I work in tech support, fixing computers. We have a problem customer who regularly comes in with his virus-infected laptop for us to clean, not bothered about the reams of adult material that we can clearly see have caused the issue.

This guy is vulgar and rude and looks down on us, calling us “geeks” and “tech nerds,” not to mention regularly joking that we’re all virgins and live in our mothers’ basements — the usual stereotypes.

One day, he comes in with an older lady, who I learn is his mother. She needs her older laptop updated, and she is very pleasant to deal with. Her son, however, remains rude and awful.

Completing the paperwork, I note that they have the same address, so I surmise he lives at home with his mother, which is a delicious irony in and of itself. However, the next time he comes in with his infested laptop, I come up with an idea.

I ask him if he is okay with me adding some free software to his browser that will help with his… uh… recurring issues. He nonchalantly agrees, just browsing on his phone.

I install the software, which is designed for less-abled people, and set up the settings to speak aloud, in the loudest volume possible, the name of every site he visits on his browser. I also “accidentally” misplace the volume controls on his user interface and move around some hotkeys. When I am done, I smile as I hand it over.

Surprisingly, we haven’t seen him since. I can’t know for sure if living with his mother presented a problem when every barely-legal website he visited had its name announced at full volume, but I can certainly hope.

I’m working on night replenishment in a supermarket over the Christmas period, which mostly involves getting as much as possible of the last delivery of the day and the multiple overnight deliveries of chilled stock onto the shelves ready for opening. One of the good things about night shift is that you’re allowed to have headphones on to listen to your own music. Like nearly everyone there, I take advantage of this.

My work playlist is best described as eclectic, spanning a few hundred years and several genres. I also have a habit of singing or humming under my breath as I work, usually without even realising I’m doing it. Most people ignore this or can’t hear it through their own music, but sometimes I get comments on my musical choices.

I once got comments from the person who’d been paying enough attention to my singing to realise that I had metal, pop, classical, and showtunes all mixed together, among other genres. This annoyed him, enough to call me a “fake metalhead” and demand that metal not be mixed in with “lesser music.”

My response was a very mature one: I unpaired my headphones, searched a specific song, and played it through my phone’s speakers. It was from a metal band’s most recent album, but it was most definitely not a metal song, instead being a choral arrangement of a poem.

He had no answer for that… especially as the manager for that section started yelling for him to get back to his own department and stop harassing me.

My husband and I are laying in bed, awake and on our phones, but too lazy to get up.

Husband: “Oh, I had a weird dream last night.”

Me: “Oh?”

Husband: “Yeah, we got visited by that scientist guy, the one who flies around on the giant aubergine.”

Aubergine is “eggplant,” for our American friends.

Me: “What on earth are you on about?”

Husband: “You know! The science guy! Lemongrass Tyson!”

It clicks.

Me: “You mean Neal DeGrasse-Tyson?!”

Husband: “Yeah!”

My boarding school just closed due to a global outbreak. This happens on the last night where we can stay in the dorms. As we’re all international students in our final year, it gets pretty emotional once we realise that we’re not coming back. Already half of our schoolmates have gone back home and we won’t see them again.

House Parent: “Okay, boys, as you know, there’s been a shortage of alcohol hand sanitisers in the region. [Chemistry Teacher] and [Biology Teacher] are rigging up a distillery to make sure that [Nearby Village]’s stockpile doesn’t run out. If any of you have any liquor they’d like to surrender, I’ll turn a blind eye, just this once.”

That’s true. I’m taught by both of those teachers and have seen the apparatus, or at least its prototype. And for the record, most of us are over 18 — UK’s drinking age — by this point.

Me: “Can I keep my wine? I don’t think that its alcohol content is high enough.”

House Parent: *Scandalised look* “Bring it out anyway.”

We start shuffling in and out of the common room, dragging our contraband to the room. For some reason, everyone has decided to surrender not just the alcohol, but all of our contraband. Before long, there’s a small mountain of alcoholic beverages, e-cigarettes, regular cigarettes, and some weird pills.

House Parent: “[Dormmate #1], I am disappointed in you. You’re a prefect, for God’s sake! And [Dormmate #2], you’ve been here for years; I always thought that you were a good student. And [My Name], you’ve always been harsh on rule-breakers. So, how is it you have nine, nine bottles of wine in your room?”

The two prefects brought out an impressive supply of vodka and cigarettes. Including my nine bottles of wine — I was expecting to not be allowed back to town, thus I bought enough to last until summer — the three of us brought out roughly half of the contraband.

House Parent: “And the rest of you? How is it that over a third of my dorm has been smuggling in contraband?”

Dormmate #3: “Actually, sir, some of these belonged to the guys that left. They handed it to us before they went home.”

Dormmate #4: “Yeah. Some of them still have stuff stashed away. If you let us into their rooms, we can get more out.”

House Parent: “Great! Is there no one in my dorm that has not broken at least one of the rules?”

We all shuffle about guiltily.

House Parent: “Seriously, boys?”

Me: “Welp, sir, it’s our last day here. Just lighten up a bit, all right?”

House Parent: *Sighs* “Fine. Fine. Just take your wine and go.”

Dormmate #2: “Hey, sir, seeing as it’s our last day here, can we have a party?” *Gestures at contraband pile* “We’ve got plenty of supplies here.”

Our house parent closes his eyes for a long time.

House Parent: “Fine. Just this once. No liquor, no vaping, and no smoking.”

Me: *Grins* “I’ve got ice cream! Seeing as I’m heading home tomorrow, I’ll share it with everyone!”

Dormmate #5: “I’ve got chocolate!”

Dormmate #6: “I’ve got waffles!”

And then we all had an impromptu party, eating ice cream and drinking our sorrows away. We said our tearful goodbyes, promised to keep in touch, and confessed to all of our various crimes in front of our house parent, who reacted with a mix of disbelief, exasperation, and disappointment.

My wine supply came out reasonably unscathed as everyone found it too sweet, but there was no more beer, cider, or less sweet wine left by the time we went to bed. 

It was oddly touching, considering that I found most of those people barely tolerable on most days. But now that we’ve gone our separate ways, I wished that that night where we got drunk together lasted forever.

(My partner and I are about to move into a new flat. One of the stores where we will be buying a lot of new homeware has a deal whereby if you load £24, £48, or £95 onto a gift card they will make it up to £25, £50, or £100 for you. I go into the shop to get us a £100 card for £95 and also to purchase some suitcases. I head over to the till with an unloaded gift card and a set of three matching suitcases nested inside one another.)

Me: “Hi, I just want to load £95 onto this card, please, and then use the card to pay for these three suitcases.”

Cashier: “Wait, there are three cases there.”

Me: “There are; I’ve just put them inside one another to make them easier to carry.”

Cashier: “Well, how do I know you’re not trying to steal them?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Cashier: “How do I know you aren’t trying to steal them, putting them one inside the other?”

(I think she’s joking.)

Me: “Well, you know, sadly, I have one too few hands not to.”

Cashier: “You’re lucky I don’t call security, you know. How do I know you aren’t trying to steal them?”

Me: *pretty angry* “Well, your first clue should have been the fact that I told you before you scanned anything and before I’d even passed them up to you that there were three there, which there are!”

Cashier: “Well, I can’t scan them all when they’re like that, can I?”

(The cashier makes a huge show of opening the first two to scan the codes on the lid of those inside.)

Cashier: “Right, £48.”

Me: “And I’d like to load £95 onto this gift card and pay with that, please.”

Cashier: “Fine, £143.”

Me: “No, I’d like to pay for the gift card first and then use the gift card to pay for the suitcases.”

Cashier: “You can’t do that!”

Me: “Why not? We just want to take advantage of the £5 extra free.”

Cashier: “Well, it doesn’t work like that. How do I know you aren’t trying to scam us?”

Me: “Let me get this straight. You think I’m trying to scam you by taking advantage of an offer that you have advertised in every one of your stores and online, and that I’m trying to steal some suitcases that I told you I had three of right from the start? You know what? We’re done here. I’d like a manager, please.”

(A manager came out and asked what was going on. The cashier explained the situation first. The manager turned to look at me and my three suitcases and processes the transaction as I’d asked in the first place. Then, the manager gave me an extra discount for the trouble. The cashier just stood there staring at me in disgust, almost as if I’d grown that third arm or something!)