Many years ago, I inherited a very angry chihuahua mix who had a lot of health problems along with a horrible temperament. I spent a lot of time socialising him carefully with people, and I finally got him to a point where he felt comfortable meeting new people as long as he was in a pram or in my arms.

However, he didn’t tolerate anyone who threatened his home or his human (me) which ended up with him aggressively assaulting the heel of a 6’3” police officer’s shoe. But that’s a story for another day.

The time finally came to have my dog neutered, and I dropped him off at the vet. I let them know that he could be aggressive to new people, had previously bitten someone, and may need to be handled with thick gloves and a towel. I also gave them his harness, leash, training treats, and the secret code phrase I had for him when he was a good boy: “Who’s a good booger?”

I spent the day a complete nervous wreck, wondering if I was going to get a call saying he had attacked someone. Finally, I got the call saying he was ready to be collected, and I rushed over to see what damage he’d caused.

The vet brought him out in his little cone and handed him over, all smiles. 

Me: “How many people did he bite?”

Vet: “Who, this little guy? He’s the best-behaved dog we’ve had in here today!” 

And that’s when I knew that he was going to be okay. 

It’s been a couple of years now, and he’s the best dog — sociable, easygoing, and loves to walk off-leash at the beach. 

He’s not a good booger; he’s a great booger.

Many years ago, when I was around sixteen years old, I had carefully budgeted my pay from my casual part-time job to buy some presents for my friends. (I can’t remember whether it was Christmas or birthdays.) I was at my local shopping centre (which is in a lower socioeconomic area), and when I was about to leave, I was pulled to the side by a pop-up kiosk guy selling some kind of fancy-looking nail care.

Kiosk Guy: “Can I get some of your time to look at our range of nail care? This red sea salt buffer will do you wonders.”

Me: “Look, mate, I’m a student, I work only a few hours a week, and I budget my money. Plus, it’s all spent and I’ve got no money left.”

Kiosk Guy: “That’s no problem. Let me have a look at your nails, I’ll show you how nice it is, and you can look at it for the future.”

He started showing me the product, and again, I made it clear that I had no money and wasn’t going to be making a purchase, but I didn’t have the confidence to just walk away at that age. He showed me a “sample” of how it worked by buffing one of my nails and putting a serum on it.

Me: “It sure is nice, but it looks pricey.”

Kiosk Guy: “Well, if you buy it today, I could give you a great discount!”

Me: “Ah, that’s nice, but I know you couldn’t bring it down to a price I can afford.”

Kiosk Guy: “Of course, I could! The price to buy this kit at a spa or online is $160, but today I could do it for $100!”

Me: “Ha! Yeah, nah, I still couldn’t afford that.”

Kiosk Guy: “You know what? You seem like such a nice girl who could really use this product. How about just $80 for the kit?!”

Me: “Remember when you pulled me over here and I said I was on a budget and had no money? And during this conversation, I told you that I am still in school and won’t be able to afford this?”

Kiosk Guy: “I’m sure I can find you a deal on one of our products. How much could you spare for a purchase today?”

Me: “Five dollars is what is left in my account right now.”

Kiosk Guy: *Confused* “Just five dollars?”

Me: “I told you I wouldn’t be able to buy anything today. I wasn’t having you on.”

The Kiosk Guy just looked at me so stunned and confused, and I just stood awkwardly for a few moments and walked away.

Years ago, I had a job as a “concierge” at a large shopping centre. Basically, we stood around near exits to see if shoppers needed any assistance taking their things to their cars. Christmas was a particularly busy time, with people having trolleys of food as well as Christmas presents. We wore bright shirts with the centre logo on them, so it was pretty clear we were working there.

One day, I saw a prime target for assistance: a mother with a baby in a portable capsule, meaning the baby was only a few months old at the most, and a trolley packed with groceries, heading toward the carpark.

I approached her and asked if she wanted any help to her car, expecting her to give me the trolley, to which she said, “Sure,” and she HANDED ME HER BABY! I then followed her to the car, carrying her newborn. 

Who gives a newborn to an unknown? I can only guess that I either have a really trustworthy face or it was a case of baby-brain.

About five years ago, my girlfriend was in the ICU of one of the largest hospitals in Sydney, Australia. It was a stressful time for me, but she’s all good now.

I was walking back from one of the hospital’s cafes to see my girlfriend when I was stopped in the corridor by a lady in her sixties.

Lady: *Politely* “Can you take me to the cardio ward?”

Me: “I don’t work here, but reception is that way, and I’m sure they can help you.”

Her Ladyship did not like this response.

Lady: “Don’t f*** around! I know you work here; take me there!”

Her sudden change in demeanour stunned me.

Lady: “Come along; I don’t have all day!”

I was wearing a full suit and tie combo as I had an unavoidable meeting later that day. Now, I like a navy suit as much as the next suave bloke, but the doctors in this hospital, when not in scrubs, mostly wore slacks and collared shirts.

Given the missus was a bit under the weather, I was sleep deprived, anxious, and had no patience for Her Ladyship being a jerk.

Me: “Okay, follow me.”

We started down the corridor, through some doors, and up a flight of stairs, her pacing grumpily behind me. I could see a sign ahead indicating that the cardio ward was to the right. So, unfortunately for Her Ladyship, left we went.

We went up lifts, down lifts, up stairs, and down again. A full ten minutes into our Royal Prince Alfred Hospital Tour, it must have occurred to her that I had no idea where I was going. A porter with a gurney stepped out of a side door and she immediately accosted him.

Lady: “Your staff member here is wasting my time!”

It was almost comedic the way he looked down at her, up at me, down at her, and then up at me. 

Porter: “Did you tell this lady you work here?”

Me: *Smiling* “No, mate, literally the opposite.”

The porter frowned.

Porter: “Where ya headed, luv?”

By now, she was quite exasperated.

Lady: “What is wrong with you people?! He should have taken me to the cardio ward. And don’t ‘luv’ me!”

The porter, trying to hide his smile, told her to follow him, and off they went. I overheard her grumble something about “staff complaint” as they left. Gosh only knows what my write-up would have said about me.

I hurried back to the ICU ward, happily armed with a humorous story to cheer up my girlfriend.

Many years ago, I was the office manager at a mechanical workshop that converted cars to run on LPG (liquefied petroleum gas) — both new cars (from dealers and private owners) and retroactively fitting to older cars.

Our normal schedule was booked about two weeks ahead with the odd appointment further ahead for people taking a day off to have it done.

The cost of petrol/gasoline shot up and our calendar filled up to a couple of months ahead. Then, the government offered a rebate to get cars converted that, in many cases, totally covered the cost of the conversion. That caused our calendar to fill up to six months ahead, at which point the boss closed the calendar. We’d reopen it one month before our last appointment.

I’ve got some great stories from that time, but one that sticks out was the guy who turned up to have his 4WD done. He claimed he’d booked in, but he wasn’t on the list.

This was May 15th, and then he dropped this line:

Customer: “You said July 15th on the phone, but I knew what you meant.”

I made a quick check of the calendar and, sure enough, there he was booked in for the 15th of July.

When I told him we actually did mean July 15th, he replied:

Customer: “Don’t be ridiculous! Who’d take a slot that far ahead?

Me: “Any of the five vehicle owners we’ll be doing each working day for the three-plus months after your appointment up to the point where we’ve stopped taking bookings.”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “If you don’t want your appointment, I can fill that opening with probably two or three phone calls.”

He very quickly confirmed that he did still want his appointment, and two months later, he was back with his 4WD, looking a little sheepish as he dropped off his keys and filled out his paperwork.