I sleep in a box-bed. For those who don’t know what that is: it’s basically a bed that’s been built into the wall, with curtains or doors in front of it and usually storage space beneath it. It’s a great space saver and was once very common in Dutch houses. The place I live in is old enough to still have one. I rather like it, it’s cozy, a great space saver as mentioned before, and it looks cool, giving me something to show off to guests. The one thing I very much do not like about it however, is that it makes changing the sheets absolute hell. It’s only partially open, not completely along one side, so I have to crawl into the back to get the sheet around the matress, which is made even harder by the drop in the ceiling at that point. It’s my least favorite chore for a reason, and my clumsiness does not make it any easier. Here’s what happened last time, as a typical example:

Me (struggling with the sheet): “Blasted, thrice-accursed…OW!”

Housemate: “You okay?”

Me: “More or less. My hand slipped and I managed to punch myself on the nose.”

Housemate: “Are you bleeding?”

Me (checks in mirror): “No, all good.”

Housemate: “Then you’re doing better than last time, at least.”

She’s right. Last time I cut myself on… something. No idea on what, I just felt pain, pulled my hand back, and saw I was bleeding. I like my box-bed, but I HATE changing the sheets.

I’m attending a convention in a city far from home, so I make a reservation at a large chain hotel about three months in advance. I also add a note to the reservation saying that I’ll be checking in somewhat late that night, since the convention gets out late. As can be expected, I get the standard confirmation email and think nothing of it.

Three months later, the first night of the convention ends, and I drive to the hotel, exhausted. It takes a bit to get the front desk worker’s attention, since he’s pretty intently watching videos on his phone.

Me: Hi. I’m checking in, please.

Front Desk Worker (without looking away from his phone): Sorry, the hotel is full tonight.

Me: Okay. I have a reservation, though.

Front Desk Worker: We’re still full.

Me: Hold on a sec, let me find it.

[I search for the reservation on my phone, starting to doubt that I’ve come to the right hotel or that maybe I reserved the wrong dates. Once I find it, though, I confirm that it’s definitely the right hotel and the right dates. I show the Front Desk Worker, who finally looks up from his phone to look at mine.]

Me: So, I definitely have a reservation for tonight. I reserved a room three months ago.

Front Desk Worker (shrugs): Don’t know what to tell you, man. We’re full. There’s some kind of convention in town.

Me: I know. I’m here for that convention. But I’m supposed to have a room. See? This is my reservation.

Front Desk Worker: Yeah, no, we’re really busy. Sorry, all the rooms are full.

Me: Meaning all reserved, or all actually full right now?

Front Desk Worker: All actually full.

Me: So…[Hotel] didn’t keep my reservation, or…

Front Desk Worker: (shrugs)

I never found out what happened here. My best guess is that they had cash-in-hand guests come before my late arrival, and not knowing whether I’d show (maybe they missed the late arrival note?), they went ahead and sold my room. I was just baffled that the Front Desk Worker didn’t apologize or admit a mistake–there was a pervasive attitude of, “Hey, not much we can do about it, it’s a busy night.” I emailed the hotel management and ended up getting a voucher for a free night at any of their locations, so it wasn’t a total loss.

Where I live, when you’re unemployed, you can receive benefits from the government if you’re compliant with the guides set by the agencies. My ‘activity’ is working in a charity shop; I don’t mind it, but there’s plenty of heavy lifting due to the volume of donations – mostly furniture – and you deal with quite a lot of elderly and vulnerable people.

This occurs in July of 2021. My state has had a resurgence of a certain potentially deadly virus, and everyone’s a bit on edge because the government is doing all they can to prevent it from spreading further than it already has. I wake up feeling quite sick; I’ve got the symptoms of said virus. I immediately book in with my doctor, who does the test for it straight away before ordering me into self isolation. She also writes me a certificate for the government activity, so I don’t get penalised.

I think it’s all okay; I email the agency with the certificate attached and basically crash. I’m feverish and nauseated, and I drift in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day. And then, that afternoon, I get a call.

It’s the agency. And they’re not happy. Why?

Apparently, it isn’t the ‘right kind of certificate’. The agent stresses that she’ll accept it this time, while at the same time having a go at me for not doing the right thing, that I’ll only be covered for that day and that day alone – thankfully, this happens on a Friday and as the store isn’t open on the weekend, I’ll have some time to recover – and if I don’t go on Monday my benefits will be suspended.

But here’s what gets me. After having a test for the illness, it’s a government mandate that you go home and self-isolate until you get cleared. According to the mandate, I wouldn’t have needed a certificate at all, because legally, I wasn’t allowed to go out once I presented with symptoms.

On Saturday I received my results and it was negative; but I do have a nasty strain of flu. However, while I got a bit better over the weekend, I still feel like absolute s***, still having hot and cold flashes, still have the nausea and body aches. On Sunday, my chest started to burn and ache, which is concerning because the last time I had the flu this bad, I got sicker and then got bronchitis, which then led to fluid around my lungs and weeks of antibiotics. But I have to return on Monday, regardless of how I feel.

I get having to be compliant with the government. I get that receiving benefits comes with proving that I’m still trying to get work, that I’m willing and able to get out and do something. But I can’t see how it’s fair that they made a big deal of me not having the ‘right sort’ of certificate to prove that I’m sick during a global health crisis, when it’s the illness causing said global health crisis the doctor feared I had.

And, now, I’ll have to go to my activity, where I’ll again be dealing with the elderly and the vulnerable, still with this nasty strain of the flu. It may not be the certain illness spreading around the globe but it’s still something that can severely compromise immune systems and make people more susceptible to other certain global illnesses.

All because the doctor took priority in testing me and ordering me home to isolate right away instead of wasting time writing the ‘right sort’ of certificate.

Me: (Supervisor), here’s a woman’s lost ID from the parking lot. Also, there’s a pair of women’s underwear out there, too.

Supervisor:…

Luckily, no one else was there, but we still put the ID at customer service and dealt with the random underwear with tongs.

My partner has two kids, aged 4 and 7, that are currently staying with us for a week.
Today I made them hotdogs for tea, and retreated upstairs to crash on the bed while he supervised the eating.
At some point he came up to the bathroom, and when he went back downstairs the four year old had vanished!
As he was calling the kid, I just heard this tiny little voice whisper from UNDER THE BED:
“I don’t like the sausage…”

I think i nearly died from trying not to laugh!