(This takes place when I am in grade 12. We have exam blocks for the final week of each term. If you have a subject that has exams — not all subjects do — you have to go to sit it, but all the other days you can stay home. I catch a flu in June, which is winter for us, at the end of the second term. It is quite bad, but I get to spend most of the week at home except for when I have my maths exam. I have to walk to the school to take it, so by the time I get there, I already feel quite sick. In the middle of the exam, however, I have a violent coughing spurt, to the extent that I can barely breathe. You’re only allowed your pencil case and water during the exam, so there is nothing I can do except wait for it to pass. Despite teachers patrolling to ensure no cheating, none bother to help me. After about fifteen minutes of solid coughing and hacking, it subsides and I can get on with the exam. This occurs afterwards.)

Me: *to my best friend* “How do you think it went?”

Friend #1: “I think I did okay, but did you hear that coughing during the exam?”

(I didn’t hear anyone coughing aside from myself.)

Friend #2: “I know! It was so loud! It sounded like a dying lawn mower!”

Me: “…”

Friend #1: *laughs loudly*

Friend #2: *turning to me* “Did you hear it?”

Me: *long pause* “That was me; I have the flu.”

Friend #2: “Oh. Well, you sounded like a dying lawn mower!”

(Both friends started laughing. Thanks for the support, guys. I felt horribly sick, could barely breathe, and nearly passed out, but it’s good to know I sounded like a dying lawn mower.)

(I’m walking around uni with a friend of mine. We’re walking towards the library and we pass by the boardroom next door. A meeting looks to have just finished inside and the people start coming out. One of them, a large man who looks to be in his 50s or 60s, suddenly approaches my friend with a big smile.)

Man: “[Friend], how are you?! It’s good to see you.”

Friend: “I’m well, thanks. How are you?”

Man: “I’m great. Wow, it’s been ages. I didn’t realise you attended uni here.”

Friend: “Yeah, for two years now. What brings you here?”

Man: “I’m on the university board. We were just having a meeting. What are you studying?”

Friend: “I.T.”

Man: “Oh, yeah, you were always good with computers. Say, how’s your mum?”

Friend: “She’s doing well. She’s started teaching again.”

Man: “Great. And how are [Friend’s Little Brother] and [Friend’s Little Sister]? They must be getting pretty old now.”

Friend: “Yeah, [Brother] is six and [Sister] is four.”

Man: “Wow, how time flies. Anyway, I’ve got to go. It was great seeing you again. Tell your mum I said hi, won’t you?”

Friend: “Sure thing. See you around.”

(The man turns and walks away as my friend and I begin walking up the library steps. As soon as we’re out of earshot of the man…)

Friend: “I have absolutely no idea who that was.”

(I am serving a customer when an older woman comes up and speaks to me in a language other than English.)

Me: “Sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

(The older woman shrugs and wanders off.)

Customer: *in a snooty voice* “She was speaking Arabic; she asked you for a bag.”

Me: “Oh, did she? I’ll get her one when I’ve finished serving you.”

Customer: “You don’t speak Arabic, then?”

Me: “Uh, no.”

Customer: “You mustn’t be very well-travelled, then.”

Me: *annoyed now* “Unfortunately not. I’m afraid I only speak four languages: English, Spanish, French, and Polish. Had she spoken to me in any of those languages, I could have responded, but unfortunately I have not yet learnt Arabic.”

Customer: “Well, I speak the language fluently. It’s quite an important language in Australia.”

(I’ve just finished an Anthropology course on migration in Australia, so I know this fact.)

Me: “You’re right; it’s currently spoken by almost 1% of our population.”

(She went red at this and we finished the transaction in silence.)

(At our supermarket deli, we sell two types of oven-roasted chickens. The supermarket brand is barn-raised and comes in a brown bag, while the name-brand is free-range, $1 extra, and comes in a green bag. We cut the chickens in half upon request. It is one to two hours before closing, and the oven has been turned off for the day so it can be cleaned. Our large batch of cooked chickens has managed to sell really well; there is only one “normal,” or barn-raised, chicken and two of the name-brand, free-range chickens left in the warmer. A customer comes up to the counter.)

Customer #1: “Hi, could I please get half a chicken?”

Me: “Sure thing! Just the normal one, or did you want the free-range?”

Customer #1: “Just the normal one, thanks.”

(As I get out my plate and scissors, another customer pipes up.)

Customer #2: “Can I have the other half?”

Me: “Yep, no worries!”

(I cut the chicken and give each customer half. The customers leave, satisfied. At this point, another customer who has been standing further away, but who has been eyeing the warmer this entire time, approaches the counter.)

Customer #3: “I’d like a hot chicken, please.”

Me: “Okay. We’ve sold out of our normal chickens, but you can grab a free-range one right here.” *gestures towards two free-range chickens remaining, only $1 more than the barn-raised ones*

Customer #3: “No, I don’t want the free-range one; I want the normal one.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’m really sorry, but it’s 7:30 and our oven has been turned off for the day so it can be cleaned, and this was our last batch—”

Customer #3: “Don’t just say sorry. I can’t eat ‘sorry.’”

Me: *slightly taken aback* “Um… Well, there’s a [Roast Chicken and Chips Store] just next door, so you can try there—”

Customer #3: “I don’t want their chicken. I want a [Supermarket Brand] chicken, now.”

(At this point, I am completely at a loss. Thankfully, my coworker comes back from her break, and I wave her over and quickly explain the situation. My coworker is a few years younger than I am, and has far less patience for difficult customers than I do.)

Coworker: *talking slowly like she’s talking to a five-year-old, complete with over-dramatic hand gestures* “We’ve run out of our normal chickens tonight. We only have the free-range ones left.”

Customer #3: “I don’t want the free-range chickens.”

Coworker: *continuing her condescending tone* “Okay, well, I’m sorry, but our oven is being cleaned, so we can’t magic up a chicken for you. If you like, you can always go next door and grab a chicken from [Roast Chicken and Chips Store].”

(They go back and forth a little while, and I have to clench my teeth so I don’t start laughing. The customer keeps reiterating that he “can’t eat ‘sorry’” and “wants a [Supermarket Brand] chicken.” Thankfully, the late hour means it’s relatively quiet in the store, and nobody else comes up to the deli during this exchange.)

Customer #3: “Maybe I’ll just take my business to [Rival Supermarket], then.”

Me: *in the politest, most helpful voice I can muster* “You’re welcome to do that, if you like.”

Customer #3: “That’s all you have to say? You’re just going to let me go to [Rival Supermarket]?”

Me: “You’re a free person, sir, in a free country. I’m in no place to stop you from doing what you want to do.”

([Customer #3] seems to stammer a bit, then shrugs his shoulders.)

Customer #3: “I just feel like I came all this way from [Suburb ten minutes away] for a hot chicken, and I deserve at least a voucher or something.”

(My coworker, who has gotten well and truly sick of dealing with him, whips around.)

Coworker: “You want a voucher? Okay, we’ll give you a voucher.”

(She rifles through the drawers until she finds the vouchers for free chickens. I stop myself from pointing out that the customer “can’t eat vouchers.” Instead, I turn back to the customer.)

Me: “You say you’re from [Suburb]? Next time you come here late like this, just give us a call earlier during the day and tell us you want to reserve a chicken. All you have to do is give us your name and the time you’ll come to pick it up, and we’ll keep one aside for you, so this doesn’t happen again.”

Customer #3: “No, that won’t be necessary.”

Me: *feigning concern* “I just don’t want you to have to go through the trouble of driving all the way here, as you said, and finding out we’ve run out of chickens. It’s really simple; you just have to ring up and tell us next time to save you a chicken.”

Customer #3: “No, I know what to do for next time. It’s fine.”

(The customer got his voucher and left. I suspect that he waited until all the barn-raised chickens had been bought so he could try and wheedle a voucher out of us. Judging from his reaction to my last suggestion, he was probably a repeat offender!)

(My parents have a rabbit named Roger. When they went away for a month’s holiday, they left him with my sister who put him in with her rabbits. A few days after they get back, they notice Roger acting oddly; not long after. they find that he’s now got a litter of kits. Mum is showing them to me.)

Mum: “He goes to your sister’s a perfectly happy Roger, and she sends him back as Rog-ette.”