(I’m working the front register at a large pharmacy when a woman comes up from the pharmacist’s desk with her items. She looks like a zombie with bleary, watering eyes and a red nose. I try to speak gently.)

Me: “Hello there.”

Customer: *clearly super congested* “Ngehh.”

(She dumps painkillers, nasal decongestants, cough medicine, and an inhaler on the counter, and then sniffles and gives me a glum look.)

Me: “Not feeling well today? I’m sorry.”

Customer: “Mrrr..”

Me: “Hopefully some of these will help you feel better!”

Customer: *coughs and whimpers*

(She pays, and then picks up and cuddles the bag of medicine.)

Customer: *sniffle* “Egh.” *sniffle* “Ehh… thangks. Have a dice day.”

Coworker: *to me* “Wow. So, her manners were the only thing not broken? What a nice change.”

(I’m standing in line at the supermarket checkout. In front of me is an elderly woman, and in front of her, checking out, is a young woman. Her purchase includes a couple of boxes of tampons.)

Elderly Woman: “Excuse me, dear? You do know you can buy those at the pharmacy, don’t you?

Young Woman: “Yes, but they’re cheaper here.”

Elderly Woman: “It’s far more discreet to purchase them at the pharmacy. In my day, we were always very discreet about buying anything that had to do with ‘down there.’”

(She waves her hands in the general region of her waist.)

Young Woman: *looking in the elderly woman’s trolley* “Is that so? Then I guess you’ll be putting that toilet paper back on the shelf and purchasing it online, instead?”

(The cashier let out a snort of laughter and then abruptly stopped. I, along with the others in the line, had no such qualms. We all erupted with laughter, and the silly old lady kept her opinions to herself from then on.)

After my grandfather won his battle with cancer, they were supposed to move. He decided to wait until he got the all-clear: three years of screening. I endorsed this decision. His health and safety came first, and after all, these doctors had beaten the cancer once before.

The three years pass, and he and Grandma move back to their hometown, in the mountains. About a year in, Grandma starts having breathing difficulties. The doctor says that she needs oxygen in the higher elevations. The mountains are bad for her. After plenty of trips to family who are all at sea level, we learn that she has no difficulty breathing in lower elevations.

I ask my grandfather if they’re going to move for her health and safety. He tells me it’s too much trouble.

(I work as the customer service manager for a furniture store. While I am at lunch they make a sale of a chair from the floor. Floor sales are final. I get back from lunch and the phone rings.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. How can I help?”

Customer: “I was in earlier and bought a chair off your floor for my husband. I got home and my son told me he had the same one, so I want my money back.”

Me: *not knowing if it was special order or from the floor* “Let me check your order.”

(I pull up the invoice and see that it’s a floor item, and that she also signed the paperwork acknowledging that the sale was final.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but you purchased this from the floor. All floor sales are final.”

Customer: “But my son has the same one. I bought this for my husband so he can be comfortable, because he’s going through chemo and it’s hard for him. I don’t want the chair anymore! You have to give me my money back!”

Me: “I’m sorry that you and your husband are going through that, but you signed the paperwork acknowledging that this was a final sale.”

Customer: “You have to give me my money back! I want to speak to your manager!”

(I wave the manager over and she tells the woman the same thing. The customer huffs but gets off the phone. The next day:)

Me: *answers the phone* “Thank you for calling [Store]. How can I help?”

Customer: *from yesterday* “I bought a chair and don’t want it anymore. Give me a refund.”

Me: “Ma’am, as we explained yesterday, all floor sales are final. You agreed to this and signed the paperwork.”

Customer: *bursts into tears* “But I bought that chair to make things easier for my husband and he just died!”

(I can’t help but think, “Right, because the first thing I’d do after my husband passed would be to get a refund on a chair.”)

Me: “Let me get the manager.”

(I pass the phone to my manager who talks to the woman for about five minutes and decides it’s easier to just give her the refund. A couple months later, I answer the phone.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. How can I help?”

Customer: *with the chair* “Listen, [Manager], I’m looking at my statement and the money hasn’t been refunded yet. I want my money back!”

Me: “This isn’t [Manager]; this is [My Name].”

(Before I can say anything else, she cuts me off.)

Customer: “Well, I want my money back. I’m having to drive my husband to and from chemo all the time, and I’m financially hurting. Get me my money!”

(I pass the phone to my manager, who talks for a few minutes and hangs up.)

Manager: *to me* “I thought her husband died?”

Me: “It’s a miracle!”

I have severe motor skill impediments, which includes an inability to lift parts of my hands independently. In gym class, there are two teachers; one is hated as she is extremely strict, rude, and generally not nice.

We are playing soccer out on the field, and the opposing team is a group of bullies who are well-known for accusing people of things they didn’t do. My team has just scored a goal, and the bullies, who dislike me a lot, run up to the teacher, claiming that I flipped them off. The teacher, who also dislikes me due to my lack of athletic ability, immediately yells at me, while I try to explain to her what really happened.

She sends me to the discipline secretary, who is a notoriously cranky woman who loves her job and hates kids. Upon hearing what the teacher said, she writes a referral, and tells me to sign it.

I stubbornly refuse to sign it, as I have done nothing wrong.

They call my dad in, and, when they had explain the “situation” to him, he tells me to do something any student would love to do: flip the teacher off. I do so, or try to; due to my motor skill problems, I cannot lift my middle finger by itself. Upon seeing this, the principal decides that I am telling the truth.

The bullies get detention for lying to the principal. After a full investigation, which includes several union reps, the teacher is reprimanded, and fired the next year. Turns out that this is not her first lying incident to cover for her favorite students.