It was a busy day at the supermarket where I work. I was already exhausted doing my manager’s work that they didn’t want to do themselves. I had to deliver safety supplies for the health crisis to a church as a donation from our store, and it took two trips to deliver everything.

As soon as I got back, I hopped on a register. I only had about fifteen minutes left in my shift. I just wanted to clear out the lines since it was busy for the Memorial Day weekend. As soon as I was ready to close off my register after a couple of customers, I told the last customer in my line:

Me: “I’ll be closing after you; you’ll be the last one in my line.”

Exhausted, I made the stupid mistake of asking the lady in my line to help close my line off.

Me: “Could you please pull the cord across the lane to show that it’s closed off? You can also move that mini display cart across so no one can enter.”

The cart had wheels on it and wasn’t that heavy. As soon as she started to move the display cart, she stopped.

Customer: “I’m not doing that; I am seventy years old, and I have shoulder problems. You shouldn’t be asking me to do that.”

Me: “I apologize, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

I began ringing her up.

Customer: “I’m extremely insulted. I need to speak to a manager immediately! You should never ask a customer, let alone an elderly seventy-year-old with shoulder and knee problems, to do anything of that nature.”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, ma’am. I was unaware of your problems, and I didn’t want to assume that you were incapable. I am exhausted, and I didn’t pay attention to your attributes or your age.’

Customer: “I demand to speak to your manager! I want to tell them that you should be retrained. You should put up a sign that says that you’re closed instead of asking anyone to move things to block off the lane.”

I realize I was in the wrong about asking someone to move something to block me off. But I got so used to having a lot of different customers do it. I chose the wrong person to help me out with that.

Me: “I am sorry, ma’am.”

Customer: “That doesn’t mean anything! I need to talk to a manager.”

In my head, I wished her good luck with that because the store was busy and the manager on duty was doing other things, so she could honestly just wait there until someone shows up.

I was so upset because this lady made me feel like s*** and degraded for not assuming that she wasn’t capable of moving a small display cart on wheels. I honestly meant no harm. She didn’t even take my apology.

My mother, who lived in New Jersey, spent some time in California. While there, she had to visit a doctor. The doctor, as is customary, sent a write-up of his examination back to my mother’s regular physician in New Jersey.

My mother showed me her copy of the letter and was very indignant. The line in question read, “Mrs. [Mother], a seventy-five-year-old woman who looks her age…”

My mother found that very objectionable. True, my mother did look much younger than her age. But I thought I understood why the doctor wrote the letter that way.

Me: “Mom, everybody in California has work done, so the doctor thinks that’s what typical seventy-five-year-olds look like. You didn’t have any work done, so you must have looked like Methuselah to him!”

Needless to say, my explanation did not appease her!

Our local coffee shop has an upstairs seating area. I pay for our drinks and food and carry the tray upstairs. I somehow manage to carry everything without spilling a drop. I get almost to the top when a pensioner steps onto the stairs. He is holding both handrails to steady himself and I have no way past.

Me: “Excuse me.”

Pensioner: “Just wait a minute.”

He takes another step toward me, again holding both handrails.

Me: “Can I squeeze past? I have a tray.”

Pensioner: “You are going to have to wait. I’m old. If you can’t tell.”

I look behind me. He is causing a queue of people to form behind me. Eventually, a younger woman rushes up to him; I presume she is his carer.

Woman: “Oh, there you are. Come on, let me help you down.”

She looks at me.

Woman: “Well, move, then!”

Me: “I can’t. No one can. Can he move aside?”

Woman: “He’s old. Can’t you just move?”

The long line of people is getting restless. A member of staff comes over to try and move things along. Finally, this seems to make it dawn on the woman that she actually isn’t in the right, and she moves aside, helping the pensioner to move, too.

I move past them only for her to make a snide remark.

Woman: “Some people have no respect for others.”

I couldn’t agree with her more.

My grandma likes to hear what I’m up to, so I text her every once in a while. Tonight, I spent some time at a clothing repair event staffed almost entirely by older women who were immensely sweet and helpful.

Me: “I just spent a nice few hours with some old ladies.”

Grandma: “Define ‘old.'”

Me: “For the sake of my health, I will not.”

Grandma: “Good choice.”

She was quite cheery for the rest of the conversation!

I had a client, retirement age, who was looking for a website for his new business. It was a pretty simple website since he was just starting so I quoted him a basic package of up to five pages. He sent over content for us to get started; it wasn’t a lot so it really only warranted one page, broken up into sections. We designed it fairly quickly and emailed the dev link for review.

The client calls with some simples edits and he is referencing where the edits are by page numbers. I was super confused and kept asking him for the sections titles so I knew where he was talking about. I soon realized he had printed his website and therefore was referring to his page numbers. We finally got through his edits when he asked if according to the quote he could have another page.

Still confused, I then realized that since his website was printed on 4.5 sheets he assumed that he has met his page limit for his website.

I didn’t want to make him feel stupid so I told him adding an additional page wouldn’t be a problem. I guess there is a first time for everything!