(I work for a wholesaler. Basically, the customers come in and order from catalogs from merchandisers. The catalogs are very hard to understand and confusing, and the merchandisers all have a no-return policies. My manager is oblivious to this.)

Manager: “What is with all these wrong orders? Why can’t you do anything right?”

Me: “I’m sorry; it’s just that those catalogs are so hard to understand.”

Manager: “Nonsense. Even a moron can put in right orders. Are you stupid? Are you in fifth grade?”

(She continues to berate me, scoffing at the thought of the catalogs being too confusing. A few weeks later…)

Me: “What’s that ugly couch doing in our front window?”

Coworker: “The manager accidentally ordered it for a customer. Now she’s trying to sell it since she can’t return it!”

(The couch itself is a neon green with hideous zebra pillows.)

Me: “Ha! It looks like the couch for a pimp!”

(The manager left me alone after that!)

(We have recently just hired a new person, who I am working with today. I’m making friendly conversation.)

Me: “So, how do you like working in a hotel so far?”

New Hire: “It’s great! I’ve been working for about two days already and everything seems to be going well. Learning lots of stuff.”

Me: “That’s great! We really needed someone to work the day shifts. So, what do you like about the job so far?”

New Hire: “Well—”

(Just then, a customer comes up to the front desk and we both look at him.)

Me: “Hi! Can I—”

Customer: *to new hire* “F*** YOU!”

(The customer flips both middle fingers at both of us and cackles at our dumbfounded expressions, and then leaves.)

New Hire: “Well, um… as I was saying, uh…”

Me: “Yeah, you’re going to meet lots of those crazy people here. They’ll make you want to run out of here, screaming!”

(Fortunately, the hew hire didn’t run away screaming, and he’s been a great addition for two years now!)

(My husband and I are members at a local museum, and I subscribe to their email newsletter. Our membership entitles us to $5 off the ticket price for performances, which is stated in the signup information, as well as every email they send about performances. We are at the ticket counter.)

Me: “We’d like two tickets for [dance performance]. I also have this email that says we get $5 off per ticket; can I show you on my phone?”

Clerk: “Um… I don’t think I can honor that.”

(The clerk flags down the manager, who is nearby and has heard the transaction thus far.)

Manager: “What is this about you wanting a discount?”

Me: “I have this email that says we’re entitled to $5 off per ticket—”

Manager: *accusatorily* “Oh, really? I’d just LOVE to see where you got that!”

Me: “I have this email that came directly from [Museum], see?”

(I show her the email on my phone.)

Manager: *to the clerk* “Give them the discount, and I’m going to make sure we don’t put that in our emails anymore!”

(My girlfriend and I are at my parent’s apartment. My mom tends to be a bit overly hospitable, almost pushy even. My mom and I speak Russian, while my girlfriend can’t.)

Mom: “[Girlfriend’s Name], would you like something to drink?”

Girlfriend: “No thank you.”

(My mom turns to me, and starts speaking in Russian.)

Mom: “So what does she want?”

Me: *in Russian* “Sprite will be great.”

(My mom leaves and comes back with two cans of soda.)

Girlfriend: “I really should learn some Russian…”

(One of my best friends has been having trouble with telemarketers calling his cell phone for almost a year now. No matter how many times he tells them that he’s not interested or that he’s on the national ‘Do Not Call’ registry, they keep calling back. One day the two of us are at a bar, and he gets a call from an unknown number.)

Friend: “Oh no, not another one.”

Me: “Hand me your phone. I’ll take care of it.”

(He hands me his phone, which I then answer.)

Telemarketer: “Hello, may I speak with a Mr. [Name]?”

Me: “You’re talking to him.”

Telemarketer: “Hi, I’m with [Resort Chain]. I’m calling to give you information about—”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m 16, single, and don’t have a credit card.”

Telemarketer: “Have a nice day.” *hangs up*

(My friend stares at me dumbfounded as I hand him his phone back.)

Friend: “Why did you say all of that?”

Me: “I used to work for a call center. Being unqualified takes you off the list faster than the national registry does.”

(It’s been three years, and he hasn’t had a call since.)