(I’m 15 years old and am noticing that a mole I’ve had on my stomach area since birth is becoming red and inflamed and is extremely sensitive to the touch. I tell this to my mother, and she arranges a dermatologist appointment.)

Doctor: *to me* “So, are you [Mom]?”

Me: “No, I’m [My Name]. My mom just made the appointment.”

Doctor: *nods* “Okay, then, what’s the problem?”

Me: *lifting my shirt just enough to show the mole, which happens to be inflamed and red at the time of the appointment* “This mole on my stomach’s been really sensitive lately. It’s inflamed and red and just the fabric of my shirt moving against it hurts a lot.”

Doctor: *pokes the mole* “Well, it doesn’t look like cancer.”

(While I was relieved to later have a biopsy done and hear the results were cancer-free, I never really felt all that comfortable hearing the news from this doctor.)

This story is part of our Mole Day roundup!

Read the next story in this roundup!

Read the Mole Day roundup!

(My parents both love camping, so they decide to buy themselves a nice RV to retire in. Sometimes, they spend nights in the RV for seemingly no reason. The morning after one such night, my grandmother calls.)

Me: “Hello?”

Grandmother: “Hi, [My Name]. Is your mother there?”

Me: “She and Dad spent the night in the RV. They haven’t come in yet.”

Grandmother: “Well, it’s cheaper than a motel!”

This story is part of our S’Mores Day roundup!

Read the next S’mores Day Roundup story!

Read the S’mores Day Roundup!

(This is my second weekend working the races and selling tickets. I’m helping a gentleman find the restrooms with the racetrack’s booklet map, which I’ve been handing out to visitors.)

Coworker: “Don’t do that.”

Me: “…Excuse me?”

Coworker: “You’re not supposed to actually help people, just sell them s***.”

(I ignore my coworker and finish helping the gentleman.)

Me: “Is there anything else you need help with, sir?”

Gentleman: “Don’t let this old crow tell you how to do your job, sweetheart. You’re doing a great job!” *leaves*

Coworker: “You’re just supposed to sell them s***, not actually help!”

(I’m seventeen, and am working in a toy shop on the boardwalk. We play tropical and beach-themed music on speakers in the store promoting CDs we sell. This happens after I have already been working six hours listening to the same CD on repeat.)

Customer #1: “Oh cool! Are those steel drums in the song?”

Me: “Yes, they are. I like them too.”

Customer #1: “Do you sell this CD, or are you just playing it?”

Me: “We actually do sell it, as well as a few others. They’re on the counter next to the cash register if you’re interested.”

Customer #1: “Thanks!”

(The customer goes over to browse. In a few minutes, a sudden thunderstorm breaks, and the rain is so hard that none of the customers will leave the shop. Everyone, including the customer, has huddled near the door to watch the storm.)

Customer #1: “Geez, when do you think this rain is going to stop?”

Me: “I don’t know. These storms happen sometimes near the ocean, but they usually pass pretty quickly.”

(Two minutes pass in relative silence. The music is still playing.)

Customer #1: “Does this music play every day?”

Me: “Yes, usually, unless another CD is used.”

Customer #1: “All day?”

Me: “Yep, it’s been playing since I came in this morning.”

Customer #1: *without warning* “IF THIS MUSIC DOES NOT STOP PLAYING, I WILL KILL MYSELF!”

Me: *speechless*

Customer #1: “AAARGH!”

(Customer #1 runs out of the shop and down the boardwalk in the torrential rain, while the remaining customers and I stare at him.)

Customer #2: “I bet you feel like that about the music too.”

Me: *sighs* “Yep, pretty much…”

(I am a customer at a very popular superstore in my town. This is in 2012, not long after an incident has been reported in the news of someone attacking a homeless man in Florida. I have my five-year-old daughter in line with me. An elderly customer is in front of me talking to the cashier.)

Cashier: “Hello, how can I help—”

Customer: “How dare you.”

Cashier: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “How dare you wear that keychain!”

Cashier: “I don’t understand.”

Customer: “That!”

(The customer points at the cashier’s keychain, which has a zombie on it.)

Customer: “How could you support that man in Florida? He ate another man’s face while he was naked! How dare you!”

(The cashier is completely stunned, but my daughter suddenly steps up to the aggravated woman.)

My Daughter: “Lady, that man wasn’t a zombie. He was just crazy. Zombie’s aren’t real! You should know that. You’re about a hundred!”