(While we are filing our 2016 income tax returns, our accountant discovers that someone stole my Social Security Number and attempted to file this return. It is one of the rare times I am glad we were not expecting a tax refund. Our accountant suggests we complete the following three steps. One, file an identity theft alert with the Internal Revenue Service; two, sign up for fraud and theft alert with the three national credit monitoring companies; and three, file a police report. Steps #1 and #2 are easily completed; then, we have this experience with Step #3:)

Police Officer: “Hello, you have reached the non-emergency phone number. What is your concern or problem?”

Me: “We’ve just found out that someone tried to file a tax return under my SSN, and our accountant suggested we file a police report.”

Police Officer: *long sigh* “Well, you can just call 911 and request a police officer to do it at your home.”

Me: “I just want to make sure I heard correctly. You’re suggesting I call 911 to file this identity-theft claim? But I though 911 was just for emergencies.”

Police Officer: “Yes, it is for emergencies. If you felt this concern was an emergency, this is a quicker way to file this type of police report.”

Me: “No, it is not an emergency; my wallet and purse were not stolen. Someone tried to fraudulently file a tax return with my SSN.”

Police Officer: *another sigh* “Okay, ma’am. You and your husband can come to the police station and file your report there.”

(Somehow, I am not comforted that my local tax dollars would be used to cover the 911 expenses of filing a non-emergency police report!)

(I work for a store that has a very loud and quite spoiled manager who constantly yells and berates the people under him in front of customers. The owner has never done anything about it because he never gets the chance to see it firsthand. The owner is a major “Game of Thrones” fan and all-around geek.)

Manager: *yelling at a coworker in front of customers* “I AM THE MANAGER, AND YOU WILL LISTEN TO WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO BECAUSE I. AM. THE. MANAGER.”

Owner: “Any man who must say, “I am the manager,” is no true manager. Can I see you in my office for a second?”  

(After a few minutes in the office, the manager was fired and escorted out of the store, screaming like a child the entire way.)

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(I have pretty mild Tourette’s syndrome, with my only real vocal tics being a wheeze, a cough, or consistent sniffling. Most people understand once it’s explained to them. I’m at the gym, working on the arc trainer, and my Tourette’s is having a bad day, so I’m making all manner of noises. Next to me are two ladies. I have my headphones on, so I’m pretty oblivious to the goings-on around me, when suddenly I’m being tapped on the arm. I take my headphones off and look over to see one of the ladies standing by the machine I’m on.)

Lady: “Excuse me, but you should be wearing a mask if you’re sick.”

Me: “Huh? I’m not sick. I feel fine, but thanks?”

Lady: “You’re coughing and wheezing and sniffling. You must have a cold or the flu. You shouldn’t even be here, but if you’re going to be, you need a mask!”

Me: “Oh! I’m sorry; I actually have Tourette’s. I’m not sick; those are just my tics.”

Lady: “If you’re sick, you should wear a mask.”

Me: “But I’m not sick. I just told you. I have Tourette’s. It’s a neurological thing. I’m not physically ill.”

Lady: “I’m a nurse! I know what Tourette’s is, and you should be wearing a mask!”

(At this point, I’m more annoyed by the fact this lady is interrupting my workout than her insistence she knows more about my health than I do.)

Me: “If you know what Tourette’s is, then you know a mask wouldn’t do any good. I am not sick. I’m sorry if the tics caused some confusion.”

Lady: “You should be wearing a mask if you’re going to be sick here! I’m going to complain to the front desk!”

Me: “But I’m not sick. And really, if you’re worried about germs, is this really the place for you to be?”

Lady: *after a moment of silence* “You should have a mask.”

(She and her friend then moved down to the end of the row of cardio machines and went back to their workout, and I went back to mine. They kept shooting me dirty looks throughout. The worst part is my Tourette’s gets worse when attention is drawn to it, as I get very self-conscious and nervous. So, thanks. Nice job breaking it, lady.)

(My older brother and I are at the skating rink. I’m tall — six feet- and he’s about average — 5’7” — but we wear the same shoe size, which is a reasonable size for a guy, but rather large for a girl like me and hard to find in women’s sizes. As such, I decide to ask for my skates in men’s sizes, and this happens when we get to the skate rental:)

Brother: *to rental attendant* “Yeah, can I get a nine?”

Rental Attendant: “Sure, man. And how about you?” *looks at me*

Me: “Same as him.”

Rental Attendant: *looking skeptical* “Uh, okay, sure. Coming right up.”

(He goes to the back to get skates and then returns with two pairs of skates that are clearly not the same size. One is a women’s nine and one is a men’s nine. It’s an understandable mistake. He gives the men’s skates to my brother and starts to hand the women’s skates to me.)

Me: “Oh, no, I meant I wanted the same size that he got.”

Rental Attendant: “You mean a men’s nine?”

Me: “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

(I have always thought that “their jaw dropped” was an inaccurate representation of shock, but then I see this guy’s jaw quite literally drop.)

Rental Attendant: *incredibly loudly* “What? Really? D***, girl, your feet are huge!”

Me: *a little surprised and quite embarrassed* “Yeah, um, I know. Can I just get my skates, please?”

(The rental attendant goes to the back to change out the skates, all the while muttering about huge feet. He brings my new skates out, and my brother and I go to put them on.)

Brother: *while tying skates* “How is he less okay with someone your size having big feet than a short guy like me?”

Me: *shrugs* “I don’t know. Weird logic.”

Me: “Hey, sir, what brings you in today?”

Customer: “Sir, I need help booking airline tickets.”

Me: “Airline tickets?”

Customer: “Yes, I need to book a flight.”

Me: “Sir, this is a cell phone store. We can help you with your phone, but we cannot book airline tickets.”

(The next day the customer comes back.)

Me: “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome back.”

Customer: “Sir, how do I send this resumé?”

Me: “…”