My best friend and I are shopping in a beauty supply store. We’re in an aisle with a lot of lip gloss, and he has several in his hand. He has a ton of lipgloss at home and loves buying new colors.

Me: *Jokingly* “At this point, you’re basically a lipgloss dragon with your giant hoard.”

Best Friend: “Have you come to slay me, brave knight?” 

Me: “Depends, is your boyfriend a dragon, too? Will he seek vengeance on my descendants for hundreds of years?”

Best Friend: *Laughing* “Your descendants are crunchy and good with ketchup.”

A mother and her daughter are also in the aisle with us. I guess they’ve overheard our conversation because the mother quickly steers her daughter away from the glosses we’ve been touching.

Lady: “No, you don’t want the ones he touched.”

Me: “Well, bless her heart.”

If you’re not familiar with the southern USA, this is kind of like saying, “Well, she’s a b****.” The lady clearly heard me because she turns to look at me.

Lady: “D*** [gay slur].”

A few minutes later, a store employee comes over to us.

Employee: “You two need to leave.”

Me: “Why?”

Employee: “A customer just complained that you called her a racial slur. You need to go.”

Me: “We didn’t, but—”

Best Friend: “It’s okay. We’ll leave so there aren’t any problems.”

He puts the lipgloss back and we leave. He’s clearly a bit upset.

Me: “I’m sorry. That lady was a complete b****.”

Best Friend: “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

It was seriously annoying how that lady could casually use a slur and then lie about us using one to get us kicked out. Some people aren’t fit to be in polite society.

My two younger siblings… don’t get along. My sister and brother bicker like cats and dogs. And they both never pass up an opportunity to screw each other over.

It’s Chinese New Year, and the entire family is at the Reunion Dinner. Traditionally, during this time, the older relatives will give Ang Pao, or red envelopes filled with money, to the children.

Given the sheer number of relatives we have — many of whom are fairly rich and generous — we individually rake in at least a thousand bucks in cash from the Ang Pao every year.

Naturally, given the risks of children carrying around huge sums of cash, our parents insist that until we are teenagers, we three siblings must immediately pass the cash to them and that they’ll deposit the corresponding amount of money into our bank accounts. (And even after I was thirteen, I kept passing the money for deposit until I was seventeen.)

But of course, as an eleven-year-old boy, my brother perceives this as his parents essentially “stealing” his “hard-earned” money and hiding it away, only giving out a pittance for his allowance. Never mind that [Brother] will waste it all buying trading cards if we do actually give it to him.

Anywho, we’re at the Reunion Dinner, and my siblings and I rake in the cash, as usual.

My brother is desperately hiding it from our parents, clutching his Ang Pao like babies, refusing to even let go of them to pick up cutlery.

Sister: “Hey, how about I hold onto your Ang Pao for you? I’ve got a handbag.”

Brother: “No! You’re just going to give it to Mommy!”

That’s a fair suspicion. [Sister] has done that trick at least thrice before, patiently waiting as the party drags on and [Brother] tires out, before surreptitiously handing the money to Mom while he’s dozing in the car.

Sister: “She won’t take it. She can’t take it from me. I’m already over eighteen.”

Brother: “No! You’re still going to give it to Mommy anyway!”

Sister: “I’ll pinky promise you.”

Brother: “No!”

Sister: “All right, I promise that if I ever give those Ang Pao to Mommy, I’ll give you my PC.”

Now, [Brother] perks up. [Sister] has just splurged a huge chunk of her savings on a custom-built, top-of-the-line gaming PC. It’s the envy of the entire family, especially [Brother], who has coveted one for years.

Naturally, I smell something fishy, and it’s not the seafood we’re eating. And from the looks of the rest of the family, they smell it, too. As I previously said, neither of my younger siblings will pass on an opportunity to screw each other over. So, everyone, including [Brother] himself, knows that the person who wants to steal [Brother]’s cash the most in the entire party is [Sister].

But at the same time, say what you will about [Sister], for all that she’s devious, mercenary, and backbiting, everyone knows that she keeps her promises — doubly so if there’s collateral involved, and triply so if the collateral is something like her PC.

Brother: *Sticks out his pinky* “Okay.”

They shake on it, and [Brother] hands over his Ang Pao.

Sister: *To Dad* “Here’s [Brother]’s Ang Pao money. Please put it in the bank for him.” *Hands them over*

Brother: “What?!”

Sister: *Grinning triumphantly* “I promised never to give your money to Mommy. You never said anything about Daddy.”

The entire family burst out laughing as [Brother] spluttered incoherently in rage.

I developed back problems from constantly sitting at a desk job and decided to seek a massage. I found a massage parlor ran by a group of young Thai women who all used Disney character names as their work names.

My first few visits were nothing notable. However, one of the girls on hand named “Jasmine” was not a particular favorite of mine; she was rather rough with her fingers and she had a strange odor about her. I decided after two sessions with her that she would be someone I would politely pass on when offered.

Then, along came “Bambi”, a girl with a touch like magic that would put me to sleep throughout the entire sessions. I went from paying for one-hour-long sessions with her to two-hour-long sessions, and I would give her a tip along with it all. This ended up igniting a serious problem.

Every time I would show up for a massage, Jasmine would answer the door to tell me that Bambi was not there and that all the other girls were busy. She would then try to pull me into a room despite my protesting that I was only interested in a massage from Bambi. It should be noted that there was a camera in the hallway leading to the door, so the girls could see the customers as they were approaching.

I then resorted to phoning in and reserving appointments with Bambi. This worked a few times until one occasion.

Me: “Hi there. I have an appointment with Bambi at [time].”

The girl at the desk looked at her computer screen with a puzzled expression.

Receptionist: “There are no scheduled appointments for Bambi.”

Right on cue, Jasmine popped up out of nowhere.

Jasmine: “I’ll take you!”

She began pulling me to a room. This time, I loudly protested, and they ended up producing Bambi for my requested appointment.

Later on, I appeared for another appointment with Bambi, and all was going smoothly until Jasmine walked into the room, handed Bambi a phone, and said something in Thai. Bambi took the phone and excused herself outside of the room with an uncomfortable expression on her face, with Jasmine following behind and closing the door. I put my head back down into the face cushion and waited.

About thirty seconds or so later, I heard the door open and promptly close, and then I felt a set of hands rubbing on my calf. I immediately returned to my relaxed state. This was shortly interrupted by the sound of someone frantically twisting that was clearly a locked doorknob, followed by a thunderous banging on the door and shouting something in Thai repeatedly.

I looked up to behold Jasmine with her grubby paws on my calf, looking like she’d been caught with her hand in the cafe tip jar. She rushed over and opened the door, and she and Bambi engaged in a screaming match in Thai while a third girl desperately tried to break the two combatants up. Once the situation was finally defused, Bambi furiously slammed the door shut and walked toward me yelling:

Bambi: “Can you believe that b****? She called my boyfriend and said I needed to talk to him about something really important. And she knows we’re having problems right now!”

After that incident, I decided to refrain from visiting that parlor for a few months, hoping that by the time I returned, Jasmine would have either moved on or been fired. After booking an appointment with Bambi, who was still there, I showed up… and who should answer the door but Jasmine.

I wasn’t having it this time. I put my hand up.

Me: *Firmly* “Bambi! I’m here for Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes, massage with Bambi. Please come in.”

She led me into a room and pointed to the massage bed.

Jasmine: *Casually* “You can get undressed.”

I decided not to make any further moves until Bambi personally walked through the door. As I stood there fully clothed and pacing in a semi-circle, I noticed Jasmine was still standing there with an expectant look on her face.

Me: “Bambi! I’m here to see Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes. Bambi!”

An awkward silence followed.

Me: *Confused* “Bambi! I want Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes! Bambi! Me! You book a two-hour massage, I give it to you, you always like it, you always pay and give a big tip and say I’m the best, and you always come back for me!” *Points to herself* “Bambi! You just forgot what I look like because it’s been a very long time. Please undress.”

I left and never went back again.

I recently put in my notice at a clothing chain. [Store] really puts the pressure on us to get customers to sign up for rewards and credit cards. For rewards, the information we take is name, number, and email.

Manager: “From now on, just ask for the customers’ names without asking, ‘Do you want to sign up for the rewards program?’ Otherwise, they say no.”

Me: “Is that even legal?”

Manager: “It’s perfectly legal! And it’s not even morally wrong; they can still say no!”

In my mind, they want us to trick people and I’m just not comfortable with that. I try to explain myself, but the manager won’t really let me speak, so I just make faces at her from under my mask and go on with my day.

This is how management wants us to do it.

Employee: “Please enter your phone number into the PIN pad for rewards.”

The customer enters their number.

Employee: “I see you’re not a reward member. Can I get your name?”

This is how I do it.

Me: “Please enter your phone number into the PIN pad.”

The customer enters their number.

Me: “I see you’re not a reward member. Would you like to sign up?”

We are already talking about rewards both ways, but I think it’s both rude and misleading to not give the customer a clear place to decline.

I’m annoyed because I feel like you need consent prior to inputting someone’s information. I also try to look at it from the customers’ point of view, which I don’t think the managers care about. Some people might not understand that it’s optional, and some might just be too nervous to ask or say no. Several of my coworkers have agreed with me.

I witness this exchange in the key-cutting section of a department store. 

Customer: “I need you to recut these. They don’t work!”

Associate: “Sir, you very clearly didn’t buy these here. I can cut you new ones, but I will have to charge you for them.”

Customer: “H*** no! You guys cut them wrong! I’m not paying.”

Associate: “Sir, with all due respect, these are clearly not even machine cut. These marks here—” *points at something* “—indicate that they were probably hand-filed.”

Customer: “I—”

Associate: “In addition to that, we don’t even carry this key blank in brass coloring, only silver.” 

Customer: “But—”

Associate: “I haven’t even heard of this key manufacturer before.”

The associate puts the keys on the counter. 

Customer: *Slapping the counter* “Sir! Are you calling me a liar?!”

The associate looks at the keys and then back at the man a couple of times.

Associate: “Uhh… yes.”

Customer: “Oh… okay.” 

The customer slides the keys off the counter and slowly leaves the area dejectedly, without another word. 

[Associate #2] emerges from the sports section.

Associate #2: “What the h*** was that?”

Associate: “I’m not sure.”