I own my own little corner shop. A grumpy old customer comes in to buy cigarettes, and when it’s time to pay, he flings his coins at me instead of handing them to me. I am forced to pick some coins up off the floor.

Customer: “That’s it, [South Asian slur]. On the ground where you belong.”

Me: “Don’t worry, sir. Considering how many of these you’re smoking and how terribly old you look, you’ll be in the ground while I’ll be on it for a long while yet. I’ll even do a little Bollywood dance on your grave.”

Customer: “How dare you!”

Me: “Goodbye, die soon!”

He stormed out as I turned up the Indian music on my radio.

I share a house with some other girls. Normally, we “interview ” a potential new housemate together. But with the end room being vacant for so long, we have a current housemate’s friend move in immediately. 

She seems okay, but she’s so dramatic. If she doesn’t have man problems, she has car issues. If not that, she has family problems. Failing that, some customer at work is either hitting on her or saying something crazy. It’s hard to feel sorry for her when all she does is complain.

I have a day off. I catch up on some reading in my room, do a bit of tidying round the house, finally go for a run, and come back as everyone else is arriving from work.

The new housemate has cornered a few people before they can even get their coats off.

New Girl: “Ugh, I had the worst day ever.”

Housemate: “Okay, well, great, but let me get inside, yeah, hun?”

New Girl: “Ugh, it’s like you don’t care.”

Housemate: “We do care. I just want to get inside. It’s raining.”

New Girl: “As I was saying, it was the worst day. This creep wouldn’t leave me alone; he was all in my face. Then, my boss told me off because of my top. Then—”

Me: “Hang on, [New Girl]. You haven’t been to work. You’ve sat on that sofa all day. Did you not see me around the house?”

New Girl: “Well, I mean… I had the worst day yesterday.”

Housemate: “Yesterday was Sunday, babe.”

New Girl: “Ugh! You guys are so mean.”

I felt bad, but still, keep the BS to a believable level.

It’s a wet, windy Saturday night in December and we decide to order two pizzas from our regular place half a mile away. We are told it will be with us within forty-five minutes. An hour and a quarter later, I call to inquire where the pizzas are.

Employee: “It’ll be at least another forty-five minutes. We’re really busy and we only have one driver on a moped. We’re getting concerned about going out anymore because it is getting windier and windier.”

I wonder why they didn’t plan for this and employ more than one person — maybe someone with a car — on one of the busiest nights of the week. Oh, well. We’ll sit and wait.

One hour later, the pizzas still haven’t arrived, so I call the store again. This time, the manager answers. I can hear phones ringing constantly in the background; obviously, everyone else is calling to see where their pizzas are!

Manager: *Frazzled* “If you want your pizzas now, you can come and collect them. They’re already out of the oven and just waiting on the side.”

I reluctantly agree and walk the half-mile in the wind and rain storm to collect my partially cold pizzas. The manager tells me that he will put a note on my account so I will get a free pizza next time. I reheat the cold pizzas in my oven at home, and finally, about three hours after ordering, we get to eat the pizzas!

On the receipt is a “How did we do?” survey offering loyalty points and a competition entry. I fill it in, saying how service was disappointing this time, which is a shame as it is usually great, and send it off. Nothing horrible, just honest.

Two weeks later, we decide to redeem the offer of free pizza and order from the store again. The employee I speak to sounds confused at a note he is reading on the system and puts me onto the manager.

Manager: “How could you have the nerve to call up again and demand free pizza?!”

Me: “You offered us the free pizza after our long wait last time.”

Manager: “Well, since you gave us a bad review, I’ve changed my mind!” *Laughs* “You don’t get anything. Those surveys aren’t anonymous. They get sent to the area manager, and the area manager berated me about that night’s bad results!”

Me: “So, because I filled in the survey and you didn’t like it, you feel that you need to punish me? Even though I’ve been a regular customer and spent over £400 in your store in the last four years I’ve lived here? You’re willing to lose a customer over this?”

Manager: “Yes, and I don’t care. You’re not going to get free pizza from me.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll just go to [Competitor Pizza] from now on. Goodbye.” 

Upon putting the phone down, I went online and gave them a scathingly bad — but honest! — public review. And, true to my word, I have never ordered pizza from them again.

I work as a repairer and maintainer for a grounds care company that basically looks after the local authorities’ landscaping and does various seasonal grounds maintenance tasks. One summer, our company purchases some new-to-the-market hand-propelled gritting machines in readiness for the next winter season.

Six months later, the snow falls and the gritting machines are taken out and put to use. An hour later, the operator returns to the workshop holding the drive belt in his hand, reporting that the machine lasted two minutes and the belt keeps coming off every time it’s replaced. I inspect the machine and see a major design flaw, and in two days, I manufacture a remedy for the fault.

I phone the manufacturer.

Me: “Your hand gritters seem to have a design flaw. I’ve made a modification, but I want to know if fitting it will affect any warranties we have with your machine.”

Manufacturer: “What flaw? What’s wrong with it?”

Me: “The operator used it for two minutes, and the belt chokes up with the grit and keeps coming off.”

Manufacturer: “Your operator is using the machine wrong; there’s no flaw with the machine.”

Me: “How can he be using it wrong? Grit is loaded in and you push it as you walk.”

Manufacturer: “Well, he must be doing it wrong. We’ve had no problems and no other customers have complained about it.”

Me: “I think the part of the country where I am has had the first snowfalls this winter, so no customers will complain until they get snow and have the opportunity to use your product.”

Manufacturer: “There’ve been plenty of customers using them and you are the only ones to complain. There’s no fault with the machine; it’s your operator.”

I give up and go ahead with fitting the modification, and the machine works flawlessly.

Another month passes and the whole of the UK is hit with major snow. I get a phone call from the gritter manufacturer.

Manufacturer: “Are you the guy who called about the belt constantly coming off our hand gritter?”

Me: “Yes.”

Manufacturer: “I recall you mentioned a modification. Did you design one and did it work?”

Me: “The gritter works fine now.”

Manufacturer: “Ah, great. Was it the modification that sorted the problem?”

Me: “Have you been getting problems?”

Manufacturer: “Erm… no, erm… Nobody else has reported any problems.”

Me: “Well, our gritter is fine now.”

Manufacturer: “Was it the modification that fixed it?”

Me: “It was.”

Manufacturer: “Could you email us the details of the modification? We’d like to look at it.”

Me: “You don’t need it; you said you had no reported problems.”

Manufacturer: “We, err, don’t. It’s just out of interest.”

Me: “You weren’t interested in the initial complaint, so I’m not interested in showing you the design. Besides, according to you, it’s not needed.”

I hung up, but over the next week, I received many emails requesting the design, with their wording still denying any fault with the product.

The next summer, our company received their new product catalogue. The gritter was no longer listed for sale.

My two sons just had a big quarrel with each other. I don’t know the details, but they have been all fire and brimstone with each other. It’s gone on for a week now, which has made family dinners very awkward, as they can’t be in the same room without a shouting match occurring within five minutes.

Eventually, I lose my patience with those two and throw both of them out of the house with an order to never return until they’ve made up. So, two grumbling teenagers sit themselves at the bench in the garden, pointedly not looking at each other and practically oozing rage.

They’re like that for pretty much an entire hour, doing nothing but sitting beside each other and saying absolutely nothing.

Then, suddenly, they both get up at the same time and come back in.

Me: “Have the two of you stopped quarrelling?”

Son #1: “Yup, Mum.”

Son #2: “Uh-huh.”

Me: “You’ve made up?”

Son #1: “Yeah. I realised it was just childish.”

Son #2: “I don’t even remember why we were arguing.”

Son #1: “Yeah, me, too.”

Me: “Did either of you apologise to each other?”

Son #1: “No point.”

Son #2: “Nothing to forgive.”

Indeed, they were best of friends once again after that hour in the garden — all without saying a word to the other. I still don’t know why they were quarrelling in the first place.