(I’m about three or four. My dad tinkers a lot with motorcycles and the like. I love “helping,” usually by putting little rocks in the exhaust pipe. I’ve been allowed to “help” by hammering on an old fuel-tank, and happily hammer away, with a small child size hammer, and with my dad’s supervision. I get bored and walk outside where my dad’s chopper is. Soon I return saying:)

Me: “Not hammer Daddy’s chopper, yes?”

(My dad flew up in panic, thinking I had hammered on his shiny chopper. I hadn’t, but apparently he wanted to confirm it!)

(A few days earlier my father had an accident. A staircase collapsed under him, and there was some worry that he had a fracture on his spine. Luckily he escaped with just a concussion and a few stitches on the back of his head. This is the third time in five years that he has fallen on a staircase and gotten hurt at home. He has decided that he is okay to visit his mother for her birthday, as it will be a small party and he can leave early. During lunch this conversation happens:)

Mother: “He has now fallen on the stairs to the first floor and broken his ankle. He has fallen on the stairs to the front door, and dislocated his arm. This time it was the stairs to the basement and his head. Maybe he should just avoid the stairs all together.”

Grandmother: “Poor man, he is so unlucky. Isn’t it your turn to fall soon?”

(My brother is helping me study for my hematology exam and asks to see when one of my books was printed.)

Brother: “202. Makes more sense, seems like much of this was invented in the tens.”

Me: “Sorry, when?”

Brother: “202.”

Me: “Hopefully it’s 2002.”

Brother: “Oh, yeah! I didn’t know the Roman doctors were so advanced!”

(My brother the Latinist, ladies and gentlemen.)

(I’m a female employee in a video game store. The latest edition to the ‘Mass Effect’ series has just come out, which I happen to be a great fan of. A customer approaches my coworker.)

Customer: “Hello, I’d like to get this game for my son. I heard it is the new one?”

(The customer holds out a copy of ‘Mass Effect 2’ for PC, which is not the newest one.)

Coworker: “Yeah, I think so, I am not sure. Let me ask my coworker.” *refers to me* “Is that the right one?”

Me: “No, that’s the previous one. Please follow me, and I’ll show you where they are.”

Customer: *snorts* “That’s alright, missy; I’ll take your coworker’s word for it. Why don’t you go back to your Pokémon?”

Me: “I promise you, sir, that’s not the game your son wants. If I can just—”

Customer: *to my coworker* “Can you ring this up for me, please?”

(My coworker seems a bit unsure at this point, but decides to ring it up for him anyway. The customer walks away happily with his purchase, and I make nothing more out of it. A few hours later, the customer comes storming back in, literally SLAMMING the game on the desk.)

Customer: “What the f*** is wrong with you people? Have you NO knowledge whatsoever about what you’re selling?! You got me the wrong game! My son already has this! Talk about a f****** rip off!”

(I quickly snatch a copy of ‘Mass Effect 3,’ and join them at the desk.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir, but I believe this is the game you were looking for.”

(The customer stares at the game case, clearly getting angrier.)

Customer: “Well, why the h*** couldn’t you have shown it to me earlier?!”

Me: “Because you wouldn’t allow me to. You told me to go back to my Pokémon.”

(At this point, the customer blushes greatly, but before he can say anything else, my coworker intervenes.)

Coworker: “Let’s just make a return on that game and ring you up the right one.”

(The customer agrees, and is acting much calmer during the transaction. I’ve gotten quite used to prejudices at this store because of my gender, but at this point, I was just happy his son could finally enjoy the right game!)

(I run a vintage shop, where I sell all kinds of retro and vintage items. I have just learned how to fix broken zippers on jackets, holes in shirts and other things you can do with a sewing machine. I have a poster that says I offer this service, for about $3 per item. A customer approaches my counter.)

Customer: “Hello, I saw your poster. I was wondering if I could get you to make a wedding dress for my daughter? She’s about the same size as you. It needs to be white, with puffed shoulders, and roses with glitter. Not real roses, but fabric ones. It needs to be a full-length skirt.”

Me: “Sounds like a pretty dress, but my sewing skills are really nowhere near high enough to make a wedding dress. I only fix zippers and holes in shirts, and such.”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand! It’s a very simple dress! Anyone can make that kind of dress, so why can’t you? Listen, I know your poster says $3 per item, but I’m willing to make it $15. Then you also have enough to buy the fabric!”

Me: “Listen, I think you misunderstood what I said. I can’t make that dress; it’s not possible for me. And even if I could, which I really can’t, $15 would never be enough to buy fabric for a full-length skirt and puffed shoulders. I’m really sorry, but you need to find someone else to make the dress.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! Your poster says you sew stuff! And now you say you can’t make a simple wedding dress? That’s false advertisement! Where’s your manager? I need to speak to your manager!”

Me: “I am the manager; I’m really sorry, but—”

Customer: “Then get me the owner!”

Me: “I’m also the owner of this store, but if you would just—”

Customer: “What the h***! Then where do I file a complaint, so I can get your a** fired for false advertisement?”

(I usually don’t get angry, but the woman is now getting on my nerves.)

Me: “Lady! You need to listen! I can not make that wedding dress, because my sewing skills are not that great!”

Customer: “But the—”

Me: “—and if you would just pay a little more attention to what you read, the poster clearly states I only do small sewing tasks and fix-ups! It doesn’t say I do full-length wedding dresses! So please, if you would just be so kind to find someone else to make the dress, that would be lovely! Have a nice day, madam!”

(The customer stands there for a few seconds, trying to find an argument she can use against me. When she fails, she leaves the store. Another customer, who’s been there the whole time, suddenly bursts out in laughter.)

Other Customer: “Hahaha! If my future wife came down the aisle in a dress with puffy shoulders and roses with glitter, I think I would leave her at the altar! And to get that woman as a mother-in-law? H*** no!”