It’s my first experiment in science for year ten. My teacher so far seems nice enough and has told us not to hesitate to tell her about any issue concerning the class.

Me: “Since the experiment involves sulfur, can I sit out? I have an allergy to it.”

Teacher: “No, you can’t. You have to participate and help your classmates!”

Me: “But I have an allergy to sulfur! I’ll start reacting!

Teacher: “No, you don’t. You’re lying and just want to get out of the lesson!”

At this point, I am very upset and leave. I’ve reacted to things such as paint, medicine, my year eight injections, and even sunscreen!

I talk to my mother about it, and she calls the school, who says I’ll be allowed to sit out. Relieved, I head to science happily the next day.

Teacher: “What are you doing? You have to help your team!”

Me: “The school says I can sit out because of my allergy.”

Teacher: “No, you can’t. Go and help your group!”

When I refuse, she goes over to my group, looks at what they are doing, and signals for me to come over. Knowing that I have no choice left, I go over.

Teacher: “Now, [My Name] will do this part and you guys can observe.”

The task involves handling the sulfur. As I am lifting the eye dropper of sulfur, the teacher goes to another group, bumping me in the process, causing drops of sulfur to land on my arm. I stop what I am doing and head to the sink to wash it off before returning and trying again, this time with success.

By the time my part is complete, a rash has spread over my arm, and it hurts badly. I’ve never had a reaction this bad before. I know I need to calm it down, but I can’t leave the lesson. I explain to my groupmates what’s happening and why I need them to call my doctor. I give them my phone to find the doctor in my contacts while I try not to start crying and find a flannel to soak in cold water to decrease a bit of pain.

Teacher: “Why aren’t you all working? [Girl], who are you calling?

Girl: “[My Name]’s doctor. Sulfur got on her arm, and now she has a painful rash, and we need the doctor because that’s what she’s been told to do if it gets bad.”

The teacher looked at us in disbelief before seeing the spreading rash and agreeing to let us call.

In the end, my mother had to pick me up to take me to the doctor, where I was prescribed pills and listened to the doctor remind the school that I had an allergy, and it should not be dismissed.

The teacher was made to apologize and left the next year!

A very old man comes through my checkout with a bottle of wine, which I scan through without comment.

Me: “That’ll be [price].”

The customer looks disappointed.

Customer: “You didn’t ask to see my ID for the wine.”

I’m a bit taken aback since this customer looks old enough to have gone to school with Methuselah.

Me: “Sorry about that. May I see your ID?”

He cheers up immediately and pulls out his passport. I check the date and then do a double-take and check the current date. Yep, he was born exactly a hundred years ago today!

Me: *Handing the passport back* “Happy birthday, sir!”

Customer: “Thank you!”

He happily paid and went on his way. I later found out that he also purchased wine from three other checkouts, proudly showing them his passport each time. You go, old guy!

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I worked lunchtime four days a week at the supermarket. As such, I got to know some of the regulars who worked in the area and bought their lunch here most or all of the time.

There was one customer who came in every day and bought the same three things for lunch: a sandwich from our deli, a cookie, and an energy drink from the fridge. I was often on the express checkouts, and he often came through my queue but never said a word. He wasn’t unfriendly; it was more like he was distracted by something else that was getting him down.

After several months of buying the same three things every day, he once came in and got an apple instead of the cookie. Trying to be friendly, I asked him:

Me: “Changing it up today?”

Regular: *Taken aback* “How did you know?”

Me: “You come through my checkout a lot, and we get to know the regulars.”

Surprisingly, this perked the customer right up. He smiled and thanked me for the first time, and he continued to do so each time he came through after that. He even started making small bits of conversation. I learned that he was in a job he disliked but would be moving soon to a new job in another town.

He stopped coming through after a couple of months. I hope the new job worked out for him.

Most people don’t realise that it is difficult to get snow in some places. Wellington, New Zealand, is one of those places. The low altitude and the salt from having ocean around three sides mean that snow is basically unheard of… until 2011.

A strange weather pattern led to three days of white stuff even at levels less than five meters above sea level. It was gorgeous and amazing. We all muddled about our businesses and got on with everything, with some things being a little more slippery than others.

Not the criminals, however.

During this three-day powdering, when you might experience the joy of watching your footprints stay in the new snow coat, two clever people decided they were going to rob a dairy.

Then, they walked straight home.

In the snow.

They were shocked when they were caught less than an hour afterward. Somehow, the police had managed to track them down. They got hauled away.

Oh, and the riches they had taken from the small store? Ice cream. Just in case the story wasn’t cool enough.

I work in a department store. We had a regular customer; it was common for her to ring and make the staff find specific items from photos in the current catalogue. She called us the other day to have a Christmas tree and ornaments delivered.

Regular: “I would like to order [Christmas tree], and I’d also like to order all the ornaments and decorations from the promo photo in the catalogue. It has to match!”

Later, she called us again.

Regular: “I’ve put the tree and all the decorations up in my home but they’re not right! I need you to send someone to take it all down for me, and I want a full refund!”

Because she really was a regular, the store manager eventually agreed that one of our contractors would pick up the items, provided she could repackage them in suitable condition for refund. What was brought back to the store was everything thrown into the delivery boxes together, without any of the packaging.

She still phoned in catalogue orders in the following years.