(Our friend hasn’t had any supper, so we stop in a pub for something to eat. We find the ground floor full but notice there’s an upstairs dining area. We all head up there, and find a waitress at the door.)

Waitress: “This is for diners only.”

Friend: “Yeah, we’d like to eat.”

Waitress: “There’s a ten minute wait on tables.”

(We look behind her. There are 20 tables in the room. Ten of them are occupied.)

Friend: “Who are we waiting for?”

Waitress: “Pre-bookings.”

Me: “Okay… Let’s just find somewhere else.”

Waitress: “Wait. Um, I think I can squeeze you in.”

(She sits us down. We have a look at the menu, but come to a decision quickly. Unfortunately, she’s the only one there and it takes a while to get her attention.)

Friend: “Could we have a portion of chips, please?”

Waitress: “If you want chips, you have to go downstairs.”

(She storms off, while we have another look at the menu and bring her over again.)

Friend #2: “Can we have the fried chicken and chips, please?”

Waitress: “Not available.”

Friend #2: “Then we’ll need another look at the menu.”

Waitress: “Hurry up, then. This area closes in ten minutes and lots of people want this table.”

(There are now 15 empty tables.)

Friend: “That’s fine; I think we’ll go elsewhere.”

(I don’t know whether she was trying to get rid of us or if she honestly expected a big coach party to turn up in the next ten minutes.)

(I go to a popular sandwich shop for my lunch. I’m a vegetarian, not because I dislike the idea of animals dying to feed me, but because the fats in meat cause me to be sick. It’s quite bad and even cross-contamination can cause me to feel ill. Whenever I go, I always ask the staff to change gloves, and have so far never had issues… until today. I watch each stage to make sure contamination is avoided. There are no issues, and the staff members are all accommodating, until we get to the final stage where they cut my sandwich. First, the staff member refuses to change gloves until I insist, then she looks at my sandwich, then back to me, and then she picks up the knife clearly covered in fish and mayo from the fish sandwiches and cuts mine in half, the whole time looking right at me with a clear smirk of victory.)

Me: “Well, I hope you had fun there. You can make me a new one now.”

Staff: “But you… You can’t.”

Me: “I can, since I specifically said to each person here that I can’t have anything that has had meat or fish on it or I become sick. Would you have shoved peanuts in my food if I said I had a nut allergy?”

Staff: “Well, no. That might kill them!”

Me: “And while it may not kill me, that sandwich will have me throwing up for the next hour.”

Staff: “But I just thought you were one of those losers that refuses to eat meat.”

(I just gave her a blank stare until she relented and had my sandwich remade. I complained to the manager, and it turned out she was a new hire and this was not the first time she had caused problems. But seriously, anyone out there working in the service industry who thinks it’s funny to not listen when people ask for something not to be included in their food: listen. It might not be a fad; it might actually be a health issue.)

(The driver on our train makes this announcement.)

Driver: “To the passenger holding the door open… Congratulations. You now have the only open carriage in the whole train. And now, the whole of London wants to get on it. Take your time if you like. I don’t mind, since I’m the only one being paid to just sit here. But the other passengers might get annoyed.”

(My dad is well into his 70s, but clearly still a massive nerd judging by the recent text message conversation we had:)

Dad: “What time do you get into King’s Cross? I’ll meet you at Platform 9 3/4.”

Me: “About 1:00, as long as I don’t get trapped in London Below.”

Dad: “Mind the Gap, then.”

Me: “I killed the Beast; the Gap minds me!”

Dad: “I’m still scared of the Gap, but my daemon looks after me.”

Me: “Really? What is your daemon?”

Dad: “A medium-sized brown bear. Possibly with wings.”

Me: “Armoured?”

Dad: “No, but he does wear and black and white top hat, with just a flash of red to announce him to other rêveurs.”

(I work in a small pet store in London. I’m the manager, so I have a fair amount of discretion when it comes to keeping customers happy. A semi-regular comes in with a broken water bottle that she wants to return.)

Customer: “See here? It’s just snapped, and I only bought it recently. Here’s the receipt.”

Me: “That should be absolutely fine. I actually have some bottles coming in tomorrow and we can do a direct swap.”

(I look at the receipt and see that it’s from two months ago.)

Me: “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, but you bought this in May and our returns policy only extends to 30 days.”

Customer: *suddenly turning nasty* “But it’s not like I used it every day! And you can see it’s snapped; that’s clearly a factory error!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Customer: *screeching now and heading out the door* “That’s fine; you’ll just never see me again. I’ll never shop here again!”

Me: *panicking slightly* “It’s fine, ma’am; I’m sure I can make an exception in your case!”

Customer: *all smiles again* “Oh, fantastic! Right, so, I’ll see you tomorrow! Bye!”

(She left, leaving me totally surprised by her complete turn around. I looked down at the receipt again and realized it was not even for the same d*** product! Bullied and conned by a little old lady in one transaction!)