Me: “Welcome to [Fast Food Restaurant]. What can I get for you today?”
Customer: “Can I get a burger combo?”
Me: “Sure, was that regular or large today?”
Customer: “Large, thanks.”
Me: “And what drink today?”
Customer: “I SAID LARGE!”
(I have been going to the same GP since I was about fifteen, my daughter since she was born, but it seems to be time to find a new one as ours is showing his age; he has been getting more and more forgetful. I have ordered blood tests as I have developed some allergies recently; my daughter needs hers done for a heart issue and also needs a script for heart meds. He asks her what she needs this particular medicine for and we have to explain, even though he has been doing the scripts for the past five years. We get our bloods at the same time. He starts with my daughter’s and tells her that everything but her iron levels is in the normal range. He gives her the printed results to take to her cardiologist; he is going to print a copy for himself but he writes the results into her file. Then, he goes over mine. He reads out everything as good, but when he gets to my liver results…)
GP: “Oh, no, we need to get you some tests right away; your liver results are not good.”
Me: “Yes, I know. I have [liver disease].”
GP: “You have [liver disease]? Who told you that?”
Me: “You did.”
GP: “Not me. I would have remembered that. There would be notes and paperwork in your file.” *rifles through files to prove it isn’t there and finds the paperwork* “Oh, I did tell you.”
(We realise that he’s not given us a new referral letter for the cardiologist appointment, so we go back.)
GP: “Okay, [Daughter], we need to get blood tests done for you to take to your appointment.”
Daughter: “I had the blood tests done already.”
GP: “Who with?”
Daughter: “Uh, you.”
GP: *rifles through her files and after looking over some paperwork* “Oh, looks like you have to get more sun; you have very low Vitamin D.”
Daughter: “No, you said low iron.”
GP: “No it’s Vitamin D. Look; it’s only sixteen.” *hands her a blood test result*
Me: “No, she had low Vitamin D last year; this time it was low iron.”
GP: “It says it right there.”
Daughter: “Um, this is last year’s result; look at the date.”
GP: “It has it on this result, too. You had the test in September.” *holds up another sheet that I take off him*
Me: “This is last year’s, too — September 2018. Her last one was in October this year.”
GP: “But the results aren’t here; if I did them they would be.”
Daughter: “You gave them to me.”
GP: “Why did I do that?”
Daughter: “I needed them for the cardiologist.”
GP: “But I would have written the results on your file and printed up a copy, as well; I definitely didn’t write anything.” *runs his finger up the writing on her files* “Oh, so I did.”
(Our two kids each have a certain toy. We had bought one and Grandma subsequently bought another when we realized they both loved it. The second one broke soon afterward. We have the gift receipt, and before we left the house I checked the receipt multiple times to be sure it was the right one. We have just arrived at the mall to exchange the toy.)
Me: *checks receipt* “Okay, let’s go to [Toy Store] first and get this exchanged so we can go eat dinner.”
(We walk through the mall to the store. While I go to the customer service desk, my husband keeps the kids entertained off to the side.)
Me: *to cashier* “Hi, we’d like to exchange this toy. We have a gift receipt.”
Cashier: *looks at the receipt* “Okay, I’ll have to call the manager over to process this.”
Me: “Sure.” *looks at the receipt again while waiting*
Manager: “Hi. How can I help you?”
Me: “We’d like to exchange this toy; the touch screen doesn’t respond to touch.”
Manager: “Sure thing. Let me see that receipt.”
(I hand over the toy and receipt.)
Manager: “Uh, ma’am? This toy has a receipt from [bookstore].”
Me: “What, really?” *turns to husband* “Hey, we brought in the wrong receipt!”
Husband: “What? How is that possible?”
(At this point, I still haven’t connected the dots and am somehow convinced that I can exchange this toy at this store.)
Me: *to manager* “So, do I need to find the receipt for the protection plan to exchange this?”
Manager: “No, the receipt is from [Bookstore]. You’ll have to take it there, instead.”
Me: *lightbulb, starts laughing uncontrollably*
Me: “Oh, my God! I can’t believe it; I just tried to return a toy to a store it wasn’t bought at. I’m that kind of customer! Ha!” *to manager* “Thanks! And sorry!!”
Manager: *grins* “It’s okay. At least [Bookstore] is also in the mall; you won’t have to go too much farther to exchange the toy!”
(The manager hands back the toy and receipt, and we exit the store. I’m still laughing and muttering to myself and the racket is attracting the attention of other mall patrons.)
Husband: “Oh, my God, how embarrassing! People are staring at you! How on Earth did you mess that up, anyway? You looked at that receipt like a hundred times!”
Me: “I guess I just really wanted to believe that the toy came from that store! Now let’s go eat dinner, before we all get cranky!”
(We had bought the first toy at that toy store, and Grandma had bought the second one elsewhere. Despite having been told this at the time the gift was given, my brain refused to accept that the same toy could be bought at two different stores.)
(I am the duty manager working the foyer in a major cinema on Leicester Square one evening. This is like Times Square in NYC: a major late-night destination, crowded, noisy, and right in the centre of the city. I am standing by the ticket office when a frantic American lady rushes in waving her passport:)
Woman: “Are you an airport?”
(I’ve worked at this store for five years. I have dealt with this guy every Friday night I’ve worked, as he comes in at 8:00 pm every Friday. At first, I was just a checkout operator and didn’t know much about the store. I’m now a supervisor and am expected to know where everything is, even though I stand in the checkout section for most of my shift. The guy is okay, if you just talk to him normally and have a conversation. But if he wants to know something and you don’t immediately know the answer, he gets very condescending and sarcastic. A colleague has called me to a till to override something with a key only I have. On the way, one of the new employees on self-scan looks to me for help — a literal, wide-eyed, “oh, God help me” look — and I stop to make sure he’s okay. The sarcastic guy is behind him and is asking for help, already looking annoyed that my two-week-old colleague can’t answer his question. I sigh and resign to quickly find out what he needs on my way to the till.)
Me: “Hi. Is everything okay?”
Customer: “I’m after mulled wine. It’s a particular kind of Christmas wine. I can’t find it with the rest of the wine. Do you know if you have it?”
(I know we’ve started to sell mulled wine as I saw an entire side frame of it down near the alcohol only earlier today. I’m trying to remember exactly where the side frame was to direct the guy to. This means there’s a pause of a couple of seconds. Apparently, the concentration on my face and the fact that I don’t immediately answer makes him think the following.)
Customer: “Mulled wine… You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?! Do you even know what mulled wine is?! I don’t know why they employ people who don’t know basic things.”
(I blink at him for a second in astonishment.)
Me: “Apologies. I was just trying to remember exactly where I’d seen the mulled wine. I can show you if it’s easier.”
(We silently walk down past the checkouts, and I tell my colleague on the till that I’ll be two seconds, as I just want to get rid of this customer. As we’re heading to the alcohol section just beyond the checkouts, an entire aisle end of mulled wine catches my eye.)
Me: “Oh, look! It looks like they’ve moved some to this end now. Here you go!”
Customer: “Oh, uh. Thank you. Sorry…”
(He looked appropriately apologetic as he had to have walked past the aisle end twice — once to go to the alcohol, and once to find me. Hopefully, the next time he comes in, he won’t be so rude!)
