(Note for editors: Please leave the name uncensensored. It’s relative to the story)

I was named after my dad, but was always called by my middle name to avoid confusion. My parents always noted this when they registered me for school so that teachers would know how I go by.

From first until sixth grade (with the exception of the fourth grade) I had one particular girl in all my classes. She would frequently smirk at me and say “Hi, JULIAN!” or would sing some teasing song on the playground about a “Julian.”

It would completely confuse me because my name wasn’t “Julian” and I couldn’t think of any reason why I was supposed to be annoyed or offended with her calling me that when that clearly seemed to be the intent.

This went on for years until one day in 6th grade, we had a new teacher permanently replace our old one, as the old one replaced our school guidance counselor.

Teacher: *to me* I’m sorry, what was your name again?

Girl: IT’S JULIAN!

Me: No it’s not!

Girl: Yes it is! Yes it is! Look on the roll call thingy, right there, Julian (last name)

Teacher: *picking up book* I see here Juan (last name) with (my middle name) in parentheses.

Girl: Wait a minute, I thought…

Me: *sighing and banging my fist on my desk* That’s pronounced “wan”, not “Julian”, you ox-brain! All these years I was wondering who the heck “Julian” was!!!

I was traveling with family from Italy to the USA to visit some relatives. I was fourteen, and my grasp of English was fair, but I believed myself to be the Grand Champion of the English Language.

I was disabused of that notion when I went to have breakfast with a cousin at a local cafè. The menu was nothing I had never seen before, but there was an item, “latte”, that caught my attention. So, I confidently went to the counter to get some.

Me: “I’d like to have one cold latte, please.”

Barista: “Sure, would you like to have it iced or just chilled?”

Me: “Uh… I’d like it cold. Like, straight out of the fridge cold.”

Barista: “All right.”

I order a slice of cake to go with it before paying and leaving my name so to be called up. I passed time chatting with my cousin, and then my name was announced. Picking up the tray, I saw there was a slice of cake, all right… and a cup full of milky coffee.

Me: “No, wait, are you sure this is my order?”

Barista: “You ordered a chilled latte and cake, didn’t you?”

Me: “Yeah, but you gave me stained coffee instead of latte.”

Barista: “Wait, stained coffee? This looks perfectly fine to me.”

Me: “It looks like coffee, yes, but I asked for a latte — milk. I don’t like coffee at all.”

Barista: “Are you trying to prank me or what?”

Apparently, this had gone on long enough that my cousin had left the table.

Cousin: *In Italian* “[My Name], what are you doing? Why is it taking you so long?”

Me: *In Italian, as well* “This guy is telling me this is milk when it clearly isn’t. Don’t y’all drink straight milk around here?”

Cousin: *Facepalming* “Hang on, I’ll tell you later.” *Switching to English* “Forgive him; he didn’t know the menu. Don’t make my coffee. I’ll take this for myself.”

Then we went back to the table.

Me: “So, where exactly did I screw up?”

Cousin: “You asked for a latte. But that doesn’t mean ‘milk’ in English.”

Me: “Wait, then what does it mean? ‘Whatever the man behind the counter feels like’, or what?”

Cousin: *Groaning* “It means ‘coffee with milk’, you narrow-minded moron.”

I must admit it took me all my strength not to punch him for being condescending, but in hindsight, I see where he was coming from with that comment. I still don’t like coffee, but at least now I ask for actual milk in cafés in English-speaking countries!

Related:
This Customer Has A Latte Problems, Part 4
This Customer Has A Latte Problems, Part 3
This Customer Has A Latte Problems, Part 2
This Customer Has A Latte Problems

My mom and I were at the mall. She was looking for silk boxers because she finds them comfortable to sleep in, and she had tried many stores in the mall with no luck. While walking back to the parking area, we passed a “romance shop” that had a worker standing outside the storefront, and as a last resort, she decided to ask if they carried them.

Mom: “Do you have any men’s lingerie?”

The worker was clearly uncomfortable as she eyed me, a young teen who was most definitely not allowed inside her workplace.

Worker: “…well, we have a men’s push-up thong?” 

Mom: *Laughing* “Not really what I’m looking for, but thanks, anyway.”

I work in a fast food place. A customer is moaning that the burger he has been served isn’t identical to what’s on the televised ad.

Me: “Let me call my manager over, sir.”

Customer: “You do that; you’re obviously unqualified even for this minimum-wage job!”

I ignore the insult and call over the manager, who responds promptly.

Customer: “Your staff are stupid, and they must think that I am stupid if they think I’m willing to accept this crap.”

The customer holds up his burger.

Customer: “This burger looks juicy and huge on the ad. This thing in my hand is dry and tiny.”

Manager: “Sir, that burger has been made to the standard specifications as outlined by corporate. If you’d like we can refund you—”

Customer: “What I’d like is to get the burger as it has been advertised!”

Manager: “Well, any burger we make for you tonight will be similar to what is currently in your hand, so—”

Customer: “Are you defending your incompetent staff out of some misplaced sense of loyalty? Your loyalty needs to be to the customer! The customers are why you all have jobs!”

He then points to me but continues to talk to the manager.

Customer: “Either get him to make the burger the way I deserve or have him fired.”

Manager: “Sir, as you have so enthusiastically pointed out, [My Name] here is on minimum wage. You’re asking someone on minimum wage to redesign a corporate-created burger on your whim.”

Customer: “Why should I care? If they think it’s so bad, they should get a better job. Lazy people spend their whole lives in minimum-wage jobs and keep complaining about how ‘unfair’ life is!”

Manager: “That’s a great way of saying that you agree that these jobs need to be done, and in fact, it’s in your interest that they are done, but the people doing said jobs deserve to live in poverty.”

Customer: “Yes! If they weren’t forced to live poor and uncomfortable lives, nothing would push them to do better!”

Manager: “Sir, I believe we’re done here. Finish your burger or get a refund, but I won’t stand here debating the issue. I’m sure your time is more precious than ours, anyway.”

Something about the manager’s sickly sweet yet almost sarcastic tone made the customer very uncomfortable. He finally shut up and left the store in a strop, but leaving is leaving, so … win!

Related:
Minimum Wage, Minimum Effort

A customer calls our shop to get a quote for servicing their car.

Me: “What’s your car model and year?”

Customer: “It’s red.”

Me: “I need more information than that, sir.”

Customer: “It’s dark red.”

Me: “Maybe if you bring it in, I can help you more.”

The customer drove in his car. It was light red.

Related:
I Want It Blue On ALL Of De Tings
The Book Is Blue And It’s Blue On De Ting
Maybe He Is Looking For De Ting, And De Ting Is Blue?
Needs More Blue On De Ting
DE TING, DE TING!!!