I’m on the till, it’s been a long day coming up to Christmas, and two women come through with a large pile of stuff. I greet them and scan everything through — so far, so normal.

Me: “That’s €36.80, please.”

Woman #1: “I have some change to use up.”

Me: “That’s fine.”

While she’s counting, the second woman starts giving me very specific instructions about how to pack the things, what to put with what, and how many bags to use for fragile items. I follow along, vaguely aware that [Woman #1] is still counting and I’m having to manoeuvre items and bags around her.

By the time I’m finished bagging, she has several piles of coins and a €20 note.

Woman #1: “Here you are. That’s everything.”

Because I’m not new at this, I’ve kept one bag on my side of the counter. She reaches for it, and I go for the change at the same time, “accidentally” blocking her.

Me: “Whoops! Just let me count this quick and I’ll get your receipt for you.”

Woman #1: “You don’t need to count it; I’ve already done that!”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, store rules. I’ll get in trouble if I don’t. It’ll just take me a minute.”

Woman #1: “You’re holding up all these other customers! Just give me my things!”

I start counting. Both women start complaining loudly about how some people don’t know how to do their jobs right, trying to engage the customers in the queue. Because they can’t all see what’s happening, they start to agree.

[Woman #1] has stacked the coins very oddly, mixing denominations and putting odd amounts in each group. I re-sort it, count it quickly, and then double-check.

Me: “Ma’am?”

Woman #1: “Finally! I can’t believe you’ve made us wait this long!”

Me: “Ma’am. There’s only €14.20 here.”

Woman #1: “…and?”

Me: “And with your €20, that comes up to €34.20. You’re €2.60 short.”

Woman #1: “No, I’m not! You just counted wrong! Give it here!”

She tries to take the coins, but instead, I count them in front of her. By now, the customers behind her have caught on and are grumbling at her. She makes me count it twice and then tries to claim I must have slipped some of the coins in my pocket.

Me: “Ma’am, there’s a camera right above my head pointing directly at me. I’m happy to call my manager to check the footage, but I’ll have to ask you to step aside so I can serve some of these other customers in the meantime.”

Woman #1: “I’m not moving anywhere!”

Other Customer: “For God’s sake, lady, pay the girl and leave! We all have places to be!”

More customers agree. Scowling, the woman puts her hand in her pocket and takes out… exactly €2.60 in change. She moves as though to throw it at me, catches my expression, and sets it down instead.

Woman #1: “There! Now, can I please have the bag you’ve been holding hostage all this time? Maybe you’ll stop wasting everyone’s time now!”

Just to make a point of it, I carefully count those coins, add them to what I have already, and put the sale through the till before handing over her bag.

Me: “Have a wonderful day, now, ma’am!”

They both stormed off. My next few customers were lovely to me, though!

While on vacation, I sign up for a walking tour of Dublin. The tour assembles at a designated meeting spot, and the tour guide spends some time chatting with people as they arrive. The majority of us are from the United States, with a few English and Canadian tourists, as well. When it’s time to get started, the guide gives a brief introduction on what we can expect, where we’re going, etc.

Guide: “And now, a bit about safety. We’re going to be crossing the road, and if you’ve been here for a few days, I’m sure you’ve noticed that we Irish… don’t care. We cross whenever we feel like it. We stare down the cars and say, ‘Go on, buddy, I dare you.’ But with a big group like this, we’re going to be safe. We’re not going to cross when the red man is showing, all right? We’re going to wait until we see the green man. And when you see the yellow man…”

Half The Group: “Run!”

The guide laughs.

Guide: “Americans! It’s always the Americans! No, there are a lot of us, and we don’t want anyone to get separated or hit by a car. If we see the yellow man, we’re going to stop and wait for him to turn green.”

Tourist: “Well, hey, you can’t blame us for crossing on yellow when you just said that y’all cross on red.”

Guide: “…Fair play. You’ve got me there.”

Part of my job is to keep customers’ information up-to-date. We have a system that emails customers their bills, sends notifications to advise of overdue balance, AND gives them a 5% discount off their bill for signing up to see their bill online.

If the email address we are given is incorrect (or we take it down wrong), the system flags it and we have to contact the customer to get the correct information.

This is one of those calls.

Me: “Good morning. My name is [My Name], and I’m calling from [Company]. Can I speak to [Customer], please?”

Customer: “This is [Customer].”

Me: “Hello, [Customer], sorry to bother you. First, I’d like to advise that this call is recorded for quality and training. I am calling about the email address you signed up for online billing; the email we have on file appears to be incorrect.”

Customer: “Well, what email address do you have on file?”

Me: “We have [email address].”

Customer: “This is a scam. I don’t know who you are or how you got this number, but I never want you to call this number again, and I want you to delete the email address you have on file.”

Me: “Sir, I can assure you that I am not a scam. I understand there are scam calls going around, but I am calling from [Company]. I have all your information in front of me and can confirm any information you wish to prove that I’m legitimate.”

At this stage, my colleagues start turning their heads, looking at me, and chuckling to themselves.

Customer: “No, thanks. I know you’re a scam, so you can delete my email and hang up.”

Me: “Okay, sir, I just want to advise you that at the moment, you are getting a 5% discount on your bills for online billing. If I delete your email address, you will lose the discount.”

Customer: “That’s fine. You’re a scam, so I’m not worried.”

Me: “Sir, I am not a scam. You have my name, I gave the name of the company, and you can see the number I’m calling from.”

My colleagues start chuckling more at how much effort I’m having to put it to prove I am who I say I am.

Customer: “YOU’RE A SCAM! NOW DO AS I SAID; DELETE MY EMAIL!”

Me: “Very well, sir. I have deleted your email address. You will no longer get the discount. Can I do anything else for you?”

Customer: “No, thanks. Goodbye, scam!”

I hang up the call and my colleagues roar in laughter as I tell them about the whole all.

Not five minutes later, a colleague gets a call from the same customer. The call lasts a minute or two.

Colleague: “Hey, [My Name], I just had your customer who wanted you to delete his email address. He asked if you were legitimate, I said yes, he asked if he had lost his discount, I said yes, and he asked for it to be put back on and hung up without an apology!”

Some people…

Today a customer learned a series of very important lessons.

One: do not catcall women. Non-negotiable.

Two: absolutely do not catcall women while you’re sitting outside a pub you’ve never visited before.

Three: absolutely, really do not catcall outside a pub when the woman in question is the bartender’s wife, coming in to see him.

Four: absolutely, really, definitely do NOT catcall that woman when you’re surrounded by regulars, many of them off-duty bouncers and barbacks, all of whom love the bartender’s wife because she makes them cake.

I’m the woman in question. I walked past the pub’s outdoor seating, heard the start of a catcall, and looked around in shock – in time to see the dude responsible get whacked in the arm by two regulars at once, while several others stood up to yell at him.

I doubt he’s going to be in again. Such a shame.

(Honestly, he’s lucky the regulars got to him before I did. That would have been lesson five, and he would NOT have enjoyed it.)

I love Ireland. My grandmother told me stories and inspired pride and love for my heritage, and she taught me how to properly represent myself. I am NOT Irish, but my ancestors were.

Years ago, I started studying Gaelige, the Irish language. I’m still very novice at speaking and understanding it, but I enjoy trying to learn and like hearing it spoken. Around that time, one of my cousins contacted me. We’d never had much contact because we grew up so far apart, but I liked him well enough. He had started learning Gaelige and was interested in having someone to practice with. So, we helped each other and learned together. It’s a difficult language, and like I said, I’m still very novice.

I started planning a trip to Ireland. I had been a few times, but this time I wanted to stay in the Gaeltacht, the regions of Ireland where Gaelige is primarily spoken instead of English. The people there speak English but as a second language. I thought [Cousin] would enjoy the trip, as well.

I spoke with my uncle and we made a deal. Since [Cousin] was in his first year of college, I told him that if he finished his freshman year with at least a 3.5 GPA, I would pay for him to go with me. He worked really hard and was taking mostly honors classes, and he came out with a 3.4. Of course, I let him feel a little grief about trying so hard only to come up short, and then I told him he was still going with me. You could say I shouldn’t have, but he genuinely worked very hard and I believe he earned it; plus, he is a good kid, and I want to encourage him to keep working hard in his education.

Now for a little background on my cousin’s parents. [Aunt] and [Uncle] are people of limited means. I’m not speaking poorly of them; [Uncle] works hard to give them a comfortable life. [Aunt] is my dad’s sister, and the grandmother I mentioned earlier is their mom. [Uncle] is the son of Italian immigrants.

While trying to put [Cousin] through school, they couldn’t afford to send him on vacation, but I assured them that the whole trip was on me. I actually was splurging a bit because I wanted it to be an awesome experience for [Cousin]. I got business class seats for the flight and booked two rooms at a really nice bed and breakfast. I was excited, but [Cousin] was so pumped that he was shaking.

Then, [Uncle] called me.

Uncle: “Is there any chance you could include [Aunt] and me on the trip? I understand that this is a huge thing to ask, and there is absolutely no pressure.”

I thought about it a bit and decided I would bring them along. My grandmother would have praised the generosity. I told him that, since it was so close to the trip, I could only get them economy seats. [Uncle] said it was fine. I also managed to book another room at the B&B. I stressed that the purpose of this trip was for [Cousin] and me to interact with native Gaelige speakers, but there would be time for some sightseeing. We could also visit the town our ancestors came from in County Mayo.

This is where I learned what an entitled jerk my aunt is.

It started at the airport. I had managed to upgrade their tickets to economy plus which, on an international flight, is not too bad.

Aunt: “You and [Cousin] should sit in economy while the grown-ups get the nice seats!”

I was thirty at the time; my cousin was nineteen. My uncle looked embarrassed. [Aunt] told [Cousin] to give her his ticket and he almost did. I had to nip this in the bud.

Me: “I paid for all of these seats, so I will determine who sits where. Those are still nice seats. Enjoy your flight.”

Aunt: “Oh, so, since you paid for everything you think you’re in charge?”

Me: “Yes, and if you don’t like it, you can go home.”

She huffed but stayed silent. [Uncle] gave me a wink, and [Cousin] apologized for his mom’s behavior. At one point he quietly said to himself, “She always does this.” Great.

We arrived in Ireland and took a cab to our B&B. The first two days were great. [Cousin] and I went out and tried to awkwardly converse with the locals, who were as gracious as you could wish for and helped us a lot. We mostly did stuff separately from [Aunt] and [Uncle], which was fine, but I noticed that [Aunt] was getting a little edgy, and on our fourth morning, at breakfast, she snapped.

One of the girls working at the B&B brought them their breakfast and apparently greeted them in Gaelige, like she did every morning. This was the point when everyone there began to hear [Aunt] screaming.

Aunt: “DOES ANYONE IN THIS F****** PLACE SPEAK ENGLISH? JESUS CHRIST, IT’S LIKE BEING IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY! MY GRANDMOTHER LIVED HER WHOLE LIFE HERE, AND SHE COULD SPEAK ENGLISH. WHY CAN’T YOU?!”

Before I could appreciate that my aunt had actually said, “It’s like being in a foreign country,” I was out the door and running across the yard. I apologized to the poor girl and gave her a 50€ note, and then I went to talk to my aunt.

Me: “Do you not understand what I told you about this part of Ireland? I thought I explained that Irish Gaelige is the primary language spoken here. Most people will start interactions in Irish, and it is a big part of the B&B’s business, too.”

She just went and sat in her room looking huffy, and [Uncle] told me he’d handle it. He had fallen in love with Ireland and had been thoroughly enjoying the trip, so I let him deal with it. Then, I went to talk to the landlady to ensure we wouldn’t be thrown out. She didn’t tolerate mistreatment of her staff, but she said if it happened again, they would have to leave.

That day, I had rented a car and would be driving out to where my ancestors originally lived near Castlebar. I invited [Aunt] and [Uncle], but [Aunt] just stayed in the room, so the three of us went without her. It was an emotional thing visiting the little village, and I can’t describe it, but [Cousin] and I both felt like we could feel the spirits of our ancestors there. I know it’s corny, but it was powerful. We found the graves of some of them, as well. [Uncle] was mostly silent and respectfully let us experience it. Later, he told us about his parents leaving Italy.

The rest of the trip was pretty quiet, but [Aunt] never left the room or spoke to anyone there. Although, she did charge a pretty expensive lunch to the room — on my card — through a local high-class restaurant. [Uncle] offered to pay me back for it, but I refused.

We flew back, and for the whole flight, [Cousin] was going on and on about how amazing it was. It was clear that he had found a new love for international travel.

Me: “If you keep your grades up, maybe we can go again next summer!”

It became a regular trip for us — we never again brought the parents — except for his final year at school. I was not going to have the time off to go, but thought I would mix it up. For a graduation gift, I sent [Cousin] and [Uncle] to Italy to see where that part of his family was from. I intentionally left out [Aunt]. If she was upset about it, she never told me, though I heard she was “deeply insulted”.