My brother-in-law and my sister are born-again Christians of ten years, in a sect that does not condone alcohol or gambling. I have no problem with this ethos, but [Brother-In-Law] loves to shove his religious views down our throats at every family event… and it’s draining.

My parents were brought up in the same religion but are very laid back about the rules. They believe that what they do is their choice alone; everybody else can do their own thing. I’m agnostic.

I play the national lottery (£2 a week), and I like to have a glass of wine with meals out. [Brother-In-Law] comments on this every time we meet. He comments, “It’s a sin.” I say, “Only for you, not for me.”

This year, I won a few thousand in the lottery. I decided to give away some money to my parents and in-laws so they could go on a lovely holiday next year with the grandkids.

[Brother-In-Law] found out about the money and got my sister to call me to ask for their share.

Me: “[Brother-In-Law] has made it very clear that gambling is a sin and any money received is tainted by that sin. I wouldn’t want him to compromise his faith by accepting sinful money.”

My sister laughed and said she would relay the message to [Brother-In-Law].

[Brother-In-Law] is now not speaking to me. Oh, dear, what a shame.

My friend, fiancé, and I traveled to Iceland back in 2016. As we were hiking up to the tucked-away warmed pool of Seljavallalaug, we got to talking with a couple from California.

Woman: “Where are you from?”

Me: “We’re all Canadians.”

Woman: “How long did you have to drive?”

Me: “Our hostel isn’t too far away — about an hour or so drive.”

Woman: *Giggling* “Oh, no, let me rephrase my question: how long did you have to drive to Iceland?”

All of us, even the woman’s partner, stopped and stood in awkward silence. I asked if she was serious (just to make sure) and, unfortunately, she was. I had to fight back the temptation to be sarcastic.

Me: “Well, you see, Iceland is an island, and Canada is a part of North America — not to mention that Greenland is between the two, and it’s also an island. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Woman: “Oh, so you flew over on a plane. I thought with all the ice, you could drive over it.”

Client: “Listen, you f***ers, our website is all fuzzy. I don’t know what you’ve done, but it is totally f****** fuzzy.”

Me: “I think you might have problems with your Internet connection. What you’re seeing is some of the images progressively downloading, and—”

Client: “Don’t give me any of that nerdy, numpty, nancy-boy mumbo jumbo. All of the pictures look like s***. If you don’t believe me, go on the site and you’ll f****** see.”

Me: “No, you’re confused. You see, if the images—”

Client: “Listen, f***er, I’ve got better things to do than…”

A long, long pause follows.

Client: “Oh, wait, you’ve fixed it.”

My high school was in a three-story building in the middle of downtown, and one side of the school faced an old apartment complex. I was admittedly zoning out when I noticed someone coming onto the balcony with a huge trash bag. This immediately caught my attention as I thought that was weird.

The woman glanced down and then dropped the bag over the side. Ah, she was throwing the bag into a dumpster on the ground. She went back in.

Then, she came out with a TV; it was a CRT, so probably about fifty pounds at minimum. She surely wasn’t going to…

She was.

Down it went.

CLANG!

BAM!

Then, the wailing of a car alarm caught the attention of everyone in class as the woman hurriedly ran back inside and slammed the door. Everyone ran to the window to see what had caused the noise. There was a dumpster, and in front of the dumpster was a car, with the TV making a big dent in the trunk of the car.

The teacher managed to somehow corral a bunch of rubbernecking teenagers to finish what was left of the class before sending us on our way.

I never saw the woman on the balcony for the rest of the semester.

I am driving to work, and another car breaks a whole range of laws at an intersection. Long story short, I end up with a huge dent on the side of my car and a snapped-off mirror. I’m about to get out of the car to swap insurance details, but the driver of the other car screeches away once they’ve composed themselves.

“Great,” I think. “Just what I needed.”

I get to the fast food place where I work and start taking orders. Later in the day, the planets align for me, as a very recognizable yellow SUV pulls into the parking lot. I even notice the slight dent on the vehicle from where it collided with mine.

A stereotypical soccer mom type steps out of the car, yammering on her phone (gee, it’s a wonder she didn’t have an accident!), and walks into the store.

Customer: *Still on her phone call* “I’ll have a [chicken sandwich meal].”

Me: “Do you have a rewards account with us?”

Customer: *Between her call and me* “No, what’s that?”

Me: “Oh, it allows you to get discounts on meals with us. All we need is your phone number and your email, and the first meal is on the house.”

Customer: “Sweet! Sign me up!”

I wrote down her details, and off she went with her free meal. I might have had to pay for her meal out of my pocket, but my insurance company is going to be charging her a lot more when I pass on her details along with her license plate number!