(Some friends of mine and I are leaving a hotel parking garage in my car. I pull up to the payment booth. There are two employees inside; one is waving around a fast food hamburger and chewing out the other.)

Employee: “F****** idiot! How can you totally screw up a simple hamburger order?!”

(The angry employee turns to me and it’s like he flips a personality switch.)

Employee: *now calm* “Hello, sir. I hope your stay with us was pleasant. May I have your parking ticket, please?”

(I hand it to him and he begins yelling at the other employee again.)

Employee: *angry again* “I mean, good f****** God! Look at all this ketchup and s***!” *turns back to me, calm again* “That will be $[total], sir.”

(I pay, and as he counts the money he turns on his apparently hamburger-ordering-challenged coworker yet again.)

Employee: *angry again* “Were you always a f****** idiot or did you burn your brain out with drugs or something?”

(As the gate opens, he bids me farewell.)

Employee: *once again calm* “Thank you, sir, and have a safe drive home. Come back and visit us again!”

(As we drove off, we could hear him still yelling at the other employee.)

(I’m living briefly in England, not known for the availability of half-decent wings. I find a place that has good ones, and knowing that they probably come in frozen, I want to know what brand they are so I can look for them in the grocery store.)

Me: “What kind of wings are these?”

Waiter: *with a perfectly straight face* “Chicken.”

(On my way home from my usual late shift, I stop at a drive-thru to get something to eat before bed. Since not much is open, I end up at a chain known for a wide variety of options and late-night drive-thru. After ordering, my total comes up as $9.36, so I hand the young cashier a $20 bill and 36 cents in change. She hits a button on the register, looks confused, and then hands me back the 36 cents.)

Cashier: “I’m sorry, I hit the button for $20 and I don’t know how to fix it.”

(Since I know that these registers often have a button that saves time by inputting $20 and then confirming everything, I realize this is an easy mistake to make and keep my grumbling silent. I know that an easy fix for this is simply to give me back $11 without changing anything on the register itself, but some people don’t understand how the till accounting works and stick to the numbers on the screen religiously. It’ll leave me with a lot more change in my pocket when I’d rather have a $1 bill, but this isn’t the end of the world, so I let it slide. She then takes a bit longer than normal to count out all the change, and then hands me back 64 cents and two $10 bills. I look at the bills in bafflement for a minute before handing one of them back to her.)

Me: “Um… You gave me too much. Put this back in the drawer.”

(She then spent the next minute trying to figure out how to open the drawer to return the bill. My food was finished and I drove off before she figured it out. Thinking back on it, I regret not asking for the manager and explaining the situation to them. I didn’t want to get her in trouble, but she obviously needed more training or supervision, and I’m not sure how many other customers would’ve returned the bonus $10 she paid me.)

(My friend and her husband are traveling for vacation. My friend works for an international fast food company writing training manuals and tweaking ingredient amounts for certain food and drink items. They successfully make it through airport security and are gathering their belongings on a bench thirty feet away to head to the gate. When she is putting her laptop back in the case, she feels something odd inside. She pulls out a large ginsu knife.)

Husband: “Uh, honey? What is that doing in your bag?”

Friend: “Oh, my gosh! I forgot to empty my bag from the [Company] conference! I was doing a demonstration with the knife, and I put it in here to bring home and never took it out!”

Husband: “How did TSA miss that?!”

Friend: “I don’t know! What should I do?”

Husband: “There’s a trash barrel. Quickly! Put it in there!”

(They gathered their belongings, knife hidden underneath her jacket, ran up to the trash barrel, and threw it away. I wonder what else gets missed.)

(I answer the phone at home.)

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “Hello, am I calling the Lee family?”

Me: “Yep, speaking.”

Caller: “Very well. My name is [Caller], calling on behalf of the Chinese-Canadian Association. Do you have a moment to participate in a survey?”

Me: “I’ve got time, but I don’t think you’d be interested in what I have to say.”

Caller: “I don’t follow, sir.”

Me: “Unfortunately, we aren’t Chinese, so I don’t think I can adequately field any of your inquiries.”

Caller: “I’m sorry, but I am calling the Lee family, correct?”

Me: “Correct.”

Caller: “And you aren’t Chinese?”

Me: “Also correct.”

Caller: “But how can that be?”

(Apparently, he had never heard of Korean people named Lee. Or even white people named Lee!)