I work in a law office. A client of one of the partners of the firm emailed and asked for a copy of his mother’s Power of Attorney. This should be a really simple process. I emailed him back that all he needed to do was send us a copy of his ID to confirm his identity and we either needed to talk to his mother or have some kind of evidence that she had lost capacity.

Apparently, this was too much work for him. He proceeded to send eight increasingly angry emails and several phone calls demanding the POA without giving us the required information, saying he was too busy to waste his time on “unnecessary work.”

I kept telling him that it was not even our rule, but a requirement from the Law Society. Eventually, he sent a copy of his ID but insisted that “he didn’t want to bother his mother with something so trivial.”

By now his behavior was more than a little suspicious, so I sent him a last email telling him that because he had been impolite and uncooperative, I would not deal with him and he would have to speak to the managing partner.

It would probably take at least a week before the managing partner would have time in his schedule to deal with this guy, and when he did, I knew he wouldn’t be nearly as nice as I had been.

Basically, this guy could have taken five minutes to give us the required information and had the POA by the next day but now, if he kept going the way he had been, he wouldn’t get the POA for weeks.

I was a pre-teen when I was sent to the local hospital with what started as pneumonia, but we quickly discovered I had a host of heart problems. My doctors were debating putting me on the transplant list, or waiting until I could do open heart surgery. I spent about two months in the hospital the first time.

Many of my family and friends were incredibly supportive. They sent get-well cards, comic books, food, and gift cards for the family, and some even came across the country to help with the house. But one cousin, in her 30s, was a bit clueless on the wonderful world of cardiac diseases.

A month into my stay, I received a gift basket from my cousin and her husband. In it, there were Pringles, pretzels, chips, pop, and a note asking us to visit her if we were ever in her state. We don’t know if it was a clerical error or her thinking a preteen loves these foods — which I did, when they didn’t almost kill me.

We laugh about it now, and whenever someone is sick in the family, I always think of the “deliberate cardiac arrest” gift basket.

(I am seventeen. A few of my friends are seated for a midnight showing on opening day for the new “Lord of the Rings” movie. I’m am running late and will meet them there. The theater is absolutely sold out, and seats were all assigned by the theater when they were purchased. The first half of the story is told to me by my friends, as it happens before I arrive. There is an argument about seats in the row just in front of them. A group of four young guys is taking up the first four seats of the row, and there is one empty seat next to them. An adult couple comes up to them.)

Adult Man: “Excuse me, we’re supposed to be sitting in this row. I think you’re in one of our seats.”

Young Guy: “Nope. These are our seats.”

Adult Man: “Well, they’re assigned. Our tickets are for seats four and five.”

Young Guy: “You snooze, you lose. Sit somewhere else.”

(It’s clear that the young guys want to sit together, but one of their tickets is in another row.)

Adult Man: “No. You’re going to move so we can sit in our seats.”

Young Guy: “Make me.”

Adult Woman: *quietly to her husband* “It’s going to start soon. I’ll get an employee.”

(The young guy and the adult man begin to argue. They’re not loud or aggressive, but the young man is, I’m told, very rude. The wife hasn’t returned yet when I finally arrive. It’s relevant that I am hurrying from somewhere that required me to be in a full suit. I am in my finest outfit, but still don’t look a day over seventeen. I begin to scan the audience for my friends, and when I see them I point and begin hurrying up the aisle to them. I can’t reach my seat because of the argument is now blocking me.)

Me: “Excuse me.”

(I mean, “Let me through,” but everyone thinks I am demanding attention. The argument stops as both parties look at me. They take me for a manager. But I don’t clue in to any of this the entire time.)

Me: “Is there a problem?”

(I mean, “What are you all looking at me for?” but everyone thinks I’m asking them to explain the situation.)

Adult Man: “Yes, we’re having a disagreement about our seats.”

Me: “That can’t happen; the seats are assigned. You sit where it says on your ticket.”

Adult Man: “Seats four and five.” *shows me his tickets*

Me: “Then that’s where you sit.” *still totally oblivious as to why they would be telling this to me*

Adult Man: *to the young guys* “You heard him.”

(One of the guys slowly gets up and walks away, as the adult man sits down where he was. With them out of the aisle, I finally take my seat with my friends, who are all laughing.)

Me: “What’s going on?”

Friends: “We’ll tell you later.”

(The wife returned with an usher, and they both just shrugged as the problem was resolved.)

(I am working the floor, helping a customer. I am talking with a customer when I hear shouting behind me. Sadly, people yelling at children is not unusual so I ignore it and try to help the woman I’m with. After a couple of moments, the customer I am with tells me:)

Customer #1: “I think that a**hole is trying to get your attention.”

(I turn around.)

Customer #2: *standing next to the washroom door* “YOU! ABOUT F****** TIME! OPEN THE S***TER!”

Customer #1: “Help that a**hole; I can wait.”

(I walk towards the washroom.)

Customer #2: “You should be paying attention; I was calling you for twenty minutes.”

Me: “My apologies, sir, I was helping a customer, and normally, when someone needs the washroom, they either go to the front and ask for assistance or walk up to an associate. Polite people don’t yell, ‘You!’ across the store.”

Customer #2: “Why not?”

Me: *now annoyed* “Because a ‘ewe’ is a female sheep; we are human beings, not animals.”

(By now I have the washroom door opened.)

Me: “Do you still need my help or may I return to the woman I was assisting?”

(Without saying anything, he entered the washroom and slammed the door in my face.)

(Our doctor’s office has three doctors, one of whom has just moved to this building from another clinic. The clinic used to be a bank, and has doors that open onto the street, but because there are a step and a bus stop directly in front, we have those doors locked and a sign asking patients to use the back door so that there is wheelchair access. One of the patients from the doctor’s old clinic arrives for the first time at the new clinic and approaches the desk. She is rather upset. I am sitting next to my coworker, who is this doctor’s receptionist, and I witness the following:)

Patient: “Why is the front door locked? I tried and tried and I couldn’t get in! Why do you use the back door? That makes no sense!”

Receptionist: “I’m sorry you were confused. There is a sign there, and we need to use the back door to accommodate patients who can’t use stairs.”

Patient: *sighs and grumbles* “Winnipeg! Anything goes here!”

(She gives her name, signs in, and sits down. There is a sign asking people to please remove their footwear, as the weather in Winnipeg is terrible and people wearing shoes inside makes everything a mess. This is not uncommon in Winnipeg; many clinics have places to leave your shoes. The patient sits for a few minutes, and then sees the sign.)

Patient: *suddenly screaming* “TAKE OFF MY SHOES?! NO ONE IS GOING TO FORCE ME TO TAKE MY SHOES OFF! WHAT IS THIS, A THIRD WORLD COUNTRY?!”

(My coworker and I are blown away and just sort of sit there, stunned.)

Patient: “THAT’S IT! JUST CANCEL MY APPOINTMENT! I AM NEVER COMING BACK HERE AGAIN!”

Receptionist: “Okaaaaayyy…”

(The patient storms out and we cancel her appointment. Several hours later, the phone rings.)

Patient: “I must speak to [Doctor]!”

Receptionist: “I’m sorry, the doctor is in with patients right now and can’t take phone calls. Can I take a message?”

Patient: “I was in earlier and I left because it was so silly. Why is the front door locked? I must speak to [Doctor]!”

Receptionist: “The doctor doesn’t take phone calls from patients, ma’am. He can’t speak to you.”

Patient: “I NEED TO SPEAK TO HIM RIGHT NOW!”

Receptionist: *finally having enough* “You had your chance to speak with him when you had your appointment, but you chose to leave. You have been very rude. You can find yourself a new family doctor. Goodbye.”