(I am originally from Connecticut, but I’m attending college in New York State. Since I have no plans to live there after graduation and return home every summer, I have no New York documentation; my drivers’ license and plates are all Connecticut. I’m on a date with a guy who is a NY native, and we stop at a gas station to fill up his bike and buy smokes.)

Me: “A pack of [Brand], please.”

Cashier: “I’ll need to see your ID.”

(Obviously, this is expected, and I am well over the legal age to purchase cigarettes, so I happily hand it over)

Cashier: *handing it back* “No, I need your New York ID.”

Me: “What? I’m not from New York ,though. This is the only ID I have.”

Cashier: “We can’t take out-of-state IDs. It’s the law.”

Me: *by now completely baffled* “Um… I’m pretty sure it’s not. I’ve bought cigarettes in plenty of New York locations before; my ID being out of state doesn’t stop it being valid. Are you seriously telling me that someone, say, on a road-trip through the area, couldn’t buy cigarettes until they returned home?”

Cashier: *snottily* “I’m not getting arrested over this, ma’am. If you can’t show me a valid license, then I can’t sell you cigarettes.”

(By now I’m very annoyed, but my date cuts in.)

Date: “It’s okay, babe. Just go back out to the bike.”

(I resign myself to nicotine cravings and do as he says. When he joins me a minute later, he hands me the very pack I’ve just been attempting to purchase, while pocketing his own, different brand.)

Me: “Seriously?!”

Date: “Yeah. Idiot didn’t even blink when I asked for your brand.”

(So, to sum it up: accepting a perfectly valid license is illegal, but letting someone else buy cigarettes for someone you believe is legally unable to purchase them is okay!)

(I work at a gas station, and our policy is that if a person looks under 35 we have to ID them for alcohol before we can even ring them up. A customer brings up a 24-case of beer.)

Me: “Can I see your ID, please?”

(The customer searches his pants.)

Customer: “Sorry, I must have forgot it. But you remember me.”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t, and I can’t sell it to you without ID.”

Customer: “Let me check in my car.”

(He walks out; a few minutes later he comes back.)

Customer: “I don’t have it, but come on! I am old enough!”

Me: “I am sorry, but if you look under 35, we are not allowed to sell this unless you have ID.”

Customer: “It’s because I’m white, huh? That’s why you won’t sell it to me. You have a thing against white people!”

Me: “Sir, if I did, then that would mean that I hated my family, who—”

Customer: “No, no, no, it’s all white people you hate.”

(Walking outside, I see him stop a young white couple who are my regulars. They come in laughing.)

Young Couple: “Wow, that guy out there is nuts. Did you know he is telling everyone who will listen that you are a racist and that you hate white people?”

Me: *shaking my head* “Yep, that’s me! I hate white people. I hate myself, my mom, and my sister.”

(We had a good laugh at that.)

(I usually fuel up at a large filling station run by a supermarket chain near where I work. I drive a big old 4×4 that has had its petrol engine converted to run on gas. The station is mostly pretty quiet in the middle of the day, and it has ten “pumps” with petrol and diesel, but only pumps nine and ten have gas. I pull up to the gas pump, and a car pulls in behind me. The driver starts honking the horn.)

Driver: “Hey, pull forward!”

Me: “I can’t. I’m putting gas in, and these are the only two gas pumps.”

Driver: “I get my petrol at that pump! Pull forward!”

Me: “There’s plenty other pumps empty. Use those.”

Driver: “NO! I GET MY PETROL FROM THAT PUMP! YOU NEED TO MOVE! I NEED ON THAT PUMP!”

(He continued to lean on the horn the whole time I was pumping fuel in, and the whole time I was walking in to pay. When I got out, he’d pulled up right to the back bumper of my car, so close he’d almost broken his number plate on my tow hitch. He must just really love that particular petrol pump.)

(I am just finishing high school, working as a cashier/supervisor at a newly-opened grocery store. There is nothing terribly unique about this store, except the mildly noteworthy item that the gas pumps are placed at an angle rather than completely parallel or perpendicular to the store. I come in for my shift later in the afternoon one day and my coworkers relate this story to me.)

Coworker #1: “Hey, [My Name]! You’ll love this. We had a doozy of a customer this morning.”

Me: “Oh, yeah? What happened?”

Coworker #2: “This woman pulled up to [Pump #3], but then circled it maybe two or three times, and somehow settled on parking her car perpendicular to the pump, and so she had to really pull on the hose to get it to reach her car.”

Me: “What?! Why didn’t she just pull up beside it normally?”

Coworker #1: “I have no idea. She seemed totally thrown off by the fact they weren’t aligned to the store. She was super flustered when she came in to pay.”

Coworker #2: “She didn’t make a scene or complain, she just seemed a bit upset by the whole thing.”

Me: “That is very odd. I wonder why on earth she’d do that.”

(Fast forward to later that evening when I am done work. I head home, and have the following conversation with my Mom.)

Mom: “I was at your store earlier today.”

Me: “Oh, yeah?”

Mom: “Yeah, it’s the first time I’ve been there and I have to say, I really don’t understand those angled pumps.”

Me: *wide-eyed realization*

Mom: “It’s so confusing. Why aren’t they just straight?”

Me: “They are straight, Mom. They just aren’t aligned to the building.”

Mom: “I had to circle the pump a few times and I ended up having to park on the short end. The hose barely reached the car!”

Me: *bursting out laughing* It was you? [Coworkers #1 and #2] told me about some lady who couldn’t figure it out! I can’t believe it was you!”

Mom: “They are angled. I don’t understand why they are angled!”

(I tend to go into work, or head to any appointment, around an hour early. This is for many reasons: to time how long it takes to walk there so, in the case of jobs, I’m never late, to cool down from the walk before needing to do anything, and sometimes just to buy stuff beforehand. I have applied at a local gas mart I have never walked to before, so I arrive for my interview an hour and a half early. Said mart also makes small batches of food, like hotdogs, subs, chicken fingers, etc., so it is pretty busy. I just take a seat near the back and start reading my book. Then, I decide I am thirsty, so I grab a drink and get in line to pay, and the manager sees me when I say hi to the cashier.)

Manager: *in a really snotty tone* “You’re early! It’s too busy to interview you!”

Me: *surprised, but trying to be as neutral-sounding as possible* “I understand I’m an hour early. I was walking and decided to stop in and grab a drink.” *holds up my book and the bottle of water I am buying* “I can read until you’re ready. If it stays busy, no rush. I have nowhere else to be today and can wait.”

Manager: *still giving me an attitude* “Well! Don’t expect your interview to be early! It’s slammed!”

(She stalks into the back room while I pay for my water and sit back down. I can hear the manager quite clearly, too, with her attitude still fully in her voice:)

Manager: “I can’t believe he’s here this early, expecting me to drop everything to interview him! He can wait until we’re less busy, and I’m good and ready!”

(I stand up and say to the cashier:)

Me: “You know what? I don’t think I really want this job after all. Let her know for me?”

(I hurried myself right out of there. I stopped in a few times a month over the next year, since a construction job I got not long after passed by there, and the same manager was always there… and they were always looking for new hires.)