(I’m a Mexican tourist in London. I’m in a store, talking to myself in Spanish, when a store clerk hears me.)

Clerk: “Great… another [slur].”

(This particular slur is a derisive term for Mexican immigrants into the USA that assumes that they arrived illegally to the States by swimming across the Grande River.)

Me: “I… What?!”

Clerk: “I used to live in Texas, and we got a lot of you [slur]s there. I didn’t think there were also [slur]s in England. Just because you can swim doesn’t mean we have to take you in!”

Me: “Well… there are, unfortunately, some immigrants who try to get into the US by swimming across the Grande River. But the ‘border’ between Mexico and the UK is the freaking Atlantic Ocean. I can’t even begin to imagine why you’d think I swam across an entire ocean to get here.”

(The clerk just stood there, confused.)

(I am a mum to a little girl, aged three, and a newborn daughter who is in the NICU for two weeks after birth. My three-year-old develops tonsillitis just days after we come home and is very ill, but then a week later also develops chickenpox from several children at the nursery. My husband has been deployed in the army during the whole past six months, meaning he missed our daughter’s birth and I am struggling on my own. This is the final straw, and after taking both my girls to the hospital I am told to sit in the paediatric waiting room, even though my daughter is screaming in pain and is clearly very unwell. I ring my husband in tears. He tells me to calm down and demand to at least see a nurse, as she is only three years old and I have a newborn, as well. At that moment, my baby’s NICU nurse enters for her shift and sees me.)

Nurse: “[My Name]! Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

(Sobbing, I explain that my toddler was diagnosed with tonsillitis last week and now has symptoms of chickenpox, as well. All the while, I am holding my newborn as far away from my toddler as I can.)

Nurse: “Give [Newborn] to me. I’ll take her to NICU; she’ll need to be looked after by someone, anyway, because you have [Toddler], as well, and there’s a chance she could be infected as she is still very small. Can you just come with us up to the desk to give consent of care? Then you’ll be sorted.”

(I trust this nurse, so I give my baby to her. Five minutes later, our name is called and it is confirmed that my toddler has both illnesses and will need to be taken into paediatric care to be treated as soon as possible, as her veins have collapsed. I spend a few hours with her until she is asleep and then go to see my newborn in NICU.)

Nurse: “We ran some tests on her, [My Name], and she should be fine, but we want to keep her under observation for a couple of weeks to confirm she doesn’t have them, too. How’s [Toddler]?”

(Two days later, my husband returned home for a month on compassionate leave. Our toddler recovered quickly and our baby didn’t get ill. I want to thank that nurse who saved my sanity and made sure we were well looked after for the two weeks we spent running between our children! She is now a good family friend and I am forever grateful that she arrived at that moment.)

(I have gone out for a few drinks with some friends after work. The bar we are in is less than half-full, so we find some couches at the back. After my two lemonades, I decide it is time to head home, but realize that I have misplaced my over-ear headphones. I look all over the bar — on the floor, behind seats etc. — then go to talk to the bar staff.)

Me: “Hi. I lost some pink headphones. Can you please check whether they have been handed in?”

Bartender #1: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Nothing has been handed in? Can you please check?”

Bartender #1: “I don’t know.”

(I go to another bartender.)

Me: “Hi. have any headphones been handed into you? I think I dropped some.”

Bartender #2: “No.”

Me: “Can you please check?”

Bartender #2: “No. Nothing has been handed in.”

(The same conversation occurs with three other bartenders. None even look around in the bar area to see if there is anything there. I find a manager.)

Me: “Hi. I lost some headphones. Can I leave my number with you so you can call me if they are found?”

Manager: “People don’t hand things into staff. Look around the bar.”

Me: “I have. Can you please just call me in case something gets handed in?”

Manager: “People don’t hand things to staff.”

Me: “Here is my number. Please just call me.”

(I went home. My friends called me an hour later to let me know that they had asked the bartenders again, and miraculously, my headphones had appeared! The bartender told them they had been on the floor for two hours and had only just been found. I looked around that whole bar, so I know that isn’t true! Lucky, my friends pushed the bartenders to not steal my headphones!)

(I’m buying a few things in a stationery shop. The cashier is in his early 20s, the same age as me.)

Cashier: “£5.70, please.”

(I hand over £6 in cash.)

Cashier: *dramatic sigh* “Can you pay by card today?”

(I’m totally thrown, as I’ve never been asked this question.)

Me: “Umm… no.”

Cashier: *very rudely* “It’s just, if you pay by cash, I have to do change. Give me your card.” *holds his hand out for my card*

Me: “Er… yeah. You have to do change.”

(From where I am standing, I can see that his screen has gone blue and says, “CHANGE = 0.30p” in massive white font.)

Cashier: *snappy, arrogant, and rude* “Look. For future reference, I suggest paying by card. It’s so much easier than cash.”

Me: “I’d like my 30p now, please.”

(He sighs dramatically and looks down at his drawer. He seems to think about it for a bit too long, then presses a button. A manager comes over.)

Cashier: *like the whole thing is beneath him* “It’s 10p three times, isn’t it? Which one is 10p?”

Manager: “Just go.” *to me, while giving me my 30p* “I’d have more time for him if he wasn’t familiar with British currency, but he’s over 20 and doesn’t know the difference between a 2p and a £2 coin. Born here, that kid, and I’ve told him which is which every day for months. He just insists everyone should use cards. So rude to people, too.”

(I’ve been back since and the anti-change guy wasn’t there. What’s so bad about a few coins?)

(I have a doctor’s appointment on Thursday. On Friday, I get a call from the doctor’s surgery but I miss the call because I am taking a nap, and I don’t wake up until after the surgery has closed. They’re closed all of Saturday and Sunday, so I call back on Monday.)

Receptionist: *goes through her regular greeting*

Me: “Hi. I got a call from your surgery on Friday, but I missed it so I’m just returning the call now.”

Receptionist: “Okay, so, what do you want me to do?”

Me: *stunned pause* “Well, I’d like to know what the call was about. Can you check my records?”

Receptionist: *tuts* “Sure, what’s your name?”

Me: “It’s [My Name].”

Receptionist: “There are no notes on your account about you being called.”

Me: “Uh, okay? So, how do I find out what the call was about?”

Receptionist: “You’ll just have to wait until whoever called you calls again. Goodbye.” *hangs up*

(It’s now Thursday again, six days since my appointment, and I haven’t had a call back. Hopefully, it was nothing important!)