(When I was younger, my mother had a whole slew of mental issues that she wasn’t seeking help for, such as OCD and anger issues. It was really difficult growing up, having to walk over eggshells practically everyday. As a result, I grew up very reserved and anxious about everything. A HUGE deal we had was over public transportation. If, for whatever reason, we had to take public transportation, as soon as we came home, we were to take all our clothes off and immediately throw it in the washer. However, during high school, I had to depend on public transportation more frequently. My mother didn’t trust me to do my laundry when it came to the “bus clothes” and didn’t even allow me to put it into the hamper with the other “normal dirty clothes,” so I had no choice but leave it on my floor, in the corner of my room, for her to pick up when she could. However, during this particular incident, she is going through a depressive period where she doesn’t do her regular chores, so my clothing starts to pile up. It’s Monday.)

Mom: “What’s wrong with you?”

Me: “What?”

Mom: “Look at all the clothing on the floor!”

Me: “But that’s the ‘bus clothes.'”

Mom: “I KNOW THAT! Why did you make it so messy?”

(When I get home, I immediately just throw my clothing off and jump into the shower, as we’ve always done.)

Me: “I’m sorry. I can fold them if—”

Mom: “No, NO! Don’t! They’re dirty! Don’t even touch it; I’ll deal with it later.”

(She doesn’t get to it and another day goes by.)

Mom: “[My Name], what did I tell you about your clothes?”

Me: “Well, I tried to fold the ones I took off today and—”

Mom: “NO FOLDING!”

Me: “I just did it for today’s clothes!”

Mom: “No, just… just take them off as fast as you can, but neater, but don’t handle them so much to fold them!”

Me: “I can wash them if it’s too much. I can wash my normal clothes and put on gloves for these and—”

Mom: “NO! You don’t know how! You won’t clean them right!” *starts crying*

(Some variation of this conversation happens for the rest of the school week, where I attempt or offer to do something better but only seem to upset her more. On Friday, however, I’m exhausted from school and something finally snaps in me.)

Mom: “I just wished there was a better way—”

Me: “What. Do. You. Want. Me. To. Do?”

Mom: “…”

Me: “What do you actually want me to do?”

Mom: “…”

Me: “Do you want me to put the pile in a box?”

Mom: “No!”

Me: “I can wash—”

Mom: “NO.”

Me: “Then what, Mom? What do you want me to do?”

Mom: “…”

(It was at that moment it started to sink in that I’d essentially talked back to my mother, and I braced for the eruption of shouting, slammed doors, flipped tables, and broken dishes that usually happened when something triggered an angry episode, but to my surprise she just turned around and walked away. No shouting, no panic attack, nothing. I saw her curled up in the couch later on, not in a depressive daze like usual, but in contemplative thought. For a while, I thought I had cracked the code; when there was something she was bothered with about me, I would “talk back” by directly asking what she wanted me to do, and she would just go quiet, and change the subject or drop the topic completely. It didn’t work all the time, but it was the closest I felt to being “rebellious” towards her. Thankfully, when I went to college, she sought more professional help for all her problems, and through candid conversations between us as adults, I came to realize that those times I would “talk back” were times I was trying to engage in, or practice, direct communication. However, since she had never learned to put her emotions into words, it usually threw her off and made her uncomfortable. She’s doing much better now, and although I acknowledge that I grew up in a toxic environment with her, I’ve pretty much forgiven her, and am still in contact with her to this day. I’ve been fortunate that my school has an awesome counseling center that I shoved myself into from day one of freshman year, and I’ve decided to pursue a degree in psychology to help other people like my mother and myself out.)

(A customer walks up to the counter.)

Me: “Hi, how are you?”

(The customer gives me a smile.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

(The customer puts a dollar bill on the counter, puts a bunch of coins on top of it, and slides it towards me.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

(The customer slides the money closer to me.)

Me: “What is it you want me to do with this?”

(The guy gives me a blank stare.)

Customer: “I want a five dollar bill for that.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

(I open the drawer, count his change, and give him a five dollar bill. He slides the bill back to me and stares again.)

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “Can I buy five dollars of lottery with this?”

Me: “Oh, sure. You have to say that, though.”

Customer: “You couldn’t tell?”

Me: “No.”

(The guy gives me a blank stare.)

Me: “You could have paid with the change, too.”

Customer: “But I needed five dollars for lottery.”

Me: “The coin came to five dollars, though.”

Customer: “I guess it did.”

(I slide him the lottery ticket.)

Me: “Can I help you with anything else?”

(The customer walks away.)

This story is part of the Lottery roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

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(My father and I are joining a tour group. We have called the travel agency and asked for a room together. I’m female and over 18.)

Agent: “We can’t put a man and a woman in the same room.”

Me: “Is that policy? So, we have to room with strangers?”

Agent: “No, it’s not policy. Unless it’s husband and wife, it’s just wrong. Eww. So, yes, you will room with strangers.”

Father: “We’re father and daughter.”

Agent: “If she was under-aged, that would be required, as kids can’t room with strangers. But she’s an adult. It’s just gross. I can’t put you together.”

Me: “There are two beds, right? You won’t be putting same-sex strangers in the same bed, will you?”

Agent: “Of course not.”

Me: “Then, why can’t I room with my father?”

Father: “You just said it wasn’t policy, just that you don’t like it.”

Agent: “Not happening.”

(Eventually, we got the agent to talk to a guide actually coming on the trip who okayed us to share a room.)

(I go into the store to pick up some photo prints I ordered online. Unfortunately, before I can get to the counter another customer beats me to the unmanned counter. As she approaches she immediately begins yelling.)

Customer: “CAN SOMEONE COME OVER HERE AND HELP ME?!”

(An employee approaches the counter.)

Customer: “I ordered these prints online; I need them.”

Employee: “Okay, what name are they under?”

Customer: “I don’t know; I don’t know if they made it.”

Employee: “You don’t know?”

Customer: “I used this app and it won’t send. You need to just do it.”

Employee: “I’m sorry. We aren’t allowed to—”

Customer: *sighs dramatically* “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

Employee: “You need to click on—”

Customer: “I already did that.”

Employee: “Well, try it again.”

Customer: “There, see? Now what?!”

Employee: “So, now, you need to—”

Customer: “This is stupid! I’m just going to go back to the main menu. So, what do I do from here?”

(The employee attempts several times to guide the customer through the process, and she continues to cut her off and ignore her suggestions. The customer appears to be in a huge hurry, and is obviously aggravated. Finally, after a few minutes.)

Customer: *about the app* “This is a joke. This is a total joke. Fine. Whatever. We’ll do this on Facebook.” *she takes a few minutes to find the picture she wants, all the while muttering* “I left those kids at the park. I left those d*** kids at the park… There, this picture. Can I just crop everyone out except this one person?”

Employee: “Well, what that will do is it will still be the same size and—”

Customer: “Is there any other way we can do this?!”

Employee: “You can hook your phone up to the photo kiosk, but it will download all of your photos.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I can’t get this Internet to work. My man is going to kill me; I left those d*** kids at the park.”

Employee: “We don’t get a good connection in the store.”

Customer: “I HAVE WI-FI.”

Employee: “We don’t have Wi-Fi here.”

Customer: “YOU MEAN I’M GOING TO HAVE TO GO OUT TO MY CAR TO GET ON THE INTERNET?!”

Employee: “You probably would have better luck in the back of the parking lot, yes.”

Customer: *stomps out while muttering* “I left those kids at the park.”

(I still can’t understand what could possibly be so important about this picture that she had to leave her children at the park to go get it!)

(I work the front desk at a hotel, and we just had a wedding party depart. Shortly after they leave, one of the housekeepers brings down a Bible and says it was left in one of the rooms. They’re smiling from ear to ear as they tell me to open it. Inside, I find a secret compartment filled with a collapsible shot glass, a knife, a holster for the knife, brass knuckles, and keys to lock the Bible. It is all very illegal, but when I tell my managers they say I should try and return it to the woman, since she happens to be the bride.)

Me: “Hello. This is [My Name] calling from [Hotel]. It seems as if you’ve left an item behind that we would like to ship to you.”

Bride: “What item? I don’t remember leaving anything.”

Me: “You’ve left your Bible.”

Bride: “I don’t own a Bible.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but it was found in your room and has your name inside it.”

Bride: “Well, could you describe it to me?”

Me: “Um… Well… It’s a black Bible, and when you open it there’s a secret compartment. It has some… interesting items inside.”

Bride: “Oh. Oh! That was a wedding present! I can’t believe I forgot about it! Would you be able to ship it to me?”

Me: “I do apologize, but due to the nature of the item, we would be unable to ship it. Would you have a way of picking it up?”

Bride: “I live two hours away! There’s no way I’m coming back for that thing!”

Me: “Do you have someone else to pick it up? If not, I will have to turn it over to the police to discard it safely.”

Bride: “No, no! Don’t do that! I’ll send someone.”

(About twenty minutes later a man in dirty, baggy clothes, with unkempt hair comes into the hotel. He has a very grizzled expression on his face.)

Man: “You got my Bible?”

Me: “Let me just call to ask if—”

Coworker: “It’s right here! Have a good day!”

(The man grunted and walked out. My coworker said she just wanted it out of our hotel. We never got a call back from the bride, so I guess it all turned out okay. Hopefully.)