I take the bus to work, since I don’t have a driver’s license yet and my bike has a flat tire. I’m 23 and female. This morning, a young girl, maybe 13 or 14 years old, sits across from where I am, wearing a Deadpool jacket, jeans with ink-marks, and Harry Potter-like glasses. She minds her business as I mind mine, until four girls around the girl’s age enter the bus.

They start giggling and laughing when they notice the other girl. I hear comments such as, “I bet her clothes get washed once a year,” and, “With hair that short she probably wants to be a boy,”  followed by, “No guy would ever want her, anyway.”

Unaware that I’m listening, they don’t stop until I get up — because I have to get off the bus at the next stop — get closer to them and say, “You know, your makeup might try to make you pretty, but you girls sure have an ugly character.”

The looks on their faces were priceless, but the smile the other girl gave me was worth it.

(I am a huge nerd and have no problem with nerdy jokes or behaviour! Three young men come to my line. They are more on the nerdy side of the spectrum, and therefore I am genuinely friendly to them. While ringing up the first gentleman, a colleague of mine rushes over to my register, interrupting me with some question, and runs away after getting an answer.)

Me: “Sorry about that. It seems quite a stressful evening for her. Your total is 6.34€, please.”

Nerd: “Oh, my God, I can read you know!” *to the others* “I mean, it’s not like that’s Sanskrit — though I even could read Sanskrit. It is just Latin numbers. I am not a dumb cashier; I can read Latin numbers, you know.”

Me: *a bit taken aback* “Arabic.”

Nerd: “What?”

Me: “Those are Arabic numbers… Just so you know next time, we are not using Latin numbers here… or anywhere, for that matter. It’s Arabic. Would you like to take the receipt with you?”

Nerd: “No, I don’t need that stupid receipt!”

(I proceed to ring up his mates, who are snickering about something. The last one of them takes the receipt, to which [Nerd] rages.)

Nerd: “At least you got your receipt! I wasn’t even asked if I need mine!”

(Luckily, his friends dragged him out of the store. It is a shame; I really thought they were nice people until that.)

(My mother does a Fulbright year in Germany from 1986-87. My father comes with, as well. His friends who are visiting know no German, however. They are taking a road trip.)

Friend: *trying to sound out signs as they go* “Munchen, 130 km… Benzin… Ausfahrt… Ausfahrt… Ausfahrt…”

(He thinks for several minutes, getting frustrated and checking the glove compartment maps. Finally:)

Friend: “WHERE IS AUSFAHRT? It must be a really big city because there are signs everywhere, but I just can’t find it!”

(My dad starts laughing so hard he nearly crashes, while my mom deadpans:)

Mom: “‘Ausfahrt’ is German for ‘exit.’”

(We build and sell software to submit financial reports online. In order to send the reports, our customers have to first register their accounting firm with the federal tax office. One day we get a phone call.)

Me: “This is [Company]. How may I help you?”

Tax Office: “Hi. This is [Federal Tax Office]. I’d like to talk to you about the account registration for the financial reports.”

Me: “Yes?”

Tax Office: “We received more than forty applications for registration, where tax advisors registered with ‘sample accounting firm.’ They all use your software.”

Me: *confused*

Tax Office: “Do you prefill the registration form with that name?”

Me: “No. We do not prefill the registration form. However, attached to the form we have an image with generic data as an example for how to fill in the form.”

(Turns out, more than forty customers had just copied the generic data from the image into the form and mailed it to the federal tax office for account registration.)

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 2

(I just got off work as a hotel receptionist, which means that I have been standing for the past seven hours. My feet and knees are very much in pain, but I need to make a detour before I can head home. While I head towards a traffic light, a guy from what looks to be a charity thing tries to catch me. I try to remain polite, even when I’m in a bad mood, but I do not want to deal with this any more than necessary.)

Guy: “Hey, we just need some good people for a few minutes–”

Me: “I am not a good person.”

(He did not push the issue, even though I had to wait at the light to turn green for me to cross.)