(I am having an arthroscopy on my knee. Instead of being put to sleep during the operation, they simply give me epidural anesthesia so that I’ll stay awake during the operation. A curtain is placed between my upper and lower body, so I can’t actually see what’s happening down there. I am extremely afraid of needles and point this out to the doctor. They give me a painkiller and put some pain-reducing gel on my hand before inserting the cannula.)

Doctor: “All right, now it’s time for the anesthesia.”

Me: “Please, doctor. I’m deathly afraid of needles.”

Doctor: “Not to worry; you are not the only one. We’ll just give you a dose of what we call ‘Who-Cares Medicine.'”

(They put something through the cannula. Ten minutes later:)

Doctor: “It’s time for your anesthesia now:”

Me: “But doctor, I’m still not feeling too comfortable with this.”

Doctor: “Well, another dose of ‘Who-Cares Medicine’ for you, then.”

(Another ten minutes later:)

Doctor: “We’d really like to inject you now.”

Me: “Go ahead!”

(A minute or so passes:)

Nurse: “Do you feel any pain?”

Me: “I don’t feel a thing. Will you inject already?”

Nurse: “Most of the sedative is already in there.”

Me: “What?” *laughs* “This was easier than I thought.”

Nurse: *shows me the gigantic needle* “It was, indeed. See? It was this big.”

Me: *giggling* “That’s gigantic! How on earth did I not feel that?!”

(The operation commences. They are digging through my knee, and I’m engaged in a deep discussion with one of the nurses.)

Nurse: “You like urban exploration then? Did you visit the old abattoir in town before it was demolished?”

Me: “Not after it was abandoned, no. But I did as a kid, as a family member of mine was working there.”

Nurse: “I actually heard about a book that takes place there.”

Me: “Really, what was it called?”

Nurse: “I can’t remember, but I’ll Google it for you. One minute.”

Me: “What? There’s Internet in here?”

Nurse: “Sure thing. Now, let me see…”

Me: “After finding the book, could you check another thing for me? I heard rumours that the coach of [Local Football Team] has been sacked. Could you check their website?”

Nurse: “Just one minute… It says here that the coach has resigned and his assistant has taken over.”

Me: *trying to actually sit up* “WHAT?”

Doctor: “And more ‘Who-Cares Medicine’ for the young man, please.”

(They inject yet more medicine, and after that I’m very, very erratic. The staff are trying to hold their laughter.)

Me: “Hey, who’s sitting on my leg?”

Nurse: “He wants to know who’s sitting on his leg.”

Doctor: “Ask him what he thinks.”

Me: “It must be you or that other guy.”

(The doctors then change the position of my leg so that I actually can see my toes from behind the curtain.)

Me: “Hey, whose foot is that?”

(They couldn’t hold their laughter anymore. I was asking stupid question after stupid question, and they were just laughing and laughing, and trying their best to answer. I must have been a horrible patient. But the operation was as successful as it could be in the end.)

(The age limit to buy alcohol in Finland is 18. If a customer buying alcohol looks under 30 years old, we are instructed to ask for an ID. The “younger than 30 years rule” is a nationwide rule and it’s in effect pretty much everywhere. You can only use a passport, a driver’s license, or an official ID card to prove your age since these are the official Finnish IDs issued by the state. I’m a student working part-time in a supermarket as a cashier. In my store there is a sign at each register stating the alcohol law and listing the valid IDs. It’s about 8:45 pm on a very quiet summer evening and we are about 15 minutes from closing. A young man, maybe in his late teens or early 20s, comes to my register with a shopping basket full of beer.)

Me: “May I see some ID, please?”

Customer: *pats his pockets* “S***, I forgot my passport at home.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but legally I can’t sell you these without an ID.”

Customer: “Come on, I don’t look that young. I’m 22! I’m obviously over 18! Can’t you just make an exception this once since there is no-one else here?”

Me: “Sorry, but you have to have an ID. That’s the law.” *I point at the sign at the register*

Customer: “H***, I need this beer for a party and it’s too late to go home to get my ID and come back before nine!”

(In Finland it is illegal for retailers [grocery stores, etc.] to sell alcohol after nine pm [and before nine am]. After nine pm you can only buy alcohol from bars, clubs, restaurants, etc.)

Customer: “But look!” *pulls up his shirt* “I have a tattoo! That means I’m over 18!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but, first of all, you don’t need to be 18 to get a tattoo, and more importantly, a tattoo is not a valid ID. You need to have either a passport, a driver’s license, or an official ID card.”

Customer: “S***! Wait! I have my car keys with me. Look!”

Me: “Yeah, I can see them. Unfortunately they are not a valid ID either. You need either a passport, a driver’s license, or an official ID card.”

(Customers hands me his beers and starts to leave.)

Customer: “This sucks. We ran out of beer and it was already 30 minutes to nine. I was in such a hurry to get here I just grabbed my keys, credit card, and license from my bag and forgot the passport.”

Me: “…your license? Your DRIVER’S license?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “You do realise you can use your driver’s license as an ID, right?”

(The customer left very happy with his beers. I was left playing my favourite guessing game: on drugs or just very slow?)

(I work in a call center for a large bus company. I’m known for having an extremely friendly attitude, but even I struggle with this customer, who sounds downright mean and condescending through the entire exchange.)

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] at [Bus Company]. How may I help you?

Customer: “I need to find out how to get from [Small Town] to [Large City].”

Me: “Sure thing! What date and time are you interested in traveling?”

Customer: “None of your business.”

Me: “Ma’am? We have quite a few buses running daily between those places. I don’t need the exact time, but do you have an estimate? Say Wednesday afternoons in April?”

Customer: “Listen up! I don’t call here to have you pry into my personal life! Why should I be required to tell you what I’m doing and when? Just tell me how I can get to where I’m going!”

Me: “Ma’am, I would, but the schedule depends on the weekday and month. I just want to make sure I’m giving you the right times; that’s all!”

Customer: “I don’t care! You’re just a little sneak! This is the worst customer service ever! Can’t even answer a simple question! I wonder how you managed to get this job, seeing as you’re horrible at it…”

(At this point I really have to make an effort to sound friendly, and I just want to get rid of her.)

Me: “Would you like me to pick a month and then read aloud the whole schedule? I have to warn you, there are over twenty per day.”

Customer: “Well, are you going to start or not?”

Me: “Well, if you were to travel next week, on Monda- ”

Customer: “No! Not next week; the one after that!”

Me: “Okay. So on that week, the first bus leaves on Monday morning at four am; the- ”

(The customer snorts.)

Customer: “Seriously? Are you stupid? Why are you giving me all this useless information? I would never travel that early. Tell me the afternoon schedules.”

(She then lets me go through the list without further interruption.)

Customer: “Thank you. Oh, by the way, you’re not really bad at customer service. It’s just that I do customer service myself and got shouted at by a customer today. I felt really bad about it and wanted to take it out on someone, you know? Thankfully, I had you. Well, bye!”

Me: “Have a nice day…?”

(I quit shortly after.)

(I’m the manager and my coworker comes and asks me to handle a cranky customer at the drive-thru.)

Me: “Hello, you were having some trouble, I hear. What can I do for you?”

Customer: *who is sitting beside the driver, making it really hard for me to hear her, especially since the driver is fidgeting and moving about* “Yeah, I’m fed up with getting pickles in my son’s burgers, even though I always order them without!”

(Ordering hamburgers without pickles is unfortunately very popular in my area. It slows things down in the kitchen, creates more wastage, and such customers are loathed all over town.)

Customer: *getting quite agitated now* “I demand to get some kind of compensation!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am truly sorry that we haven’t provided pickle-free burgers for you. Pickles are unfortunately part of the recipe and especially during rush hours they might slip through the kitchen staff’s fingers. However, since we’re not talking about any allergies…”

(The customer is about to cut me off, but I won’t let her.)

Me: “…all our mayos contain the same sort of pickle and you have ordered extra of that. Besides, pickles are the only item we put in our burgers that are easily removed, unlike ketchup, cheese, or salad. I hope you understand that I cannot provide you with a huge compensation due to this. I am however willing to give you the extra mayo for free.”

Customer: *who now have adopted a more docile tone* “Well, can I at least get another hot cocoa for free?”

Me: “Certainly, ma’am, that I can do for you.”

(Best part — when I told my boss, she said that the customer in question had a few days earlier asked for a refund and compensation!)

(I don’t own a car so in order to get to work I use buses. On this particular morning I’m about to take my dog for a quick walk before catching the bus to work. As it’s Sunday and both my home and the workplace are far from downtown, the buses run every 30 minutes. Usually I carry my keys in my pocket 24/7 but this time I’m wearing pants with no pockets and at the exact moment I shut my door I realise I forgot my keys inside. By the time I reach a maintenance guy it’s about 15 minutes until the bus leaves but he says it’ll take at least 30 minutes to get to me. I thank him nonetheless and wait, trying to reach my boss to explain the situation but getting no answer. Then, after the guy has arrived and opened my door, I’m getting the money to pay him with and this happens.)

Me: “Yeah, okay. Here you go. Sorry if I seem agitated. I’ve been trying to call my boss to explain that I’ll be late because I’m an idiot who forgets my keys inside.” *I chat about this mostly because blabbering on helps me keep my cool when I’m anxious*

Man: “Where do you work?”

Me: “[Location]. It’ll be 30 minutes before the next bus.

Man: “Would you make it in time for work if I drove you there?”

Me: “Wait, really?”

Man: “Yeah, I’ll be driving close to the area anyway. It’ll be just a small detour. Hop in and I’ll drop you off.”

(True to his word, he drove me to work and thanks to using better routes than the bus routes, I got there over 20 minutes early! He could have just opened my door, said “tough luck,” and left without another thought, but instead he went an extra mile to give someone a hand. I couldn’t thank him enough for his kindness.)