(I don’t smoke, but I’m heading over to the home of an adult friend who does. They ask me to pick up a couple packs of cigarettes on the way. They tell me exactly what type they want, but I unfortunately forget almost as soon as I hang up the phone. No matter; I know what the cigarettes LOOK like, and the brand, so I figure I won’t have any issues getting them.)

Me: “I’d like two packs of [Brand] 100s, long.”

Cashier: *picks up two packs of cigarettes in a red package*

Me: “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I meant the ones in the gold package.”

Cashier: “Lights?”

Me: “Uh… Sure?”

(The cashier picks up two packs that are blue instead of red.)

Me: “No, I’m sorry, the gold ones.”

(I point at the clearly visible gold ones, just under the red and blue. The cashier puts back the blue ones, and picks up the red ones again; he seems to be laughing at me not knowing what to call them.)

Me: “No, no, the gold ones, there.” *points again*

Cashier: “Oh, you mean the Turkish ones.” *finally picks up gold pack*

(I apply to rent an apartment, only to realize a few hours later that I foolishly based my ability to pay rent on my total income rather than how much I have left after paying my bills, meaning the apartments are actually around two hundred dollars out of my price range. The complex’s website lacks any contact information aside from the application, and I have no intention of making a half-hour drive just to say “my bad,” but it’s such a minor issue that I figure I can just tell them what happened when they call, if they call me back at all. They do, and the following conversation takes place.)

Employee: “Hi, we’re calling to let you know that you’ve been approved as a potential resident. Can you come in for an interview on this date?”

Me: “Actually, I calculated my funds wrong, so I can’t afford your apartments after all. Sorry.”

Employee: “Okay. Are you still interested?”

Me: “No, I can’t afford it.”

Employee: “And why do you say that?”

Me: “Because I have other bills to pay.”

Employee: “I see. Would you care to come in for an interview, anyway?”

Me: *pause* “I would not. Thanks for calling.”

(I have to say I admired her persistence. Her performance, not so much.)

(I am a cashier. At our store, we have a recycling machine that you can put old bottles into. Then, you either press a green button with dollar sign on it, which gives you a receipt with a barcode that can be exchanged for cash, or you can press the yellow button that says “WSPA” on it TWICE, which gives the money to charity and gives you a receipt with the total and the WSPA logo. An old lady comes into the store, shops for a lot of items, and after I’m done scanning them in, she gives me the WSPA receipt.)

Me: “Should I throw this out for you?”

Customer: “No, I want the money from the bottles.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you donated the money to WSPA and I cannot give you your money.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t care; I want the money.”

(I call my manager. The old lady pays for her groceries, and afterwards follows my manager over to the machine where she shows the old lady that she had pressed the wrong button twice. They come back afterwards.)

Customer: *very irritated and angry* “I don’t care if I pressed wrong; you are ruining me for $0.90 (6 DKK). I want my money back for the things I have bought, AND I’M NEVER GOING TO SHOP HERE AGAIN!”

(So, with seven people in line, I had to return all her groceries for a total of $45 and watch her storm off afterwards as a couple of other customers giggled.)

(Our store is officially closing for good. This is in September. However, in February or so, someone placed an order for kids shoes, paid for it over the phone by credit card, and has never been in to pick it up, nor has she ever told us to ship the shoes. Said shoes have been sitting in the back of our “hold” shelf — behind a door, behind the registers — and we have all but forgotten about it. Our District Manager is helping us move stuff and destroy it, and since this box of shoes has been out of our inventory for six months, corporate cannot take it back without speaking with the woman who ordered. Luckily, we have the woman’s credit card and phone on file, so our District Manager called her. I can’t remember exactly what was said, but this is basically what happens. Please note our District Manager is from New Jersey, NOT the North Shore of Chicago.)

District Manager: “Hello. My name is [District Manager]. I’m looking for…” *silence* “Yes, hello.”

(The woman on the phone says something.)

District Manager: “Okay, so, we have shoes here that you bought in [Whatever Month]. We are closing this branch of the store, and we were looking to ship them to you—”

(The woman says something else.)

District Manager: “Well, we have them here, and…” *pause* “Well, we are willing to ship them to you free of charge…” *pause* “Yes, I understand you’ve moved to North Carolina, but as you’ve paid for them, we would gladly ship them to you…” *pause* “Yes, but as we are closing, and you’ve already paid for them, we can ship them to you free of charge…” *pause* “Ma’am, we’re closing. I repeat, we will not be here… “ *pause* “We can ship them to you. The store is closing. It will not be here. We will not be open. We will be closed. There…” *pause* “No, ma’am. We can ship them to you. Free of charge. Ma’am. You’ve already paid for them. Ma’am. Yes. I know you’ve moved to North Carolina, but as these shoes are out of our inventory, we cannot take them back.” *pause* “Yes, you can return them, but only on the card ending in [number]…” *pause* “No, ma’am, we cannot put it on another card. Ma’am. I know. We can ship them to you…” *pause* “Ma’am. Yes. We know you’ve moved. Yes. We’ll ship them. Right away. Yes. Thank you. Have a great day. Yes. Thank you.”

(She hangs up and I say:)

Me: “I love that you tried to tell her we could ship.”

District Manager: “That’s not what I was doing, but I wasn’t expecting her to be quite that stupid… considering she spent over a hundred dollars on kids’ shoes.”

(The rest of our closing went without a hitch.)

(I am at a coffee shop. I have quite an unusual name, which is always spelt wrong by strangers. Because of this, I decide to shorten my name to what only members of my family call me, because I don’t want to waste time spelling it to the barista. However, the shortened version of my name is quite common.)

Barista: “What’s your name?”

Me: *gives shortened version of my name*

Barista: *writes the name on the cup for my drink*

(A short while later, after I’ve been waiting for the drink…)

Barista: “[Drink] for [Shortened version of My Name]!”

Me: *stands there for a couple of seconds, then looks around* “Oh, s***! That’s me!”