In the nineties, I rented a room from an old lady of almost 100 years old, in exchange for doing her shopping and helping her with other small things. One day, she couldn’t pick up the phone herself for a moment, so I did. It was a telemarketer.

Me: “Residence of [Landlady].”

Telemarketer: “Can I interest your landlady in [Newspaper]?”

Me: “She’s not interested.”

Telemarketer: “I didn’t hear you ask her.”

Me: “I didn’t need to ask her; I know she doesn’t want a subscription.”

Telemarketer: “But I didn’t hear you asking her.”

Me: “She doesn’t want it.”

Telemarketer: “You didn’t ask her.”

Me: “I know she doesn’t want it.”

Telemarketer: “But you didn’t ask her. It’s a very good newspaper with interesting articles—”

Me: “She isn’t interested.”

Telemarketer: “You haven’t asked her. This is such a good newspaper; she’ll enjoy—”

Me: “She isn’t interested.”

Telemarketer: “You haven’t asked her. Why wouldn’t she be interested?”

Me: “She’s blind!”

Telemarketer: “Ehhh, no, then she wouldn’t be interested.”

They hung up.

(I am working the night shift at a hotel. The phone rings at three in the morning.)

Caller: “Hello, I am the wife of United Airlines Captain [Captain], calling from the States. Can you put me through to his room, please?”

Me: “Mrs. [Caller], it is three in the morning here. Are you sure it is a good idea to wake him? I know the plane came in late, and his wake-up call is scheduled for seven am, so he is probably fast asleep.”

Caller: “Middle of the night? How can that be? I am looking out my window now, and the sun is shining!”

Me: “Well, as the wife of an intercontinental airline pilot, I am sure you are aware there is a time difference between the USA and Europe.”

Caller: “Time difference… What is that?”

Me: *facepalm* “Okay, I’ll put you through to his room.”

Related:
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 15
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 14
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 13
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 12
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 11

(I’ve just impaled myself on a fence after I was riding my bike, avoided a car, noticed no working brakes, went into the sidewalk, and then hit a bump which sent me into said fence. I’m clearly hurting and stuck when a person who was on the sidewalk walks over. I am a tourist.)

Woman: “Bikes are for the road.”

Me: “I know, but I didn’t have a choice.”

Woman: “You should have stayed on the road!”

Me: “I’m not a good enough rider to stay on the road and not get hit by a car when there are no brakes!”

Woman: “You are a terrible rider. Bikes stay in the street! No sidewalk riding!”

(At this point, I get off the fence and fall into the bushes on the other side. I have blood dripping down my leg and other, far more minor injuries like scratches that are obvious as I finally stand up.)

Me: “I understand. I’m not a good rider, but I had no chance. I couldn’t stop the bike and I think I did pretty well to not hit you or anyone else.”

(I’ve got a lovely scar just above my right knee as a reminder but hey, at least she told me off for “riding on the sidewalk.”)

(I’m late for a meeting around dinner time and decide to grab a quick bite to eat from a fast food joint. There’s a decent crowd at the counter but it’s not too busy. I place my order — just a burger and a small drink — hoping the easy order will be done fast. The cashier is foreign and hard to understand, using a mixture of English and Dutch with a very heavy accent.)

Cashier: “We out of regular burger. You want XL burger, instead?”

Me: “Yeah, no problem.”

(She gives me my total, which is for a normal burger and the drink. I pay and she then goes to make a drink, which she places in front of me along with a receipt with a number. I grab the drink and receipt and stand back, waiting for my number to be called for my burger. The cashier sees me standing, then impatiently beckons me over.)

Cashier: “This not yours! This other order!”

(She snatches the receipt and drink out of my hands.)

Me: “My apologies! Since you placed them right in front of me, I figured this was my order.”

(She disappears to the back, leaving me without a receipt with an order number. I don’t want to make a fuss so I just stand back again, keeping a close eye on all the outgoing orders to see if mine is there. After a while, the cashier comes back with a tray with what seems to be my order, as she also makes eye contact and beckons me over.)

Cashier: “One [burger] combo.”

Me: “Hold on, I didn’t order the combo. Just the burger and a small drink. You can keep the fries.”

(She snatches the tray out of my hands and places it on the counter behind her, out of my reach. I’m in a real hurry now and just want my food. I try to get her attention but she is now busy helping others. After two other customers she turns to me again.)

Cashier: *impatiently* “What?”

Me: “I said, you can keep the fries. I still want my burger.”

Cashier: *raised eyebrow silence*

Me: “Can I have the tray back?”

(She grabs the tray again and gives it to me.)

Cashier: *rudely* “I thought you didn’t want the combo? Now you suddenly want combo?”

(I grab the tray, take off the fries, and place them on the counter.)

Me: “Here. Problem solved. Stick those fries anywhere you want for all I care.”

(I walk out hurriedly to catch my meeting and start eating while walking. The burger was so cold that the cheese on it was stiff.)

I worked in a jewelry shop and it was close to Valentine’s Day. A lot of men came in to buy some jewelry for the occasion, and we had some strange requests, but there’s one man that I’ll never forget.

He came in and wanted to see some diamond rings to give to “the love of his life.” I didn’t think too much of it since he was wearing Armani clothes and had a Rolex watch and some expensive rings on his fingers. He finally decided on one ring, but when I told him that that would cost 1250 Euros, he was shocked and wanted to see some cheaper rings.

So, I presented him some rings in the 500-Euro range. No, too expensive, but he wanted the best for the love of his life. Okay, some rings in the 250-Euro range? No, too expensive for the love of his life. 100 Euros? No, too expensive. Twenty minutes later, he still couldn’t decide on some cheap rings for the love of his life.

Finally, a customer next in line who saw it all happen came up with this: “Hey, Buster, why don’t you head to [Big DIY Store] and buy a copper curtain ring? The last time I was there, they were 25 cents each. Should be just about right for the love of your life. Or you could buy her an angle grinder; they’re on sale now.”

While I saw some customers grin and smirk, other customers in the shop laughed out loud. The rich guy turned red and sneaked out of the store. Of course, I gave the customer who spoke up a discount for chasing that cheapskate out of the store.

I guess you only become rich by not spending any money. Not even on “the love of your life.”