My ex-boyfriend had a habit of not buying me birthday gifts. Usually his excuse was something like, “I couldn’t figure out anything,” or, “I’ll get you something later.” The latter also ended up with, “Sorry, couldn’t figure out anything for you.” I didn’t mind too much, because I didn’t want to be materialistic, and I had some self-esteem issues, too, at the time, which made me think I didn’t even deserve any gifts.

One year, my birthday was approaching and my ex-boyfriend’s mother asked me what her son had given me as birthday gifts in the previous years. When I told her, “Nothing,” she was quite astounded, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

However, my ex actually got me something that year: a pretty piece of jewelry. I was very happy that he had made some effort and got me something; he had thought of me. I figured that his mother had had a talk with him about the matter.

A couple of months later, I was cleaning our apartment and I found the receipt of my birthday gift. I was about to throw it away, when all of a sudden I realized something. I remembered the date on the receipt. We were at our friends’ place out of town the whole day. There was no way he was in jewelry store at the time.”

Then it hit me. I went to my ex-boyfriend and asked, “Did… Did your mother buy this gift?”

“Haha, yeah!”

It turned out his mother had gone alone to the jewelry store and picked out something for me. My ex hadn’t asked her to, and she hadn’t consulted my ex. Then, she gave the present to my ex and told him to give it to me as a birthday present. She did not ask money for the jewelry, and my ex never paid anything for it. And he had happily accepted. Again, he hadn’t had to expend any effort for my birthday.

Of course my ex’s mother meant well, and I appreciated that. However, my ex’s actions — or non-actions — made me so sad and disappointed. I even started to cry after the revelation, and he couldn’t understand why. “It’s still a gift, right?” To this day, I wonder if I was in the wrong to be disappointed.

(I get a call from a telemarketer that sells monthly subscription to packages of razor blades and socks. These types of telemarketers represent borderline scam companies, because although the subscription can be terminated any time, the company is based abroad and doesn’t have a working phone number or email address. Other types of scams happen to like faking audio receipts. The person is being very pesky, as I’ve told him many times I don’t want his product. For some reason, I find it hard to just hang up the phone and he is constantly interrupting me.)

Telemarketer: “Ew, gross! Don’t you ever shave your legs or change socks? Hairy girls are so unsexy!”

(After that I didn’t find it hard at all to hang up the phone.)

(When I was a teenager, I did drugs to cope with mental illness and a bad situation at home. It resulted in me being addicted to intravenous medicines and drugs. Later, I ended up in rehab and got proper care. This happens a few weeks after I get released from rehab.)

Nurse: “We have to take a blood test so we know you don’t take drugs anymore.”

Me: “Don’t you usually do pee tests?”

Nurse: “We think a blood test will be more effective in your case.”

Me: “I would really prefer that you don’t force me to have my blood drawn.”

Nurse: “We really think it would be more effective in your case.”

Me: “You think forcing an ex-addict to be stabbed with needles is going to be effective to said ex-addict’s recovery?”

(I did the pee test.)

(I work as a cashier at a big, popular grocery store. We have customers who constantly try to buy alcohol although they aren’t 18, which is the legal age here. A couple walks up to the register. The man, who is much older than the woman and almost looks like he could be her dad, is on his phone and seems very distracted. The woman looks about 23, is dressed in a fluffy fur coat, and wears lots of trendy jewellery, visibly trying to look a lot older than she actually is. Store policy says that we have to card anyone that looks younger than 30, so when I see her loading several cans of cider and long drink — a bitter-tasting alcoholic beverage popular in Finland — onto the belt, I automatically ask her for her ID.)

Woman: “Do you really think that is necessary?!”

Me: “Yes. We have to card anyone who looks younger than 30. May I please see your ID?”

Woman: “How dare you?! It’s actually my 22nd birthday today! Do I f****** look like I am under 18 to you?”

Me: “Well, happy birthday. But I still need to see proof.”

(At this point, the man with her — who has been on the phone all this time — finishes his call, and looks confused.)

Man: *leaning in to whisper quite loudly to the woman* “Babe, just say you’re with me.”

(He then proceeds to show his own ID, and I see that he is born in January of 1973. When I ask about her ID for the third time around, she screams at me, loud enough for half the store to hear.)

Woman: “What is wrong with you?! What’s your name? I’m going to report you to your manager for age discrimination!”

Me: “Uh… What? It’s my duty to card anyone who doesn’t look older than 30.”

Woman: “Just because an ugly little b**** like you can’t find a rich boyfriend like mine doesn’t mean you’re allowed to discriminate just because my boyfriend is older than me!”

(I can now see the way out of this situation, if she is dumb enough not to see where this is going.)

Me: “How much older?”

Woman: “Twenty-seven years!”

Me: “Ma’am, your boyfriend just showed me his ID, and he is born in January 1973. With simple math, I came to the conclusion that you’re either 16 or 17 years old, not old enough to buy alcohol for at least a year, depending on which month you were born in. Please remove yourself from the store before I call security.”

Woman: “AAARGH!”

(She then stomped off, screaming at her boyfriend for “being dumb enough” to show me his ID. To be honest, I think she was the dumber one, in this case!)

When I was a teenager, my mother used to collect my sisters’ and my Christmas wishes on a list. She always required us to write everything as clearly as possible, sometimes typed and printed on a computer. That was okay; we usually asked for CDs, and it was easy enough to write it all down, usually about three CDs each.

We started asking for record shop gift cards after we found out Mom took the lists to some poor record shop employee and told them to find and collect her all the CDs on the list, not doing anything — apart from paying — by herself!