(I am browsing in a shop that sells jewellery, scarves, and other accessories. I find something I want to buy and wait while they serve another customer, a young woman who is trying on a necklace. Neither the customer nor the owner speak English as a first language.)

Customer: “I’m not sure. I think the chain might be a bit long.”

Owner: “We could cut the chain, if you like.”

Customer: *noncommittally, as if she’s mulling it over* “Okay.”

(The owner’s wife immediately snatches the necklace away and cuts the chain.)

Owner: “That will be [price].”

Customer: *looks at the necklace again and tries it on with the new chain length* “No, I don’t think I want it.”

Owner: “You have to buy it now. We cut the chain for you. We can’t sell it.”

Customer: “I didn’t ask you to.”

Owner: “You said, ‘Okay.’ ‘Okay,’ means, ‘Yes.’ You don’t speak proper English. I speak English. ‘Okay,’ means, ‘Yes.’ You must buy it.”

Customer: “I don’t want to buy it.”

(Then, the owner and his wife physically manhandled the woman out of the shop, yelling about how they were going to call the police on her. I threw down the thing I was thinking of buying and ran out of the shop, too, chasing after the woman, who was sobbing on the street, to console her. I still regret not calling the police on them for assault, or even saying something to them.)

(My store has wooden platforms covered in carpet to display stock on. My male manager and I, a female, have just pulled one out of storage to prep for display. My manager plugs the vacuum cleaner in and starts cleaning. He’s interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.)

Customer: *points at me* “Shouldn’t that be her job?”

Manager: “Not really, no.”

Customer: “But vacuuming is woman’s work!”

(The kicker? The customer was female.)

(My flatmate and I are stopping in at the supermarket to get a few bits and pieces of grocery shopping after class. My flatmate is mostly buying something for breakfast, which she’s very particular about. She also recently began working a job that starts at five am before her classes at nine am, and has been a bit crabby of late. We’re in the bakery aisle.)

Flatmate: “Where are they?”

Me: “What’s up?”

Flatmate: “The tattie scones! They’re all out of tattie scones! They don’t have a single pack! There’s usually three different brands, and they haven’t got a single one!”

Me: “Oh. That sucks.”

Flatmate: *unintentionally loudly* “They don’t have the expensive ones! They don’t even have the ‘soft potato cakes’! What am I supposed to do? What’s my life come to?! What is the point of a supermarket that doesn’t even have tattie scones? All I want are some bloody tattie scones!”

(After this outburst, just as we’re leaving the bakery aisle, there’s a voice behind us, musing to herself.)

Customer: “Gosh. I haven’t had a tattie scone in ages!”

Flatmate: *pause* “I did not realise I was being that loud. I am so sorry. I’m just really passionate about scones.”

(I am volunteering at a science festival, doing science activities with children. We have an activity where it is relevant to mention that a baby is made from an egg and a sperm. The activity is specifically designed so that we never have to mention how these two get together in the first place, but we do name the two cells. I am supervising a girl of around nine, and a few other kids.)

Me: “The baby is made from two special cells from the mum and the dad. Does anyone know what the special cell from the mum is called?”

Nine-Year-Old: *raises hand excitedly, then calls out at the top of her voice* “Vagina!”

(I carefully avoid making eye contact with any of the other adults at the stand, knowing that I will not be able to contain myself if I do.)

Me: *very calmly* “You’re very close. That’s actually where the baby comes out of the mum.”

(I work for a government department that deals mainly with legal professionals, but we do occasionally get calls from members of the general public.)

Colleague: *on phone* “It’s a bit complicated. Are you a lawyer or a real person?”