(I’m out with a large group of friends to celebrate the end of the uni year. I’m at the bar attempting to get a soft drink, but I only have a small amount of cash on me.)

Bartender: “Hi, what can I get you?”

Me: “Hi, how much are your soft drinks?”

Bartender: “What kind?”

Me: “Lemonade.”

Bartender: “I’ll go and check.”

(I chat to my friends while the bartender is gone. She eventually returns with TWO glasses of lemonade.)

Bartender: “That’s $6, please.”

Me: *thinking only one is for me* “You made that non-alcoholic, right?”

Bartender: “Of course. They’re $3 each!”

Me: “But I only wanted one.”

Bartender: “No, you didn’t; you asked for two.”

Me: “Actually, I asked you how much they were.”

Bartender: *with attitude* “Oh. Well, you said two, but that’s fine, I guess.”

(I paid my $3 and enjoyed my lemonade! I’m still not sure whether the girl was trying to trick me or was just having a long day.)

(The foyer is getting noisy as customers exit a theatre that has finished screening, and popcorn is popping. I have just finished serving a lady and a few customers have built up behind her.)

Lady: *walking away* “Thank you!”

Me: *getting ready to say, “Next, please,” in a raised voice, but caught off guard by the lady’s “thank you,” I direct towards the next customer an unnecessarily aggressive* “THANK YOU!”

(I work as a historical interpreter, teaching folks how people lived “back then.” Our home features a fire, which is the lifeblood of the house. Without it, there would be no warmth, no cooked food, no hot water, etc. There is a sign out front with rules of entry. Three of the rules are, “Please do not touch,” “Please do not enter roped-off areas,” and, “The fire is real and hot.” We keep the fire roped off. Today, the fire is glowing red and throwing off a nice heat, as it is a cold day. A father and son enter. The son, aged about four, points to the fire.)

Son: “Dad! Look! Is that fire real?”

Dad: “No, of course not! That would be too dangerous. Go touch it and see.”

Me: “Nooooooo!”

Son: *starts crying*

Dad: “Don’t yell at my boy! He wasn’t going to hurt anything!”

Me: “Only his hand when he picked up a burning hot coal. Can’t you feel the heat from here?”

Dad: “From the heater?” *looks around*

Me: “From the fire — the real fire — which is crackling, and over which I am cooking this roast that you can smell.”

Dad: “But the fire is real! That’s dangerous!”

Me: “That’s why it is roped off.”

(The boy has stopped crying now, and I’m considering launching into a speech about hearth deaths, when the mother walks in and sniffs.)

Mum: “Oh, that smells like real meat!”

Me: “It is; it’s cooking over our real fire.”

Mum: “Wow. So, what are you going to do with it once it’s cooked?”

(I sighed and patiently explained for the millionth time that yes, we were actually going to eat our real meal, cooked over our real fire, and we were eating it because we were hungry.)

(I’m at one of my local supermarkets, and I’m trying to use a self-serve checkout to scan a tray of tiramisu that’s been marked down to 50% for quick sale. There are about three orange stickers with the marked-down price and barcode, but they all refuse to scan through. I look around for assistance, but I notice that the helper has left with a customer into the main product area. However, the loss prevention security guard notices me and walks over to see if he can help me.)

Security Guard: “You okay, brother?”

Me: “Yeah, I’m just trying to scan this through, but the barcodes don’t seem to be working.”

Security Guard: “Let me have a go. I know they can be tricky, but I always find a way.”

(He twists and turns the tiramisu and tries every possible angle to get the half-price barcodes to scan.)

Security Guard: “Ah, this one’s a bit tricky. The helper should be back soon. She’ll be able to type in the—”

(He notices the regular barcode and scans it through, so it now shows as full-price in my checkout.)

Me: “Um…”

Security Guard: “There we go.” *laughs* “Told you I could do it! Stay safe, brother!” *leaves*

(The helper returns a couple seconds later, and I point out the full-price sale to her and tell her what just happened.)

Helper: “Yeah, he kind of does stuff like that. But he’s a good security guard, though.”

(She voided the full-price sale and manually typed in the special half-price barcode.)

(I work for a large grocery chain with locations all around the country. As part of my job, I get a staff card that entitles me to a 5% discount when presented. The only rule is that we can’t give it to others to use, but we are allowed to use it for family and friend’s purchases as long as we are the one presenting the card. One day, I tag along with my mum as she does the weekly grocery shop so she can use the discount. The store we visit isn’t the one I work at. We get to the checkout and I present my card.)

Cashier: “Are you the one paying for this?”

Me: “No, my mum is.”

Cashier: “Then I can’t scan your card. You have to be the one paying.”

Me: “It’s fine to do as long as I, the cardholder, am present. That’s the rule.”

Cashier: “No, it’s not. I can’t accept it. It’s against the rules. Technically, I should be confiscating your card just for suggesting it.”

Me: “What?”

Mum: “But we’re here together. They always let us do it.”

Cashier: “Sorry.”

Me: “That’s how it’s done at my store.”

Cashier: “Then you’re breaking the rules.”

Mum: “I have the money here. If I handed it to him to pay you, would that be okay?”

Cashier: “Yes, that would be okay, I guess, because then he’d technically be the one paying.”

Mum: “But if I just give the cash straight to you, without going via him, we can’t get the discount?”

Cashier: “Correct.”

(My mum made a big show of handing me the cash, which I then handed to the cashier, along with my staff card, which she finally accepted, with a look on her face like she’d put us in our place. The following day I mentioned this to my manager, who agreed that the cashier was in the wrong. We tend not to do our grocery shop at that store anymore, and I’ve since learned that that particular store isn’t held in very high regard by many of my fellow employees.)