Back in 2014, my husband and I decided that we wanted to visit a shopping center a state away. We got the address from Google and headed off on the two-hour drive.

Everything was going fine until we got into the city for the shopping center. Our GPS had taken us to a different building. Where we’re from, it’s completely normal to ask other businesses about a location if lost.

My husband pulled into the first business he saw and got out to go in. What I noticed — but my husband didn’t — was the big sign right out front of the business: “Federal Bureau Of Investigation Field Office.”

I laughed as I watched my husband go up to a door and try to open it. It was locked. Not realizing where he was, he just knocked until another man walked up to the other side of the door. The man was confused but gave my husband directions to the shopping center which was right next door.

When my husband got back in the car, he seemed confused by the interaction and why they wouldn’t open the door until I pointed out the sign.

Now it’s become a regular joke in our family. If we’re lost, find the FBI field office; they know where we’re headed.

I live out on an acreage, and during the spring, our ditch that lets water out of our yard plugs up with snow. We have a wheel loader and an excavator to deal with these issues. It should also be said that we have the exact same excavator as our local rural municipality.

We were out working with the excavator, unplugging the ditch. The base of the excavator was sitting on the road and the boom was reaching down into the ditch. I was sitting in the cab when a black pickup truck rolled up with the orange flashing lights and the rural municipality logos all over it.

The guy in the truck got out, walked around the back of the machine, came over to the cab, and ripped the door open, smashing it against the side of the machine, breaking the main window.

Man: *Yelling in my face* “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Me: “Um, working in our ditch.”

Man: “Do you know who I am?! I could have your job for this!”

Then, I realized he thought that I worked for the rural municipality. I replied by pointing to where the rural municipality decal usually is on their excavators; it wasn’t there on our excavator. He looked and saw that it was missing the decal, and then he looked at me, and then at my dad standing in the ditch.

Then, he realized that we didn’t work for the rural municipality. He shuffled back to his truck, looking very embarrassed about the situation.

We later got an email from the rural municipality saying that they would replace the glass and an apology letter from the guy. In the end, we put our own decals on our excavator so this wouldn’t happen again.

I work for a Housing Authority (Section 8 benefits). After dealing with several entitled, demanding clients, my customer service demeanor has dried up for the day. Then, I get this phone call.

Client: “I want to move! What will you pay?”

No introduction or name is given.

Me: “Okay, can I get your name so I can find you in the system?”

After getting everything verified:

Client: “I want to move to this place, and the rent is $1,300 per month. I need to know what you will pay!”

Me: “Okay, let me do some math here. Okay, looks like we will pay $875 and you’ll pay $425.”

Client: “What?!”

I repeat myself.

Client: “This is ridiculous! I thought you people were supposed to help others! I can’t afford that amount. I guess I just won’t move!”

Me: *Completely deadpan* “Okay.”

Client: “I won’t move!”

Me: “Okay, great talking with you. If there’s nothing else, have a nice day.”

The client cursed me out as she hung up.

I recently got married and am changing my last name through the Social Security Administration. They’re not taking in-office appointments due to the health crisis, and I can’t get the local branch to ever answer their phone, so I’m purely going off their website instructions and the county website details for married name changes.

I locate the correct form on the SSA website, fill it out, and mail it overnight to the local branch with my original birth certificate, marriage license, etc. Before I send it, I triple-check the form, what I’m including, and their website instructions.

A few weeks go by, and I receive a packet in the mail with all of my original documents back — no other notifications, no original form, no SSA card, etc.

I ask my recently married friend about her experience, and she says the timelines line up; she received her original documents back, and then a few weeks later, her card came.

So, I wait a few more weeks. And then a few more. By now, I’m getting worried, so I try to call the office again, but the line goes through silence, hold music, and ringing, and then eventually cuts off every time.

I finally get through after nearly thirty minutes on hold, and I hear someone say, “Hello?” and then immediately hang up. The next time, I don’t even hear a voice, just the distinct sound of a receiver being picked up and then put back down, ending the call.

After ONE MORE try, I get a human on the phone! I give him my birth and married names and he finds my original form.

Agent: “Oh, yes, we received your form and documents, but we didn’t know what to do with them. We thought maybe it was for your taxes.”

Me: “You mean the official name change form that I printed off your website and mailed along with my birth certificate, passport, and marriage license per the instructions of the Social Security Administration?”

Agent: “Yes. So, what did you want to do with it?”

Me: “Change my last name?”

Agent: “To what?”

Me: “To the name on the form I filled out?”

I got my new SSA card in the mail two weeks later.

Over twenty years ago, I worked for a federal regulatory agency, conducting inspections of drug manufacturing firms. I was flying to Washington, DC, for work and a lady sat in the seat next to me. She introduced herself.

Lady: “I’m a sales rep for [Large Well-Known Pharmaceutical Company].”

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name].”

She started chatting about her job and how wonderful the products were and how they could be used, etc.

After about a half-hour, she asked me what I do for a living.

Me: “I’m a drug investigator for [Federal Agency].”

Her mouth dropped and then closed, never to open again for the rest of the flight.