(A couple, perhaps in their 40s, comes into our bookstore.)

Customer: “Do you have any videotapes?”

Me: “Do you mean DVDs or actual videotapes?”

Customer: “Videotapes.”

(I show her the shelf where we have a few old movies that have come in with boxes of books. She stands there looking confused for a surprisingly long time, and then says:)

Customer: “I guess I mean CDs.”

Me: “Are you sure you don’t want DVDs?”

Customer: “No, CDs.”

(I show her where the CDs are. She looks at a few.)

Customer: “No, this is just music. I wanted movies.”

(I showed her the shelf of DVDs and sat down to practice a few mental head-desks. By the way, the man said nothing during this whole transaction.)

(I used to be a telephone operator for a telco. At one point, some customers in one exchange — for example area code 222, prefix 456 — begin having a problem. Someone in the exchange has set up an automated system that is sending them advertising voicemails — probably one of the forerunners of robocalling. This is in the days where basic voicemail has a capacity of ten messages. My coworkers and I have talked to managers about the complaints, but what is happening is not illegal. Then, one day, I have a caller who says that he is getting the voicemails every twenty minutes, so in a little over three hours, his mailbox is full and he cannot get any more. Ah-ha! I go back to my manager and relay what is happening to my caller.)

Manager: “We’ve talked about this before and there is nothing illegal happening.”

Me: “My customer loses the use of his voicemail box after three hours. Voicemail advertising may be legal, but a DOS attack is not.”

(My manager got a strange look on his face and reached for the phone. The problem stopped very soon after. I suspect he called legal.)

(My in-laws own a cabin at the lake. One summer, my 21-year-old daughter asks if she and her friends can borrow it for a long weekend.)

Mother-In-Law: “That’s fine, but there are a couple of things you need to promise me. Keep the noise down; don’t disturb our neighbours.”

Daughter: “No problem, Grandma.”

Mother-In-Law: “Also, you need to clean up after yourselves. Leave the cabin looking exactly as you found it. Got it? Otherwise, I won’t lend it to you again.”

Daughter: “Absolutely. I promise.”

(After the weekend is over, I ask how it went.)

Daughter: “Fine! We had a few drinks each evening, but we stayed inside the cabin, and we didn’t make any noise. On the morning we left, the three of us cleaned the place from top to bottom, and it looked great.”

(Later that day, the phone rings. It is my mother-in-law.)

Husband: “I hear that [Daughter] and her friends had a great time at the cabin. Thanks so much for lending it to them.”

Mother-In-Law: “Uh-huh.”

Husband: “Is something wrong?”

Mother-In-Law: “I told her that she had to leave the place clean. I’m not happy, and I’m thinking seriously about not lending it to her again.”

Husband: “But… she said that they left it spic-and-span. What didn’t they clean?”

Mother-In-Law: “The underside of the toilet seat.”

Husband: *expectant pause* “And?”

Mother-In-Law: “That’s it.”

Husband: “That’s it? They only missed one thing that I don’t think I would have remembered to clean?”

Mother-In-Law: “Regardless, it wasn’t cleaned. I’ll have to think long and hard before I let her borrow the cabin again.”

(She eventually relented, but sheesh. There’s being house-proud, and then there’s THAT.)

(I see one of my employees arrive but instead of coming into the store they go to the food court. They come to the store half an hour later.)

Me: “Why are you late? I saw you arrive half an hour ago.”

Employee: “My shift isn’t until 1:30!”

Me: “It was at 1:00!”

Employee: “Oh… Can you fix the log in so it says I came at 1:00?”

Me: “No, because you didn’t!”

Employee: “I was at the mall, though!”

Me: “Again, no!”

(The chain I work at holds a senior’s day each week for people 55 and older who present their rewards card. Unfortunately, the rewards card doesn’t tell us their age nor automatically applies the discount, and they often don’t remember to tell us despite the copious signage, so we often either have to assume one way or another, or ask directly. I’m not the greatest at judging ages, so this often gets me into trouble. On this occasion, I’m dealing with the very first customer of my shift.)

Me: *feeling pretty safe in my guess* “And do you get the senior’s discount?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Oh, okay!” *continues with the transaction*

Customer: *sounding angry* “Thanks. I’m not even fifty yet.”

Me: “Sorry about that. Honestly, though, anyone who’s older than, say, thirty-five, can look just about any age, so I end up asking a lot of–”

Customer: “You should be careful about that.”

Me: *cheerfully* “I try to be.”

Customer: *with no trace of humour* “You’re lucky my husband’s not here. He’d kick your a**.”

Me: *sighs internally, but smiles outwardly as if she were joking*

(I do understand why people get offended in these situations, but I don’t understand why they have to be so rude about it. If I never asked, a lot of actual seniors would be upset because they didn’t get their discount. We can’t win either way. I wish we had a policy that they don’t get the discount unless they bring it up.)