(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.)

(Our store primarily serves tradesmen building or renovating homes, but we’re open to the public doing DIY, too. I’ve been tasked with helping customers find the products they want. These customers are a couple.)

Me: “Hey there. Are you guys doing okay?”

Customer #1: “Yeah, we’re looking to mount a TV on the wall. It’s a bit old, though.”

Customer #2: “It’s not that old; it’s about eight years old.”

(My own TV is about the same age, so I have a guess as to what its shape is like.)

Me: “Do you know how much it weighs?”

Customer #1: “I know the mounting points are 20 centimeters apart.”

Me: “But not how much it weighs? I’d strongly suggest putting it on your bathroom scale before mounting it, in all honesty.”

Customer #1: “I think this one will be enough.”

Me: “With all due respect, sir, I’m going to tell you what I think as a person: when it comes to your home, do not settle with, ‘I think.’ Go with, ‘I know.'”

Customer #2: “You’re a really smart girl, you know that? What is it with men and just going with what they think?”

Me: “My boyfriend doesn’t do it, especially something that can cause a lot of damage if it’s done wrong.”

Customer #2: “That is why you two are in a relationship!”

(I wound up telling not only my assistant manager, who laughed, but my boyfriend, who took it as a compliment.)

(I find a Chinese takeout place very near to me that is inexpensive and can deliver very quickly. The second time I order, they give me deep-fried chicken balls that are slightly undercooked. I don’t think they are dangerous, and they taste fine, but they are definitely more pink in the middle than normal. I call them to report it and they give me some free soup. Pretty normal interaction. A couple weeks later, though, there is a repeat incident.)

Me: “Hi, I’m calling about the order you just delivered to [address]. The chicken balls were very undercooked; one was actually raw in the middle.”

Employee: *a very young-sounding girl* “Yes? Hello?”

Me: “This is [Chinese Takeaway], yes? I’m calling about the order to [address]. The chicken balls were undercooked.”

Employee: “You want an order?”

Me: “You just sent an order to [address], correct?”

Employee: “Oh. Yes? Problem? No arrive?”

Me: “It arrived, but the chicken balls were very undercooked.”

Employee: “Uh…”

Me: “Undercooked. Raw. The chicken! The chicken was not properly cooked!”

Employee: “Wait. [Indistinct], get boss!”

(Almost a minute of silence passes.)

Employee: “Yes, hello? You cannot make problem. We [indistinct] cook the same and you always have problem.”

Me: “I’m sorry? I’m not trying to make a problem; I’m telling you that you can’t sell raw food, especially chicken!”

Employee: “Our food is fine! You always call with problem!”

(Keep in mind I have only called once before and I didn’t even ask for free food; they just offered it.)

Employee: “We are not giving you anything!”

Me: “I’m not asking for anything! I can put these in my oven to finish cooking! But you cannot give people raw food!”

Employee: *click*

(I call back.)

Employee: *the same girl* “Hello?”

Me: “Yes, it’s me again. I’m not trying to get free food. But I need you to acknowledge that your chicken was raw. You could kill someone.”

Employee: “Stop making problem! If you don’t like how we make, don’t order!”

Me: “You know it’s illegal to sell undercooked chicken, don’t you?”

Employee: “Don’t order here again!” *click*

(I report them to the Food Standards Agency. The best part? Not three days later, I get a phone call.)

Government Worker: “Hello, is this [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes, that’s me.”

Government Worker: “This is [My Name] with the FSA. I’m just calling about your report about [Chinese Takeaway]. Could I ask you a few things?”

Me: “Oh! Of course.”

(She confirms that what I wrote is about the correct place, and asks for the whole story, which I give her.)

Government Worker: “You should know that you’re not the only person to report this place. We’ve already given them a warning in the past, so now we’re probably going to have to inspect them in person. That usually scares them into doing things properly, but I wouldn’t order from them again, in any case, if I were you. I could give you a call to let you know if and when we take action, and the outcome?”

(I assured her that wasn’t necessary. It was just nice to know that when you report bad businesses, sometimes the authorities actually take notice.)