My company decided that it would sell our social club when land prices shot up. This was met with much anger as the social club was a massive part of their lives and had been for generations.

In return, the company offered a discount service, e.g., 2% off a laptop that you could probably find cheaper if you shopped around.

Even those who never used the social club weren’t happy with the replacement service; it was slow, offered limited benefits, and came with a huge amount of email spam.

After months of trying to make any savings whatsoever and failing, I am getting sick of the emails and I try to unsubscribe. Finding nothing on the emails or webpage, I contact them directly.

Me: “I want to stop the emails from your company, but I can’t find out how to unsubscribe. “

Representative: “I’m sorry, it is the company that signs you up; we can’t unsubscribe individuals. But have you tried the service? We offer many excellent—”

Me: “I’m going to stop you there, I have tried. It’s a worthless service to me. Thank you for your help, but I will be talking to my manager.”

Representative: “But if you look, you could make many savings. We have a special on diamond rings—”

I rarely hang up on people, but I did then.

I contacted my manager, who had his own misgivings on the service and many years enjoying the service club. He raised it to his manager. Apparently, enough people were dissatisfied with the service, so they brought in a representative to have a Q&A on “how to get more out of the [service]”.

It went down like a lead balloon. Every attendee asked had a bad experience or just couldn’t use the service due to its poor design or complete lack of worthwhile savings.

It was discontinued the following month and replaced with regular funded employee days. It’s not the same, but it does give a little bit of that social element that was previously destroyed without thought.

I’m an aspiring writer. And I have writer’s block. It’s been bugging me for quite a while now, and nothing I do seems to work. I go to a writer friend of mine and ask for advice.

Me: “How do you deal with writer’s block? I mean, you never seem to have it. What’s your secret?”

Friend: “Okay, I’ll show you. Get out your computer and open up your manuscript while I get the stuff.”

He walks out of the room and I do so. He comes back in a few minutes and slams a bottle of wine down onto the table. He pours me a glass.

Friend: “Drink this, and then start writing. Any time you get stuck, take another sip.”

Me: “Seriously? Your magic cure for writer’s block is to get drunk?”

Friend: *Shrugs* “It works.”

I give him a deadpan look.

Friend: “Right, remember Julia, the main character of my novel?”

Me: “Yeah, the evil empress.”

Friend: “I wrote most of her backstory while utterly hammered.”

Me: “But Julia’s your best character! The most well-written!”

Friend: “Exactly.”

I wordlessly downed the entire glass of wine immediately. My friend silently nodded and refilled the wineglass.

I don’t remember much of what happened next, but I woke up the next morning with a horrible hangover and a significant expansion to my manuscript, which, after editing, I found to be a workable plot.

I haven’t yet had to revisit the bottle, as my muse has somewhat returned, but still, maybe my friend really was onto something.

I am a thirty-five-year-old guy. I have a beard and I’m going grey. I’ve already had a few drinks at the bar and go up to order another.

Barmaid: “ID!”

Me: “Err, hang on.”

I check my wallet. I’ve just come back from holiday, and I guess I didn’t put my ID back in.

Me: “I don’t have it, but I clearly don’t look eighteen.”

Barmaid: “No ID, no sale.”

She has a job to do — I get that completely — but I’m so clearly old enough. I’ve not seen anyone get asked for ID. I’m considering my choices when a bartender walks past.

Me: “[Bartender]?”

Bartender: “Yeah? Oh, [My Name], is that you? Great to see you.”

Me: “Good to see you, too, man. Hey, even more so. Could you tell your coworker that I’m old enough to drink?”

Bartender: “He’s old enough; don’t worry about it.”

Barmaid: “We can’t just take someone’s word for it.”

Bartender: “You’re not taking his word; you’re taking mine. We went to school together. He’s older than I am!”

Barmaid: “No ID, no sale; that’s the rules.”

Bartender: “If they look under twenty-five. He’s clearly older.”

Barmaid: “Well, you serve him, then, but I’m going to the manager.”

She stomps off.

Bartender: “Sorry about that. She got caught selling alcohol to her little sister’s friends, and now she is taking it out on everyone. What will it be?”

We ended up having a great night. I caught up with [Bartender]; he managed to get off work a little early so we had a proper drink together. I started to frequent that bar now that I knew he worked there.

It wasn’t long before [Barmaid] suddenly stopped being there.

A big movie has been released and all shows are sold out. We wait a few weeks for when it gets less busy and drive over in the middle of the week to really beat the crowds. When we get there, the queues are still huge, but we decide to wait.

We wait and wait. The queue moves slowly. I spot a family hovering near the front, trying to push in. Luckily, a security guard stops them. They lie about meeting people inside, then they lie about their daughter needing the toilet, and then they call the security guard and everyone else racist.

The guard does not budge an inch, much to the crowd’s delight.

Me: *To my girlfriend* “Hey, I wonder…”

Girlfriend: “What? Wonder what?”

Me: “Let me try something.”

I get out my phone, and yes, you can book online tickets for the next show; there are only a few left.

Me: “Come on.”

Girlfriend: “Wait, where are we going? We have to queue for tickets.”

I take her to the front and show the guard my phone, and he tries to let us in. The queue jumpers are still waiting by the door, and they aren’t having any of it.

Customer: “Why are you letting them in?”

Guard: “They already paid for their tickets online.”

Customer: “I demand you let us in. I want to pay online.”

Guard: “Then go to the website and do so.”

Customer: “But I don’t have a phone. This is discrimination!”

Guard: “Let go of the door or I will have to call the police.”

She did and we went inside. We made our way through the long line and crowd buying food. Even as we entered the cinema room, she was still stood outside by the doors, trying to get in.

Sales can be brutal with people pushing, snatching, and hoarding. It’s a bit sickening how people will act over even a minor discount.

I have long refused to go. I don’t mind paying similar prices out of a sale if it means keeping my dignity. However, this year I’m pressured to go.

It’s as bad as I remember; there are long queues, and inside, there are people holding dozens of clothes that they don’t end up buying, just to stop others.

I do manage to pick up a few things and am leaving when a woman grabs my bag.

Customer: “The top — I want it. I saw it first.”

Me: “Get away from me.”

She claws at my bag, aggressively pulling. She ends up scratching me with her jewelry and then throws my things on the floor. I grab her wrist and push her backward. She falls into a display, knocking it everywhere. The whole store stops as they turn to see what happened; it doesn’t look good for me.

Security is called. I’m trying to pick up my items as he stops me and leads me away.

Security: “So, do you want to tell me what happened?”

Me: “She tore open my bag, things I paid for. I stopped her but she fell.”

Security: “Looks a lot like you pushed her.”

Me: “Well, yes, I mean, I did, but only to stop her.”

Security: “She says you took some clothing from her?”

Me: “I paid for everything. Here, it’s on my receipt.”

Security: “She said something about a top she had chosen.”

Me: “She took the whole shelf on the floor; she wasn’t buying them, just stopping anyone from looking.”

Security: “Okay, we are waiting for the security team to pull the tapes. If the other woman wants to press charges, I will need to call the police.”

Me: *Pauses* “I want to press charges. Call them.”

He got me a drink and we waited for the police. By the time they came to see me, they had seen the tapes, and they told me it looked like self-defence and they wouldn’t be seeking charges against me. I was adamant: I wanted her dealt with and banned for the attack. They told me she was already banned for life. Now I’m just waiting to see how far these charges against her go.