(When I was about fourteen years old, my family got a cat. We adopted her as a kitten from a friend of my mother’s. I’ve always had a soft spot for animals. The kitten we were getting, a black-and-white one we named Stella, was very tiny and wasn’t yet old enough to be away from her mother, but we got to meet and hold her. I was holding her very carefully the way the owner of the cats had showed me when this exchange happened.)

Owner: “Aww, you’re holding her like she’s a baby!”

Me: *very confused* “But . . . she is a baby . . . ?”

(I didn’t realize what she actually meant until my family was driving back home. We still call Stella our fur-baby.)

I was stocking in the pharmacy department on overnight shift a little before closing when I get called over by a customer.
“Hey, you!”
Cue internal groan, “What can I do for you?”
“What one do I get?” She gestured towards the Tylenol section.
“Is there any particular type you need?” I asked.
“She wants a particular one, and I don’t know what to get. Which one do I get?!”
I have to ask a number of questions to get the customer to explain that “she” is her sister, and her sister demanded something she forgot.
I suggested the customer call the sister to check.
“Why would I do that?! You don’t know anything.”
She takes two bottles off the shelf and thrusts them in my face. “What’s the difference?!”
I reply, “That one has 24 tablets and that one has 60. It says so on the package.”
She says “oh” and then starts mumbling to herself. I walk away and a few minutes later I hear her have a loud phone conversation, presumably with her sister about which Tylenol to buy.

(At our school there is a program for the girls where if you go to the PE office and ask for the red box, they will give you period supplies. The PE office is linked between the boy’s toilets and the girl’s toilets. I am playing truth or dare with my mixed-sex group of friends.)
Me: “(Male friend 1) Truth or dare?”
Male friend 1: “Dare.”
Me: “Go to the PE office and ask for the red box.”
(All the girls playing laugh.)
Male friend 1: “Ew no! I bet there’s condoms in there!”
Me: “No, it’s period stuff.”
Male friend 2: “What, like tampons? Ew I’m not touching them! They’re for up there!”
(Me and my female friends proceed to tell the boys that periods aren’t gross and are part of the life cycle.)

To make everything clearer for overseas readers, New Zealand has different license classes when driving. Learners, where you are “learning” and should have a full licensed driver in the car. Restricted, where you can drive yourself alone between specific hours of the day, no passengers unless a full license driver of two years is the passenger seat. Finally Full, where you can have passengers and you can drive all hours.
I am the only one of my friends with a Full license at this time, being of the younger age and having worked hard to get it as soon as possible.
As such, I am often the driver of the group. I don’t mind this usually. Except after this occasion.
One of my ‘friends’ (let’s call her T) had a birthday party planned. Big celebration, special venue, food and the works. She asked me to drive her and other friends to go to where we were going to get all dressed up before the party etc, to the venue and then home after the party. I agreed, cause she was my friend and also I was the only one who could drive, and it was convenient for everyone as I could drive a people mover (nine seater van) that my parents graciously allowed me to use for the night.

It started alright. We all had our nice dresses and headed to the place we were going to get ready. There was only the 6 of us at the time.
Only to find that the place was some poor woman’s apartment. T had actually planned a private special makeup and hair session all for herself via a voucher deal, but neglected to inform the lady that she was coming with a 5 people entourage.
The lady was amazing, and gave us all tea and let us get ourselves prepped in her living room though.
The hair and makeup took ages though. T was very fussy and got it redone multiple times.
The party and nibbles were scheduled to begin at 5:30 at the venue. Thankfully T’s family had gone in early to set up so these had been sorted. By 6, us girls were hungry, as we hadn’t eaten lunch (T said there would be snacks during the afternoon but clearly she was relying on the fact the makeup lady might provide). When we said a few of us would go to a local place to get munchies, it was like asking if we could chop off her fingers. Needless to say, we were asked to wait.
At about 6:20 we were ready to go. Oh but alas! There were two more people to pick up that were waiting!
When we finally were done with collecting the remaining party members and made our way in, the party had started. With travel time to location, given it was a busy weekend night and we had pickups, a usually short drive was about 45 minutes. We arrived shy of 7:15pm.
Well…. most of us. By the time the drop off was complete, other party members had taken all the easy access car parks. For those who have little experience with people movers, parallel parking can be a nightmare on city streets. After another 15 minutes of circulation and grace of the heavens for a father who emphasised the importance of the parallel park while I was learning to drive, I finally arrived closer to 7:45pm after a walk to the venue.
At which all party food had been consumed, as there had not been enough prepared. By now I was starving, but cake was close I was told as I entered the room. Just after a brief slideshow in dedication of T.
T had a slideshow prepared for sure. Of many photos of her life. Now I understand this, as it was an important birthday for her and it was a tradition to do a slideshow with music and your favourite song.
But what T could never comprehend was why people started talking amongst themselves and become rather bored by the time song number six started playing. She was very insulted and kept asking for silence.

I was grateful at one point to be able to sneak out long enough to a little local shop (like a mini grocer, we call them dairies) and buy a much needed snack boost that was a small bag of nuts. Best salted peanuts in the world!)

You would think that was the end of the night but no.
Following the party, and a few alcoholic beverages on the part of the other girls (sober driver, happy to admit!) seven of us, including T, piled in the people mover and decided to go out to a local beach which had a playground, fountain , aka a tipsy girls paradise. Plus there was a fast food place there that T was dying to go too (not that she had been stiffed the food at the party like the rest of us)
We got there and alas! Takeaway was closed. Well, the girls all still want fun on the playground and in the fountain, so why not stop at another location afterwards, as there were at least three in east driving distance.
Clearly this was too much for T, and she demanded right then and there that I drive everyone home.
Now her house was the first stop on the list from where we were. But, as it was her night and her say, she had me drive everyone else him first before returning to her house to drop off.

In hindsight, I wish I had been more assertive then than I am now. I was not used to conflict at the time, and trusted that people had reasons for their actions that were decent.
Nowadays, I’m very good for standing up for myself in any situation that is remotely like this.
Funnily enough, I don’t speak to T now. Wonder why?

I work with elementary school students with behavioral challenges. I have one student who has extremely low self-esteem. He’s a brilliant writer and artist, one of the most talented mathematicians in the class, and has tons of friends. Despite this, he has several meltdowns a day screaming about how he’s dumb, hates school, and no one cares about him, accompanied by throwing things and hitting his head on the desk. His parents have been notified many times, but they clearly don’t get the message because nothing changes.

About halfway through the school year, I’m feeling really confident about his progress. He isn’t having as many meltdowns and is actually trying to finish his work instead of ripping it up. Then I find out that he doesn’t actually live in the area and that his parents used a relative’s address so he could go to the same school as his friends. Now he has to transfer to a different school. I’m devastated because I truly enjoy working with him and am proud of his progress, but of course there’s nothing I can do.

A few weeks later, I find out that the student is going to be working with one of my colleagues at his new school. The transition is really difficult for him and he is back to screaming and throwing things several times a day. I tell my colleague about the system I worked out with him to help manage his emotions, and she says she’ll let me know how it goes.

After a few months, I find out that our organization is going to volunteer to do some cleanup at my colleague’s school, and that the students will be attending to learn about community service. I am beyond excited to see my old student.

When the day comes, the kids are lining up to get their instructions and my former student spots me and waves me over. He is smiling wider than I’d ever seen. He tells me he misses me but really enjoys working with my colleague, and he’s even started making some new friends.

Obviously we weren’t able to solve his underlying challenges in ten months, but to see how much brighter and more confident he looked compared to the first day of school, it was a beautiful reminder how important it is for young children to have someone cheering them on.