I am working at the customer service desk at a big box store when a customer comes up to me and practically throws an item on the counter.

Customer: “I need a refund on this.”

Me: “This is not a brand we sell, ma’am. I think you meant to bring this to Target.”

Customer: “This is Target!”

Me: “No, ma’am, they’re next door.”

Customer: “Are you sure?!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, this is [Big Box Store]. Target is next door.”

Customer: “I don’t trust you! You’re just trying to get out of doing work.”

Me: “You can trust me, ma’am. This isn’t Target. Just look around.”

Customer: “Well, if you’re not lazy, you’re incompetent, then!”

Me: “No, ma’am, you’re just being a little unobservant.”

Customer: “Maybe you’re the one who is unobservant!”

Me: “Ma’am, you’re the one who seems to think I don’t know where I work.”

A manager was called, and the customer was “escorted” next door, but apparently, she still didn’t seem to trust what we were telling her. It must have worked, though, as she never came back!

My children are two and four. We have recently moved into a new house. My husband and I are having a “discussion” in our bedroom. My four-year-old daughter knocks on the door. I open it.

Me: “Darling, gives us some privacy. We’ll be with you soon.”

Daughter: “But…”

Me: “Courtesy, please.”

I close the door.

A few moments later, there’s another knock on the door.

Me: “Daughter, is there blood or sirens?”

Daughter: “No, but…”

Me: “Courtesy, please.”

I close the door.

Shortly after, the phone rings.

Neighbor: “Were you aware that [Two-Year-Old Son] is doing laps naked around your house?”

I rush out of the bedroom.

Daughter: “No blood or sirens, but I thought you should know.”

As a student midwife, one of the things that I had to learn was drawing blood for testing.

One morning, I was given this task as there were a lot of blood tests due and it would be good practice. Together with my mentor, I put together all the bundles of equipment I would need into trays along with the paperwork for the test, so I could pick up the next set while sending the ones I had just taken to the lab. My mentor joined me for the first couple to make sure of my technique, and then I was set loose on my own.

After four women, I had gotten into a routine: enter the bedside, introduce myself and explain why I was there, check that I had the right patient, place the tourniquet, find the vein, clean the skin, needle in, attach the blood bottle, take the blood, detach the blood bottle, release the tourniquet, needle out and onto the tray, plaster on, and throw the contents of tray into the sharps bin. Then, I would sit and write the name of the patient on the blood bottle and package it up to send to the lab.

I got to one patient’s room who needed multiple bottles of blood, so I put them all down on the tray as I filled them. Then, when I had finished, I picked up the tray and threw every single blood bottle into the sharps bin.

I have never felt my stomach drop so quickly, and the look of horror on my face as I turned around to my patient (who it turned out was a nurse) made her burst out laughing.

As I was taking her blood again, she told me the story of the first time she had done that and reassured me that I was now part of a very large club.

I work at a gym and am training a new employee on the registers. We have a small fridge with an assortment of beverages like water, energy drinks, sports drinks, and protein shakes. This takes place during 2020, so the gym has implemented a new policy of not accepting cash. We do have multiple signs at our registers stating so.

A man comes up to purchase a drink and tries handing my coworker a $20 bill.

Coworker: “Oh, I am so sorry, but we are unfortunately not accepting cash at this moment.”

Customer: *Raised voice* “Why the f*** not?!”

Coworker: “To try and reduce the spread of—”

Customer: *Interrupting and still raising his voice* “That’s the stupidest f****** thing I’ve heard. This is legal tender! You have to accept it!”

Me: *Cutting in* “I do apologize, sir. As much as I do agree with you, it is a new policy. We’re only accepting cashless payments at this time. My coworker and I did not make the policy, so please do not raise your voice at us.”

Customer: “No, you’re going to accept this. It’s. Legal. Tender.”

Me: “I understand, but we have no means of giving you change if you pay with your $20.”

Customer: “Then go get your f****** wallet and make me change!”

Me: “I can call my manager to the front if you would like to speak with them instead.”

He glares at us for a second and then storms off.

Coworker: “Do you think he’s coming back?”

Me: “No idea.”

He comes back in a few minutes with a credit card, waving it around and talking condescendingly.

Customer: “Are you going to tell me you don’t accept cards, either?”

Me: “We accept cards. Let me ring you out again. Okay, your total is [total]. You can insert your chip whenever you are ready.”

He throws his card at me.

Customer: “You can do it.”

Me: *Not budging* “The card reader is in front of you, sir.”

Customer: *Grumbling while picking up his card* “You should have a f****** sign or something.”

I push said sign next to the card reader closer.

Me: “Yes, sir.”

He looks at it and barely glances back at me, mumbling incoherently.

Me: “You have a nice night, sir.”

Customer: “Go f*** yourself.”

We relayed the incident to my manager, and the next time the man came in, my manager told him that if he continued to be abusive toward staff, he would have his membership revoked. I had no problems with him the rest of the time I worked there.

This started the year before my high school graduation (around the 2000s) and continued into my graduation year. In my English class, the teacher had a student teacher from Finland who did the best she could. She was not marvelous, just a normal, nervous student teacher.

Halfway through the year, we got the message that our teacher had had an accident and can’t come in for a while. She had sliced off the tip of one finger of her left hand with a cheese knife. We were horrified but quickly reassured: no, not the top, the tip. It was just a tiny slice and would heal soon enough. However, the incident had been so traumatic, she had to take a break from work and [Student Teacher] would take over. She couldn’t take over all the classes, so our classes were halved.

After about a month, we started wondering when [Teacher] would come back. Hadn’t her injury healed? When we asked about it, we were told she couldn’t handle the chalk and dust from our blackboard. And she couldn’t write with that hand.

Wait… wasn’t she right-handed? And she always just used an overhead projector with sheets; she never wrote on the blackboard. But, [Student Teacher] did, so maybe that was it?

After three more months, [Student Teacher] let us know she would stay for another two months instead of going home to Finland. However, she couldn’t take over all the missing classes. There was one other qualified English teacher… who had been home with burnout for two months already.

So, better than nothing, I guess? I have no idea what the school board was thinking. And our own teacher was still home sick after that incident with the cheese knife? If you don’t explain what’s going on, teens start making up their own stories, which luckily all ended with “she just wants extra vacation”.

Two months before the end of the school year, [Student Teacher] had to go home… and there was no replacement teacher. At all. And the school seemed okay with it.

They also seemed okay with the fact that we had no English Teacher at the start of the next year. [Teacher] hadn’t recovered and [Student Teacher] was way back in Finland. [Burnout Teacher] was still home sick.

It took until halfway through our graduation year before [Burnout Teacher] recovered enough to take up some lessons. And his lessons were: “Here’s some text. Read it and fill in the multiple-choice questions.”

So, for almost a year, we had little to no English classes, which were supposed to prepare us for our national exams.

I do not know which deity was bribed by whomever, but we all passed for some reason.