(I work at an outdoor park that has a lot of rides for kids, including bouncy castles, carousels, and things like that. It’s term time, so we’re quiet, and it’s been raining heavily for the last day. My manager puts me on the bouncy castles, but gives me a bag of kid’s toys to make up while I’m down there. This is quite normal practice at times when it isn’t busy. The bouncy castles have signs on each end warning customers that they’re wet when it rains. I’m keeping an eye on them, but mainly concentrating on making up the toys since we restock heavily during quiet times. A man comes up to me with his daughter, quite well-spoken and dismissive. He’s wearing a membership wristband for the park.)

Man: “You could have told me the bouncy castles were wet! I sat on one, and I’m soaked now!”

Me: “Oh, I’m very sorry, sir. It has been raining for the last day or so, and unfortunately, they don’t dry out that fast. We warn you on the signs there—“ *points* “—and there—“ *points*

Man: “Well, I didn’t see them! I need to go home and change now!”

(He leaves. Maybe if I hadn’t been making up the toys I’d have noticed him and warned him, but he was fairly warned, and he’d only really got the leg of his jeans damp. Half an hour later I’m radioed up to the office by my manager.)

Manager: “[My Name], do you have your phone with you?”

(We get fired on the spot if we have our phones on us on duty, and so lockers are provided for staff.)

Me: “No. I can show you in my locker.”

Manager: “Yes, please. I’m sure you wouldn’t, but we have to check.”

(I open the locker for my manager, and sure enough, the phone is there.)

Manager: “Oh, thank goodness. I wouldn’t have wanted to let you go. It’s just we had this gentleman come up and say you hadn’t warned him about the bouncy castles being wet because you were hunched over on your phone, not paying attention.”

Me: “No, no, I was making up those toys as you asked.”

Manager: “Don’t worry; I believe you. He demanded we give him a free change of clothes from the gift shop. We do have signs down there warning it’s wet!”

Me: “That’s what I told him!”

(I went back to work, and I am still employed at the park to this day. But the man was a member, which means he likely visits a lot and knows the staff policy on phones. So, out of embarrassment over getting a bit wet, or some kind of wounded pride over being corrected by a younger man, he tried to get me sacked. The daughter he was with didn’t seem the slight bit discomfited, but if she was a bit older she might have been embarrassed for her dad.)

(I have a customer who bought his kids a twelve-foot trampoline for Christmas. The one he received has various missing parts, so of course I say we can give him the required parts out of one in store. Bear in mind it comes in three separate boxes weighing between 19 and 24 kgs each, which he agrees is suitable. My colleague brings it out from the stockroom and lifted everything on to the counter so I can open up the boxes and find the correct parts for the customer.)

Customer: “You’ll have to mark this trampoline as damaged now, won’t you?”

Me: “Yes, that’s right.”

Customer: “Why don’t I take the whole lot, then, instead of you going through each box?”

Me: “Sure, you can do that if you want, but you’d have to swap it for your faulty one.”

(He decides he’ll take the whole thing rather than just a few parts. I move the boxes off the counter, out of the way, assuming he will come back later with his trampoline from home and then exchange it.)

Customer: “Well, can I take them, then?”

Me: “Yes, when you’ve brought back yours, we will just swap it over for you.”

Customer: “What? I’m not doing that. Why would I go all the way home to bring back the faulty one?”

Me: “I can’t give you the whole lot without you returning yours. We need to have a damaged one to send back.”

Customer: “But I’ve started putting it together.”

Me: “It’s either take the parts you need or do a full exchange.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous! Fine! I’ll have to take the parts!”

(I then had to put all the big heavy boxes back on the counter and open up each one. All the while he huffed and puffed as though I’D been an inconvenience to HIM. And he took a LOT of parts with him, more than he’d originally said were missing; obviously, he was just being spiteful.)

(I’m a girl with a twin brother. Most people need only this by way of explanation, but some don’t really understand. I’ve legitimately been asked these things multiple times.)

Boy #1: “Are you and your brother identical twins?”

Me: “No, that’s impossible.”

Boy #1: “Identical twins aren’t impossible.”

Me: “Yes, but I have a vagina and he doesn’t, so we can’t be.”

(Another time:)

Boy #2: “Who’s older?”

Brother: “I am.”

Boy #2: “Oh, by how much?”

Me: “I think nine minutes.”

Boy #2: “Very funny.”

Me: “What?”

Boy #2: “There need to be at least nine months between you.”

Brother: “We’re twins.”

Boy #2: “But you can’t be! You’re not the same sex!”

(And again:)

Girl: “Oh, how do you know [Brother]?”

Me: “He’s my twin.”

Girl: “Oh, so which one of you is trans?”

Me: “What?”

Girl: “I’m not judging; I’m very supportive of trans rights.”

Me: “What do you mean, which one of us is trans?”

Girl: “Twins have to be the same sex at birth.”

(These are just ones from the top of my head; there have been others.)

(Christmas is very important to me, so I want my first Christmas in my new flat after graduating from university to be special. I decide to buy a Christmas tree. I go to a garden centre to buy one and am greeted by an employee.)

Employee: “Good morning! Are you looking for a Christmas tree?”

Me: “Yes, I am.”

(I tell him my budget and what I’m looking for, and he leads me over to the trees.)

Employee: “Ah, this one is beautiful!”

Me: “Oh, actually, as I said, I’d prefer a fake tree. I can’t touch real ones or—“

Employee: “Nonsense! No one should have a fake tree. How about this one, then—“

(I am dragged around the garden centre for ten minutes as the employee shows me various trees, all real, before I finally snap.)

Me: “Excuse me; I have told you repeatedly that I would prefer a fake tree. I am—“

Employee: “What? No! Fake trees are awful! All plastic and ugly. You don’t want a fake tree! Only lazy people have fake trees. You need a real tree—“

Me: “NO! Listen to me. I do not want a real tree; I want a fake tree. If you had listened at all when I told you what I was looking for, you would know that I cannot come into contact with pine or fir trees because I am allergic! I have been trying to tell you repeatedly for almost fifteen minutes now. Now please take me to find a fake tree.”

(The employee ran away, tail between legs, and I was helped by another employee who said that the employee had been trying to sell nothing but real trees because he got a better commission. I got a discount for the trouble, and have been happily coming into contact with my fake tree for six years.)

(I am in the hospital, having an operation on my hand that requires me to be under general anaesthetic. I am fourteen years old and have previously had two generals, so I know I react well, if very strangely. The anaesthetist is prepping me for surgery, with my dad beside me.)

Anaesthetist: “Okay, now the next drug I’m going to give you is this [medicine], which [does something I now can’t remember]. Okay?”

Me: *already a little bit drugged up and very sluggishly cheerful* “Okay!”

Anaesthetist: *barely started administering the medicine* “Right, so, adults often say that it feels like you’ve had a little drink–”

Me: “Oooh, yep, got that! Wooowwwww! Dad, everything’s blurry!”

Anaesthetist: *trying not to laugh* “Yes, sweetheart, it does that sometimes. I always hear that it’s a bit like having alcohol from the adults, and some people say that it makes them feel very happy.”

Me: “It feels like I’ve had alcohol or something!”

Anaesthetist: “There she goes!”

Me: “And I feel really happy! Did you give me something?”

Anaesthetist: “I’m going to put you to sleep now, sweetheart, okay?”

Me: “Okay! See you in a bit! I like your hat!”

(Out like a light. I apologised to the anaesthetist afterward, while still a bit drugged, and asked where his hat was when he came to tell me that I’d made his day. He’d never been wearing one.)