totally random number.

I found my car on the next level, where I had left it.

My boyfriend is recovering after emergency surgery. As he had a spinal block, he needs more time to recover from the anesthetic. He has just regained full function a couple of hours after the operation is finished when a (male) nurse comes into the room. It’s about 11:00 at this time. Normally, someone would only need thirty minutes or so if they used a general anesthetic, which my boyfriend opted out of.

Nurse: “You guys need to leave.”

I’m here as support and to take down all instructions as my boyfriend is understandably a bit out of it.

Me: “Why?”

Nurse: “We are about to get very busy. You need to leave so we have this bed free.”

We are in the A and E department (emergency room). There are a few private rooms at the end of the corridor with the waiting room at the other end as it’s a small hospital. I literally stick my head out the door, look right, and look left. There is not a sound or another soul except us three.

I turn to look at the nurse, who stares at me and says:

Nurse: “What are you waiting for?”

It was the most unprofessional discharge I have experienced. What kind of emergency was going to occur on a Thursday morning that would require the entire A and E?

We are interviewing people for a room in the flatshare I live in. As two rooms are available at the same time, the only people interviewing are [Flatmate] and me. We find a couple of people we like and meet with them, and after they have agreed, we have them come to sign the contracts.

The first guy comes over, and we chat amicably about nothing too serious. Suddenly, [Flatmate] starts telling us how she really wishes she could learn to appreciate boobs. I have no idea what to say to this and try laughing it off with a joke. At this, she starts ranting.

Flatmate: “I can’t wait until 2049 when the vaccine for heterosexuality will be available. All humans will have to take it and become homosexual so they never have kids, and global warming will be solved.”

I am trying to keep a straight face, as this is completely out of character for her. I am also praying to any deity right there and then that the new guy doesn’t tear up the contract and walk out of there. Luckily, he doesn’t, but I am creeped out.

I think that will be the end of odd conversations, but at the signing for the second room, we get another one. This time, [Flatmate] rants about the brilliance of communism and how Stalin was right with the purges. Yeah, she’s now advocating mass murder, but it’s okay as it was done by the left.

I find myself breaking my atheism for the second time that week praying to deities known and unknown. The second guy signs up and I breathe a sigh of relief.

[Flatmate] left a few months later, and my other flatmates and I still get a chuckle out of this at dinner occasionally. She’s the craziest flatmate I’ve had, and that was really out of character for her. I’m still surprised it wasn’t some kind of really weird test from her side.

I get into the queue for the cashier at the supermarket. As I get closer to the end of the queue, I notice that there is a woman with her trolley pointed into the line. My British instincts kick in and I say to myself:

Me: “This woman is trying to jump the queue. No way.”

The person in front of me moves to a new queue, so there is the person with their stuff on the belt and this woman. So, of course, I move to the belt while this woman moves her trolley. She gives me a look of utter astonishment as I move to put my stuff on the belt, and she starts talking at me in German. Unfortunately, my German is utter pants as my work is in English, so I try saying:

Me: “The queue starts over there.” *Indicating that she needs to walk around*

This woman isn’t having that and starts ranting in German.

Me: *Politely* “My German isn’t so good.”

I turn away and put my two items on the belt. I think this will be the end of the matter and now it’s up to the person behind me. No, the woman moves her trolley before I can get behind the person in front, so while my stuff is on the belt first, she is now in front of me. She starts loading her things.

I try to move in front of her, but she is blocking the way with her trolley on one side and herself on the other. No matter; my stuff will get scanned before hers. She is muttering under her breath, clearly about me, but I just giggle. This makes her angrier.

The cashier is slightly confused when I hand over the money, but because she isn’t talking to me, I miss the amount. It turns out I looked at the wrong label, as my note isn’t enough to cover the cost, so I need a bit more cash. The woman in front of me gives a giant tut as I get some more money and receive my change while she moves forward so I can grab my things.

As I pack them into my bag, I hear:

Woman: *Very loudly* “B****!”

I turn around and give the very British response of:

Me: “Excuse me?!”

Woman: “Shut up!”

She started ranting to the cashier. I tried to explain my side of the story quickly before deciding, “I’ve got my stuff and I am wasting my time,” and walking off.

Related:
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 24
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 23
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 22
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 21
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 20