I have horribly irregular periods and a family history of uterine fibroids. While I tried talking to my parents about these issues in high school, I was ignored, even though I often had to be picked up from school due to the sheer pain of my cramps. When I talked to my general practitioner, she didn’t think there was anything to worry about. I didn’t manage to get a gynecologist appointment until I was in college after going nearly four months without a period.

Before my appointment, I prepared for a fight. I dressed nicely. I compiled over three years’ worth of data from my period tracking app to prove that my cycles were far longer than normal and were edging into “please see a doctor” territory. I printed out a color-coded chart and a line graph to prove that my cycles were getting longer and longer. Basically, I was expecting to have to fight to be taken seriously since I was young, looked even younger, and was otherwise quite healthy.

When I got to the appointment and met the gynecologist, we ran through the basic first-time patient questions. I pulled out my line graph and the table chart, explained how I’d formatted them, and silently prayed that she would take me seriously. She looked quite shocked, so I was prepared for the worst.

Doctor: “Do you mind if I take these to add to your records?”

Me: “No problem. They’re just printouts.”

Doctor: “Thank you so much! I wish all our patients did this.”

She paused my appointment to run my charts down to records, and they transferred all of the information they could use from my charts to my patient file. The OB heard me out on all my concerns, and I ended up getting a low dose of birth control and a “just in case” test for another condition for which I was at a higher genetic risk. My relief was immeasurable.

Many, many years ago, I was ten years old and had decided that I wanted a Nintendo DS for Christmas. My parents made a deal with me: they would pay for half, but the remaining money would have to come from holiday money. I was fine with that, so pretty much the only item on my Christmas list was money for that DS. My relatives were informed of the situation, and most of them either gave me just cash or a small, cheap gift with a few dollars tucked inside.

Enter my aunt, a wonderful but chronically sleep-deprived woman. As a nurse and mother of three rowdy children, I admire her for being able to hold her life together at all, but occasionally she really screws up.

Having been appraised of the situation, she took a five-dollar bill from her wallet, threw it in the nearest conveniently-sized box, wrapped it, put my name on it, and tucked it away for the family Christmas party. One more thing off the to-do list.

When the Christmas party came, I was unwrapping mostly cash gifts, happy to see visual progress toward my new DS. Then I picked up the next gift with my name on it—the one from my aunt. As is the tradition in our family, I said aloud who it was from.

I began to tear off the paper, and the white box poked out from underneath. My aunt told me later that her stomach dropped as she realized what she’d done. Before she could say anything I ripped off the paper to reveal . . . the box for a brand new iPhone. All eyes turned to my aunt. I just sat utterly confused before opening the box to reveal her actual gift: the five-dollar bill.

Everyone burst out laughing while my aunt went red and started shouting over the racket that she’d just grabbed the nearest box and hadn’t meant to grab THAT one; it’d be mean to make me think I was getting a phone when I wasn’t.

I ended up getting enough money for a brand-new blue Nintendo DS, which still works great to this day. My family never let my aunt live this down, and when I got my first laptop several Christmases later, I made sure to check inside the box before making any assumptions!

I’m a teenager going through some college loan websites with my parents. They’re doing most of the work, but I’m present to note down the details I’ll need, provide some of the necessary information, and get a feel for the process.

My mother is working on the computer, and my father and I are standing behind her. She has several tabs open when she misclicks and closes the whole browser window.

Mom: “Agh! No, no, no, no, no!”

Dad: “Crap! Do you remember everything we had open?”

Me: “Try Control, Shift, T!”

Dad: “What the heck will that do?”

Me: “It reopens your last closed tab! You might have to hit it a couple of times to get everything back, but it should work!”

My mom quickly inputs the command, and all of our tabs reopen, good as new. We all breathe a collective sigh of relief.

Dad: “What was that command again?”

Me: “Control, Shift, T.”

Dad: “I’ll have to remember that.”

I was quite pleased to be able to teach my dad, who has worked in IT for over ten years, something new about computers!

It is December 23rd. I’m a server, and a group of four men comes in about a half-hour before closing (10:30-ish). Throughout their meal, they are nice and apologize for coming in so late. We talk a bit when I am in the dining area, everything is going well, and they finish up their meals. I am hopeful that they will leave a good tip, until…

Customer #1: “You’re a great waitress, and the food is delicious. We are planning on coming in for dinner tomorrow night. Are you working then, too?”

Me: “Yes, I’m working tomorrow, but I should let you know that since it’s Christmas Eve, we will be closing at 2:00 pm and won’t reopen until the 26th. If you were hoping for a late dinner again, we won’t be available.”

[Customer #1] is instantly infuriated and slams his fork down loudly on the table. Three of the men look up at me like I just admitted to some sort of heinous crime. They all start talking over each other.

Customer #1: *Yelling* “Then where are we supposed to eat? Do you want us to starve?”

Customer #2: *Also yelling* “This is bulls***! You need to stay open for your regular hours! Where are we supposed to go?! Do you even care that we have nowhere to eat dinner on Christmas Eve?

Customer #3: *Yup… yelling* “What do you have going on that’s so f******* important that you can’t be bothered to come to work and do your job?”

[Customer #4] doesn’t say a word; he just shrugs his shoulders and keeps eating. I lose all hope of getting a decent tip and just don’t care.

Me: “I’m driving downstate after we close to have dinner tomorrow and spend Christmas with my family. I have not been home in weeks, so no, I don’t care about where you’re going to eat dinner compared to that. I believe that [Chinese Restaurant] will be open if you want to try there, or you could get something from the grocery store.”

Customer #2: “That’s not what we want!”

Me: “Well, you still have plenty of time to figure it out. Here is your check for when you’re ready, but feel free to take your time, and I will continue to stop by if you need anything.”

I did check on them after that. [Customer #4] did all the talking while the other three just glared at me. Thankfully, he paid the bill and did leave a very generous tip.

I’m a cashier in a grocery store. I’m supposed to ask anyone under fifty to show ID for age-restricted purchases, but I’m terrible at guessing ages, so I tend to err on the side of caution. This combination has led to me carding two seventy-two-year-olds on separate occasions.

Old Woman: *Delighted* “Oh, why, thank you, dearie! I’m seventy-two and haven’t been carded in years! Here you go! Oh, I’m so flattered!”

Old Man: *Outraged* “ID?! I’m seventy-two, and you want my ID?! I’ve got shirts old enough to buy that beer!”

Nowadays, I tend to look more closely at men before asking them for ID because, for some reason, it ruins their day to have little old me standing behind a cash register thinking they look younger than they are.