(I work at a call center for a newspaper.)

Me: “Hello. My name is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

(An old lady answers with a very whiny voice every call centre agent knows all too well.)

Caller: “I did not get my newspaper! I had it every day for fifty years; how can you not deliver it? I called yesterday and you told me it will be there today!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry about that. Let’s look up your account and see what we can do about it.”

(I look up her subscription and see that the delivery was canceled roughly two months ago due to three prior months of unpaid fees.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but your delivery was stopped two months ago…”

(I explain the cause, which was a payment declined by her bank due to unknown reasons.)

Caller: “That can’t be! I have had this subscription for fifty years and always pay!”

(She continues to rant while I look deeper into her customer history. It turns out that she got all the letters and reminders during the three unpaid months, was called multiple times about it, and only after we stopped delivering did she acknowledge the ignored the letters; she thought it would “go away and resolve itself.” After the deliveries stopped, she started to call twice a week. She is told every time to talk to her bank as we can’t make them pay us.)

Me: “I am happy to tell you that your bank worked it out just yesterday. As the subscription was put on hold, we need accounting to re-open it to start delivering again.”

Caller: “Nonsense; my subscription was not halted! I just did not get it yesterday and today. I want the papers credited back.”

Me: “Well, if you still got the paper since the delivery was halted, you are very lucky, as we did not charge you for that. We will restart as soon as accounting has checked it and they will send you a confirmation letter.”

(I explain that in Germany, it is the law to announce delivery after a halted subscription fourteen days prior, so people who maybe don’t want to restart can cancel in time. They, of course, can also call in and confirm they want the delivery to start immediately, but we have to send the letter first.)

Caller: “I don’t care; I just want my newspaper tomorrow and the ones I did not get credited back!”

Me: “I can’t promise you any paper tomorrow or even the rest of the week. We need to send you the letter before we can restart and with Easter this weekend, I am pretty sure accounting will not be able to confirm the balance and send the letter until Thursday.”

Caller: “But how can you leave me until next week without a paper? I had the newspaper for fifty years; you can’t stop delivery!”

Me: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but you ignored our letter after the payment got reversed by your bank. We had no other choice but to stop delivering.”

(The call starts to go in circles with me explaining the whole thing over at least twice and the caller just coming back to, “That can’t be; how did it happen?”)

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, but I explained to you exactly how things came up to this point and that you will get delivery as soon as we are able to confirm it properly. Please stay patient; I have already asked for your case to be reviewed ASAP.”

Caller: “But you can’t just not get me a newspaper for the rest of the week! I have always paid you for fifty years!”

Me: “Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you anymore but that you are wrong about this. We have left you without a paper for two months by now and you have just paid us five months after the first bill was due. These are the facts, and I can and will not tell you anything else. Please wait for the letter. If you don’t have any other questions, I will end this call.”

Caller: “But I don’t understand; why did you cancel my delivery?”

Me: *ends the call after twenty minutes*

(There is a summer fair for kids in my town and we go there with the twins. My daughter sets her mind to have her face painted, but the line is very long. It stretches along a bench, which belongs to the next table, where you can make your own name-buttons. It’s a bit off to the side, but the people kind of organise themselves and it’s clear that everybody waits. The kids waiting are all using the 30+ minutes of wait to make a button. After a while, my son comes over and wants to join the line. I tell him no, he has to get to the end — there are three kids behind us now — as it would not be fair to the others who waited while he went playing. He sulks off. After 20 minutes, a mother with her two kids appears in front of the face painters, ignoring the seated kids queuing. At first, I think she just wants to ask something, but they seem to be skipping the line. Maybe she misread the situation, I think, and I speak up. There are three painting stations and only two more girls in front of my daughter, and her kids would take up the spot that is about to open for us.)

Me: “Excuse me, the line ends over there if you want to join.”

Other Mother: “Those kids are not in line; they are making buttons. We are next to have her face painted.”

Me: “Um, no, sorry. All those kids are waiting, too. You can’t skip the line like that.”

Other Mother: “You can keep your opinion to yourself.”

Me: “Are you seriously doing this?”

Other Mother: *coldly* “Yes.”

Me: “Really? Is that what you are showing your kids is the right thing to do?”

(Other parents are speaking up, as well; the mother after me is also quite vocal about it.) 

Me: “Well, if you really think this is right and how to be an example for your kids, I just can’t believe it. This is just unfair and you are wrong. I will not just be quiet and take this. So, last chance; would you please go to the back of the line like a normal human being with manners? I can’t force you to leave, but I will give you every piece of my mind that concerns you right now.”

Other Mother: “If that’s what makes you happy, I don’t care.”

(I am shaking with anger now and I start giving her an angry mom dressing down from heck. As she has no way of leaving while keeping her stolen spot in line, I have a lot of time.)

Me: “You have no manners, it seems. Did your parents raise you just as badly as you are now raising your kids, to behave entitled? Does it feel good for your kids to be the mom who behaves this badly? The woman who thinks she is better than everybody else? Who wants the world to revolve around her? I just want you to know that you are a bad parent right now and if your kid lies in bed tonight ashamed of her mother’s behaviour, it is your doing alone. What would your mother say about how you act? Probably nothing, as it seems she never had before when you cheated your way through….”

(Just to be clear, I do not shout but speak clearly and my daughter is absorbed in her button for most of it. The other woman is either ignoring me, her back turned to me, or trying again to justify herself with the “if you are in line you should STAND in line, not make buttons” reasoning. As the kid in front of her finishes up, I ask her again:)

Me: “You still think skipping the line is okay?”

Other Mother: “There was no line to skip.”

(I grab my daughter, shove myself in front of her kid, and set mine in front of the face painter:)

Me: “Great, no line? So we are next!” 

(The face-painter hands my daughter the book with examples to choose from. The woman behind us glares. My daughter goes through the book without much enthusiasm and I feel sorry for the situation being kind of my fault. I just can’t stand cheaters. Luckily, the face painter is very nice, seemingly taking her sweet time. Meanwhile, the mother starts ranting at me.)

Other Mother: “I just want you to know, you shoved your butt into my kid’s face!” 

Me: “Well, as there was no line, don’t shove your daughter into my butt.”

Other Mother: “I just want you to know that’s disgusting!”

Me: “Yes, you certainly are!”

Other Mother: “I will report you for harassing me!” 

Me: “You are welcome to call any authority that you want to involve; I’m sure they can help settle this. But I am done for my part.”

(And so are the butterflies. My daughter looks in the mirror and is happy, so we leave. As I am leaving, I hear voices behind me: the next parents are not letting her steal their places, either. I am quite flustered and have to take a break. After some time watching the kids play in the bounce house, I am better and I go over to get my kids some slushies. On the way, I see the mother with her much older daughter on her arm, the girl crying on her shoulder, no face paint to be seen. She sees me waiting for my kids and makes a final attempt to get to me.)

Other Mother: “I just want you to know that you ruined my daughter’s day.”

Me: “Oh, no. That was your doing, not mine.”

Other Mother: “Well, I talked to the boss of this fair and he totally agreed with me. You should go talk to him if you have any decency!”

Me: “You know what? I will do that and see what’s up.”

Other Mother: “You are a horrible–” 

Me: “Nope, I’m done. I don’t need people like you in my life. Get lost.”

(I turn away and get my kids. As the slush stand is next to a kind of information booth, I step over.)

Me: “I think you had to deal with an angry woman right now that blamed me for all her misery caused by not being able to skip a line? She said somebody would want a word with me?”

Booth Man: “Well, yeah, there was an angry lady, but I’m just the guy who takes care of the volunteers. I can’t help you.”

Me: “Yes, you can. Please give my thanks to the face painters for being so calm and my apology for all the fuss with her.”

Booth Man: *seems to exhale and relax a lot* “I certainly will. Sorry, people are kind of crazy today. I just did not want to get yelled at again.”

(Despite her saying I ruined her day, she took the time to keep glaring at me for a while from afar. I ignored her and after a while did not see her again.)

I was visiting my parents. We were sitting in the garden when their neighbour came over with her foster dog, a cute, old beagle. It was standing next to her while she talked to us, not moving a lot. After some time and without any context, she leaned down to the dog, opened its mouth with both hands, and spat inside. Then, she continued the conversation with us just like nothing had happened.

The dog looked confused. We were confused. It took her a while to realise we actually did not find that normal. Her explanation was, “Oh, we just have that special bond!”

I don’t think the dog shared that opinion.

(I’m in a class about journalism writing, and our lecturer is explaining the differences between tabloid and broadsheet newspapers. My lecturer is from Scotland and has quite a heavy accent.)

Lecturer: “The example on the left is from a tabloid, and the one on the right is from a broads***.”

(His face grew red and he hid his face in his hands while we laughed at his mishap.)

Being an avid reader, I spent lots of time after school in a bookstore. One of the clerks there came to know me quite well and sometimes asked my opinion on some books, what I would recommend to a certain age group and similar questions. Sometimes, when there was a customer she thought I might be able to help, she would go and ask me to come over to try and find something, so I was used to dealing with people in this store.

One day, I was browsing through the teenage section when a woman with her boy walked up and started asking me what book I would recommend for her son. So, I talked to the little guy and we found a book that he might enjoy.

Just then, the clerk walked up and asked if she could help them. The woman looked puzzled, and the clerk explained that I didn’t actually work there.

The mother looked affronted, took the book out of the boy’s hands, turned to me, and started accusing me, “You pretended to work here, giving unsolicited advice, and I’m sure the book you just told us to read is crap! How dare you?! Who do you think you are?” and kept going on in this vein for some more time.

Despite the boy saying, “Mom, I actually like this book!” she returned it to the shelf, took his hand, and dragged him away.

The clerk and I stood there, speechless.