I leased a new car from a dealership. When closing the deal, the salesman told me that I had three free months of a radio subscription service. I never activated the subscription or listened to the service. I am one of those (according to friends and family, odd) people who like to drive in silence.

Three months after leasing the car, I began receiving calls on my business phone from a number I did not recognize two or three times a day. No messages were left. The area code was unusual, so I Googled the number. I learned that the number was from [Company], which “encouraged” people to subscribe to [Radio Service]. Adding insult to injury, the number was not toll-free; if I called the number to ask why I was receiving these calls, I would pay a fee.

So, without my consent, [Dealership] sold my information to [Radio Service], who then, also without my consent, sold it to [Company]. And [Company] was calling me multiple times a day.

I gave myself a Friday afternoon off. I first called the salesman at [Dealership] and blasted him for not telling me that my information had been sold to [Radio Service].

I then called [Radio Service]. When the receptionist answered, I gave her my name and phone number, and I told her that every time I received a call from [Company], I would randomly call someone listed in the [Radio Service] company directory and waste as much of their time as possible before stating the real reason for my call: to cost them time and money.

I then called [Company] and got an automated receptionist. I listened to the directory and chose a name at random. When he picked up, I told him what I told the receptionist at [Radio Service]: I would randomly waste the time of [Company] employees every time I got a call from [Company].

Come Monday, the calls had stopped. I was never called again.

This happened years ago.

In Toronto, there’s a small island airport close to downtown and then the full-on Pearson International. Once every two weeks or so, I’d have to travel for work, so I’d usually book my flight through the island airport since it would be cheaper, and my office was downtown so it took literally fifteen minutes to get there. (There were no real customs or anything; you could show up thirty minutes before your flight departure time and be good to go.) If my flight was at 1:00 pm, I’d leave the office at noon and make it with time to spare. 

One day, I got my expense request denied for the [Rideshare] that took me to the airport because “it was close enough to walk and, as per company policy, taxi/rideshare is only for Pearson.” This was all over $12, and I had been doing this for months.

Okay, fine.

The next flight I booked at Pearson. The ticket was $900 instead of $400, I paid $70 in a [Rideshare] to get there instead of $12, and I had to leave work a full three and a half hours before my flight to make it through check-in, security, etc., to get to my gate in time. Usually, I’d be on some sort of call leading up to my flight, but at Pearson, I couldn’t do any work at all. Sorry, team, I’m unavailable for the rest of the day because of company policy.

When I came by, I was asked why my expense report was double the usual amount I’d put in. It’s because I couldn’t expense a $12 [Rideshare] to the island airport, and I was not going to walk for forty minutes in my suit and dress shoes in the middle of January in the snow.

Two months later, it had cost them over $2,000 more than what I’d normally have spent. Some of the flights in that time were over $1,000 versus $400 at the island airport.

Finally, I got an email one day saying I could take whichever flights I deemed best based on my judgment and that any amount under $700 was auto-approved at the island airport. Now, I get to eat a nice meal and sometimes upgrade myself to premium seats and still fall within budget!

My husband and I just bought season admission passes to a local amusement park, alongside meal plans and a parking pass. On the first day that we arrive at the park, there is an attendant in a booth scanning QR codes for admission. My husband is driving, but the booth is positioned between two entrance lanes, so the attendant for our lane is on the passenger side by me.

The attendant scans my admission pass.

Attendant: “Parking is [amount]. Will that be cash or card?”

Husband: “I already bought a season parking pass.”

He holds out his phone with “PARKING PASS” clearly written at the top of the screen. The attendant scans his code and then looks at me.

Attendant: “That’s not your parking pass.”

Husband: “It’s mine. I have my admission pass here.”

He holds out his phone again. The attendant doesn’t try to scan the pass.

Attendant: “No, she needs a parking pass.”

Husband: “We’re in the same car. I don’t understand.”

Attendant: *Annoyed* “You need to pay for parking.”

Me: “We already did. It’s right there.”

Attendant: “Miss, there’s no need to get disrespectful. If you cannot be polite, I will have you escorted off the property.”

Me: “That is our parking pass.”

Attendant: “Okay, you need to pull to the side. I’m going to have my manager talk to you.”

We pull over and wait, wondering what we’ve done wrong. A manager comes out with a police officer.

Manager: “My attendant tells me you refuse to pay for parking.”

Husband: “We have season passes for everything. She refused to scan my admission pass and kept saying my wife needed to pay for parking even though we are in the same car and I have a parking pass.”

He shows the manager and the officer the QR codes and the emails confirming everything.

Officer: “I don’t understand why she called us out here.”

Me: “Neither do we.”

Manager: “Okay, go ahead in. I’ll talk to her.”

We went in without another issue. The next time we went, everything was perfectly fine. I’m still not sure what the attendant was thinking.

For reasons that aren’t important to the story, I’m driving a coworker’s car. It’s not very late, but it’s winter, so the sun is already down and it’s dark. I turn on the car’s lights and quickly realize that my coworker is one of those people who install overly bright lights.

I flip them off and decide to rely on the streetlights to see.

Unfortunately, an officer of the law takes offense to this and pulls me over.

Officer: “Were you aware that your lights are off?”

Me: “I can see just fine.”

Officer: “Please turn on your lights.”

I turn on my lights. THE BEACONS ARE LIT! GONDOR CALLS FOR AID! ALL OF CHINA KNOWS YOU ARE HERE! THE SUN RISES!

Me: “So… I can’t see anymore. Can you?”

Officer: *Pauses* “Please turn off your lights.”

So, that’s the story of how I got my coworker a ticket for improper car lights.

It’s the dead of winter, it’s almost 8:00 pm, I’ve just finished work five hours late, and I’m exhausted and hungry. The day has been a nightmare from the start and I’m at the end of my rope for dealing with nonsense. I’m not angry, just worn out. I stop off at a sandwich shop on my way home.

I get in line behind a gaggle of fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds. No biggie, I haven’t eaten since lunch, so what’re a few more minutes?

From the start, the teenagers are snotty and entitled, almost deliberately trying to fluster the cashier. I think about saying something, but with the mood I am in, it wouldn’t go well. Instead, I just walk out and go to another location of the same chain not too far away.

I walk in, and thankfully, this one is quiet. I must look about as good as I am feeling because the man behind the counter strikes up a conversation. I don’t go into detail or mention anything about the other shop, but it is nice to have someone listen for a minute.

We chat a bit more as he cashes me out, and by the end, I have a smile on my face — or as much of one as I can manage. I thank him for the food and for listening, and I finish my drive home.

When I open the bag up, I find that the employee slipped in a handful of extra cookies. He went out of his way to make my awful day better.

It’s been a few years since this happened and I still haven’t forgotten it. Whoever you are, thank you. I hope the world has returned your kindness.

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And That’s How The Stolen Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Ninth Cookie Crumbles
And That’s How The Cookie Infuriatingly Crumbles
And That’s How The Cookie Mathematically Crumbles