(I have taken my niece and son, both seven, out for lunch. As soon as they go to wash their hands while we wait for the food to arrive, a blonde woman, probably in her 20s, whom I have never seen before or afterward sits down at our table. She has a high voice.)

Woman: “Hey, [Someone Else]!”

Me: “Oh, my name isn’t–”

Woman: “I was thinking about what you said last night. About your earliest memory.”

Me: “Yeah, I think you might have the wrong table.”

Woman: “So, I realised my first memory was of me as a little kid; I must have been three or four or something. It was with my cousin; you’ve met my cousin.”

Me: “I don’t think I’m–”

Woman: “Remember? The one who married your cousin’s girlfriend’s roommate? Anyway, he’s like ten years older than me. He used to babysit me a lot. I really looked up to him — still do. Anyway, he–”

Me: “You have the wrong–”

Woman: “Rude! Don’t interrupt! Anyway, he used to babysit me. I must have been sad or something because he asked me what was wrong. I pointed at him. He said, ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I put my hand on his face. He said, ‘My face?’ Then, I hugged him.”

(At this point, my niece and son have come back from the bathroom. Confused and scared, they are huddled and pressing into either side of me. A man walks up to the table.)

Man: “[Woman], what are you doing here?”

Woman: “Wait… Oh, my God! I’ve got the wrong table!”

(She turned to the man and started telling him exactly what she’d told me. He turned to me and mouthed an apology.)

(It’s late at night and I’m walking home from work when I drop into a well-known fast food joint. I have just completed a twelve-hour shift and am walking forty-five minutes home as my car isn’t working. My brain isn’t exactly in gear.)

Me: “A small white hot chocolate, two sugars, please.”

Cashier: “What milk?”

Me: “Small white hot chocolate, two sugars.”

(This repeats twice.)

Cashier: “Nonfat or full cream milk?”

Me: “Oh, crap. Full cream, please. I’m so sorry. Long day.”

Cashier: *laughing* “No problem. [Total], please.”

(When my drink is ready she has included marshmallows and a chocolate muffin.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I didn’t pay for the marshmallows or muffin, and I don’t have the money for them.”

Cashier: “We’re shutting the cafe now, so they’re on the house. Hope your day gets better!”

(Thanks to the cashier who made my day a lot better and put up with a stupid customer.)

(Every single day, I have someone ask where the travel aisle is since it used to be in my department but was moved a while ago.)

Customer: “Excuse me, but where is your travel section? I was just here not that long ago and it’s gone.”

Me: “If you want to follow me, I can show you. It’s been over in this new location for about eight months or so.”

Customer: “No, it hasn’t.”

Me: “It actually might have been longer. Before I worked here, I stopped to pick up some stuff for a trip and it was over there, and that was in June.”

(It’s January.)

Customer: “Nope. It was over here just last week.”

(Whatever, lady. I swear old people need to argue once a day to keep themselves alive.)

Like many libraries, ours has an outdoor book-drop where people can turn in their library books after hours or if they’re in too much of a hurry to come inside. It’s not uncommon for patrons with overdue items to insist they’ve put their books and movies in the outdoor book-drop, though we empty the drop several times a day to ensure items don’t accrue fines.

One elderly gentleman calls us to ask why two books are still showing up on his account when he knows for a fact that he put them in our outdoor book-drop a week ago. We search the shelves and the drop for the missing books but come up empty. We ask the man again when he turned in the books.

“Last week,” he says, “in the book-drop in front of the library.”

Cue expressions of horror from all of us. Our outdoor book-drop is located on the side of the building. What’s in front of the library… is a trash can.

We check the trash can to be safe, but it has since been emptied by the janitorial crew and the books are long gone. I feel bad for the gentleman accidentally throwing away library books, but at the same time, don’t most people recognize a trash can when they see one?

(I move out of home and start going to college about a four-hour drive away when I am eighteen. My first time back in my parents’ house is Thanksgiving almost four months after moving away. A family friend graduated high school with me and moved out of home for college, too, but he moved to Arizona, about 10 to 12 driving hours away. He also drives back to spend Thanksgiving with his family. My first day back, my mom asks me this.)

Mom: “Did you bring your laundry for me?”

Me: *utterly baffled* “What? Why the heck would I bring my dirty laundry here?”

Mom: “Boys always bring their laundry home for their moms to wash when they first move out.”

Me: “I doubt that, but no, I didn’t bring you my laundry. I’ve been using a laundromat down the street from my apartment.”

Mom: “Are you sure? [Friend] brought all his clothes back for [Friend’s Mom] to wash.”

Me: “Well, I’m not [Friend]! I’ve been doing my own laundry for… Wait. Are you telling me that [Friend] didn’t wash his clothes for the last four months and then drove back from Arizona with a car full of stinky clothes?”

Mom: “Yep! I was planning on washing your clothes, too.”

(She bothers me a couple more times during the five-day visit, asking if I have clothes for her to wash. Finally, on the day I’m driving back to my apartment, I carry the dirty clothes I wore that weekend, as well as the towels I used from the bathroom, into the laundry room so I don’t have to drive home with dirty clothes and so my parents have clean towels in the hall bathroom. My mom catches me on the way.)

Mom: “I thought you said you didn’t bring your laundry home with you!”

Me: *gritting teeth* “I didn’t. These are the clothes I wore while I was here and the bathroom towels.”

(I then put my laundry into the washing machine, rotate it into the drier, fold and pack it myself, and restock the towels in the bathroom. However, I hear my mom talking to [Friend’s Mom] on the phone.)

Mom: “You were right; [My Name] brought his clothes for me to wash, just like [Friend].”

Me: *head explodes*