(I grew up an only child. I’m currently seven months pregnant, and though I moved out of my parents’ years ago, I only live a couple of miles away. I suspect someone is going through our mail, so I usually have packages sent to my parents’ address.)

Me: “Oh, Mom, I was just going to let you know that I’m expecting a package from [Store we often shop at]. It’ll probably arrive next week.”

Mom: “Okay. Clothes? Or something big?”

Me: “Clothes. [Husband] picked out an outfit for the baby, and I ordered a belly-band.”

Mom: *looks at me quizzically* “A belly-band?”

Me: “Um, yeah. It’s kind of like a belt that’s supposed to help support my stomach and redistribute some of the weight off my back. After running around all day, it kind of feels like a bowling ball strapped to my front.”

Mom: *rolls her eyes* “When I was pregnant, we didn’t have belly-bands. It wasn’t a big thing. Seems a bit excessive.”

Me: “Um. Okay. Well, it’s a pretty common thing now, and if it helps my comfort and it’s on sale, why shouldn’t I take advantage?”

Mom: *exasperated sigh*

(For the record, I did get my package, and as soon as I put the band on, I felt like I could stand up straight for the first time in weeks!)

(My mom and I are standing in the kitchen, talking. Two of the cats, brothers, have followed us, and are making pests of themselves, presumably begging for treats. One of them has a habit of licking and chewing on my arm when I scratch him in a certain spot. I bend down to pet him, but because of the angle, he can’t reach me, so he lightly bites the next closest thing: his brother’s butt. My mom and I giggle, but then the one that was nipped turns around and lightly kicks the other in the side. This sends us into full-blown laughter as my dad walks in.)

Dad: “What’s so funny?”

Mom: *catching her breath* “Oh, the cats are just being funny.”

Dad: “Oh. Excuse me.”

(He reaches around my mom to grab a plate from the cabinet, and my mom takes the opportunity to poke him in the belly.)

Dad: “Hey!” *pinches my mom on the rear*

(Gee, I wonder where the cats learned it from!)

(I work at a large discount store. Apple sauce packets can be purchased either individually or by the box. I am buying a large, 24-count box, and have opened it while shopping so my child can eat one pouch as a snack. It is priced by the box, so I am paying the same amount whether one pouch is missing or not. I have folded the four flaps over each other to reclose it before checking out. The cashier then, inexplicably, reopens the box, dumps all the pouches out, and starts scanning them individually.)

Me: “Excuse me; those are sold by the box, not individually.”

Cashier: “Okay.” *continues to scan*

Me: “If you scan each one individually, it is going to take a lot longer, and—”

Cashier: *interrupts* “No, it’s fine. It will be fine.” *continues to scan*

Me: “Ma’am, I’d really rather you didn’t scan it that way, because—”

Cashier: *interrupts again* “It’s all the same. It’s fine doing it like this.”

(I’ve had enough at this point.)

Me: “Ma’am, please stop, and please let me speak. Those pouches are ringing up at $0.99 each. If you ring it up by the 24-count box, it is $13. By scanning each pouch individually, it will cost $24. Please put the pouches back in the box and start over.”

Cashier: “Well, I had no way of knowing that. Now we have to cancel it all, and it might take longer.”

Me: “Yes. I tried to stop you in the beginning, but you didn’t listen. For future reference, things are usually cheaper by the case.”

(Mistakes are no big deal. Everyone makes them. But the bad attitude was totally uncalled for.)

(I work for a doctor’s office that will work some Saturdays. However, on the Saturdays that we are open, only one doctor, the dermatologist, is there. The phones go straight to the answering service because we do not have the majority of the front office working. I am working phones this day. A patient calls in on February 4th.)

Patient: “Was [Doctor] working on January 23rd?”

Me: *after checking schedule* “Yes, ma’am, he was here that Saturday.”

Patient: “I tried to call and didn’t get an answer.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, our phones are never open on Saturdays.”

Patient: “Why didn’t someone call to tell me he was open?!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Patient: “There was a threat of snow!” *which didn’t happen* “No one called me and we—” *her and her two daughters* “—missed our appointments!”

Me: “We have a system in place where we call the patients if the office is closing due to inclement weather, but we remained open.”

Patient: “HALF OF ATLANTA WAS CLOSED; WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL?!”

Me: “Because we remained open, ma’am. Would you like to reschedule your appointments?”

Patient: “What are you going to do about this?”

Me: “I can reschedule your appointments, but there is not much else I can do.”

Patient: “You aren’t going to tell the doctor? Don’t you think he would want to know?”

(This eventually had to be transferred to my manager, who informed her the doctor was quite aware he remained open and even though “HALF OF ATLANTA” was apparently closed, the other half was not.)

(Growing up, my dad religiously attended an antique show that set up one weekend a month, every month. As a teenager, though I wasn’t the antique-er he was, I had become obsessed with the mini donuts that were sold in one of the booths. They were made on an old machine that punched the dough, dropped the rings into a river of oil, and floated them down two at a time, to be gracefully flipped over by a comb so that the other side could cook. After the flip, another comb would scoop them up and flip them off the machine into the tray below. It was hypnotizing to watch, and after being sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, they were absolutely delicious. Unfortunately, when I moved out of my parents’ house, I was unable to go with my dad anymore. However, my mother started getting into the habit of going with him. One weekend, I’m visiting, and I’m telling her about a local festival that I recently attended.)

Me: “We were walking around the concession area, and they had a [Same Brand as the antique show’s] donut maker! I was so excited! We managed to get some right before they closed for the day. [My Boyfriend] finally got to see what I’ve been telling him about!”

Mom: “Cool! Dad and I went to [Antique Show] last weekend, and I got some.” *makes a face* “He ate most of them, though; I had to get more. Hey, when was the last time you went to [Antique Show]?”

Me: “It’s probably been about two or three years.” *quietly, kind of embarrassed* “You know, those donuts were probably about 50% of the reason I went with Dad. Not that I don’t like spending time with him, but…” *shrug*

Mom: *scoffs* “They’re pretty much the only reason I go with him. Antiques are boring. I’m not afraid to say it.”