Caller #1: “Hi, I’m a bride who has a block of rooms for my wedding. However, my friends have been calling and they’ve been told that they don’t have any more rooms! Can you check?”

(I check and tell her what the computer says: that they still have plenty of rooms in their block.)

Caller #1: “Huh, that’s weird. Oh well, I’ll just text and tell them to call you to book! Is that okay?”

Me: “Sure.”

(She thanks me and hangs up. Hours later, I get a call from one of her friends, to book a room under the wedding block. But he wants to book a room for a week.)

Me: “The wedding block is only for two nights. So if you’re to book for a week, then you have to pay full price.”

Caller #2: “I see, and how much is the price?”

Me: “Wedding block’s rate is [price]. Regular rate is [higher price].”

Caller #2: “I see. Well, I’ll talk to my significant other and we’ll call you back.”

Me: “Okay.”

(He hangs up and hours later, he calls again and we go through the SAME EXACT conversation!)

Me: “Wait, did I talk to you a while ago?”

Caller #2: *mysteriously, stifling laughter* “I dunno, have you?”

Me: *internal sigh* “Okay…”

(He decided to talk it over with his significant other again and hung up. I think I know why they had been having problems booking! I hate wedding parties.)

(I paint rocks and sell them at craft fairs. Many of my rocks are painted to look like animals: cats, dogs, foxes, squirrels, etc. Two men approach my table. One man looks like your stereotypical sixties hippie: long hair, head bandana, tie-dye shirt, the works. He stares at my rocks for a moment before speaking to his friend.)

Hippie: “This looks like the end of a sad childhood, like she had a bunny and the bunny died, and now she paints these rocks and she just wants to hug them.”

(He said all of this right in front of me as if I wasn’t there! For the record, I have never owned a bunny, although I have had pet rats for as long as I can remember, and due to their short lifespan, I have endured quite a few losses. However, I just paint rocks because it’s fun!)

(I paint rocks and sell them at craft fairs. Many of my rocks are painted to look like animals: cats, dogs, foxes, squirrels, etc. A man approaches my table with his young daughter. He points to one of my rocks while talking to her.)

Customer: “Look, a killer whale! Just like Free Willy. You haven’t seen that, huh? They haven’t done a remake yet.”

(They walked away after that, leaving me to wonder why a movie from 1993 needed to be remade in order for his daughter to see it!)

(I work in an ice cream parlour that is very busy during the few hot days of summer we have. This occurs on a day with 28°C (about 82°F) temperatures, which is very high here. An elderly woman with a child in tow storms up to me after I served her a few minutes ago. On her way, she skips a queue of about twenty people.)

Customer #1: “Look at this! This is absolutely horrible!” *she gestures at her ice cream which is beginning to melt*

Me: “I’m very sorry, but since our ice cream is freshly made, some of it hasn’t quite set yet. There are napkins over there in the corner if you want.”

Customer #1: “No! This is unacceptable! I have just paid money for this and I want you to give me a new one!”

Me: “All right, but then I must suggest you either choose peanut, chocolate, or elderflower, since these have been sitting in the freezer for the longest amount of time.”

(The customer completely ignores me and tells me to get her strawberry. I comply, but inform her again that our ice cream is freshly made and not completely set yet. I give her her ice cream and she leaves, but comes back not five minutes later again skipping ahead of the queue.)

Customer #1: “Make the ice cream stop melting!”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but as I informed you before—“

Customer #1: “I don’t care; just make it not melt!”

(By now the other customers have started giggling and a man speaks up.)

Customer #2: “Hey, lady, the only way she can make your ice cream stop melting is by changing the weather.”

Customer: *looking at me* “See? This man knows how it’s do—“ *she realizes what she is saying, turns bright red, turns on her heels, and storms out with the child*

(I work as a librarian at a university library. A very tall, awkward guy approaches me.)

Patron: *avoiding eye contact* “Do you have a book on sexual growth and development? Because I’m very confused right now.”

(Unfortunately, we didn’t have any books but I directed him to one of my male coworkers.)