(My manager has just gotten a call that her daughter has been in an accident. She asks me to reschedule her appointments so she can go meet her family. At this point she doesn’t know much of what is going on because no one wants to tell her anything until she gets there. There is only one appointment left, and although it is five minutes from the appointment time, I am sure that just by saying the manager had an emergency the client will understand.)

Client: “Hello?”

Me: “Hi, this is [Office]. I see here you have an appointment with [Manager] in a few minutes, but she’s asked me to call and see if you can drop off the information and she can work on it. Or, I can reschedule you for a later time; an emergency has arisen and she won’t be able to stay much longer.”

Client: “ARE YOU F****** KIDDING ME?! I set an appointment with [Manager] a couple weeks ago, and she waits until five minutes before the appointment to call to say she has an emergency?”

Me: “Yes, the emergency just happened and she needs to rush out of the office as soon as possible to deal with it, so she gave the opt—”

Client: “NO, THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE. WHY IS [MANAGER] DOING THIS TO ME?! If I wanted to drop it off, I would have done so at the office that’s right next to me and not have driven this far for this! WHAT EMERGENCY DOES SHE HAVE THAT SHE CAN’T SEE ME?!”

(My manager and I are basically family, so I’m about in tears knowing there is nothing more I can do, and I’m still being yelled at by a customer.)

Me: “MA’AM, [MANAGER] NEEDS TO RUN OUT OF THE OFFICE BECAUSE HER DAUGHTER HAS BEEN IN A CAR ACCIDENT. CAN WE RESCHEDULE YOU FOR A LATER TIME?”

Client: “Sure, I’ll call and reschedule.”

(One of my coworkers who is trying to get information from the accident is within earshot of this conversation)

Coworker: “Does she feel like an a**, or what?”

(I am a year-ten student in a basic sport class, which everyone at my school is required to take. Due to a medical condition I’ve had from birth, my hip is very weak, and my hip joint is not quite in place. Despite being put in corrective harnesses from birth, my hip will never be quite right. Normally this just means I have low stamina, and my hip aches when I’ve been walking a lot. Recently I had an injury where I got a tear in a tendon on my hip, and so I have a note from my mother explaining to my teacher that I cannot do sport.)

Me: *handing my teacher the note* “I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t do sport today, or for the rest of the term. I have a hip injury.”

Teacher: *reading the note quickly* “You don’t look injured. You can’t just get your mum to write you an excuse; I only let people who are actually injured get out of sport.”

(You cannot tell I have this injury by looking at me, only from x-rays.)

Me: “I understand that; I am injured. I have a pre-existing condition, from birth, which has flared up at the moment. I’m seeing a physiotherapist to help treat it, but it’s not better yet.”

Teacher: “I’ll let you off this once, but next week you have to do sport.”

(I have physio every Wednesday night, and sport on Thursday mornings. My current treatment is dry needling — acupuncture but with more pain and stabbing — which leaves me so sore and bruised I can hardly move. This happens the following week:)

Me: “Miss, I have another note. This one is from my mum and my doctor. My doctor doesn’t want me doing any sport until I’m better.”

Teacher: “This isn’t good enough; you can’t just get out of sport.”

Me: “I’m sorry, miss, but I literally cannot do sport. I can’t bend over, and even sitting down is painful. Swimming isn’t possible for me right now.”

Teacher: “If you don’t do any sport, I can’t pass you. You have to do sport to pass. Get changed before I give you a note home.”

(I end up getting in the pool that day, even though I can hardly move. My mum is furious and sends my teacher an email that includes a full 16 years of my medical history, with x-rays from my birth showing my defect, up until the most recent doctor’s letters. The reply says that I still have to do something, and I have to come in on the last day of term and complete three laps of the pool to pass. I show up on that day with two other girls in my class.)

Me: “Why are you guys here? Did the teacher threaten to fail you?”

Girl #1: “Yeah, but it’s fine. I can swim; I just didn’t want to.”

Me: “How did you get out of swimming in class, then?”

Girl #2: “It’s easy; I just lied and said I’m allergic to chlorine. [Teacher] didn’t even ask for a note!”

(I ended up just passing that class, and moved onto year 11 where I never had to do sport again. I went back a year ago and that teacher is still working there. I will never understand why she seemed to hate me so much. )

(I’m a customer, in line and waiting at the register. A woman is screaming at the cashier for so long that another lane is opened up for everyone else. As I’m putting my things on the counter, the lady stops shouting after the manager is involved, and I hear this conversation from a mom and her son behind me:)

Boy: “Can I have a candy?”

Mom: “No, you already have one.”

Boy: “What if I throw a fit?”

Mom: “When has that ever given anyone anything?”

Boy: “It gave that lady a discount!” *pointing at the lady from the other lane*

(Needless to say, she looked ashamed, and the rest of the small shop had a good laugh.)

(I work as a barista at a British cafe chain.)

Me: “Hello there! What can I get for you?”

Customer: “Tea. Two.”

Me: “Would you like those in large mugs or teapots? It’s all the same price.”

Customer: “Small! All you big chains are just out to scam people all the time, pretending like there isn’t a smaller size; it’s disgusting!”

Me: “Ma’am, all the sizes of tea are the same price so I just thought—”

Customer: “No! Small!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, regular milk or skimmed with that?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “All right, anything else for you today?”

Customer: “I SAID NO ALREADY!”

Me: “Okay, your total is [total]. Thanks very much, enjoy!”

(I go off to clear a table quickly before serving the next customer. When I come back, the customer is still standing there.)

Me: “Everything okay, ma’am?”

Customer: *looking at me like I have a screw loose* “Erm, MILK?!”

Me: “Oh, yep, sure!”

Customer: *to the next person in line* “Jesus, where do they find these people? It’s like the light’s on, but nobody’s home!”

(I own a Puli, an uncommon breed of dog known for its coat texture. They aren’t born with that coat; it takes about a year for the cords to form, and for a few months while the coat is in “transition,” they look like a shaggy, curly-tailed poodle in dire need of a haircut. I am used to having people who work with animals immediately know about the breed and be so glad to get a chance to see one in real life. I have just moved to a new area and am seeing a new vet for the first time, as I think she might be getting an ear infection. The technician calls me into an exam room and starts asking the basic questions, ending with:)

Tech: “…[Dog] sure looks like she could use a haircut!”

(My dog is about eight months old, and very much in the transition stage.)

Me: “Yeah, at this age they do look terrible, but in a few months it’ll be much better.”

Tech: “Do you even brush her?”

Me: “No, that’s not how the coat works.”

(I get ready to give the usual brief overview of how the cords are formed and the work that goes into the coat at this stage, but the vet walks in right then.)

Tech: “Okay, I’m going to take [Dog] to the treatment room and get her weight and vitals.”

(The tech leaves, and the vet starts the usual conversation with professionals of, “Oh, wow, I’ve never really seen one, so that’s what they look like young, etc.” This goes on for a while; I don’t think anything is strange, because at our previous vet whenever [Dog] went into the treatment area, the whole staff had to come and see her. I can hear the sound of clippers turning on in the back, and think it must be another patient getting a haircut. Then, the doctor runs out of stuff to talk about and says:)

Vet: “Well, I’ll go back and see if I can rescue [Dog] from her new fan club so we can start the exam.”

(He opens the door to treatment and screams:)

Vet: “OH, MY GOD! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TWO DOING?!” *turns back to me* “I am so sorry; I really don’t know what to say. This is inexcusable. I cannot believe…”

(I push my way past him and see [Dog] on a table, with two very scared-looking teenage assistants standing next to her, and a straight line of shaved fur running from nape of neck to base of tail. [Dog] is happily wagging her tail, apparently glad to be introducing me to her new, bestest best friends.)

Assistant #1: “[Technician] said to start shaving her because it was going to be such a long process… but the fur isn’t coming off in sheets like with the dog you showed me on last week, so I stopped and…”

Vet: *who has been babbling this whole time* “This is unforgivable; I’m stunned. Obviously, there will be no charge at all for today. In fact, there will be no charge for any service [Dog] needs, ever, for the rest of her life. Wait. [Tech] said, what?!“

Assistant #2: “Her exact words were, ‘Poor dog, just look at this coat. Another stupid owner who bought a doodle-poo and thinks it’s a real breed. You two get started shaving this mess; it’ll likely take an hour or more.’ And then she went to take a cigarette break. I thought she’d gotten the haircut approved.”

Assistant #1: “What did we do wrong?”

Vet: “You mean, besides doing a treatment without the owner’s permission? [Dog] is a Puli.”

([Assistant #1] instantly pales; [Assistant #2] looks confused.)

Assistant #2: “That isn’t a poodle mixed with a collie, is it?”

Assistant #1: “Remember last week when [Other Staff Member] and I were talking about rare breeds we would probably never see in real life? This is one of them; they are famous for their awesome fur.”

Assistant #2: “Oh, crap.”

Me: *having a hard time staying angry because of my very happy dog* “It’s okay; she isn’t a show dog, just a pet. And at least you didn’t start on the side; I mean, once it starts growing out again, it’ll almost look like it was an intentional haircut.”

Vet: “I just can’t believe that she would do something like this without permission; she should know better. I assure you this is not how we do business.”

Me: “I can tell. I would just like to look her in the face when you tell her she doesn’t have a job anymore.”

Vet: “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

(Watching that horribly ignorant woman get fired was one of the more satisfying moments of my life.)