I’m waiting in line to do a return. It’s early morning, and the store is empty except for the employee behind the counter, a woman in line in front of me, and me. The woman in line is wearing a green jacket with a vaguely military cut, but she’s clearly not in uniform.

Woman: “Hi, I need to return this wireless keyboard. Most of the keys don’t work.”

The employee looks at the keyboard.

Employee: “Unfortunately, your warranty doesn’t cover accidental drops. Can you tell me what happened?”

The woman starts miming the accident.

Woman: “So, I had it sitting on a table, and I was trying to look up… Actually, I’ll just get to the relevant part. It was hit by a mortar a—”

Employee: “A mortar?! Oh, my God, are you okay?!“

Woman: “No, it—”

Employee: “Where were you?! I’m amazed this is all that happened!”

Woman: “I wa—”

Employee: “Of course, we’ll get this replaced! You just wait right here!”

He grabs the keyboard and rushes into the back. The woman turns back to me with her mouth open mid-word and her hands still held up miming the action of grinding something.

Woman: “…and pestle. It was hit by a mortar and pestle. That I dropped.”

This story is part of our Best Of November 2020 roundup!

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I’m an assistant manager at a charity shop that I volunteer at. Since returning from lockdown, anybody working on the shop floor has to also keep a track of how many people are in — our limit is four — and also make sure they’re wearing masks.

I’ve just finished putting more stock on the rails and I’m taking a breather behind the counter when a lady comes in.

Me: “Excuse me, madam, sorry, but we already have four people inside. Could you wait outside, please?”

Customer: “The sign outside says that four customers is preferred.”

Me: “Um, madam, that sign says that card payments are preferred and that our customer limit is four. It shouldn’t be long before you can come in; please wait outside, and you’ll need to wear a mask too.”

The customer suddenly sees that another customer is a friend.

Customer: “Oh, hi!” *Starts chatting away*

Me: “Excuse me, madam, but you need to wait outside, please.”

Customer: “Yeah, yeah, sure. In a minute.” *Keeps chatting*

Me: “No, not in a minute. You need to go outside now.”

At this point, she and her friend ignore me, so I repeat myself, raising my voice each time. After I’ve done this a few times, she walks over to the plexiglass and taps the sign.

Customer: “This sign says four customers preferred!”

Me: *Pointing at each word* “Card payments preferred. There isn’t even a four on this sign.”

She looks at me, and her gaze goes down to the charity-branded mask that I’m wearing.

Customer: “You really shouldn’t be wearing that; it’s going to do you no good.”

Me: “Okay, that’s enough. You do not come into my place of work and tell me to not wear a mask. It is the law to wear a mask. I wear a mask to protect other people. If I get sick, more than likely my mum will catch it from me, and at her age, she will die. I’ve asked you politely to wait outside, but now I just want you to leave. Get out.”

Customer: *Mouth drops open* “You can’t ask me to leave!”

Me: “Yes, I can. I’m the assistant manager here, and this is private property. Get out!”

Customer: “Hmph! Well, I’ll leave, but only because you’re clearly getting so distressed.”

Me: “Get out!”

She finally left the shop, and I shouted upstairs for the manager so that I could go and take a breather, as I was agitated and shaking. I’m lucky enough to work with a great manager who doesn’t take any nonsense from customers, which gave me the confidence to deal with this customer, but this was the first time I’ve had to actually kick someone out, so it was very stressful.

I’m in a coffee shop. Despite getting enough sleep, knowing full well how to read, and everything else, I still managed to become a typical NAR. I’m absolutely ratting myself out on this one.

I go to pay for my coffee. I look at the card reader to see if there is a note. There is! It says, “Chip does not work, please swipe!”

Cashier: “And that is [total]. Please swipe.”

I insert the chip.

Cashier: “Um…”

Me: “Oh, my God! I am that customer today. I even read that and heard you!”

I take my card out and swipe.

Me: “I am so sorry.”

Cashier: *Laughing* “Your coffee was free today by the way; you had enough points.”

Me: “I still done messed that up.”

Cashier: “To be honest, you have been one of the nicer ones about it. Most would scream at me that it was my fault.”

Me: “I figured that, which is why I know better, and I know this was all on me.”

Cashier: “Here’s your coffee, your croissant will be up, and don’t worry about it. We’re allowed our days.”

Me: “Long as we’re not jerks about it.”

Cashier: “Bingo!”

I continued to have similar interactions all day, somehow being that customer. I promptly apologized and ratted myself out to the cashier every single time. To those cashiers, I’m so sorry. I really should have paid so much more attention, but for some reason, I decided to turn that part of my brain off.

After months upon months of having visitors pushing the right-hand door on their way out of the building and setting off the alarm, I have finally gotten permission from the boss lady to put a sign on that door saying, “Please use other door.” Halle-freakin-lujah!

I order a nice vinyl label for either side of the door with a large bold font and it arrives quickly. The day I put it on, I am joyful. My problems with the d*** door are over. I stick it on the door and go back to sit at my desk.

Reading this site as often as I do, I really should have known better. The very next visitor that went to leave… looked right through the sign — right at their eye level — and pushed the d*** door open, setting off my alarm.

They spoke perfect English, didn’t have any obvious impairment, weren’t a resident with a mental issue… and yet…

I hate people.

I’m from a tiny country in the North Atlantic ocean but live in Finland. Before I got the hang of the language and got a job, I was a regular at a local club in the town I live in. Some there spoke fine English, while others… not so much. It’s a clubhouse for young adults and older — usually around middle age/retirement — and some of the older ones are a bit… special every now and then.

This middle-aged club member is interested in me and where I’m from, so they start a small conversation in English.

Club Member: “So, where are you from?”

Me: “I’m from [Country].”

Club Member: “Okay, and where is that?”

Me: “It’s a tiny country in the middle of the North Atlantic Ocean.”

I explain in more detail.

Club Member: “Oh, okay.”

They walk away. A little while later, the same person comes back to me.

Club Member: “So… where are you from again?”

Me: “I’m from [Country].”

Club Member: “Oh, right.”

They walk away again. A little while later, the same person comes back. Again.

Club Member: “So, how is the weather in New Zealand?”