(My dad is on the phone with me one day while I’m away at college. I’m in my late teens. English is not our first language, and as is the case most of the time with immigrants and their children, I have a much better knowledge of the language. He’s looking for a medical specialist to go to for some issue he has and is reading off a list to have me help him figure out what type of doctors they are.)

Dad: “It says this one is an anesthesiologist. What is that?”

Me: “That’s the doctor who puts you to sleep during surgery.”

Dad: “This one is a dermatologist.”

Me: “That’s a doctor who treats skin conditions.”

Dad: “Okay, this one is a nephrologist.”

Me: “They treat the kidneys.”

Dad: “Hmm…Let’s see… The next one is a Neurology doctor.”

Me: “They treat the brain and nervous system.”

Dad: “Okay… Oh, how about this one? It’s an OB/GYN. What is that?”

Me: “Uh… That’s… really not the right kind of doctor for you, Dad.”

(It’s worth noting here that I have a poor and very awkward relationship with my father, to the point that we’ve essentially not talked about anything personal in my entire life, and NEVER anything to do with sex.)

Dad: *in a curt and impatient tone* “What kind of doctor is it? What does OB/GYN mean?”

Me: *trying very hard not to be forced to say anything that would be extremely awkward for me* “That’s not the kind of doctor you’re looking for, Dad. I’m definitely sure about that.”

Dad: *suddenly snapping at me loudly and quite angrily* “I don’t care what you think! Just tell me what the h*** kind of doctor it is! I want to know what OB/GYN means, right now!”

Me: *startled and insulted* “Um, well, that’s… that’s a doctor who treats babies.”

Dad: *immediately calms down and pretends nothing happened, then goes on with asking about other doctors from the list* “Oh. Well. Okay, the next doctor is a….”

(I was very awkward back then about anything to do with sex, and very easily intimidated and bullied by my parents. Looking back on it now, I really wish I’d answered him with, “Well, Dad, that’s the doctor who treats vaginas and uteruses! You know, the doctor who looks into vaginas and then puts his hands into vaginas, and then puts all sorts of medical implements into vaginas! Vaginas vaginas vaginas vaginas! So, how about it? I guess I could have been totally wrong! Do you think that this could be the doctor you’re looking for – the doctor who treats vaginas?”)

(I work as a manager at a local branch of a common fast food restaurant. All locations in the US have the same items, prepared the same way. We have never accepted and are not equipped for delivery or over-the-phone orders. I’m in the office, counting down a register, when the phone rings.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Restaurant]. [My Name] speaking. How can I help you?”

Caller: *with a noticeable Indian accent* “Hello. I’d like to place an order for pickup.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t accept orders for pickup. You have to be in our store to order.”

Caller: “Oh, then, can I ask questions about your food?”

Me: “Of course. Go right ahead.”

Caller: “Do you sell burgers?”

(I am silent for a second, as our restaurant has the word “burger” in the name.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am, we do.”

Caller: “How big are your burgers?”

(This is a fairly common question, but since most customers are in the store when they ask, I usually give them an estimate with my hands.)

Me: “I don’t know the dimensions off the top of my head, but I can look them up for you.”

Caller: “Are they as big as the ones in India?”

Me: “I’ve never been to India, ma’am. I don’t know. If you give me a second, I can look it up for you.”

Caller: “Are your burgers made from cow?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Most of them.”

Caller: “That’s horrible! How dare you use cow in your burgers?! Those poor cows! In India all our burgers are made with vegetables!”

Me: *taken aback* “We do have a veggie burger, ma’am. And a chicken burger.”

Caller: “You have a veggie burger and a chicken burger? What about goat?”

Me: “Sorry?”

Caller: “Do you have a goat burger?”

Me: “No, ma’am. We don’t have a goat burger.”

Caller: “You don’t have a goat burger?! How could you not have a goat burger?! I’m going to take my business somewhere else!” *hangs up*

(My sister and I are with my younger brother at a video game store, so he can check the prices of a few games. While he’s looking at one game, a boy about his age strikes up a conversation. I think nothing of it, and continue looking around. At one point, I’m standing with my brother when an ad for a cute and fluffy — yet challenging — game comes on, which I happen to be obsessed with.)

Brother: “Oh, look, [My Name]! [Video Game]! They’re coming out with a new one!”

Me: “Awesome! Does that show release dates or anything?”

Boy: “You like that game?”

Me: “Yup.”

Boy: “Really? One a scale of one to ten, the graphics are like, really bad. Like, compared to the games I play, the graphics are just, like, really bad.”

Me: “Well, the whole concept is that it’s yarn. For yarn and craft supplies, the graphics are actually pretty awesome!”

Boy: “Yeah, but the graphics are really bad. Like, they look five-bit.”

Me: “I think you mean eight-bit. I also think I’m entitled to my own opinion, thank you very much.”

Boy: “Yeah, but the graphics just suck.”

(At this point, my sister comes over.)

Sister: “Everyone ready to go?”

Boy: “You have two sisters?! Dude, that must suck.”

Brother: “It’s fine, actually. Plus, they’re really good for playing multiplayer games with.”

Boy: “Those girls? Nah, they probably just fluff their hair all day. Ha!”

Me: “Yeah, okay, you got what you need? Let’s check out now. I don’t need more time with Sir Pint-Sized Misogynist.”

(I later saw the boy tagging behind all three employees that were working that day, spewing off random “tips” everyone knows and incorrect game trivia. Let’s hope his parents found him soon after!)

(I am the only one working the ticket counter on a very slow weekday evening at a movie theater. I get a phone call from an elderly woman who does not know how to use the Internet, and needs me to look up tomorrow’s show times and read them to her over the phone. I’ve switched my monitor to read her tomorrow’s movies and times when a woman storms into our lobby and comes directly up to me.)

Customer: “Get off the phone!”

Me: *to the guest on the phone* “I… Er, excuse me one moment, ma’am—”

Customer: “I said, off the phone! One ticket for [Movie], next showing.”

Elderly Woman: “Wait. I just need to know one more thing: will your show times be the same on Thursday?”

Me: “Our movie times change daily. I’m sorry, ma’am, I need to put you on hold for—”

Customer: “I am a guild member! Get off the phone and serve the customer in front of you!”

(She reaches over the counter and presses the button on the phone to hang it up.)

Me: *somewhat flustered, as I’ve never had a customer this rude before* “You said [Movie]? The next showing? Where would you like to sit?”

Customer: “Ugh, I hate this new assigned seating. I will be complaining to your bosses about this.”

(She jabs the screen selecting a seat, at least.)

Me: *staying polite and as pleasant as possible* “You said you were a guild member; could I see your card for the discount, please?”

Customer: *literally throws the card in my face with a flick of her wrist, so it smacks into my cheek* “Hurry up. The movie will start soon. My ticket will be free, too. Run the card. I don’t pay for movies; I’m a member.”

(I retrieve the card from the counter, and run the card so she can get her discount. The ticket and receipt print out, and I offer them both to her.)

Me: “Your ticket, ma’am.”

Customer: “It’s about time!”

(She snatches both from my hand, and storms off. It’s not until moments later I realize my register is still set for tickets for the next day, because of the phone call I was taking. She will end up having to sit in the theater for an hour before the movie starts, IF she manages to find the correct theatre, which she must do because she doesn’t come back out again during my shift. I do enjoy the little bit of unintentional Karma, though. I also realize moments later that I have forgotten to give her her guild card back. I flag down my manager and tell him what happened.)

Me: “So, that woman who came in earlier threw this at my face, and I was so shocked I forgot to give it back to her.”

Manager: “What? She threw it at you? Actually?”

Me: “Yeah. Bounced off my face and everything.”

Manager: “Well. We’ll just put this in the lost in found for her, then.” *dumps the card into the nearest trash can* “After all, we definitely want to keep her as a customer.” *rolls his eyes angrily*

(I work as a customer service rep for an online retailer. It is a marketplace, so our products are sold by third parties. A customer calls in for an ongoing support ticket, and I pull it up by the phone number.)

Me: “Hello. How may I help you?”

Customer: “I ordered four rolls of shelf liner but only got one. I was waiting to hear from the girl I spoke to earlier and have not heard back.”

Me: “I see that agent emailed you with an update from the seller. The seller had said the four rolls were packed together for shipping.”

Customer: “I just got one roll!”

Me: “I see one of the rolls was 24 inches wide and the other three were 12 inches wide. Is the roll you received 24 inches?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Have you had the chance to open it to see if the other rolls were included as the seller said?”

Customer: “No! That is ridiculous. It is such a pain to open. It will mess up the integrity of the roll. I opened just the ends.”

Me: “I apologize that it’s inconvenient, but as the seller has advised, it was shipped together; opening it will determine if they did send the four rolls in one shipment or if we need to ask them to ship the other three.”

Customer: “I can’t believe I have to open it!”

(The customer then opens it, grumbling the whole time about how annoying it is to have to actually open the product and follow the instructions.)

Customer: “Well, I guess it is all here. Ugh. I can’t believe they shipped it all together, and I guess I was wrong, then. But this is ridiculous!”

(I have learned you can hardly ever make anyone happy when it comes to online shopping.)