I’m finishing my shift at the checkout, and my coworker is taking over so that we don’t have to close the lane. I was about to serve an older male regular before my cover arrived.

Coworker: “Have a good night! I can’t wait to see how different you’ll look tomorrow!”

Customer: “What does she mean? How will you look different tomorrow?”

Me: “I’m cutting all my hair off tonight! Going for a new look!”

Customer: “Oh. Men don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “Well, I am a woman, and I’m not doing it for men.”

Customer: “Oh. Well, I don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “And I don’t like very short guys, but I’ve managed to not be an a**hole to you about it for the last few years.”

Customer: *Angrily* “I’m 5’7″!”

Me: “Honey, you’re 5’5″ on a good day, and I can see that you’re wearing elevator shoes. Okay, byeeeeee!”

The customer complained, but my manager said I was off the clock the moment my cover arrived, so there was nothing he could do. My new hair came out great, by the way!

I didn’t want to take an advanced language arts class for my senior year of high school, so I signed up for the standard English 12. I immediately knew I wouldn’t like the class as, in the first week, the teacher started a unit on basic spelling rules.

My classmates and I all knew each other reasonably well, even if we weren’t all friends. One classmate had a slightly unusual name. For this story, I’ll call her Stella, and I’ll call the teacher Mrs. Hale (rhymes with “rail”).

On the first day, Mrs. Hale called the roll.

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?” (Pronounced “eh-STELL”)

Stella: “Here, but my name is Stella.” (Pronounced “STEL-uh”)

Mrs. Hale: “Oh, all right. I’ll make a note.”

On the second day, Mrs. Hale called the roll.

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Stella: “It’s Stella.”

On the third day…

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Stella & Her Friends: “It’s Stella!”

On the fourth day…

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Most Of The Class: “It’s STELLA!”

This went on through the whole second week until we all kind of gave up, figuring Mrs. Hale would keep mispronouncing Stella’s name no matter what we did. All except me, that is.

At the beginning of the third week, Mrs. Hale explained something to us and wrote examples on the dry-erase board. I raised my hand to point out a minor mistake she had made. She looked at it and insisted she was correct. I showed her information in the textbook to prove otherwise. She just glared at me in an “Are you finished yet?” kind of way. Clearly, I wasn’t going to win that battle, and as a student against a teacher, I was essentially powerless, but I wanted revenge anyway.

Me: “Never mind, Mrs. Hally.” (Rhymes with “rally”)

Mrs. Hale: “My name is Mrs. Hale.”

Me: “I know that, Mrs. Hally.”

Mrs. Hale: “Why are you saying my name like that?”

Me: “Because you refuse to pronounce Stella’s name correctly, even though we have all corrected you several times. So, until you can get my friend’s name right, I will intentionally say your name wrong.”

She glared at me for about a minute and then went on with her lesson (mistakes and all) as if my interruption had never happened.

I called her Mrs. Hally the entire semester. She never got my friend’s name right.

My parents own a nice piece of property in a neighborhood in the suburbs. There is a quarter-acre pond on the property, and to be honest, it’s picturesque AF, mainly because my parents are amazing gardeners and keep everything looking great. It also sits down a small hill a little ways from the house. Throughout the years, we’ve had to chase away people fishing and kids playing. One, because it’s a liability, and two, because there are a ton of huge-a** snapping turtles. We have “no trespassing” and snapper warning signs, but I guess reading signs is for losers?

One night while I am in high school, I look out and see a man standing on the other side of the pond from the house, fishing. He’s about three feet past a “no trespassing” sign. I tell my dad, and he walks out to tell the guy to leave. Being a nosy teenager, I follow.

My dad stands up the hill from the pond and calls out:

Dad: “Excuse me! I need to ask you to leave.”

The guy turns and seeing my frankly short father just snorts.

Fisherman: “Yeah, no.”

Dad: “You are on private property and need to leave.”

Fisherman: “It’s not private property.”

My dad gestures to the signs, and the fisherman changes his tune.

Fisherman: “Yeah. Uh, right, the owner said I could fish here.”

My dad isn’t physically intimidating, but when he’s pissed, the vitriol in his voice is palpable. Usually, these exchanges are short, and the people are very apologetic. But this dude clearly wants to stay and doesn’t care what my dad says.

Dad: “I definitely didn’t tell you that. Get the f*** off my property!”

Fisherman: “WELL, I THOUGHT ANYONE COULD FISH HERE!”

Enter “S”. Who is S? S is a huge-a** f****** snapping turtle that is making its way out of the water with the fisherman’s line in its mouth. S, who is now hooked after attempting to eat the worm, is pissed. Neither my dad nor the fisherman have noticed as they are still arguing.

Dad: “Just leave my f****** yard!”

Fisherman: “F*** off!”

The fisherman is facing us, away from the water, but still holding the rod that S is using to floss his teeth. Finally, he gives up on being able to fish and jerks the rod to leave. It doesn’t move much, but it pisses S off even more. The fisherman turns to see what it is caught on and, instead of a rock, sees an angry prehistoric scrotum with teeth and kevlar meandering its way toward him.

My dad finally sees S and uses this moment to yell:

Dad: “THIS IS WHY YOU CAN’T FISH HERE, DUMBA**!”

The fisherman apparently didn’t want to lose the rod, and he tried to pull it toward himself as if it was a fish he could catch and release and not a demon mini dinosaur. This got S more pissed off, and it lunged, biting the fisherman’s leg. There was blood everywhere, and we had to call an ambulance. He ended up getting some infection and dying like a month later. We made a pen for S, and now he has a little family.

Nah, I’m kidding. The fisherman dropped the rod and scrambled up the hill to his car while my dad laughed. My dad then went down, cut the line, and ushered S into a trap to be rehomed out where kids, dogs, and dumba**es wouldn’t accidentally run into him.

The dragging-heels entitlement still baffles me to this day. If the guy had apologized and been kind, my dad would have geeked out about fishing rods with him. Instead, he lost an apparently nice rod.

There are plenty of fish in the sea — except where snappers ate them all — so fish in a place that doesn’t have warning signs.

Me: “I can only take cards right now, no cash. Is that okay?”

Customer: “Yeah!”

I ring through some items, and they bring out a roll of bills.

Me: “I can only take cards right now.”

Customer: “Oh. I only have cash.”

Me: “What do you think those sounds my mouth made earlier meant?”

Customer: “What sounds?”

This call took place shortly after the turn of the century, around 2005. I was working for an answering service whose clients ranged from lawyers, plumbers, electricians, and doctors to just your everyday office.

We were not allowed to state that we were an answering service. Our company would have us answer like we were part of the company that they were calling. We would take a message and then relay it out over text pagers, emails, or personal phone calls.

One gentleman called in looking for the doctor’s office that his father had been going to. He must have thought that he was talking directly to a doctor because he started his story before I could give any more information other than the script that I read when answering for that office.

His elderly father had been on suppositories per orders from the doctor’s office. The gentleman was too elderly to apply them himself, so his son had been doing it for him. He was trying to find out if there was a place where he could buy an applicator so that he didn’t have to use his hands anymore.

At this point, he paused waiting for an answer, and I was able to tell him that I could leave the doctor that message, but I didn’t personally have access to that information.

I heard a gasping of air as I’m pretty sure he realized that he wasn’t talking to a doctor and he had just told that story to a complete stranger. The call disconnected.

Somewhere out there is a child who went below and beyond for their parents.