(To get fabric cut, customers take a ticket with a number instead of waiting in a line.)

Me: “Number 38! I’d be happy to help number 38!”

(No one answers, so I use the phone system to send a page through the whole store.) 

Me: “We’re now helping 38 at the cut counter. 38 to the cut counter!”

(No response, so I wait for several seconds and then move on.)

Me: “Number 39!”

(A woman, who has been talking to friends, but is standing next to the phone I just paged from, turns to me.)

Woman: “Excuse you, what about 38?!”

Me: *already helping 39* “I’m sorry, I’ll put you in the line right after her. I called a couple of times and I didn’t hear you respond.”

Woman: “You don’t know what it’s like to be hard of hearing. You don’t know!”

(I help her as soon as I can, and she tells me three or four more times that I’d have better customer service if I could understand what it’s like to be hard of hearing. Eventually, I finish the cut, and she leaves.) 

Me: *turns silently to coworker*

Coworker: *wordlessly points to my visible hearing aids*

Coworker & Me: *dramatic fake shrugs*

My wife was heavily pregnant with our second child. She had cravings for full English breakfasts. So, one Saturday morning my wife said we should go out for one. Never being one to turn down a cooked breakfast, my wife and I and our young son headed to a well-known franchise of pubs known for food and drink.

My wife, clearly pregnant, explained to the bar staff that she needed her fried eggs well done and not runny, due to being pregnant. Note that in these establishments you pay in advance for your food. Before paying, I relayed the importance of the eggs being well done. I was told this was not a problem.

The food arrived quickly, but the fried eggs on her plate were underdone and very runny. Naturally, my wife complained. We were told we did not ask for them well done. My wife said that she clearly asked and I stated that this was double-checked before I paid. I asked to speak to a manager.

The manager came over and barked, “We do not do refunds or substitutions!” loud enough for many other diners to hear. I began to lose my cool and explained the situation bluntly. 

I then stated that, as there is a higher risk of food poisoning from runny eggs, pregnant women (in the UK) are advised to avoid them, and that’s why I confirmed that the eggs needed to be well done before I paid for the food. I was told I had made that up. A simple Google search on my mobile phone proved the manager wrong. 

We were then told it would be fine and my wife should eat the eggs. I then said, “Can we have that in writing?” The manager swore loudly under her breath and then refused to replace the eggs. Due to cross-contamination, we were within our rights to demand a totally new plate of food. 

At this stage, we decided to leave, after spending £30+ for undercooked food served to a woman with child.

(My roommate is sick. Almost without fail, when he gets sick, I get sick. Unfairly, the reverse isn’t also true. As a result, I’ve become super cautious every time he’s ill in an effort to avoid it myself. He’s currently sitting on the couch with one of our cats cuddled up next to him, doling out pets and receiving many licks in return.)

Me: *fake pouting* “Aw. I wanted Jellybean to come and cuddle with me.”

Roommate: “Oh, he will, once he’s ready to spread my disease.”

Me: “Oh, God. You’ve turned him into a vector.”

Roommate: *now cooing at the cat* “What an eager vector! Are you a willing participant in germ warfare? Yes, you are! Who’s the cutest little bioweapon?”

Me: “STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

(I am a pharmacy tech. A man comes up to the counter cradling his right hand.)

Customer: “Can you tell me which of these braces would be best for this?”

(He gestures to his hand, which is bruised, swollen, and has a large cut between two of his knuckles.)

Me: “I’ll be honest; it looks pretty broken.”

Customer: “Yeah, I think it is. It feels like there are rice krispies in there. The wrist ones don’t really help much, so I need one that goes all the way up. So, which one do you think would be best?”

Me: “I recommend going to a doctor and having it professionally set. None of the braces are going to do anything except help it heal wrong.”

Customer: “So, none of them?”

Me: “No, you need to be seen by a doctor.”

Customer: “Okay.”

(He then wandered back over and looked at the wrist braces some more, all the time holding his broken hand limp by his side.)

(I’m far from being the most feminine girl and there are few things I hate doing more than shaving my legs. It’s tedious, time-consuming, and just all-around unnecessary, so I do it MAYBE twice a year at most. Neither of my parents really like this fact but my dad’s a little more vocal about it, leading to some variation of this conversation happening every couple weeks or so:)

Dad: *looking at my legs disapprovingly* “You need to shave. When are you going to do it?”

Me: “I’ll start shaving my legs regularly when you start shaving yours.”

Dad: “Humph!”

(Sigh.)