I go to a small craft store inside a mall. A few minutes later, a woman comes in and tells her husband to stay outside of the store with their little kid — about five years old — because the store is too small for all of them.

I’m paying when the little kid runs inside the store and stops at the door to look around at the yarns, threads, buttons, and other things with big eyes.

Kid: *Very loudly* “Wow! This place is like Heaven for moms!”

We all had a very good laugh and agreed with him.

I always return things to where I found them in a store. I believe it’s just the decent thing to do, and if something is frozen or refrigerated, I’ll make an extra effort so it doesn’t have to be thrown out later; I don’t like wasting food. And while I don’t go around stores fixing everything, if I’m looking at something specific and see that it’s unorganized, on the floor, or out of order, I’ll usually fix it. Apparently, most people don’t think this way.

On one occasion, I’m in a grocery store with some friends. We realize we’re in a hurry and have a few unnecessary things. They’re unfamiliar with the checkout, so I offer what I think is a reasonable solution.

Me: “Okay, I’ll head to checkout and you guys can put this stuff back real quick. The [item #1] goes over there, [item #2] goes a few aisles down, and [item #3] goes at the end right there, next to the produce.”

My friends look at me like I have two heads.

Me: “Oooookay. How about I put this stuff back and I’ll come meet you at the checkout in a minute?”

My friends walk away, muttering about how what I’m doing doesn’t make sense and takes too much effort.

On another occasion, I’m in a small convenience store with some friends. [Friend #1] is randomly grabbing sodas and [Friend #2] is trying to explain which ones we need. [Friend #1] isn’t really paying attention and is rooting through a fairly organized fridge to find the sodas he wants, leaving all the ones he moved in random spots. I obviously disapprove.

Me: “No, no, put it back where you found it. You can’t just leave it there!”

Both friends scoff.

Me: “Ugh, you’ve never worked retail. The other things we need are over there. Just wait for me.” 

I love these guys, but I know they won’t be able to get the rest of the stuff without help. I quickly lean down and put the smaller sodas back on the top shelf and move the bigger sodas so they’re sitting together by kind again. It’s maybe fifteen seconds, and there is no way to make it perfect since the fridge is pretty small; I just put them back to how they were before.

Friend #2: *Mostly joking* “Are you done? I mean, why were you doing it?”

Friend #1: *Laughing* “I’m not sure you really even helped!”

I give my friends the sarcastic, eyebrow-raised death glare that only women can do.

Friends #1 & #2: *Sheepish* “Umm, what did we need again?”

A friend has been complaining about getting too many phone calls from an insurance company, even though he has refused their services many times. He receives yet another call.

Friend: “Hello.”

Caller: “Hello, this is [Caller] from [Insurance Company]. I’m calling to let you know about our new life insurance package—”

Friend: “No, thanks. I really don’t need life insurance right now.”

Caller: “How come? Everyone needs life insurance!”

Friend: *Without missing a beat* “Yes, but you see, I’ve been diagnosed with a terminal disease, so I don’t have much longer.”

Caller: *Taken aback* “Oh, my God, that’s terrible. I’m so, so sorry, we didn’t know.”

Friend: “Yeah, no, it’s okay, don’t worry. My family and I have already sorted out the insurance thing and all the paperwork, so I really don’t need what you’re offering me.”

Caller: “Yes, of course, of course. Look, I’m really sorry to bother you in a time like this. I’ll personally take you out of the list so you won’t be called again.”

Friend: “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

Caller: “Oh, it’s nothing. Again, I’m very sorry. Please take care.”

Friend: “Okay, thanks.” *Hangs up, then turns to me* “I shouldn’t have made that up… I’m a horrible person.”

I work at a welfare office, where we’re the main administration for a debit card for food purchases for the country. The country is divided into regions that handle the actual clients. We’re more like the mothership to their battleships, but sometimes clients come directly to my office to complain.

A man storms into the office.

Man: “Where’s my d*** card?”

Me: “Ah, good morning, sir. What seems to be the problem?”

Man: “Are you deaf?! Where. Is. My. D***. Card?!”

Me: “Oh, I heard you the first time, sir. What I mean is, what’s the specific problem? Have you lost your card? Has it been stolen? Have you not received your card?”

Man: “I have been waiting for months for this card. Now the temporary one is expired. How am I supposed to buy food?!“

Me: “Okay, sir, what region are you from?”

He says he’s from the region furthest south from the Head Office.

Me: “Okay. Do you have any ID, and the name of the officer you dealt with when you made your application?”

Man: “I’m not telling you that. Just do your job and give me my card.”

Me: “Well, sir, I can’t pull your specific file if I don’t know which officer is dealing with it. That means I wouldn’t be able to give you specific feedback on the status of your card.”

Man: “I don’t care. Months, girl. Months.”

Me: “Okay… Well, did you check with the regional office?” 

Man: “Do I look stupid? No! You’re the head office. Obviously, the card would be here.”

Me: “Actually, no, sir. When the cards are delivered from the manufacturer, they are sorted by region and automatically delivered to the region. Even if it was here, we couldn’t give it to you, because your social worker would have to activate it at the regional office.”

Man: “Don’t lie to me.”

Me: “No, sir, I’m not. If you give me the name of your officer, I could call to check if it’s waiting for collection.”

Man: “God d*** it, are you f****** deaf? I’m not telling you that.”

Me: “Okay. As I can’t check on your individual application, perhaps the problem could be with the manufacturer. See, sir, we’ve recently switched manufacturers, so there’s a bit of a backlog in the actual creation of the card.”

Man: “Who’s making the cards? I will go make them make my card.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I can’t give you that information. You really should check with your social worker, if you decline to give me your name. Without it, I can’t actually help you.”

Man: “TELL ME! YOU DON’T KNOW WHO YOU’RE DEALING WITH!”

Me: “I know, sir. You won’t even give me your name.”

The man continues bellowing about “dealing with me” and bawling ominously that “we don’t know who we’re dealing with” before he storms out, still ranting. I look at my coworkers who just blink at me.

Coworker: “I would’ve told him to f*** off ages ago.”

I’m at the pharmacy of an organization that sells medications for specific conditions at a slightly lower price than regular pharmacies. Most of the employees are friendly, or at least polite, but this day is a little different.

Employee: “How can I help you?”

Me: “I need to buy some medications. My ID number is [number].”

Employee: “[My Name]?”

Me: “Yep!”

Employee: “Okay, so, you need [Medication #1], right? That’s the only one on here.”

Me: *Thinking* “Oh, no… I forgot again!”

Employee: “Because the prescription for [Medication #2] is expired—”

I’m about to say, “Oops, I forgot.”

Employee: “—so did you remember or did you not even do anything about it?”

He does not say this in a friendly tone. He isn’t joking or anything. It seems pretty harsh.

Me: “Umm… Okay, I’ll come back later.”

I left and texted my doctor to get another script. She wrote it up quickly and I was able to get the medication the same day, luckily from a different employee. It wasn’t like he yelled at me or anything; I was just really surprised at how judgemental he seemed, especially considering the issues that my medications are usually used to treat. Sigh.