My best friend at university is from the USA. He’s studying in England, but over Christmas, his family is visiting. Since I’m a Londoner, I decided to play tour guide for a day and plan a quick run-through of all the tourist spots.

At one point, we’re walking past a major central street to head to where the horse guards are. In doing so, we pass Downing Street.

Friend’s Dad: “Why is that road locked up?”

Me: “That’s Downing Street. That’s where our Prime Minister works and lives. Think of it like the White House.”

Friend’s Dad: “Huh.”

Me: “That’s why there are police outside with guns. It’s one of the very few times you’ll see guns in the UK out on the street like that.”

Friend’s Dad: “Oh. Do you all have to conceal your weapons here?”

Friend: “Dad, no, I told you. They don’t have guns here.”

Friend’s Dad: “No guns?”

Me: “Well, we have gun clubs for enthusiasts. My grandad is a member and took me shooting on a big range once, but the guns are never allowed to leave the club.”

Friend’s Dad: “No… guns? But, how do you defend yourself?”

Me: “From what?”

Friend’s Dad: “From other guns!”

Friend: “Dad! We’ve been over this! That’s not really a thing here. There’s knife crime, but—”

Friend’s Dad: “—Well, there you have it! How do you bring a gun to a knife fight?”

Friend: “You… don’t? Guns aren’t part of the culture here.”

Me: “Yeah… guns make me nervous, anyway.”

Friend’s Dad: “No wonder these Brits lost against us.”

Friend: “Dad, they’re just not used to seeing guns.”

Friend’s Dad: “Imagine being so not used to seeing guns that the sight of one makes you nervous!”

Me: “I know! Isn’t it wonderful! Anyway, we’re coming to the horse guard’s area, so…”

I go straight into my explanation of the next tourist spot, leaving my friend’s dad flummoxed as to how his apparent burn got turned into a compliment. Overall, he was a friendly guy and enjoyed the trip, but good LORD did that man like his guns.

We got a new office manager who loooooved meetings. He seemed to think that the clearest indicator of success and a good work ethic is to always… be… in… bloody… MEETINGS!

[New Office Manager] likes a daily all-hands meeting in the morning, even though we have nothing new to add daily. He liked weekly closing meetings on Friday afternoons when everyone just wanted to close deadlines before the weekend. He even scheduled a meeting to discuss the need for more meetings.

Another office manager [Regular Office Manager], same level on the promotion ladder, rarely attends these meetings, if ever, much to the chagrin of the new office manager. This annoys [New Office Manager] so much that he plans a meeting with [Regular Office Manager] to discuss this.

They held their “meeting” in the office corner, not a closed meeting room, so I overheard the following:

New Office Manager: “Your calendar seems sparse. Are you having enough meetings?”

Regular Office Manager: “Oh, so you do have access to my work calendar.”

New Office Manager: “Of course I do!”

Regular Office Manager: “I assumed you didn’t, since I had to cancel two meetings to have this discussion with you about how I’m not holding enough meetings…”

I think I snort-laughed too loudly, as they both stopped to look in my direction. I quickly darted to the coffee station to let them finish.

Later that day, [Regular Office Manager]’s calendar was suddenly full of meetings, several a day, and most coinciding with [New Office Manager]’s useless daily/weekly all-hands meetings.

Every new meeting was the same: “Me Time – Do Not Disturb.”

When I was sixteen, new at the job, and still believed in the goodness of people, it took one retail experience to shake me out of it. One lady paid with a tenner (£10 note), but claimed she paid with twenty. I ended up thinking I was the one who made the mistake and handed her a tenner back after she confronted me.

I did tell my manager about it just in case, and after giving the description of the lady, I heard that she tried this on a regular basis.

As despicable as that lady was, she did teach me a valuable lesson (other than customers in general just suck). From then onwards, on that job and every other job I’ve had, I keep the money on the counter or in my hand. 

A couple of years later, I’m working at a café on the beach in peak summer season, so we’re very busy. The customer paid with a twenty, and I held it in my hand behind my wallet as I always do. After receiving change:

Customer: “Hey! I paid with a fifty!”

Imagine the smug look on my face when I turn around my hand to show him that I am still holding his £20 note and say in the most Disney sing-song voice:

Me: “Oh no, you diiiiidn’t!”

Customer: “Oh, I… uh… must have…”

Me: “Funny, I don’t think I’ve seen a fifty in years. I don’t even have a space in my drawer for it they’re used so rarely. Maybe next time you try that, don’t demand a note that’s mainly used for money laundering, eh? Best not be greedy.”

Customer: “I… uh… hmm.” *Slinks away silently.*

Caller: “Hey, that laptop you sold me? The keyboard’s not working.”

Me: “Sorry to hear that. What exactly is wrong?”

Caller: “The bottom row of keys isn’t working. Is it still in warranty?”

Me: “Oh, yes, this machine has a three-year warranty. I’ll need to do some troubleshooting before I can send it off. Have you power-cycled the laptop?”

Caller: “Yes, it still doesn’t work.”

Me: “Okay.”

I proceed to talk the caller through the Device Manager, uninstall keyboard device, reboot, etc.

Caller: “Still not working.”

Me: “Yes, it sounds faulty, alright. Do you have an external keyboard you can use in the meantime?”

Caller: “Sure.”

Me: “Alright, I’ll go ahead and schedule the work. The service depot will send you a courier label. Pack it up, or I can do that for you, put the label on, and send it off. It’ll take about a week. I can lend you a laptop while it’s being fixed.”

Caller: “Alright.”

Me: “Now, I have to advise you that if they open it up and find liquid damage, it won’t be a warranty claim and you’ll have to pay them for a new keyboard and labour before they send it back.”

Caller: “Oh, um, well, I can’t spare it just now. I’ll let you know when I have some time.”

Apparently, she’s not been able to spare it for over twelve months.

I was walking home late at night. I thought a nice piece of fried chicken from KFC would hit the spot, but I wasn’t hungry enough for an entire meal; I only wanted a piece of chicken.

Me: “Would you sell me one drumstick, or do I need to buy a whole meal?”

Employee: “What are you talking about?”

Me: “Are you able to sell me one drumstick, please?”

Employee: “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Me: “One drumstick. Can I please buy one drumstick?”

There is an unbelievably long and awkward pause.

Employee: “We only sell chicken here, mate. This is KFC.”

Me: “Yes, and I want chicken! I want one… chicken… drumstick!”

Employee: *Light bulb moment.* “Oh! I thought, like, you wanted a drum stick, for like, a drum.”

Me: “Like… the musical instrument?”

Employee: “Yeah.”

Me: “Why would I come into a KFC to buy a single drum… stick?”

Employee: “Yeah, right? You’d have to be a real idiot…”