Won’t Forgive You For A Hundred Years

| OK, USA | Related | March 13, 2017

(I overhear this story while waiting in line.)

Woman #1: “On Monday I dressed up my daughter for the 100th Day thing”

Woman #2: “Hundred Day?”

Woman #1: “Yes. It was the 100th day of the school year. They sent home a letter the week before explaining it. They were celebrating by having the kids bring in 100 of anything; pennies, candies, bits of cereal. You know, as a visual to see what 100 looks like.”

Woman #2: “I see. That’s cute.”

Woman #1: “And this year they were doing a parallel to 100 years because our town is 100 years old this year. Kids were encouraged to dress up as if they were 100 years old. So, I put her in a long dress with an apron, put her hair up in a bun, and gave her a bonnet. I even drew wrinkles on her face.”

Woman #2: “Oh that sounds adorable. I bet she was quite a hit. You are such a good mother.”

Woman #1: “Well, not so much. The 100th Day celebration was Tuesday.”

An A-Moose-ing Interaction

| Gatineau, QC, Canada | Right | October 31, 2016

(It is Halloween. My father and I want to get new licenses for the family car he is giving me. My father is wearing a moose costume and the lady at the desk is dressed as a devil. I do not wear a costume.)

Lady: “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Father: “Hi, we would like to get new plates for her.”

Lady: “Very well. *to me* “Here are the forms to fill.” *to my father* “Are you a moose or a deer?”

Father: “Wait, let me check…” *he places his hands around his mouth in a cup position* “MOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

(The lady, I, and the whole waiting area where people are sitting, have eyes wide open and dropped jaws.)

Father: “Yep, I believe I am a moose!”

Supervisor: *coming over* “[Lady], is everything okay?”

Lady: *cracking up laughing* “I believe a moose sang me a love song.”

Supervisor: “Did you moose-sing back to him?”

Me: *face-palm*

Stuck In The Middle

| MT, USA | Working | March 1, 2016

(I’m getting my first driver’s license at 16. My mom sends me in with the required stuff — birth certificate, social security card, etc. — and waits in the car for me. I have an unusual middle name, with a small difference between it and something more traditional, like “Kinderly” instead of “Kimberly.”)

Employee: “Number 26!”

Me: *approaches counter with form filled out, which I pass to the employee. All my documentation is in a folder I am holding* “I’m here to get my first driver’s license.”

Employee: *looks over form, pushes it back to me* “You spelled your name wrong. You need to redo this.”

Me: *shocked pause* “…I’m sorry. What?”

Employee: “Right here. Your middle name. That should be an ‘m’, not an ‘n’.”

Me: “…No, it’s correct. My middle name is spelled with an ‘n’.”

Employee: “No, it’s not.”

Me: *completely unsure how to respond to that* “Uh… but… it is, thou—”

Employee: *interrupting* “Go get a new form, and stop wasting my time!” *shoves form back across the counter at me* “Number 27!”

(In a daze, I walk out to the car and explain what happened to my mom. She’s FURIOUS. She takes my form and folder of paperwork, marches up to the counter and interrupts the employee with the next customer. Luckily, the customer sees how pissed she is and just steps aside.)

Mom: “Did you tell my daughter that she spelled HER OWN NAME incorrectly on this form?!”

Employee: *stone-faced* “Yes. Because she did. That should be an ‘m’, not an ‘n’.”

Mom: *whips out the copy of my birth certificate & social security card in the folder* “So, I guess these are wrong too, then?!”

Employee: *glances at the certificate and card, and then…* “Yep.”

(I see the customer we interrupted stifle a giggle. My mother looks like her head is about to explode.)

Mom: *pulls it together enough to manage a very tight…* “Manager. Now.”

Employee: *rolls her eyes and hollers for a manager*

(The manager comes over, and my mom relays the story. The manager looks completely baffled.)

Manager: “Did you seriously tell this girl she doesn’t know how to spell her own name?”

Employee: “It’s supposed to be with an ‘m’!”

(I never put my middle name on forms anymore – just the first initial, just in case.)

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The Day Has Taken An Upward Curve

, | Carson City, NV, USA | Right | December 15, 2015

(I work in the DMV phone room. A customer calls regarding a form she wants to fill out so she can get a duplicate copy of her registration certificate and decal. One of the lines on the form has blank spaces for the vehicle’s “Make”, “Model”, and “Body Type”, such as LS, LX, SE, Sport, etc. )

Customer: “I didn’t know what to put in the space for “Body Type.” I was tempted to write, ‘Curvy.'”

(I wish I had more customers like that!)

Out Of State, Out Of Mind

| NJ, USA | Working | October 7, 2015

(I am working in NJ. I have just bought a used car for my fiancé’, who lives in IN. This is a Monday, she’s due to arrive that Friday, and will be driving it back that weekend. I am at the NJ DMV to get a transport tag, so she can drive it legally back to IN and then get an IN plate. The clerk has just passed the tag to me, and I’m reading it to make sure it is what I want. It specifically states that it is valid in the state of NJ, the other 49 states, D.C., and Puerto Rico for 10 days from the date of issue.)

Me: “Great, that’s what I want. She’ll be able to drive the car home on Sunday and get her IN tag on Monday.”

Clerk: “So the car will be here until Sunday?”

Me: “Yes.”

Clerk: “That’s illegal. You have to leave NJ today. If the car is still in NJ after midnight tonight it will be impounded for not having valid registration.”

Me: “But it says right here that it is valid in NJ for 10 days from the date of issue.”

(This goes back and forth a couple of times, but she refuses to believe that the text on the tag is correct, and keeps insisting that I MUST get the car out of NJ that day, and if I’m not going to do that, she can’t sell me the tag.)

Me: “Okay, I’ve got a friend in Philly.” *which I actually do* “I guess I’ll take it to his place, and she can take it from there.”

(The clerk sold me the tag, and I kept the car in NJ until my fiance’ left with it the following Sunday.)

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