(A father and daughter walk into the library with an armful of books.)

Father: “Hi. You accept donations, right?”

Me: “Sure, as long as they are in good condition and are not textbooks or phone books.”

(I go through the small stack, sorting them into children’s, adult fiction, etc, as well as pulling out a tablet case.)

Father: “You can just sell that or something.”

Me: “Sure.”

Me: *jokingly to the daughter as I pull a Madeline picture book out of the stack* “Are you sure you wanted to give this to us?”

Daughter: *alarmed* “NO! Nobody said we were going to give this to you!”

(She grabbed it from my hand and bolted for the doors. I apologized to her father, waited until they were out of sight, and only then began laughing.)

(I’m newly pregnant, and while it’s exciting news for my husband and me, it’s not so great for work, as my store is in the middle of remodeling. Though I’m still in my first trimester, my manager knows and is usually good about accommodating me. This particular day, there’s no work to be done in my usual department, so I’m sent to help the backroom team hang clothes. About an hour into my shift, my manager comes into the backroom.)

Manager: “Okay, if any of you guys need to go to the bathroom or anything, try to go in the next twenty minutes; I’m going to be painting the floor in front of the door.”

Me: “You’re painting?”

Manager: “What’s wrong? Are you allergic?”

Me: “No, just, is there a painter’s mask or something I could wear for the fumes?”

Manager: “Sorry, I don’t think so. You’ll be fine. If you get a headache you can sit down.”

(A good fifteen seconds of silence pass between us before it dawns on him.)

Manager: “S***, you’re pregnant!”

(I got moved to the fitting room. The fitting room is slow, boring, and hasn’t got much traffic, but it beats inhaling paint fumes!)

(I’m pushing a metal cart around when suddenly I hear a customer start yelling.)

Customer: “GUN! GUN!”

(I quickly stop and look around, along with many other customers whose looks range from confused to panicked. Then, a customer walks up to me with my scanner in his hand.)

Customer: “Your scan gun fell off; I yelled so you could hear me over the noise of your cart.”

Me: *after a moment of regaining my composure* “Uh, thanks, but do you think next time you could do something other than yell, ‘Gun!’ in a crowded store?”

Customer: “Oh… Oh, dear. That wasn’t the smartest thing, huh?”

Me: “I’d certainly say not, no.”

(I am visiting an oral surgeon for the first time after getting a referral from my dentist for severe jaw pain that has been an issue for years.)

Me: “My jaw clicks when I open my mouth, and it hurts a lot if I try to keep my mouth open for a long time.”

Doctor: “Okay, let’s take some X-rays.”

(We take the X-rays and the doctor comes back to me.)

Doctor: “This issue is not something that I would recommend surgery for; it won’t fix the problem. But you do have impacted wisdom teeth.”

Me: “Okay, what would you recommend for the jaw pain? And I know the top right wisdom tooth has been causing me a lot of pain as well. I was going to get a referral for that.”

Doctor: “I won’t operate on your jaw for the jaw pain. It won’t help.”

Me: “Okay, but is there anything you can recommend that might help?”

Doctor: “I won’t do surgery unless I think it will help, and in this case it won’t help.”

(Repeat me asking for something besides surgery a few more times with the same answer.)

Doctor: “Okay, I’m going to see if we can get approval from the insurance for the wisdom teeth. You should hear back from us in a few weeks to schedule an appointment.”

(Fast forward a few weeks. I get a letter in the mail saying I have been approved to have three of my wisdom teeth removed, with no mention of the fourth (the only one that was bothering me). Never went back. Why would I trust someone to do surgery on me when they are incapable of listening to anything I said?)

(I work at the customer service desk answering phones, giving directions, etc. I see a customer taking one of my manager’s business cards.)

Me: “Hi, is there something I can help you with? I noticed you taking a card, and wanted to make sure everything’s all right.”

Customer: “No, no, I just wanted to take one of the cards. I picked this one because it has the number written in.”

Me: “All right. That’s the card for our leasing representative, just so you know.”

Customer: “Oh, I won’t call it or anything. I just like to have it. Thank you. What’s your name?”

Me: “It’s [My Name].”

Customer: “Oh, that’s a beautiful name. You remind me of a beautiful girl named [My Name] who went to [University].”

(I smile, figuring it to be a compliment.)

Customer: “Her boyfriend broke up with her one night over the phone. She went out and got drunk and got on the highway going the wrong way and died.”

Me: *smile frozen on my face now* “Wow, that’s… awful.”

Customer: “Have a good day!”