(A small grocery store near where I used to live sometimes sells bags of frozen chicken nuggets that are EXACTLY like [Fast Food Place]’s nuggets. They usually only get a small shipment in, and they sell fast; they only get four boxes, each with four bags of nuggets. A friend and I arrive early and manage to get some; my friend gets two and I get one. A bit later, as we continue shopping, we hear a woman asking the man who stocks the nuggets…)

Customer: “I need all the nuggets you have left!”

Stocker: “I have six bags left, ma’am.”

Customer: “Is that all you have? I have a lot of kids to feed! I wanted all of them!”

Stocker: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but these sell out very quickly. Do you want them or not?”

Customer: *frustrated* “Yes, I want them!”

(As we are passing her on the way to the checkout, she glares at us when she sees we have some of the nuggets in our cart.)

Customer: “I needed those nuggets! You people are just so greedy!”

Friend & Me: “…”

(One day I discover that the door to the chemicals cabinet in the lab is unlocked. Assuming this is an oversight, I inform one of the chemists who I am friendly with.)

Me: “Hey, [Chemist], I just wanted to let you know the door to the cabinet in that room is unlocked.”

Chemist: “Oh, that’s always unlocked.”

Me: “Really? But everyone who has access to this building can just walk into that room. Isn’t there really dangerous stuff in there?”

Chemist: “Oh, yes. You could make TNT with the stuff we have here.”

Me: *looks shocked*

Chemist: “What you do is—” *starts telling me the recipe for TNT*

Me: “I don’t need to know! But seriously isn’t that dangerous? A lot of people have access to this building.”

Chemist: “Ah, but you see, the trick is to make it without blowing yourself up. Most likely they’d kill themselves.”

Me: “Ah, they should make plastique. It’s nitroglycerin, basically, but it’s a bit more stable. I learned to make it when I was a kid.”

Chemist: *looks shocked*

Me: “That’s a quote from Terminator. I don’t actually know how to make a bomb.”

(I am working for Concern, a very well-known charity in Ireland that focuses on famine relief and aid for developing countries. I go from door to door, asking people to sign up for a small monthly donation. It’s quite a gruelling job; I have a list of a hundred doors to knock on in a day, and am only expected to sign up two or three people. The rest will all be no-answers or refusals, sometimes very unpleasant refusals. I’m at the end of a long, tiring day of knocking on doors and giving my pitch over and over. I genuinely care about the work our charity does, but when you’ve said a thing dozens of times in a day it’s hard not to sound like a robot, and though I never resent a simple refusal, some people really are shockingly rude about it. I approach one of the last houses on my round, trying to pluck up my energy, and knock on the door. A slightly scruffy-looking young man in his late twenties opens the door and I start my spiel. He holds up his hand to stop me and I’m expecting a refusal, just hoping he’ll be polite and won’t shout at me.)

Guy: “Yeah, it’s okay. I’ve been expecting you guys; I saw you going around the neighbourhood earlier. Come on in.”

(Surprised, I follow him into his kitchen.)

Guy: “Here, sit down and show me how to sign up. Oh, do you want a beer?”

Me: “I… uh… Thank you so much, but I don’t think I’m allowed to drink beer while I’m working. So, you’d… like to sign up?”

Guy: “Yeah, sure. I know about what your charity does already. How much would you like?”

Me: *not believing how easy this is* “Well, the minimum is €11 a month, but if you could manage to make it €21 a month or over, the charity gets an extra tax break from the government, which would increase the value of your donation to us.”

Guy: “Let’s round it up to €25 a month, then.”

Me: “Wow, thank you!”

(I start walking him through the donation forms.)

Me: “You know, I’ve never actually met anyone who had already decided to sign up before I came to their door!”

Guy: *nonchalantly* “Yeah, well, I’m already signed up to twelve others, so…”

Me: “Twelve?! I have to ask, is this okay for you financially? We don’t want anyone to feel pressured to do more than they can.”

Guy: “Don’t worry; it’s no problem. I came into quite a lot of money recently, and I’ve enjoyed donating to charities ever since. I like to spread it around to lots of different organizations rather than giving a lump to just one, you know?”

(We finish up the forms and I go to leave, thanking him profusely all the time. He caps everything by saying:)

Guy: “No, thank you for coming around today. I might have forgotten to include your charity if you hadn’t come to the door. Keep up the good work.”

(I was so touched I nearly cried. I hope that if I ever get rich, I’ll enjoy generosity as much as that guy did. For now, I just do what I can, and try to remember how much pleasure there can be in giving.)

(I am in a well-known UK-based pharmacy and drugstore, looking for a hand cream. I am wearing ripped jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket, and have very short hair. I smile at the staff as I walk in and set off in search of the right aisle, minding my own business. As I open a tube to smell the cream, the worker beside the door rushes up and snatches the bottle out of my hand.)

Worker: “Can you not open the products? What are you looking for?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, I was just smelling it. I’m fine, thanks.”

(I think that’s the end of it, as she stalks off. I pick up my items and turn the corner, checking out the makeup. As I swatch a lipstick tester, the same worker storms up and glares at me.)

Worker: “I said don’t open the products! You’ll have to pay for it now!”

Me: “Excuse me? This is a tester, and I haven’t even touched it yet!”

Worker: “Fine. Sit down. I’ll match a colour to you. You clearly need it; whoever matched your current foundation must be colour-blind.”

Me: *taken aback by the sheer rudeness of this woman* “Er. No, thanks.”

(I walked away, irritated, but still with some time to kill before my bus home, so I browsed some other items. I could see the worker following me closely and glaring if I so much as reached out towards a product. Eventually, I had enough. I went to the till, with her following. The girl at the checkout scanned my items and my loyalty card and told me my total. As I handed her my money, the rude worker stormed over and grabbed the iodine pen, scribbling all over my note, a smug grin on her face. I waited as nothing happened to my money, and silently fumed as I was handed my receipt. I felt her glare boring into my back as I left the shop, seriously having to bite down on my tongue to stop myself from yelling at her. I get that workers are supposed to upsell and offer assistance, but judging me outright by my appearance, being incredibly rude about my makeup, and being convinced I’m a thief with no reason is taking it a bit far.)

(I arrive at the petrol station to fill up my tank. There are three cars ahead of me, including two who are already at the pumps. When the cars leave, the car ahead of me moves forward, but instead of moving to the first pump so I can go to the second one, the driver stops at the second, essentially leaving the pump in front of her unoccupied and me stuck behind her unable to access it. I wave at her when she exits her car and politely ask:)

Me: “Hi, would you mind moving your car forward, so I can use this pump and you can use the other?”

Woman: “No, I won’t be long. And you can just go around the station and reverse to the first pump, if you’re in a rush.”

(She then turned her back to me and started pumping petrol. I was pretty annoyed, as she would just have needed to move her car forward a few meters so we could both pump, instead of me having to reverse, drive around the station, and then reverse again to access the first pump because of the one-way system in place. I was in no rush, but I decided to do exactly what she advised, because she obviously did not think it through. I went around the station and parked in front of her, effectively blocking her exit, and started taking my sweet time pumping. I could see her waiting for me to finish, so she could exit. Once I was done, I slowly walked toward the station to pay. There was a queue at checkout. I could see that lady through the windows, growing impatient because she couldn’t leave. In the end, she decided to awkwardly reverse and drive all around the station to be able to exit it. That may have been petty of me, but I have no regrets. Maybe next time, she’ll consider the people behind her.)