(My husband and I are doing Christmas shopping at a department store at which he used to work. He knows all of their sales speeches, credit card pitches, and protection plan details by heart, even though he hasn’t worked for the company in years — barring minor changes in the fine print, of course. We finish our shopping and head up to the register. The cashier doesn’t even greet us.)

Cashier: “You want to sign up for a credit card? You could get 5% back on—”

Husband: “Let me stop you there. I already have a store credit card, thanks.”

(The cashier throws a brochure at us and jabs at it with one of her incredibly long, neon green acrylic nails.)

Cashier: “No, there are two cards now. You don’t have them both.”

Husband: “What I had was the store’s original card, and a few months ago they mailed me an offer to switch it from the store brand to the Mastercard labeled card.”

Cashier: *rudely* “They don’t do that.”

Husband: “Yes, they do. I worked for [Company] for a while and I’ve had this card for years. I received the offer in the mail about six months ago and switched because it had a better interest rate. I don’t want to apply for a second card from here.”

Cashier: “They don’t switch people! It’s one or the other!”

Husband: “Okay, well, I have some membership points in my account that I’d like to apply to this purchase.”

(He holds out his phone with the correct QR code already displayed on the screen for her to scan.)

Cashier: “We don’t do that here.”

Husband: “Okay, then.”

(We stand there waiting, because she has got a hold of our receipts and seems unwilling to hand those over. We have to specifically ask for them before she’ll let them go. At this point, I’m pissed. I don’t think my eyebrows could climb any higher on my face without disappearing into my hairline. As we turn to leave…)

Cashier: “I ain’t never heard of no switching people to the Mastercard!”

(Every year for Christmas, my entire family gets together for lunch. This includes my dad’s first wife, my older half-siblings, my mom — who is also no longer married to my dad — and all the kids, spouses, and partners in between. It’s a big group. I’m sitting across from my half-siblings’ mom, who has recently adopted a puppy. She knows both my sister and I have experience with rescue dogs, so she’s been asking questions.) 

Siblings’ Mom: “Oh, [Puppy] eats eggshells. Is that bad?”

Me: “What?! How does he get eggshells?”

Siblings’ Mom: “When I’m cooking, I lay them on the counter, and he always jumps up to get them! He’s so cute.”

Sister: “Um… No, that’s not okay. Those are sharp and not safe for him to eat. Please start throwing the shells away immediately after you crack the eggs.”

Me: “You should also train [Puppy] to not jump on the counter.”

Siblings’ Mom: *looks confused but agrees – but a few minutes later she turns to me again* “What about milk? Can dogs have milk?”

Me: “Well, small amounts of dairy won’t kill them, if that’s what you mean. But you really should only be feeding him a dog food specifically for puppies, and no ‘human food,’ except maybe boiled chicken if he’s sick. It’s the safest thing.”

Siblings’ Mom: “Oh, darn! But he just loves milk mixed in with his dog food!”

Me: *mental head-smack* “Why did you give him milk in the first place?”

Siblings’ Mom: *smiles* “To see if he’d like it! Now he runs to the fridge whenever I put food in his bowl.”

Sister: “Please don’t do that anymore; you could make him sick, or at least give him a pretty upset stomach.”

Me: “If he likes liquid in his food, you can substitute lukewarm water, instead.”

Siblings’ Mom: “Aw… okay. I usually Google everything before I give it to him. I just didn’t Google milk or eggshells!”

Me: “Again, please don’t feed [Puppy] any human food. Please.”

Siblings’ Mom: “Thanks!” *turns away to talk to someone else*

My Husband: *leans over and whispers to me* “How is that dog still alive?”

Me: “No clue.”

(I work in custom framing. People bring their art to us and we help them design a frame, order it, and assemble it. Sometimes they will already have a frame they want to use and just need a mat to border the picture so it fits the frame. If we order it from the warehouse, it looks nicer but takes about a week and a half to come in without adding expedited shipping costs. For a limited selection of mats, we can cut it ourselves within a couple of days, but it’s not as nice. A few days before Christmas, this lady comes in.)

Me: “Hi! How can I help you?”

Customer: “I just need a mat for this. I mixed up the art pieces, so the mats are the wrong size. I don’t need anything fancy. You cut them here, right?”

Me: “Yes, we do! Now, did you need it by a certain time? Because these orders usually take a couple of days.”

Customer: “Well, you see, I’m putting together a frame for an elderly lady who lives in an assisted living home and her niece is coming to visit today so I’d need it as quick as possible. Also, I’m going to a Christmas program at three.”

(It’s almost two at this point.)

Me: “Hmm, well, as I said, it usually takes us a day or two, but let me go ask.”

(The frame shop manager is there, so I ask her about it. She tells me we’re not taking same-day orders because it’s the busiest time of the year and we have a lot of work to do before Christmas. I go back to the lady and tell her we can’t.)

Customer: “You mean you won’t just cut it? It takes, what, five minutes?”

Me: “It takes a lot more than that since it’s fairly technical. I won’t even attempt them because I’m still pretty new.”

Customer: “So, you can’t just take ten minutes and cut it?”

Me: *apologizes and repeats that we can’t take same-day orders*

Customer: *starts crying and says in an accusatory manner* “I guess she just won’t get anything for Christmas!” *leaves*

(Why do they wait until the day of to do this?)

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(I’m in a local comic book store, shopping for my roommate for a birthday present. Unfortunately, I know NOTHING of comics, so I’m going in a bit overwhelmed. There are only a handful of people in there and I see no one at the counter, so I decide to look around a bit to try and figure everything out myself before I seek out an employee for help. I’m stopped, leafing through some Wonder Woman comics in an aisle when a guy sidles up beside me.)

Guy #1: “Wonder Woman, huh?”

Me: *surprised* “Oh! Hi, yeah. I never actually read any of these. I’ve only seen the movie.” *nervous chuckle*

Guy #1: *snorts* “Figures.”

(I’m now very much aware that one, he is definitely not an employee, two, he’s picking up that I know nothing of comics — because I just TOLD him — and three, he’s very much criticizing me for the lack of nerd-cred I posses)

Me: *curt* “Uh-huh.”

(I continue to study the comics and open one up, trying to ignore the guy who’s still just standing there, staring at me.)

Guy #1: “Do you even know Wonder Woman’s real name?”

Me: *knows, but want to get him off my back* “Nope.”

Guy #1: “Really? Wooow. How can you even consider yourself to be a fan, then?”

(I actually kind of laugh at how ridiculously stereotypical this conversation is getting.)

Me: “Never said I was a fan, dude.”

(I keep reading in a random part of the comic as he stands there, full-on turned towards me and staring. Finally, after what feels like FAR too long, he harumphs away to the other end of the aisle. I set down the comic and start making my way out, when another guy stops me.)

Guy #2: “Hey, you need any help?”

Me: “Oh, uh… Well, yes, actually. I don’t know where to start, though.”

(He’s dressed all in casual black, so I assume him to be an employee. He shows me around to the areas of my roommate’s favorite characters, recommends what comics and doodads he may like, and even makes some recommendations of what I may like. Eventually, after all is said and done, we pass by the original man I saw.)

Guy #1: “You know he doesn’t even work here, right?”

Me: “You don’t?”

Guy #2: *pointedly making eye-contact with [Guy #1]* “Nah, but I saw how that a**hole was treating you and thought I’d be better than that.”

(I swear, the look on [Guy #1]’s face was PRICELESS. It was a mix of shock, rage, dumbfoundment, and pain. It was like he was given a puppy for Christmas and it exploded into confetti in front of him. We kept walking before he could say another word, rang the service bell, and checked out together. I’ve never gone back to the store, but I stayed friends with [Guy #2] on social media. Unfortunately, my roommate already owned two out of the three things I got him, but he was able to exchange the two comics and was ecstatic about the third item, which he was originally saving up for. As for me, I’ll always treasure the memory of that one time a grown man practically had an aneurysm over being called out for being a jerk.)

(I am working as a temp for a large company. A few weeks before Christmas, my boss announces that they will be taking pictures for the company Christmas card. Our usual dress code is casual and he wants “everyone” to dress up. I think it is nice that I am being included. On picture day, I dress up, do my hair and makeup, the whole nine.)

Boss: “The photographer is here. Everybody needs to head downstairs. [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes?”

Boss: “Keep an eye on the phones. We won’t be gone long.”

(A few weeks later is the Christmas potluck. I am allowed to participate in the gift exchange and to bring something to eat. But this is also the day that management passes out the Christmas bonuses. To their credit, they try doing it on the down-low. But I quickly realize what is going on and that I won’t be receiving a bonus. Unfortunately, they don’t tell my coworkers. The bonus is a gift card to a major department store for $300. Two of my coworkers are standing by my desk discussing what they will get when they turn to me.)

Coworker #1: “What are you getting?”

Me: “I didn’t get a bonus.”

Coworker #2: “That’s because you’re not a real employee!”

(Fortunately, my phone rang so I didn’t have to come up with a response.)