(I’ve bought some old home movies on VHS tapes over to my mum and step-dad’s so he can transfer them to DVD. My sister and eight-year-old nephew happen to be visiting at the same time.)

Nephew: *looking at the tapes* “Hey, what’s that?”

Me: “They’re videos; Grandpa is going to put them onto DVD for us.”

Nephew: “What’s a video?”

Me: “Before DVDs were invented, movies came out on video.”

Nephew: “Oh, my God. There was something before DVDs?”

Me: *laughing* “Yep, and before videos, there were eight-tracks.”

Nephew: “Wow, that’s trippy.”

Me: “You know that before mp3s, there were CDs, right?”

Nephew: “Yep, when Mum got rid of hers, me and [Nieces] used them for frisbees.”

Me: “Well, before CDs, there were cassettes. I think Grandpa might even have some, along with a Walkman. We could see if we can find them.”

(He readily agreed, and we found some old cassettes and Walkmen, along with our old super Nintendo and games. Everything still worked. After hooking the gaming system up to an old TV, my nephew and I spent the rest of the day reliving my childhood. While it made me feel incredibly old — I’m 32 — it was a great day reliving the past and showing him things that had been lost to the younger generation.)

(I volunteer at a few of the different pop culture conventions that roll through town each year. This year I am working guest management at one, which involves working closely with the VIP guests — TV/movie celebs — and ensuring that patrons are lined up correctly and, importantly, not taking photos of the guests. This a rule from both guests and management. Some guests, for an extra $20 or so, will take a selfie with you, but most would prefer you pay for the professional photos. Most patrons are okay with this rule and when I’ve photobombed their camera and reminded them of the rule they apologise and walk off. Not this guy.)

Me: “Hi. Just so that you’re aware, there are no photos of this area behind me at all.”

Patron: “I was only taking a photo of the lines.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but as long as there are guests in the autograph booth, not even a photo of the lines is allowed.”

Patron: “Well, you didn’t even ask me if I was taking a photo! I could have been using Wikipedia, for all you know!”

Me: “That’s why I advised you of the—“

Patron: *now yelling* “NO! YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

Me: “Actually, mate, I can.”

Patron: *now getting closer to me, looking like he’s going to burst*

Me: “I think you need to move along now.”

Patron: “FINE!”

(He then grabs my lanyard from around my neck with my volunteer photo ID and name.)

Patron: “THANKS, [MY NAME].”

(He then threw my lanyard back at me and walked away. I’ve heard all the smarta** remarks about the “no photos beyond this point” rule, but never in three years of volunteering have I had someone get so in my face and practically assault me. It was an adrenaline rush, and I enjoyed being salty with a smile on my face the entire time.)

The emergency callout in the supermarket chain I work in is “Mr. Steed.” I’ve heard it several times throughout my time working. Every single time I’ve heard it, it’s always been a stealthily calm, “Mr. Steed, could you please come to [aisle/service desk]? Thank you,” to deal with a customer who’s starting to get verbally abusive or threatening. Nearly all the altercations have happened at the registers, and the staff there are good at de-escalating situations, while I work in the deli at the other end of the store, so I usually don’t even hear the altercations.

I’m working in the deli, serving customers as usual, when I hear extremely loud shouting from what sounds like a group of young men, erupting from the direction of the registers.

The store announcement is desperately screeching, “MR. STEED! MR. STEED! MR. STEED!”

Many of the customers around me are looking extremely nervous, and some customers from the fresh produce section hurry over to the group of customers waiting at the deli, I assume looking for safety in numbers. I start seriously wondering if I should open the deli gate and let customers in behind the counter, just in case there is a serious risk to their safety. There is another, equally desperate, “MR. STEED! MR. STEED! MR. STEED!” call, I can hear all the able-bodied grocery boys running to the front, and the shouting at the front registers continues for about twenty seconds or so until I assume they are tackled by all the guys who answered the Mr. Steed call.

As I can’t see what’s happening and understandably, none of the customers want to investigate, I don’t find out the bizarre extent of what happened until about half an hour later, when one of the cashiers comes up to the deli during her break.

It started off as an apparently standard shoplifting gig that got caught. It was a group of three or four guys, and the cameras caught them stuffing things into their backpacks, so when they got to the front registers the cashier had to do a bag check. During this check, when all the stolen items were emptied from [Thief #1]’s bag, a wallet came tumbling out onto the pile.

It turns out the wallet belonged to [Thief #2], which I thought was rather funny, but evidently [Thief #2] did not find it so funny. An all-out brawl ensued right there at the registers, which explains the testosterone-saturated shouting I heard. Apparently, stealing from the store is fine, but stealing from your fellow thieves is not!

(I have finished up work for the day and left the now-closed store from the back. I have walked around to the front and through the car park to begin my walk home, still wearing my store staff tags. A car comes hurtling into the car park and the driver, upon seeing me, winds down their window.)

Customer: “Do you work at that store?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “I just put a dress on hold from another store for my daughter — she needs it for tomorrow — so I came here to get it.”

Me: “Well, sorry, but the store is closed; you will have to come back when they open tomorrow.”

Customer: “But I need it now! Can’t you just let me go in and buy it real quick?”

Me: “Ah, no. I am just a staff member; I have no keys to the building or the authority to do that. Also, we have been closed for a good fifteen minutes by now; I’m pretty sure everyone would have left the store by now. It is empty.”

Customer: “But I need it. I will be really quick, I swear.”

Me: “I cannot help you; the store opens at nine tomorrow.” *swiftly continues to walk home and away from this woman*

(I don’t know what possessed her to think a random staff member could open a department store after close, but I was glad I was not rostered the next day!)

(A drunk man has entered our store and asked a few customers for money.)

Manager: “You can’t do that here; you need to leave.”

Man: “But I lost my wallet and I just need some bus fare. Can you give me some?”

(He walks over to stand in front of the manager where there are shelves and our registers between him and her. He’s so drunk he leans against the shelves.)

Manager: “No, I want you to leave now.”

Man: *on his way out* “Some b****** stole my wallet and I just need a little money to get home.”

(He approaches a few passersby outside the store.)

Manager: “That’s it. I’m calling the police”

(She rings the police and as I’m serving I hear her say that the man threatened staff and customers, and she hangs up the phone.)

Manager: “That will get them here quicker”

(By the time the police arrive, the guy has moved on. I leave the manager to talk to them while I keep serving, but can hear the conversation.)

Policeman: “Can you tell us what happened?”

Manager: “A drunk man came in and wanted money.”

Policeman: “He tried to rob you?”

Manager: “No, he asked customers for money for bus fare, and he asked me, too, because he lost his wallet.”

Policeman: “You specifically said he threatened people. What did he do?”

Manager: “He asked customers for money.”

Policeman: “But did he actually threaten anyone?”

Manager: “Uh, no.”

Policeman: “Well, why did you say he did? You know, you could be in trouble for making false accusations.”

Manager: “Oh… I’m [Nationality] and couldn’t think of the right words in English at the time because I was upset; I meant to say I felt threatened.”

(It was not the first time I’d heard her lying to save her own skin, but this time she realised that she could have been in big trouble, and on the occasions that I’ve heard her calling the police, she’s never tried that one again. She had come to Australia as a small child and had spoken English with an Australian accent for over thirty years.)