(I am female. I have always been a bit of a tomboy, and a lot of a car nut. This takes place when I am sixteen and my parents and I are looking at a new model of the Ford Fiesta that has just come out. I’ve already read the literature online as has my mom. We really just want to see the car in person and see if the seat is good for my dad, who is 4’6″.)

Salesman: “Can I help you with something?”

My Dad: “Yeah, you’ve got a Zetec S out in the test drive area. Can we open it up so we can have a look?”

Salesman: “Oh, you’re interested in Zetec S? This is one right here.”

(The salesman gestures at a car behind him. I know it’s not a Zetec S because it has the wrong kit on it. We’ve checked the seat, but dad wants to see the trim detail on the new version.)

My Dad: “That’s not a Zetec S; that’s just the Zetec.”

Salesman: “No, this is a Zetec S.”

Me: “It can’t be; the alloys are wrong and the sign says Zetec.”

My Dad: “There’s a Zetec S outside. We want to look at that one.”

Salesman: *heavy sigh* “Well, I suppose I’ll get the keys. Let me go and look at what the number is.”

Me: “Number 46. ”

My Mom: “There you go… saved you a trip.”

(The salesman huffs and goes to look for the keys. When he comes back, he says he can’t find them.)

My Dad: “Oh, that’s okay. We’ll just have a look around it anyway.”

Salesman: “Oh yeah, they just bought this one out.”

My Dad: *to me* “So it’s a 1.6?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Salesman: “No, it’s a 1.4 litre engine.”

Me: “It’s not. It’s a 1.6 litre.”

Salesman: *to my dad, ignoring me* “It’s a 1.4 litre. This one has some optional extras like the leather interior and the CD player.”

Me: “…They’re both standard on this model.”

Salesman: “I think it’s a limited edition one, too.”

Me: “No, it’s a standard model. It’s the top of the range now.”

Salesman: “…and the alloy wheels are an upgrade, too.”

(At this point, my mom has finally had enough of listening to him ignore me and get it wrong.)

My Mom: “It is a 1.6 litre. It does come with leather and the CD player. Those are the standard alloys, and we were going to buy it from here. Come on [dad’s name], we’ll go to [sister dealership in next town] over and get it from them. Maybe someone there will listen to [my name] or at least know what we’re talking about!”

(We go to the sister dealership and tell them what had happened. They gave us a d*** good deal to make up for the other dealership’s salesman being dumb. Dad loved the car, and I bought my first car from the same guy as he did a year later!)

(It is New Year’s day/night. I am working the graveyard shift and I have a pair of friends at the store keeping me company. A customer comes in and is casually walking the aisles. My friends and I continue talking, but I keep an eye on him. The customer heads for the door without buying anything, but I notice a hat rack hanging from the ceiling, swinging wildly.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir?”

(The customer stops by the door, holding his jacket closed.)

Customer: “Yeah?”

Me: “I’m really sorry, and I’m sure I’m mistaken, but would you mind opening your jacket?”

Customer: “Why do you want me to do that?”

Me: “Again, I’m sure I’m mistaken, and I do apologize, but I need to make sure you didn’t forget to pay for a hat.”

Customer: “How dare you accuse me of stealing! I don’t have to do what you say!”

Me: “Sir, if you don’t I’ll have to—”

(At this point, the customer darts out the door. I know we’re not supposed to, but I am angry that this guy would steal from me. I hop the counter and start running for the door. The customer sees me and takes off running. I chase him across the parking lot and start across the street after him when my better judgement kicks in. I go back inside, but am surprised to see my friends laughing really hard.)

Me: “What’s so funny?!”

One Of My Friends: “Dude! His car is right there! Parked outside!”

(I call the police, who arrive and check his trunk. The customer had had a busy night, and had stolen from a few other stores. A cop is taking my statement when we see a woman get in the customer’s car and start it up.)

Cop: *to the woman* “What are you doing?”

Woman: “Oh… my husband is drunk and forgot that he had driven the car to the store. I’m just picking it up.”

(Sensing an opportunity, the cop slyly smiles at me, before continuing to speak to the woman.)

Cop: “Okay, go ahead…”

(The woman got in the car and drove off, unwittingly leading the cop to her home. I testified in court a few weeks later.)

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(I am a teenager going with my mother to the optometrist’s office.)

Receptionist: “Yeah, what can I do for you?”

My Mom: “We have an appointment for 1:30 with [Optometrist].”

Receptionist: “Name?”

My Mom: *gives our last name*

Receptionist: “Patient’s name?”

My Mom: *gestures to me* “This is Vanessa.”

Receptionist: *rudely* “I don’t need to know which one of you it is, just the first name. Take a seat!”

(We are a little taken aback, but take our seats. An hour passes before my mom gets up to inquire why it’s taking so long.)

My Mom: “Excuse me, we’ve been waiting an hour—”

Receptionist: “Not my problem.”

My Mom: “Um, when do you think we’ll be seen?”

Receptionist: *sighs dramatically* “Did you have an appointment?”

My Mom: “Yes, for 1:30.”

Receptionist: “Name?”

My Mom: *gives our last name again*

Receptionist: *looks at the computer* “Uh, yeah, we cancelled that. If you’re more than 15 minutes late we cancel you. Sorry.”

My Mom: “Are you kidding me? We were here at 1:15. The appointment was for 1:30. It’s 2:16 now.”

Receptionist: “Yeah, and you said your name was ‘Venesia.’ I don’t have you down for an appointment, so you’re seen as a walk-in.”

Me: “My name’s VANESSA.”

Receptionist: “Oh, Va-NESS-a. Well, not my fault I can’t understand that weird name! You’ll be seen as soon as the doctor can see you, m’kay?”

My Mom: “We’ve been waiting for an hour. We gave you our last name when we checked in; didn’t you see the name on the list?”

Receptionist: “Nope.”

My Mom: “Well, how much more of a wait will there be?”

Receptionist: “I don’t know. Not my problem.”

My Mom: “It is your problem because it’s your job to check us in! We were here on time; I expect her to be seen today!”

Receptionist: “Well, too bad, you’ll have to wait. Now either go sit down with your ugly four-eyed daughter or take your [racial slur] selves home and make another appointment!”

My Mom: “We won’t bother with either, actually. We’re done with this office. You need an attitude check.”

Receptionist: “Fine. Whatever, b****.”

(We hurry out of there. We ended up having to change doctors, which is a shame because that optometrist was actually very good. We just couldn’t deal with that receptionist again.)

(I’m at the optician. After spending several minutes adjusting my new glasses to sit properly on my face, the optician realizes that she has to adjust the earpieces. This is because one of my ears is slightly lower than the other.)

Optician: “Here they are! They look great!” *hands me my glasses*

Me: “Great! They really are nice and level now!”

Optician: “And here’s a nice hard case that comes with them so they won’t be damaged.” *hands me the case*

Me: “Um, these won’t fit in this case. Can I have a soft one?”

(I show her how the adjusted earpiece prevents the case from closing all the way.)

Optician: “Oh, I can fix that!”

(The optician takes out the glasses and bends the earpiece that she just spent 10 minutes working on back into its original position.)

Optician: “See? Now it closes.”

Me: *sighs*

(I pull the glasses out and put them on my face. As expected, they are now completely askew.)

Optician: “Oh, um, let’s fix those.”

(10 minutes later, they look good again.)

Optician: “All set!”

Me: “Can I have that soft case, please?”

Optician: “Don’t you want the protective hard one?”

Me: “No. Remember how they don’t fit in there?”

Optician: “Um, okay, if you’re sure…” *hands me a soft case* “Anything else I can help you with?”

Me: “No. Please don’t help me any more.”

(I am employed full-time by a major manufacturer of aircraft and weapons for the government as an R&D engineer, and hold a degree in Aerospace Engineering. I still work part time for a video game store near a military base because I enjoy the job and the discounts. I worked as a manager with them through college, so I know the details rather well. One day, a prospective employee comes in with his job application.)

Me: *looks at his application* “Sir, I see you didn’t fill out this section detailing what offense you were convicted of. You said you have been convicted of a felony, so we require a description of the charge. This doesn’t bar you from employment, but corporate requires this.”

Prospective Employee: “I said in the application that I would discuss it in an interview.”

Me: “I see that; however, without knowing the charge, we cannot conduct an interview.”

Prospective Employee: “I’ll discuss it in an interview!”

(This goes around in circles for a few minutes before a line begins to form behind him.)

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but without this information we cannot conduct an initial interview. If you would just list the charge, you can explain the situation in an interview.”

(We circle a couple more times as the customer gets increasingly belligerent.)

Prospective Employee: “Well, f*** you! I don’t want to work here anyway! My job is way more important than anything you’ll ever do! I’m an aircraft controller for the Navy!”

(I’ve had enough, and snap back at the customer.)

Me: “I actually work for Lockheed Martin as a R&D lead designing and building the aircraft you land. Without me, you wouldn’t even have a job!”

(The prospective employee leaves flustered and red-faced, still muttering under his breath. Before disposing of his application, my manager sees it and laughs: apparently, this job applicant was known for belittling employees every time he applied, and seemed to feel entitled to a job.)