I answer a phone call from what sounds like an elderly lady.

Caller: “I can’t find an important email I’ve been expecting. What phone number do I have to dial to retrieve the email?”

Me: *Confused* “You can’t retrieve email by phone. You need a computer or some sort of mobile device with an Internet connection.”

Caller: “I don’t have a computer!”

After some questioning, I find out that she has no Internet-capable device at all and she actually has no idea what the Internet is.

Me: “Ma’am, you would need to purchase a computer and subscribe to an Internet service to access emails.”

Being a computer salesperson, I decide to inform her of some options and pitch an entry-level laptop with a basic anti-virus install and OS setup.

Me: “This will come out to about $300 after tax.”

Caller: *Getting sour* “I HAVE INTERCOM!”

I am pretty sure she means Internet.

Caller: “I PAY THE PHONE COMPANY EVERY MONTH FOR IT! THEY HAVE MY EMAIL WRITTEN RIGHT HERE ON MY BILL! I JUST WANT TO START READING WHAT PEOPLE HAVE SENT ME!”

Me: “If you just want to read the emails that have been sent to that address, you could try your local library, or I could help you find a local Internet café? If the emails are stored on the phone company’s server, you could access them. I also suggest that you call the phone company to see if you’ve been charged for Internet that you haven’t been using.”

Caller: *Even more upset* “You are trying to sell me something I don’t need! You should be fired!”

Me: *Trying to stay calm* “Do you have any family members that could maybe help you understand what I am trying to offer as a solution?”

Caller: *Snottily* “Well, I have a son.”

Me: “My name is [My Name]. Bring your son in with you, and I can help you get your email.”

She started yelling again, so I hung up.

The next day, a man in his mid-fifties or so came in and asked for me. He said his mother was here to buy a computer and she would only speak to me. I said I would love to help find a solution for her. He left and returned with her — oxygen tank, walker, and all. She purchased the exact computer I had pitched on the phone.

Since then, I have sold four members of that family computers, so I guess it kind of paid off?

Related:
Email Fail, Part 42
Email Fail, Part 41
Email Fail, Part 40
Email Fail, Part 39
Email Fail, Part 38

I’m doing a rotation in a Veterans Affairs Hospital as an optometry student right now, so most of the patients I see are older and “wiser”.

An eighty-three-year-old in suspenders comes in because he failed the vision portion of his driver’s test. New glasses are given, and then the patient is THOROUGHLY educated on the importance of wearing his glasses while driving; without them, he would be driving illegally. He says he gets it.

A few days later, he comes back for the dilated portion of his eye exam. I ask him to put on his glasses.

Patient: “Didn’t bring ’em.”

Me: “Did you drive here today?”

Patient: “Yes.”

Me: “Remember that we told you it was illegal for you to drive without your glasses?”

Patient: “I see better without them.”

Me: “Did you pass your driver’s test?”

Patient: “Yes.”

Me: “Were you wearing your glasses?”

Patient: “Yes.”

Me: “So, if you passed the test while wearing the glasses but failed it while not wearing them, you understand that you must wear your glasses to drive legally with an unrestricted license?”

Patient: “I don’t have any restrictions on my license!”

He pulls out his license to show me.

The rest of the exam is basically me trying to explain why he’s got to wear the bottlecaps and him telling me that he’s never been in a car accident, that he’s driven across the US through all but three states, and that he drives much better than his buddy who wears glasses.

As I am checking him out:

Patient: “Are you going to turn me in?”

Me: “You are legal to drive with an unrestricted license as long as you wear your glasses. You’re going to get a buddy to pick you up today, and you’re going to come back for your car later while wearing glasses, right?”

Patient: “Right.”

The VA motto is “Respect Your Veterans.” I wrote in his chart that I educated him THOROUGHLY again and that he understood… because the unwritten VA motto is “Cover Your A**.”

I work in a newly-opened US chain of coffee shops in a relatively rural part of southern England. As a result, it’s been the talk of the relatively small town, but overall, the response has been positive.

A few months after opening, I see a little old lady wander into the shop looking a combination of confused and overwhelmed. I’ve seen that look before, so I gently ask her:

Me: “Is everything okay, madam?”

Customer: “Oh, I’m fine. But, you see, I am meeting my daughter in town, and she said to come here.”

Me: “That’s great! Did you want to order something now or wait for her?”

Customer: “Oh, well, I’m a little early, you see. I’m always early, old habit. I wanted to get us some tea before she got here, but… well…”

I see her glance at the menu.

Me: “I understand, madam; we do offer a lot of teas! Did you know what you wanted to order?”

Customer: “Oh, just a regular old-fashioned tea for me, thank you. Milk, no sugar. But it’s my daughter… I asked her what she wanted, and I scribbled it down, and…”

She hands me a scrunched-up piece of paper. Written on there is something that can only be described as the last written words of a dead alien civilisation. It doesn’t even look like language, let alone English.

Me: “I’m having a little trouble reading your handwriting, madam.”

Customer: “Yes, my penmanship isn’t what it used to be.”

Me: “Can you remember the name of the drink?”

Customer: “No, that’s why I wrote it down.”

Another customer is standing nearby and takes a quick glance at the piece of paper.

Other Customer: “That says caffe macchiato.”

Customer: “Yes, that sounds like what she asked for!”

I thank both and ring up the old lady. As I am serving the other customer:

Me: “Thank goodness you were here. How did you make sense of that handwriting?”

Other Customer: “I’m a nurse.”

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I’m working as a cashier during high school. A really nice, very cheerful old lady pushes her cart up to the counter. The cart contains piles upon piles of children’s clothes.

Customer: “These are for my grandchildren!”

After scanning each piece of clothing, folding them, and then bagging them, we come to the total: around $200. She searches through her purse, pulls out three [Store #1] gift cards, and hands them to me with a smile.

Customer: “I’ve been holding onto these.”

I don’t know what to say at first. My coworkers look at me awkwardly and the other customers in line get really quiet.

Me: “Ma’am… I’m so sorry, but this is [Store #2].”

I could pinpoint the exact moment when she realized, and then she just drifted toward the exit, a blank expression on her face. I felt terrible for her.

My great-grandparents were part of the generation that considered it standard practice to have a house built to live in forever instead of bought as an investment you happened to live in.

Several decades and three generations later, they’re making plans to move into a condo to help them transition into end-of-life care. My family decides to buy the house from them, as our house was meant for a family of three and we are now a family of six.

During the official walk-through tour of the house, my dad finds a few things that seem odd.

Dad: “What does this switch do?”

Great-Grandpa: “Nothing. It used to control the bathroom fan, but we moved it over here.”

Dad: “Was there something wrong with it?”

Great-Grandpa: “Well, no, but… see how you can reach the fan switch from the toilet? Your grandma thought that was a good idea.”

Dad: “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Later…

Dad: “Why does this hallway switch turn on the light above the kitchen sink?”

Great-Grandpa: “If you need to get to the kitchen at night, you don’t need to stumble around in the dark! You can turn it on outside the bedroom and turn it off before going back to bed!”

Finally, Dad opens a cabinet under the bathroom sink

Dad: “Is… Is that a cup holder?”

Great-Grandpa: “Uhhh…”

The prevailing theory is that my great-grandma liked to enjoy a cola and a cigarette in that guest bathroom. (There was a window that provided plenty of airflow.)

After my family moved in, we referred to these quirks as relics of “old man logic.” The bathroom cup holder has become a conversation piece, but I showered with no fan for three weeks because I couldn’t figure out which switch controlled the bathroom fan.