Getting random texts from drug dealers you've never met from London. In fact the only person I've met who lives in this particular area was female and not a dealer.
As a side project of that: remembering how utterly fucked you were the last time you were in said district of London, and the dawning realisation that you lost somewhere in the region of three hours and somehow managed to make it to King's Cross with no idea how you got there.
Who did I talk to? Where did I go? Why did my arse hurt? etc etc etc
I actually remembered this one. It happens way too often.
You use the pay at pump facility to save time except when it comes to receipt time, the fucking machine has run out of paper so you still have to go in and queue
There are signs on broken equipment at my gym that say "I'm ill". I think this is stupid. They are pretending inanimate objects (e.g. gym equipment, vending machines) are people, in an effort to [I haven't worked this part out yet].