I work in a small, open-plan office in a fairly small company. The husband-and-wife owners of the company don’t seem to want to update anything or invest any money in the company; the windows don’t fully close unless someone pushes on them from the outside, the blinds are damaged so you can always see in, and the computer system is over some early version of Windows with limited processing speed, which crashes on a weekly basis.

One day my boss gets an email — they can’t work out group emails — to say the wife has decided we are using too much stationary, she refuses to buy any more, and she wants us to be a paperless office. This is all despite us lacking the resources to be paperless, and the husband’s insistence that we keep a physical paper trail of every order, invoice, or query the customers have.

We make do as best we can, but eventually I bite the bullet and buy a pack of paper, pens, and a few nice post-its, etc. It’s not much, but when you are earning minimum wage and buying resources which work should be providing, it’s more than I want to spend.

I put all my stationary in my desk the next morning. I come back from lunch to find all of it gone, including a monogrammed pen my mum bought for my birthday. I eventually track it down to the female owner’s office, where she is happily using them. When I confront her about it, she repeats, “Paperless office,” like she is a parrot who has learnt a new phrase. I bite my lip and ask how we are meant to be paperless when we are also expected to keep written notes and print records of all our work. She eventually relents that she might, maybe look at a stationary order, “if it’s such a big deal.” I thank her, take my monogrammed pen from her hand, and walk out her office.

The next day, I replace the stationary and replace the lock on the desk, secure it before I go for lunch, and come back to find my coworkers giggling. Apparently, the female owner had heard I had more stationary and spent five minutes trying to pry open my desk before snatching the post-its from my desktop, screaming, “PAPERLESS OFFICE!”, and storming out.

(Our store has a separate counter for plumbers and electricians. One Saturday I am covering this counter when an older man comes in.)

Me: “Are you registered with us, sir?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Are you a qualified plumber or electrician?”

Customer: “No.”

(I check the public counter; it’s empty.)

Me: “Sir, this is a counter for tradesmen in plumbing and electrics. If you go through that door on the left you’ll go to the public counter.”

Customer: *irate* “I came here to buy electrics! Your front door is misleading!”

Me: “Sir, it says, ‘Plumbers & Electricians,’ not, ‘Plumbing & Electrics.'”

(I am 12 years old. My parents and I visit London to stay with my grandmother for a while. On our first night, the grownups are all talking, and I get bored.)

Me: “Mum, can I go for a walk and explore the neighbourhood for a bit?”

Mum: “Well, all right, but don’t go too far.”

(I walk down the street, turn a corner, turn another corner, and soon realize that I am hopelessly lost. This particular neighbourhood has houses that all look virtually identical, and I can’t figure out where I am. I know my grandmother’s address, but there is no one around to ask. I wander for what feels like hours, crying my eyes out, until my dad finally finds me and brings me back to the house.)

Mum: *crying* “Oh, thank goodness! We were so worried!” *hugs me*

Nana: “Is that all you’re going to say to her? You should be scolding her for being gone for so long.”

Mum: “She didn’t mean to get lost.”

Nana: “Even so, a good spanking would teach her a lesson.”

Mum: *coldly* “I don’t hit my daughter, thank you very much.”

(I always knew that Nana didn’t like me, but her eagerness to punish a crying child was a shock.)

(I am a manager in a pub that offers a wide range of cocktails. We have a 2-for-1 offer on cocktails. An elderly couple and their adult daughter come in. They order their drinks and everything goes smoothly, until…)

Customer: “Can I have a dry martini, please?”

Me: “I can certainly make you one, but just to let you know, it is not on our cocktail menu, so it wouldn’t be a part of 2-for-1 offer. Is that okay?”

Customer: “No, no, I don’t want a cocktail, just a dry martini, please.”

Me: “All right, so just dry vermouth, then.”

Customer: “No, I do not want vermouth; I want a dry martini!”

Me: “Sorry, I’m just trying to understand whether you would like a classic cocktail that involves vermouth and gin, or a Martini-brand vermouth on its own?”

Customer: “I want a martini, but not vermouth.”

(I proceeded to explain the difference again, finally achieving success. Hopefully now the lady will know that her favourite drink is actually vermouth!)

(My family has just flown back to the UK from a trip abroad. My sister and her husband, who no longer live in the UK, are renting a car to use for the week they are staying with my parents. After a long, very delayed flight, we are tired and sweaty, and we just want to get the car and go. Naturally, the agents at the car rental office are eager to up-sell my sister to a bigger car and go through all the tricks, even trying to convince us that we will never fit all our suitcases in the car. The agent suggests we look at the car just to be sure we don’t want the bigger one. Her husband and I go outside to see the car. The agent pops the boot.)

Agent: “See? Not a lot of room here. Not for your five bags.”

(I am so fed up at this point that I just want us to be done; I know we can fit the bags with no problem.)

Me: “I’d fit a dead horse in there.”

(I must have delivered it with a very serious tone; the agent just went silent and stared at me for a moment, before quietly closing the car, returning to the office, and completing my sister’s rental application without much more to say. It’s worth noting that both my sister and I love animals, are vegetarians, and would never dream of hurting animals… but I was fed up.)