The customer comes to my register, places her purchases on the lane, and shows me a plastic case of cherry tomatoes.

Customer: “I just noticed one of these tomatoes has gone bad. Could I get a discount?”

Me: “Unless that’s the only case of tomatoes left, I’m sorry, but I can’t. Would you like to go get a new case?”

Customer: “Oh, no, I’m in too much hurry! Are you sure you can’t do anything?”

Me: “I’m sorry. I’m not even authorized to give discounts. I’d have to phone someone who’d just tell you to get a new box.”

Customer: “That won’t do. I don’t want them, then. I just don’t have time.”

The customer didn’t buy the cherry tomatoes. I rang her through extra fast, seeing as she seemed to be very busy. After the customer paid, I noticed her staying around for at least fifteen minutes, happily chatting with someone, before leaving.

Customer: “To whom can I give this medical waste?”

I notice that the product contains a mild opiate.

Me: “You can give it to me; I’ll make sure it’s properly discarded.”

Customer: “Yeah, I figured that I could have made some money selling it on the street, but that would have been too much of a hassle!”

Me: “Not to mention illegal…”

I’m a female mechanic at a gardening tool shop. We have only three people working and I’m doing my practical training in a school program to be a “small engine mechanic.” That means everything smaller than a car: chainsaws, lawnmowers, motorcycles, and microcars. An older gentleman walks in and I greet him, as I’m alone at the workshop.

Customer: “Hello! Are there some male workers around? I need to ask something about spare parts. You wouldn’t know anything about them.”

One of those again. I sigh in my mind and keep smiling politely and ignore the first part.

Me: “Hi. Unfortunately, my coworkers are off at the moment but let’s hear you out. What seems to be the problem?”

The customer seems to have a light-bulb moment.

Customer: “Well… you might actually know, as well.”

He explains about his big trimmer. He wants a new piston, o-ring, seals, shaft, cylinder, and lower plastic body part of the engine. Apparently, the engine has “cut off,” meaning it’s basically dead and won’t hold pressure needed to work, etc. I do my best recalling approximate prices of new parts and how long it would take to fix it. It would mean changing the whole engine and I recommend he declare the trimmer dead. A new one would be cheaper.

The whole time while I am explaining costs and parts, he starts to look more and more embarrassed and humble. He also tells me how he misused the trimmer causing it to cut off and basically melt inside. My coworker enters the workshop and takes his seat without a glance since he knows I know what I’m doing.

Customer: *To my coworker* “Is that so, that I broke it? New parts cost more than a new machine?”

Coworker: “Yep. Not worth fixing.”

My coworker then explains exactly the same stuff I told the guy a few moments ago. The customer looks a bit sheepish.

Customer: “Okay. Could you show me some new trimmers?”

Thank you, good sir, for brushing off misogynist prejudice and accepting professional help from a lady mechanic. You were first to really admit being wrong about me; others haven’t been as quick and smart as you were and it saved my day.

(On a potential buyer’s request, I have booked a private showing with them at a summer cottage that is over thirty minutes away from the office. I arrange for the owners to be away during the showing, since they are using the property during their vacation. Like always, I hurry to get there fifteen minutes before the arranged time, to unlock doors, etc. I even almost get into a serious car crash when turning left as somebody decided it was a good time to overtake me and the three cars behind me at 100km/h. I have to park my car for a while to just remember how to breathe again. I get to the cottage a few minutes early, and for some reason, I am greeted by the very confused-looking owners and, supposedly, the potential buyer plus their family with their really big camper.)

Me: *introducing myself* “Hi, so, uh… what’s going on?”

Buyer: “Yeah, well, we came here almost an hour ago, and I have to say, this doesn’t meet our expectations at all!” *rant, rant, ranty rant*

Me: “Uh… didn’t we arrange the showing at 13:00?”

Buyer: “Yeah, but we had nothing to do so we came here an hour ago and have been waiting so long!”

(He continues ranting, and then he loads his family back in the camper and drives off.)

Owners & Me: “…”

(This happened somewhere around 2010, and absolutely everyone had cell phones even back then, so they could have at the very least given me a call… or maybe not showed up at the wrong time and bothered the owners during their vacation!)

I arrive at the unemployed office for my monthly “review” on how I’m doing. Before me are two women who are talking to the receptionist. I step behind them to wait in line to tell the receptionist why I’m here and to ask how should I proceed. While standing in line, not listening at all what the women are talking to the receptionist, one of the women suddenly turned around and gave me the creepiest smile I had ever seen. I give her a nervous half smile, because I’m very confused as to why she would turn around and give me that creepy smile. Suddenly she starts talking to me very rudely and loudly.)

woman: EXCUSE ME! But we are talking about very sensitive matter here, could you please leave!

me: I’m sorry?

Woman: Move. Away. From. us!

me: (very confused, since there is a sticker on the floor saying “please wait here for your turn”) umm… Ok?

(I take a couple of steps back, giving the women and the receptionist even more room)

Woman: Are you stupid or something!?!? LEAVE!

(at this point I try to look at the receptionist, but they are too concentrated on the other woman to notice what the other woman is telling me. I’m in no hurry so I figured that I would then step OUTSIDE the office to “wait my turn”.
Finally, the woman was happy that I backed so far that I was standing outside the open door, that she turned to the receptionist and started talking very loudly about her problem. And in all honesty? If she hadn’t suddenly started to yell at me to not listen “in on them” I would not have not listen in on her conversation, but since she had basically shined a spotlight on her and her problem, I could clearly hear her “sensitive” problem about why she was no longer getting governmental aid for her unemployment.)