(I am sitting in front of my computer trying to get on with work whilst my colleague is dealing with a patient. Another patient approaches the desk.)

Me: “Hi there! How can I help today?”

Patient: “You know, you really should grow taller. I could hardly see you over the desk.”

(I go on to sign the patient in, and continue with my work. 10 minutes later, the patient comes back to the desk.)

Patient: “You know, you’re still no taller; you really need to grow.”

(I take the patient’s money, and she leaves.)

Me: *to my colleague* “Did I just get told off for not growing any taller in the space of 10 minutes?”

Colleague: “Erm, yes, I think you did.”

(It’s a particularly busy day in our bank, and I’m working the drive through window. I have a long line of cars waiting, when I hear a customer in line start shouting across the lobby at the other tellers in front.)

Customer: “Look, I’m on my work break here! Can’t you go any faster?”

Coworker: “We’re moving as fast as we can, ma’am. We’re a bit short-staffed today, but we’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

Customer: “But I’m on my BREAK! I have to get back to work.”

Coworker: *still running another customer’s transaction* “Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

Customer: “Well, what about her? Can’t she help me? I’m in a hurry!”

(I suddenly realize that she’s referring to me, while I’m in the middle of my fifth car in a row.)

Manager: “Ma’am, she’s currently assisting customers in our drive through. If she becomes available, she will come to the front to help whoever she can.”

Customer: “Well, I would have driven through myself if I knew it would take this long!”

(I continue to help cars, and after finishing the last transaction, I go to the front to help. I get the shouting customer.)

Coworker: “Ma’am, this deposit slip is for [Competing Bank].”

(The customer turns BRIGHT RED and rushes out so fast you’d think she just robbed the place.)

Sister: “Ugh, walking in high heels is really hard!”

Dad: “I wouldn’t know.”

Me: “You’re saying you haven’t worn high heels?”

Dad: “Not that I can remember, no.”

Me: “Because I recall you saying something about wearing fishnet tights for a fancy dress party, and if you weren’t wearing high heels as well you were doing it wrong!”

(Some coworkers and I are sitting in the break room eating lunch. I’m lactose intolerant, but love cheese, so I bring a couple of over-the-counter pills in a plastic bag to take with my meal and prevent horrible consequences. You’re supposed to take the pills with your first bite of food, so I already have my meal in front of me when I realize the bag with the pills has disappeared from the top of the table. I look around and spot the now empty bag sitting next to a coworker.)

Me: “Is that the bag my pills were in? Where are the pills?”

Coworker: “Were those yours? I thought they were supplements, so I took them.”

Me: “They’re digestive supplements for people with lactose intolerance. Wait a minute: you took random pills from a plastic bag and you didn’t know what they were or who left them there?!”

(As I say this, the whole table is looking at my coworker like she’s nuts.)

Coworker: “Well how was I supposed to know what I was doing?”

Me: “We’re nurses!”

(I’m a waitress at a local diner that has new owners. I’ve worked there for nearly three years, for the previous owners, without any issue. It is a few weeks after the new owners take over, and my best friend passes away suddenly. I call work to tell them I won’t be in the next day, as I have to take care of things until her family can arrive from out of state.)

Owner: “Wait, so you’re not coming in tonight?”

Me: “No. I mean, not tonight. I don’t work tonight. I work tomorrow, at 11. I won’t be in, though; I’m sorry. [Coworker] said she’d cover for me, though.”

Owner: “You can’t just miss your shift. You need a doctor’s note.”

Me: “I’m not sick. My best friend just died.”

(I’m clearly upset, and have been crying for hours.)

Owner: “Oh. Well, I’m sorry, but if you’re going to miss work, I’m going to have to write you up.”

Me: “What?”

Owner: “Yeah. I mean, you’re not really giving me any notice, here. I need at least three days.”

Me: “So… your policy is that I have to give you notice three days before someone dies?”

Owner: “Yes!”

(I found another job soon after. Some time later, I learned that the owners had to shut down because they’d run off all of their good help and loyal customers with their crazy ways!)