I’m a police officer. We’re called to intervene at a party where kids were being rowdy. We get there, and most of the kids scurry off the moment they spot our car. One, a minor, is so drunk that he almost passes out. After we have him checked out medically, we put him in a chair and prepare to make a call. Minors can only be locked up if there is a very, very, very good reason to.

Boy: *Slurring* “Dude, can I lie down? Do I have to stay? Will you put me in jail?”

Me: “Don’t worry, you get to sleep in your own bed.”

Boy: “Am I in trouble?”

Me: “Yes, you are.”

Boy: “Oh… Will you put me in jail? Are you calling jail? I don’t want to go to jail.”

Me: “No, I’m just going to call your mother.”

The boy suddenly stares with eyes wide open, turning even paler than he already was. 

Boy: “Can’t… Can’t you just put me in jail?”

His mother picked him up, in silence. When we followed up with this case, he was disciplined correctly — we wanted to make sure he wasn’t afraid of his mother because of abuse — and he was signed up for a disciplinary course about alcohol.

I do Roman age reenactment, including events in museums and historical parks. When meeting the public in museums and historical parks, you meet all kind of people, including the ones with strange ideas. Of course, there are laymen who barely know that the Roman age happened before the Middle Ages and so on. But amongst the ones with more basic knowledge, you also find the odd type or two, like the ones claiming that Romans never wore beards or couldn’t have worn straw hats, or the ones who connect it to outdated or downright scary opinions.

One day, I’m in an open-air museum with a biblical theme. It’s a hot summer day, close to thirty degrees Celsius (eighty-six Fahrenheit). An older gentleman approaches me. Despite the heat, he is wearing a full suit and tie. From all the years of meeting people in this context, his clothes make me assume that he is a conservative protestant, which might sound like a judgment, but I know from experience that I can still have very nice chats with them.

Older Gentleman: “Ah, the Romans! Good! They brought the civilisation to our land!”

I’ve heard that before and see it as a good opportunity for discussion. After all, what actually defines “civilisation”? After all, the Germanic tribes were able to cast bronze and forge iron, including helmets, swords, and chainmail. They also produced lovely fabrics and jewellery. They tend to be seen as “barbaric” merely because Roman society was closer to ours, but how does that define “civilised”?

But before I can react, the gentleman continues:

Older Gentleman: “With a little bit of coercion, eh? But that’s fine. Civilising people takes some coercion. Nothing wrong with that. Just like in education; that also should take some coercion. I know, because I am a former teacher.”

I decided not to go there. His opinion sounded very outdated and very pro-colonialism. And in my opinion, there is actually A LOT wrong with that. I might play a Roman, but I have no intention of actually approving of everything that happened back then.

I’m at the fragrance counter of a store.

Me: “I am looking for a flowery perfume for my grandmother, somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five euros.” 

We have an agreement in our family to keep birthday gifts in that price range. 

The saleswoman shows me a lovely bottle of perfume, but I notice it is priced at forty-five euros. 

Me: “Could you please show me something costing twenty-five euros max?” 

The saleswoman gets another fragrance, priced just under thirty-five euros. 

I was willing to go a bit over, but now I am miffed, especially since I know they have plenty of products in all price ranges.  

Me: “No, thank you, this is still too much. I’ll go somewhere else.” 

I left and found a wonderful perfume in my price range at their competitor down the street.

In the Netherlands, we have Social Housing. This means the houses can have a maximum rent and are often partly funded by the government. Each region/city can have its own rules for applying for one, but the most common one is that those who wait the longest get one offered first.

I get a call from a lady in her mid-sixties who wants to apply for a house and has her account checked. Almost everything is in order, she only made a mistake on the date she moved into her current home by two weeks. This was corrected. She has not applied for a house yet; she just had her account checked per her request, and this happens all the time.

Caller: “My account was corrected and now I’m missing two weeks. Why?”

Me: “Well, when did you move into [current house]?”

Caller: “[Date].”

Me: “Then that’s the reason it moved to that date. That’s your correct registration date.”

Caller: “But now I’m missing two weeks!”

Me: “Yes, that’s true, but if we kept it like this and you did apply for a house, it would not only be corrected then, but you’d also lose the house you applied to and you’d have to apply again, due to wrong information.”

Caller: “But I don’t understand why you did that.”

Me: “Because you filled in the wrong date.”

Caller: “It’s because I’m divorced, isn’t it? I know a lot of people who get a lot more waiting years than me!”

Me: “Miss, I don’t know the other situations, but there’s probably a different reason. The rule is that you get a waiting time starting with your last known address. If they didn’t move—”

Caller: “They did move! I know they did!”

Me: “Another rule is that you have to keep your account information up to date. If you don’t fill in—”

Caller: “They didn’t do that, either! I bet it’s because I’m divorced. Why do you hate divorced women?”

Me: “Miss, nowhere in your registration is it mentioned that you are divorced. Neither is it on your submitted forms.”

Caller: “Of course not!”

Me: “So, that means we didn’t know you were divorced until you told me a few minutes ago.”

Caller: “I don’t believe you. You did this because I am divorced. I need to move! I’m living in this building and everything changed! There are only young people, and they all ignore me! They don’t even greet me!”

Me: “I understand, times—”

Caller: “And at 5:00 pm, I lock my door, because there are only men living here! That is very dangerous for a woman my age!”

Me: “Did someone threaten you?”

Caller: “No, they all ignore me! So, I need to move right away, and you guys are forcing me to stay put by taking away those two weeks! I should have forty years of waiting time, as well!”

Me: “But unfortunately, that’s not possible due to the rules. You got all the years we could legally get you.”

Caller: “You are doing this on purpose!”

Me: “How would that benefit us?”

Caller: “You are discriminating against divorced women! I’ll probably die all alone in this apartment! I’m going to hang up now because I am getting nowhere! I hope you’re happy now!”

Me: “I’m sorry I could not help you, miss. I wish you a pleasant day anyway.”

She hung up and I sent a note to our department that deals with people who want to move but can’t; they can help people who might need help (to prevent loneliness or who feel scared in their own home). No idea how they can help, but they are more experienced than I am.

Related:
Divorced From Reality, Part 6
Divorced From Reality, Part 5
Divorced From Reality, Part 4
Divorced From Reality, Part 3
Divorced From Reality, Part 2

It’s a Friday, nearing the end of the workday.

Manager: “[My Name], how long do you think you need for this [chore]?”

Me: “Oh, my guess is an hour.”

Manager: “Really? And how much is that in minutes?”

Me: *Pauses* “Sixty minutes?”

Manager: “Ah, I knew you could do it faster! Let me know when you are done!”

My manager left. I have no idea if he was serious or fooling with me.