Mom: “See you later, alligator!”

Me: “After a while, yellow-bellied sapsucker.”

Mom: “WHAT?!”

(I moved to Florida two years ago. My driver’s license expires this year, but I can’t renew it in my home state, so I just decide to go ahead and get a Florida driver’s license. I go to the DMV a few days before my license expires. When you arrive at a Florida DMV, you are told to check in to an automated terminal with your phone number. I do so and find out that issues involving a driver’s license are by appointment only. I sign up for the earliest appointment, which is about a week away, and receive an email confirmation for my appointment. I know that my license will expire by that time, but it’s the soonest I can get a license, so I just ask a friend to take me the following week. I return the following week and check myself into the terminal. I wait until I realize it’s been fifteen minutes since my appointment time, and my phone number isn’t showing up on the queue on the monitors. I go to the reception desk.)

Me: “Hello. I checked in about 25 minutes ago for an appointment to get my driver’s license at 1:00 pm. It’s 15 minutes after that, and I know things probably run a little behind, but I’m not listed on the queue for appointments above, so I just want to make sure I checked in correctly.”

Receptionist: “What are the last four digits of your phone number?”

(I give her the four numbers.)

Receptionist: “I don’t have any appointments under that number. You checked in incorrectly. You just added yourself to the main walk-in queue. You have to schedule an appointment ahead of time for driver’s-license-related things.” 

Me: “I did do that. I came in last week and signed up for an appointment today at 1:00 pm.”

Receptionist: “I’m not seeing anything in the computer under your number. I need to see your confirmation email.”

Me: “Okay, fine.”

(I try to find the email on my phone, but for some reason, it won’t come up when I scroll through my inbox. I spend a good minute trying to find it to no avail.)

Me: “For some reason, I can’t find it. But I know I got one last week.”

Receptionist: “Without an email confirmation, I can’t help you.” 

Me: “Well, can you at least tell me what my wait time would be if I’m stuck waiting, since it seems like I won’t be able to get the appointment I signed up for?”

Receptionist: “You should have received a confirmation text message when you checked in today giving you your wait time.” 

Me: “I saw that the screen said I was going to get a confirmation text message, but that was 25 minutes ago and I still haven’t received anything.”

Receptionist: “Give me your full number and I’ll manually have the system message you.”

(I give the receptionist my full number and wait for a full minute without receiving a text message before showing the receptionist my messages that don’t include one from any unknown number.)

Receptionist: “Something is wrong with your phone. I do this all day and it always works for people. You’re just going to have to wait.”

Me: “Clearly something is wrong with your system, not my phone. Not only did I not get either of my confirmation texts, but your system isn’t showing the appointment I signed up for today.”

Receptionist: “I can’t help you. You’ll just have to wait.”

Me: “Can you tell me how long the wait will be?”

Receptionist: “Probably over two hours.”

Me: “From now or from when I checked in twenty-five minutes ago?”

Receptionist: “At least two hours from now. Probably longer.” 

(At this point, I’m too angry and fighting tears of frustration to continue, so I go back to sit down and just wait, since I can’t go any longer without being able to drive. I start looking through my phone after I calm down a little and start trying to find the confirmation email again, because I know I received it. After five minutes of searching various terms in my email, I find the confirmation email, hidden away in my archive folder by mistake. I march back up to the receptionist to show her the email.)

Me: “I found the confirmation email!”

Receptionist: “Well, your appointment was at 1:00 pm and it’s now 1:30 pm, so you missed your appointment and will have to wait.”

Me: “Are you serious?! You said you could help me if I found the email! I found the email and you still won’t help me.” 

Receptionist: “There’s nothing I can do.”

(Thankfully, at this point, one of her coworkers comes up behind her before I start screaming at this woman. The coworker’s cubicle is next to the receptionist, so she heard the entire exchange.)

Coworker: “I’m about to go on break, but I can take you real quick before I go. You just need to get a new driver’s license, right?”

Me: “Yes, just a new license. Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help!”

Receptionist: “You really shouldn’t take her without an appointment.”

Coworker: “Well, she would’ve had an appointment half an hour ago had she checked in correctly, so I don’t think she should have to wait another two hours for a simple mistake people commonly make here.”

(The coworker was so kind and got me through all the paperwork and vision test within ten minutes. The receptionist, on the other hand, was still very rude when she was calling out the names of the licenses printed, which included mine. She purposely misread my easy to pronounce name and snottily asked me to make sure the information was correct before mumbling something I didn’t catch under her breath and turning away to hand out the next license. I get that life may be a little hard working in a place like that, but don’t take it out on me, lady. And thank you to the kind employee that was able to help me so I didn’t have to wait around all day.)

(I am twelve years old. We are at a popular theme park where there are “pavilions” from about a dozen countries with employees from the various places. We are in the China section and I have asked to buy a parasol. My dad does not like these theme parks and is very hot and cranky.)

Me: “May I buy a parasol, please?”

Employee: “Of course! Would you like your name written on it in Chinese?”

Dad: “Hey, can you write her name in Korean, instead?”

(My mom and I stare open-mouthed at my father.)

Employee: “Sorry, sir, but I do not know how to write in Korean.”

Dad: “God, I can’t understand why you won’t just put her f****** name in Korean!” *stomps away, my mom chasing after him*

Me: *to employee* “I am so sorry for him. My name’s [My Name].”

Employee: “It’s okay. Here you go — your name in Chinese!”

(To this day, we haven’t had the guts to ask my dad why he thought the Chinese employee would write my name in Korean!)

(I am an independent contractor in a barbershop. This means that, while I am a representative of the shop name, I build my own clientele, keep my own cash box, and pay the shop out rather than the other way around. The owner recognizes that we all are independent people and have different methods of building our clientele. Some can rattle off past haircuts, building an important rapport; I cannot. My memory is awful on the best days, and I have a hard time connecting 200+ heads to cuts monthly. Many of my clients understand this, due to working with the public themselves, and know I like confirming information, anyway, to ensure the best cut. I build my rapport with my clients through comics books, video games, horror, and the mouth my sailor father gifted me. I had one client yesterday that decided that wasn’t good enough.)

Client: *sits* “You remember my haircut, right? It’s easy!”

Me: “Sorry, [Client], you know my brain isn’t wired that way. I remember you, of course. Your haircut, not so much.”

Client: “What would it take for you to remember it, huh?”

Me: “Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do. There are maybe four cuts in the last six years that I can remember consistently, and even then, I always double-check in case I remembered an old cut, instead.”

Client: “What if I pinched you? You’d remember it then, right?”

Me: “What? Dude, you’d just be the d**k that pinched me. That’s all I’m going to remember.”

Client: “I think it’s worth a shot.”

Me: “I actively have sharp objects in my hand. Don’t pinch me.”

(The rest of the haircut goes through a similar conversation, him amused, myself annoyed. I finish the cut and he hands me his payment.)

Client: *pinches my arm as soon as he lets go of the money* “Pinchy!”

Me: *swats* “Ay, a**hole!”

Client: *running out the door, giggling* “Next time, you’ll remember!”

(It’s been fifteen hours. I’ve already forgotten his haircut.)

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(I teach college seniors. I’m reviewing their survey comments after my class is over.)

Comment: “I don’t think the attendance is fair. I wasn’t there when she took it and she took my points.”