(I’m going to a train station with my mother to sort out an issue of me losing 50 dollars in one of their machines. Unfortunately, we’ve come in on a day they’re closed, so my mother decides to talk to a man at a nearby information desk.)

Company Representative: “Hi, can I help you?”

Mom: *before I can say anything* “I sure hope so! My daughter lost fifty dollars in one of your machines!”

Company Representative: “Unfortunately, I am not affiliated with [Transit Company]. All I really know is [gives some basic information on which lines go where]. If you want their number to call, it’s—”

(I am going to say that I have their number but would rather know the times the station is open, but once again, Mom butts in.)

Mom: “She’s been calling you people all week! This is an outrage.”

Company Representative: “Well, you might not have the right number; you can find it on their website.” *starts pulling it up for us*

Mom: “Yeah, you’d better tell us the f****** number, Mr. Expert!”

Me: *mortified* “MOM!”

Company Representative: “Ma’am, please calm down or I’ll call security.”

Me: *tries to apologize, but Mom cuts in again*

Mom: “FINE! Call security! Go ahead!”

(I went to wait in the car out of embarrassment. Later on, she blamed me for the situation and called me “A Stepford Wife” for not standing up to the man like she was. If you’re reading this, rep guy, I do apologize for that. She overreacted big time.)

There’s a particular music cruise I’d really like to go on, but there are no single cabins and none of my friends have the money to join me. Thinking it’s worth a try, I post a personal ad online, asking if anyone out there might be interested in also going on this cruise and splitting the cost. I post it in the non-romantic, women-seeking-women section of the website.

The next day, I receive an email that reads, “This is totally absurd. It’ll cost you $2000 to fly to Florida for this one thing! What a waste of money.” The email signature contains a decidedly male given name. 

It’s a slow day at work, so I write back, “Dear [Emailer], you’re getting ripped off on flights if you’re paying $2000 for Vancouver to Miami six months in advance.”

He emails back almost instantly, “You’re wrong!”

I respond, “Nope! See attached screenshot of a flight for less than a quarter of that. Also, why are you creeping around a personals website reading the W4W/platonic ads? Do you get off on giving women unsolicited financial advice or something?”

The email I receive back calls me a number of unflattering names, though perhaps the most baffling one is “dunce.”

(Reader, I blocked him. And yes, I did find someone to go on the cruise with me, and we had a great time.)

(It’s a slow day in the dive shop where I work when a very harassed, irritable-looking woman with a mean look on her face comes storming into the store. As I am already sitting at the reservations desk upon her entering, I begin with my usual greeting.)

Me: “Good morning! How can I he—”

Customer: *cuts me off mid-sentence, stops and looks me dead in the eye* “No. I am in a hurry, so I’m going to stop you right there and spare us both a load of bulls***. No, I don’t want your help. No, I don’t want you to point me in the direction of anything. No, I don’t want to hear what sales and promotions you have. No, I don’t want to hear about your ‘awesome new dive trips’—” *yes, she really does do the air quotes* “—No. I Do. Not. Care. All I want from you is to do your job, which is customer service, and answer just this one simple question with a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. Can you do that?”

Me: *thinking internally “here we go” but puts on my sweet tour-desk girl smile* “Yes, ma’am.”

Customer: “Good. Remember now, very simple, either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response: do you have any brochures on your dive courses?”

Me: “Yes.”

(I stand behind my desk smiling sweetly. The customer stands there, arms crossed, glaring at me. We look at each other for a few seconds. The customer starts tapping her finger on her arm and looking more annoyed. Just when I am about to say, “Would you like me to grab one for you?”, she explodes.)

Customer: “WELL, ARE YOU GOING TO TELL ME WHERE THEY ARE? ARE YOU GOING TO GET ME ONE?! WHAT?!”

(In our local supermarket, you can buy fresh fish. One day, I witness this:)

Employee: *wraps up fish for a customer and puts it in a special plastic bag* “Would you like me to seal the bag for you?”

Customer: “Yes, please.”

(The employee seals the bag — airtight! — and hands it to the customer.)

Employee: “There you go, ma’am.”

Customer: *smells the sealed bag* “This fish smells old!”

Employee: “I can assure you it’s not.”

Customer: “We’ll see about that. If I’m getting sick from eating your fish, I’ll come back tomorrow and I’ll sue you guys for selling me rotten fish!”

Employee: “Of course, ma’am, have a nice day!”

Me: “Wow! How was she even able to smell something through sealed plastic?”

Employee: “She wasn’t. She just needs to come up with something every time she shops here. I wonder why she’s always coming back, even though we apparently have the worst service and products.”

(I never found out if she did return the next day, but I sure hope she didn’t.)

(I’m at an ethnic food restaurant; the menu doesn’t have any sort of descriptions of the items.)

Me: *to waitress* “What is an [item]?”

Waitress: “It’s a [slightly different pronunciation].” *stares at me*

Me: *stares back for several seconds* “What is it?”

Waitress: “It’s an [item]!”

Me: “I have no idea what that is.”

Waitress: *explains it to me like I’m three years old instead of just telling me it’s a type of pasta*