(I am with about ten other security guards, checking ID cards and tickets at the main entrance gate for an under-18s festival. This is my first day on the job, but for the most part, things run smoothly once we get into the swing of things. A group of four young women in their teens get to the front of my queue and hand me their tickets.)

Teen #1: “Here’s our tickets.”

Me: “I’ll also need to see your IDs.”

([Teen #1] removes her ID and presents it to me. After briefly comparing her ticket and ID I pass her through, where she waits for her friends. [Teen #2] then hands me her ID, but the photo has been completely scratched off.)

Me: “The photo on this card has been scratched off.”

Teen #2: “Yeah, it was a bad photo, so I got rid of it.”

Me: “You do realize I need photo ID to let you in? Do you have any other ID?”

([Teen #2] looks confused at the concept that a photo ID needs a photo, but then proceeds to try and give me her credit card, along with various other non-identifying cards, looking more and more dejected as she goes.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept any of these. I need a valid photo ID before I can let you in.”

Teen #2: *hopefully* “If I show you my boobs, will you let me in?”

Me: “Unfortunately, that’s not a form of photo ID, but I will call over my supervisor and see if he can sort this out.”

(I raised my arm to call over my current supervisor, who quickly arrived and asked me what the problem was. He was just as confused as I was at the lack of a discernible picture, but he took the group aside and talked to them. They ended up having to wait for about an hour outside the gate before someone came and gave them valid ID. Unfortunately, I lost count of the amount of times I had to deal with this exact same situation throughout the day.)

(This happens in the days before self-service petrol stations. We are heading to a fancy dress party, with my male cousin dressed as a woman.)

Service Attendant: *approaching the driver’s window from behind and noticing what looks like a gorgeous redhead in the driver’s seat* “Hi, honey, what can I get you today? How about my phone number?”

Cousin: *giggling like a girl and acting embarrassed, with his hands covering his lower face, turns, and bats his eyes at the attendant* “Ooh, can you fill it up please?”  

Service Attendant: *winking and smiling* “Sure thing, honey.”

Cousin: *using his normal, deep, male voice* “And hurry up about it.”

Service Attendant: *looks back in shock at my cousin, who has now revealed his bearded chin*

(After we drive away and are all having a good laugh:)

Cousin: “That felt so good. I can’t understand how you lot have to put up with that sort of s*** constantly. The look on his face was so worth it.”

(My partner lives with my family, and he drives me to and from work everyday. One morning, there is an accident and his car is written off. After confirming my partner is fine and safe, my parents start enthusiastically searching for a new car for him.)

Me: “Could you maybe calm down with finding [Partner] a new car? It hasn’t even been 12 hours. He’s still upset.”

Mum: “Oh, calm down; we’re looking for a car for us, not him!”

Me: “Okay, fair enough. There’s one problem, though.”

Dad: “Yeah?”

Me: “Neither of you can drive!”

(In their 50+ years, neither of them got their driver’s license. They didn’t consider that to be an important factor and kept looking, probably because they expected my partner to drive them around in their car!)

(I’ve had to ask my manager to get me some change. He takes a large number of notes from my drawer and heads down the back of the store. Later I ask him where the change is.)

Manager: “I gave it to you.”

Me: “No, you didn’t.”

Manager: “Yes, I did, I left on the keyboard while you were serving a customer before I went to lunch. Didn’t you put it in the register?” *The keyboard is in easy reach of customers.*

Me: “I didn’t even see it or know that you did that. I was with a customer further down the counter for ages. Anyone could have taken it without me even noticing it. Why would you leave it there?”

Manager: “So, YOU let someone steal it?”

Me: “I didn’t even know it was there.”

Manager: “I walked right past you and told you it was there, before I went to lunch. I am going to have to write you up for this, and it’s going to come out of your wages.”

Me: “I don’t even remember you walking past me. I want to look at the video footage.”

Manager: “Fine, but it will show exactly that I did leave on the register.”

(It did show exactly what he did; he left the office, then walked straight out the front door, bypassing the registers completely. He still swore that he left it on the register, and it was still my fault because I didn’t remind him before he left the store. The video clearly shows me with my back to him while dealing with a customer. He had no choice but to take the loss himself.)

(A coworker has come to me about a refund that she is unsure about.)

Coworker: “I have a lady who wants to return knitting needles, but I wasn’t sure if we did refunds on those.”

Me: “Yeah. We shouldn’t, but we do. Where’s the lady? I’ll help her.”

(She leads me over to an elderly lady who is standing near our knitting needle displays.)

Customer: “Hello, dear. I have some knitting needles here that I would like a refund for. Can you do that?”

Me: “I can, but first I need to see what needles they are, and I will need the receipt.”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t have the receipt.”

(She starts pulling out needles that are so old that they are in imperial sizing. They look ancient.)

Me: “Um, we don’t sell these brands. Did you say you bought these here?”

Customer: “Oh, no, I’ve had these at home for years. I can’t knit anymore. I just want a refund.”

Me: “I’m sorry; that’s not how refunds work. We can only refund on brands we sell, that you have actually bought from us, and have a receipt for.”

Customer: “But you sell knitting needles.”

Me: “Yes, we do, but we don’t sell or buy used knitting needles. I am so sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Customer: “I am sorry for taking up your time; thank you for being patient.”

(As she shuffles off my coworker turns to me.)

Coworker: “Oh, thank you for that; I didn’t know what to do with her.”

(I felt so bad for the old lady.)