(My father works at a local radio station selling ads. One day, he receives a call from one of his clients. This client is a very well-known and wealthy businessman, as well as a person who doesn’t take any crap from anyone, customer or not.)

Client: “You are playing the wrong ad on the radio.”

Dad: “We played the ad that you folks sent to us.”

(The client slams the phone down. My father calls back, but the client won’t take any of his calls. After a week of trying to get a hold of him, my father finally asks the receptionist.)

Dad: “What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

Receptionist: “You insulted him.”

Dad: “What?! How?”

Receptionist: “You said ‘folks.’ To [Client], the word ‘folk’ is referring to the common folk. He thinks he is too rich to be considered common folk.”

(Eventually, my father did get to talk and apologize to the client, and they had no more problems, although my father had to really watch what words he used.)

(In France, even though we don’t celebrate Thanksgiving, we have had Black Friday for a few years. My sister sees that a new coffee maker is on promotion and goes with a friend to buy it because the old one no longer works. She meets anti-Black-Friday demonstrators at the entrance.)

Demonstrator #1: “Don’t go in there!”

Sister: “I need a coffee maker!”

Demonstrator #2: “You are contributing to consumer society!”

Sister: “No, but I need my coffee in the morning!”

(She tries to get into the appliance store but three demonstrators block her.)

Demonstrator #3: “But you can see the conditions of the cashiers in the store! It’s low-wage work!”

Sister: “I know. I’m a cashier, too. We also have Black Friday and yes, it’s a low-wage job; that’s why I buy my household appliances when they’re on sale!”

(The demonstrators finally let him in. Being against consumer society is your right, and wanting to defend the low-wage worker is also good, but do not prevent the low-wage worker from buying when they can buy cheaper!)

(I’m a huge tabletop RPG gamer; I play D&D and everything like it. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of folks around that like to play; fortunately, I DO have a lot of online communities I’m part of. I end up joining a friend-of-a-friend’s campaign, and we’re discussing character creation in PMs.)

Me: “Since nobody made a party face yet, I’m going to make a Tiefling warlock.”

Dungeon Master: “No.”

Me: “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

Dungeon Master: “I don’t allow evil characters in my campaigns.

Me: “Good thing he’s not evil.”

Dungeon Master: “He’s a devil, who gets his powers from devils; of course, he’s evil. You’re not allowed to play a ‘good’ character that still does evil nonsense all the time.”

Me: “Can I at least explain the character to you?”

Dungeon Master: “I don’t want to hear about your edge-lord nonsense. You’re just going to try to justify your trash.”

Me: “He’s a serene, downright zen individual, who actually has a very soft laugh and a warm smile. He takes after his father, a human male, who was seduced by his Tiefling mother. Bounded by a pact at birth, he has no choice but to have these powers. He later swore a solemn oath to several good gods to never strike harm against an innocent or take a life of one who could be spared. He ended up touched by the Undying Light, replacing what would have been a fiend-pact, allowing him to bring healing and peace rather than fire and death.”

Dungeon Master: “Okay, that’s actually all right, but he’s going to be under intense scrutiny all the time.”

Me: “No, he’s not. I mean, I would have expected that, but I refuse to play with someone who in the first few sentences has already dubbed someone ‘trash.’”

(And with that, the Dungeon Master blocked me. I left well enough alone, just told my friend who introduced me that “it didn’t work out.” I heard about a month later that the DM kicked everyone out of the game and blocked everyone; I think I dodged a bullet there.)

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(This is during the Beanie Baby craze of the mid-90s. The one store in our small town that sells these fuzzy toys is getting a new shipment which is said to contain a few special releases — one of which turns out to be the new Princess Bear released in honor of the late Princess Diana — and the usual group of customers line up before the shop opens that morning to be sure of getting one. The store only allows each customer to get two of a new release, as supplies are limited. I have a dental appointment scheduled for later in the morning, so Mom agrees to just let me skip school and come with her. While we wait, we chat with the other customers and everyone is generally friendly and excited. But there’s one woman who keeps inching her way up the line. She’ll talk to someone for a few minutes and then turn to talk to the person in front of them and step forward. A couple of minutes later, she’ll start talking to the person in front of them and step forward again. Everyone has noticed and is annoyed by it, but no one wants to call her out and risk an altercation.)

Mom: *leans down to whisper to me* “They’re going to open any minute now, and I’m going to deal with her. Go get our Beanies and wait for me by the postcard racks.”

(Mere seconds later, the door is unlocked, and as we’re the first in line, Mom opens the door… and then steps aside to hold it open for the rest of the line, effectively blocking this woman from going inside. She stands there holding the door until the last little old lady has hobbled in, and only then steps aside and gestures the line cutter to enter. By this point, everyone else has gotten their toys and gone to check out. There’s only one of the Princess Bears left, and none of the other new release. The woman is furious, but the staff are polite yet unsympathetic; they saw her cutting the line, too.) 

Mom: *joins me in browsing the antiques while we wait for the line to fade* “And that’s how you handle line cutters. Did you get the bears?”

Me: “Yup. And they let me have yours, too, so we can each buy two of them.” 

Mom: “Good. Pick yourself out a couple of postcards for your collection, and then we’ll check out.”

(While I’m dithering over the postcard selection, the final customer is helped and leaves, and one of the employees comes over with a small box in her hands.) 

Employee: “I saw what you did there, ma’am, and it made my day. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get your Beanies, though, so I set some aside for you.”

Mom: “Oh! Thank you, but my daughter already picked up my share. I know we’re only allowed two each for new releases, and I don’t want to be greedy.”

Employee: “Ma’am, I’ve seen you come in here time and again, and greedy is the last word I’d ever use. Besides, don’t you have more kids at home?”

Mom: “Yes, actually. I have five in total.”

Employee: “Well, then, I think we can waive that rule just for today. Here you go! That should make six of each design: one for each of the kids, and one for you!”

(We thanked her profusely, purchased our toys and postcards, and went on our way. It was only later that my mom actually looked at her receipt and saw that she was given the employee discount, too. We brought chocolate for that sweet employee the next time we came in and became quite good friends until we moved away the following year.)

(I have been a handyman for many decades. I go to one home improvement store — now out of business — to get a short piece of pipe for a job I am working on. I find the item, but it does not have a SKU tag on it. I take it to the checkstand where a young lady is waiting to check me out.)

Cashier: *looks at the pipe* “What’s this?”

Me: “That is a 1⁄2-inch-by-4-inch galvanized nipple.” *short pieces of pipe are called nipples*

Cashier: *indignant!* “Don’t talk dirty to me! And that is not ½-inch!” *takes out a tape measure* “It’s 3/4!”

Me: “Pipes are measured by the inside diameter, not the outside diameter; it is 1⁄2-inch.”

Cashier: *glares at me, rings it up as 3/4 X 4″ black pipe*

(I just paid and left; for the few cents difference, I wasn’t going to argue with her.)