Once in a while, we come across things in our household that we can’t identify. If this happens to you, just know that you can ask the experts on Reddit. Here, people from all around the world share their knowledge and help figure out the purpose behind some really mysterious things.
Now I’ve Seen Everything can now say we haven’t really seen everything and here are some mysteries the internet managed to solve!
1. “Part with spokes rotates, spokes (of different diameters) match up to hole in the opposite side of the tool. Sharpie marker for size.”
Answer: It is for punching holes in leather or similar things. Like, for a belt.
2. “This little plastic basket/holder inside the far corner of a trolley — I asked the supermarket staff, they had no idea.”
Answer: It’s a bitz box (a place for small items, like pens, batteries, etc.).
3. “I know it’s a chair, but what’s with the extended arms?”
Answer: It looks like a plantation/planter chair. You’d put your sore, swollen legs up on the arms after sitting on a horse all day, like a pregnant woman with her legs up in the same fashion. This is why the back is so sloped as well. If you sat up straight it wouldn’t be comfortable to put your legs up like that, but in a reclined position, it’s good for blood flow and airflow.
4. “Small, light blue, rubber capsule with a tear-off end.”
Answer: It’s a cosmetics serum capsule.
5. “My coworker saw this toilet in the women’s restroom at the Huntsville Space Center. Why is it shaped this way?”
Answer: It is a woman’s urinal. It encourages women to urinate from a standing position without the need to sit on a shared seat.
6. “I’m waiting for the bank to open and they have this card facing the street. What is it used for?”
Answer: It’s definitely a safety signal. We switch ours quarterly and it’s to let other employees know that it is all clear to open. Typically we had 2 employees “open” the branch while the rest waited in the parking lot or across the street for “all clear.” The openers go in, turn off the alarm, search the building, and check everything, then set the signal.
7. “In the middle of the wall in my 1906 house”
Answer: It’s a capped-off gas line from when they used gaslighting.
8. “Found this in Guam in shallow water, 3 meters in diameter. Never seen anything like it.”
Answer: This is absolutely a rocket part.
9. “Opposite of hole-y: what is this not-really-spiky kitchen spoon for?”
Answer: It’s a spaghetti server.
10. “What is the S-shaped metal ornament on this house?”
Answer: It’s an anchor plate or wall washer. It’s meant to keep masonry in place and made aesthetically pleasing because they’re visible. There is a bolt going on the other side, in the center, holding the bricks in place.
11. “What is this piece of seemingly old tech? Found in a pile at a university.”
Answer: That’s a very old wearable computer.
12. “My house (built in the mid ’70s) has one of these in almost every room.”
Answer: The 3-prong ones were for TV and FM antennas, and the center one was for an antenna rotator to get better reception.
13. “This is an on-gate blocking road access to some cell towers. Why so many locks and how would someone even open it?”
Answer: You can open the gate by unlocking only one padlock. The way it’s designed means that multiple people can use the gate, and if one person loses their keys, only their padlock needs to be replaced. As opposed to one padlock with many keys, you’d need to give tons of people the new key.
14. “What are these shredded balls on my property?”
Answer: Juniper-hawthorn rust — it’s a fungal disease. It starts as a gall then the tentacles appear around spring or after rain. It probably won’t kill this tree but it can seriously mess up secondary host apple trees. The only way to get rid of it is to prune then burn the removed branches. Don’t forget to disinfect your tools after.
15. “A cast iron circle with raised edges and a zero”
Answer: I think it’s a support for an old waffle maker.
16. “I found this while cleaning out an old cedar closet. Had a bendy spring in the middle. Looks like it hangs on a door?”
Answer: I think it’s a vintage hat display stand. If you Google it, there are a lot that have the springy bit and the pull cord (it probably lets you pull the hat down and to the sides to examine it rather than touching the hat itself). Yours seems to be held by sliding onto a table edge rather than sitting on the table itself. So you’re holding it sideways.
17. “What is this stuff growing out of the nail holes in my ceiling?”
Answer: That’s termite frass. You’ve got bad termites and you’ll want to deal with it ASAP.
18. “I just bought a house and this weird triangle holder thing is by my kitchen sink. What is it?”
Answer: It’s a dishtowel holder. Take the corner of your dishtowel and put it to the back of the triangle, then pull down on the towel and it’s held in place.
19. “Found this buried in the garden, very tough glass.”
Answer: My father repaired TVs for decades. I can confirm this one is the glass back.
20. “I bought these at a thrift store. Thought it was a bar spoon but I’m not certain.”
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Answer: They’re ice cream spoons.
21. “I found this in our kitchen drawer when I moved in, none of my roommates have any idea. What is this thing?”
Answer: It’s a part of a tea infuser.
22. “Found these when clearing out my dad’s wardrobe. Any idea what you’d hang on them?”
23. “It is made of steel/iron and is heavier than it looks. We’re not sure if it’s a tool or some type of kitchenware.”
Answer: Apparently it’s a meat tenderizer.
24. “Delicate wooden whisk type thing that fits into a small vase item with openings on both ends. What is it? I’m so curious!”
Answer: It’s a matcha whisk and whisk holder.
Which one of these did you instantly know the purpose of? Do you have any mysterious things around your house that you can’t figure out? Share them with us and let’s solve the mystery together!
Preview photo credit MamaBearsApron / reddit
Neighbor Kept Knocking Over My Trash Bins – After 3 HOA Fines, I Taught Him a Lesson in Politeness
When Elise’s trash bins became the target of her bitter neighbor’s antics, she was ready for a fight. But instead of confrontation, she served up banana bread and kindness. What began as a quiet war turned into an unexpected friendship, proving that sometimes, the best revenge is compassion.
When my husband, James, passed away two years ago, I thought I’d weathered the worst storm of my life. Raising three boys, Jason (14), Luke (12), and little Noah (9), on my own wasn’t easy. But we’d eventually found our rhythm.
The house buzzed with the sound of schoolwork being explained, sibling banter, and an endless rotation of chores. We kept the garden alive, argued over who had dish duty, and made a life together that was equal parts chaotic and beautiful.
Things were finally steady. Manageable.
Until the neighbor decided to wage war on my trash bins.
At first, I thought it was the wind or a stray dog. Every trash day, I’d wake up to see the bins overturned, their contents scattered across the street like confetti.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered the next time I saw it. “Not again.”
I’d have no choice but to grab a pair of gloves, a broom, new trash bags, and start cleaning up before the Home Owners Association could swoop in with another fine.
Three fines in two months. The HOA weren’t playing fair. In fact, they’d made it very clear that they weren’t taking my excuses anymore.
But one Tuesday morning, coffee steaming in my hand, I caught him red-handed. From my living room window, I watched as my neighbor, Edwin, a 65-year-old man who lived alone, strolled across the street.
He didn’t even hesitate. With one swift motion, he tipped over my bins and shuffled back to his house like nothing had happened.
My blood boiled.
I was halfway to grabbing my shoes when Noah bounded down the stairs, asking for help with his math homework.
“Mom, please! It’s just two questions. Remember we were talking about it when you were doing dinner last night and we said we’d come back to it but we didn’t,” he rambled.
“Of course, come on,” I said. “I’ll get you some orange juice, and then we can work on that quickly.”
Homework first, trash war later.
The following week, I stood guard.
This time, I was ready.
And sure enough, there he was at 7:04 a.m., knocking the bins down with a strange sort of satisfaction before retreating inside.
That was it. Enough was enough.
I stormed across the street, adrenaline pumping. His porch was stark, no welcome mat, no potted plants, just peeling paint and drawn blinds. I raised my fist to knock, but something stopped me.
The quiet. The stillness of it all.
I hesitated, hand frozen mid-air. What was I even going to say?
“Stop knocking over my bins, you old lunatic?”
Would that even fix anything?
I went home, fuming but thoughtful. What kind of person gets up at the crack of dawn just to mess with their neighbor?
Someone angry. Someone lonely. Someone in pain, maybe?
“You’re just going to let him get away with it?” Jason asked that night, arms crossed and clearly ready to fight for me. “He’s walking all over us, Mom.”
“I’m not letting him get away with anything, love,” I replied, tapping the side of the mixing bowl as I stirred. “I’m showing him that there’s a better way.”
“And when baked goods don’t work, Mom?” Jason asked, eyeing the banana bread batter in the bowl.
“Then, my little love, I’ll set you on him. Do we have a deal?”
My son grinned and then nodded.
But it was during dinner prep, while I was putting together a lasagna, that I thought… instead of fighting fire with fire, what if I fought with something… unexpected?
The next week, I didn’t stand guard.
Instead, I baked.
Banana bread first, specifically James’ favorite recipe. The smell brought back memories I hadn’t let myself linger on in a long time. I wrapped the loaf in foil, tied it with a piece of twine, and left it on Edwin’s porch.
No note, no explanation. Just bread.
For a few days, the banana bread sat untouched on his porch. The bins stayed upright, but I still wasn’t sure what was going through his head.
The next morning, the foil-wrapped loaf was gone. A good sign, maybe.
Emboldened, I doubled down.
A casserole followed the banana bread. Then a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
Days turned into weeks, and not once did I see him open the door or acknowledge the food. But he didn’t tip the bins again, either.
“Mom, you’re going soft,” Jason said one evening, eyeing the plate of cookies I was about to deliver.
“No, I’m not,” I replied, slipping on my sneakers. “I’m being strategic.”
The cookies did the trick. That Saturday, as I placed them on the porch, the door creaked open.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I turned to find him peering out, his face lined with age and what looked like years of solitude. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.
“I made too many cookies,” I said, holding up the plate like a peace offering.
He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed.
“Fine. Come in.”
The inside of his house was dim but surprisingly tidy. Bookshelves lined every wall, stacked high with novels, photo albums, and other trinkets. He motioned for me to sit on the worn sofa, and after a moment of awkward silence, he spoke.
“My wife passed four years ago,” he began, his voice halting. “Cancer. After that, my kids… well, they moved on with their lives. Haven’t seen much of them since.”
I nodded, letting him take his time.
“I’d see you with your boys,” he continued. “Laughing, helping each other. It… hurt. Made me angry, even though it wasn’t your fault. Tipping the bins was stupid, I know. I just didn’t know what to do with it all.”
“You don’t just walk over to your neighbors and tell them you’re miserable,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not how I was raised. You bottle it up and deal with it.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and I felt my frustration melt away. This wasn’t about trash bins. It was about grief. About loneliness.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his head bowed.
“I forgive you,” I replied, meaning every word.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said.
“Elise,” I said. “And I know you’re Edwin. My husband mentioned you once or twice.”
Then, I invited him to join my Saturday book club at the library. He looked at me like I’d suggested he jump off a bridge.
“Book club? With strangers!”
“They’re not strangers,” I said. “Not really. They’re neighbors. Friends you haven’t met yet.”
It took some convincing, but the following Saturday, Edwin shuffled into the library, hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t say much that first meeting, but he listened.
By the third, he was recommending novels and trading jokes with the other members.
The real turning point came when one of the ladies, Victoria, a spry widow in her seventies, invited him to her weekly bridge game. He accepted.
From then on, he wasn’t just my cranky neighbor. He was Edwin, the guy who brought homemade scones to book club and always had a dry one-liner up his sleeve.
The bins stayed upright. The HOA fines stopped.
And Edwin? He wasn’t alone anymore.
One evening, as I watched him laughing with Victoria and the other bridge players on her porch, Jason came up beside me.
“Guess you weren’t soft after all,” he said, grinning.
“No,” I said, smiling as I ruffled his hair. “Sometimes, the best revenge is just a little kindness.”
And in that moment, I realized something: We weren’t just helping Edwin heal. He was helping us, too.
The first time Edwin came over for dinner, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He showed up holding a bottle of sparkling cider like it was a rare treasure. His shirt was freshly ironed, but he still tugged at the collar as if it might strangle him at any moment.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said warmly.
He shrugged, his lips twitching into something that resembled a smile.
“Didn’t want to come empty-handed, Elise,” he said. “It’s polite.”
The boys were setting the table, Noah carefully placing forks, Luke arranging the glasses, and Jason lighting a candle in the center. They glanced at Edwin curiously, a little wary.
Dinner was simple but comforting: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots, with a loaf of crusty bread and gravy on the side. It wasn’t fancy, but it was one of James’ favorite meals. It was something that always brought warmth to the table, no matter how chaotic the day had been.
“Smells good in here,” Edwin said as he sat down, his eyes darting around like he was trying to take in every detail of the room.
“Mom’s chicken is famous in our family,” Noah piped up proudly, scooping a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “She makes it the best.”
“High praise,” Edwin said, glancing at me.
We all settled in, and for a while, the only sound was the clink of forks and knives against plates. But soon, the boys started peppering Edwin with questions.
“Do you like chicken or steak better?” Luke asked.
“Chicken,” Edwin replied after a moment of thought. “But only if it’s cooked as well as this.”
Noah giggled.
“What’s your favorite book? Mom says you like to read a lot.”
“That’s a tough one,” Edwin said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe To Kill a Mockingbird. Or Moby Dick.”
Jason, always the skeptic, raised an eyebrow.
“You actually finished Moby Dick?”
That made Edwin laugh, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to surprise even him.
“I won’t lie. It took me a year.”
By dessert, apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, Edwin had relaxed completely. The boys were swapping stories about school, and he was chuckling along, even teasing Jason about his upcoming math test.
As I cleared the plates, I glanced over to see Edwin helping Noah cut his pie into bite-sized pieces, patiently showing him the best way to balance the ice cream on the fork. It was such a tender moment, and my heart squeezed a little.
When dinner was over and the boys ran off to finish homework, Edwin lingered in the kitchen, drying dishes as I washed them.
“You have a good family,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” I replied, handing him a plate to dry. “And you’re welcome here anytime. You know that, right?”
He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“I do now.”
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