(My right hand was amputated when I was a baby. My school isn’t told before I start there as there isn’t really anything I can’t do with one hand. I am eleven years old, on my first day at my new secondary school.)

Teacher: “Can everyone write their full names on their homework planners, please?”

(The class does.)

Teacher: “Can we be doing this with our rights hands, please? We do things properly at this school.”

(We all look up in confusion, then carry on exactly as we were.)

Teacher: *pointing at me* “I said, ‘right hand!’“

Me: *holding up right arm* “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t have a right hand.”

Teacher: “Stop being silly and write with your right hand.”

(I rotate my arm to show the front and back of my forearm.)

Me: “I’m really sorry, miss, but I don’t have a right hand; it was amputated when I was a baby.”

Teacher: “Then go and sit outside the Headmaster’s office. I will not have your defiance in my classroom.”

(I gather my things and leave, very confused as to what I have done wrong. The Headmaster calls me into his office and I explains why I am there.)

Headmaster: “So, you don’t have a right hand, and were told to use your right hand… which you don’t have?”

Me: “Pretty much.”

Headmaster: “Well, we can tape the pen to the end of your arm, I suppose. Yes, that is better than this left-handed nonsense. You’ll use your right arm from now on.”

(I left his office totally bewildered and used my left hand for the rest of the day with no issues. I told my parents, who reported it to the school governors. The headmaster retired a month later, and the teacher went on maternity leave later in the year and never came back. It wasn’t mentioned again. I wasn’t able to move schools, as no school in the area had a spare place. It was all a bit weird.)

(My friend and I have gone to a restaurant, which we chose specifically to try their cocktails. The waitress comes to take our order, we place orders for food and a different cocktail each, and all goes well until this:)

Waitress: “So, that’s two of that cocktail for you…” *to me* “…and two of the other cocktail for you?” *to friend*

Me: “No, we only want one cocktail each.”

Waitress: “No, it’s two cocktails for you, and two cocktails for you.”

Me: “No, one cocktail each, please.”

Waitress: “It’s two for one on cocktails. That means you get two cocktails each.”

Friend: *gives up* “I’ll have a diet coke, please.”

Waitress: “A diet coke? Okay, so one diet coke and two cocktails?”

Me: “I only want one cocktail.”

Waitress: “It’s two for one on cocktails! So, you get two cocktails of the same type for the price of one. But it only applies to cocktails of the same type. You can’t get two different cocktails for the price of one.”

Me: “Yes, we understand. So one diet coke and one cocktail, please.”

Waitress: “But it’s two for one!”

Me: “Yes, but I’d only like one. So, please, can I pay full price for one and only receive one?”

(The waitress finally leaves to place our order and it seems to be sorted… until thirty seconds later she comes back again.)

Waitress: “I checked, and it’s two for one. You get two cocktails!”

Me: “But I only want one cocktail. I want to pay that price—” *points at price on menu: £8.95* “—and get one cocktail. I don’t want a second cocktail.”

Waitress: “But it’s the same price!” *bends over to show me the screen she’s taking orders on* “See, if I click two for one, it’s £8.95, and if I click the button for individual cocktails, it’s still £8.95.” *all while adding this to our order screen*

Me: “Yes. Thank you. I understand. But I don’t want to drink two cocktails. I want to pay that price, and I only want one cocktail. Please don’t bring two cocktails. I only want one.”

(The waitress left again. Another waitress brought out the drinks — just one cocktail — and I also asked for table water, which we never received. Thankfully, everything else went well, and the bill only included one cocktail at £8.95. I was worried we’d get charged for three or four when she kept adding them on the screen. We paid without quibbling, and tipped, then left. I should have just let her bring out two and left the other untouched, but I hate waste. Seriously, though, it shouldn’t be this hard to get less for the same price from someone!)

(I’m working on the tills and I am approached by a woman holding a packet of crisps. She doesn’t put them on the belt but holds them out to me. She has the look of a very stern headmistress.)

Customer: “I found this on the shelf reduced to 10p. They went off at the end of last month.”

Me: “Ah, yes. We reduced it because it was near the expiration date.”

Customer: “It is illegal to reduce stock after it has expired. Did you know that?”

Me: “It was likely reduced as it neared the best-before date to clear it off the shelves. We are allowed to sell stock which is nearing or has gone past its best-before date up to a month afterwards.”

Customer: *in a patronising tone* “Really? Well, that’ll be something interesting to write in my blog.”

(She strutted off looking very superior. For a few seconds, I stared after her, still holding the crisps. Behind her a male customer was trying his hardest not to laugh. I checked with a supervisor later and he clarified what I had said; we throw away stock which has reached the use-by date, but we can sell stock one month after the best-before date. We broke no laws, and hopefully the woman did her research and realised that before she wrote her blog!)

(By law, we now charge 5p for carrier bags. I begin to serve a customer who has quite a few items with her.)

Me: *while scanning items* “Would you like a bag for these? They’re five pence.”

Customer: *retorting* “No. I’m not paying five pence for a bag!”

Me: *politely* “Okay, then, that will be [amount], please.”

(The lady pays for her items, and just as she’s about to take them:)

Customer: “Excuse me?! Where is my bag?!”

Me: “…”

(It’s a busy but fairly normal shift. After a mad rush of customers it quietens down, and a man in his twenties comes to my till with a “selfie phone case.”)

Me: “That’s £12.99 for that, please.”

(He places two £1 coins and a few 20p coins on the counter. I count them out and look at him expectantly. After a few moments I realise he isn’t going to get out an extra £10.)

Me: “Sorry, it’s £12.99.”

(He still looks gone-out, and then seems to realise he hasn’t got enough.)

Customer: “What am I supposed to do, then?”

Me: “Do you have any extra cash or a debit card?”

(The man ignores me and turns instead to a customer just passing.)

Customer: “Have you got 10p?”

Passing Customer: “What?”

Customer: “I need 10p!”

Passing Customer: “Sorry.”

(The customer leaves, looking baffled.)

Me: “It’s ten pounds, sir.”

(An elderly lady has just joined the queue. He turns to her, instead.)

Customer: “Got £10?”

Elderly Lady: “Pardon?”

Customer: “Can I have £10?”

(Understandably, the lady is looking a little intimidated and confused.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, you can’t ask other customers to give you the cash. I can save the item for you behind the till until you do have the money, if you prefer.”

Customer: “Okay. I’ll sort something out.”

(He went, and I apologised to the elderly lady. The man returned about fifteen minutes later, but went to a colleague, and this time he bought a pack of chocolate. I still don’t know why he expected other customers to give him the money, and I don’t know why he thought £3 was enough to pay for something worth £12.99 in the first place. It was clearly labelled on the product and the shelf!)