I’m in a college class with an older professor the year before she retires. It’s a few days before spring break, and she’s quite put out about students missing her — admittedly tedious — class in favor of an early vacation.

Professor: “And you just know that some of them are going to end up on Girls Gone Wild. Does that awful show still exist? It used to be a big thing.”

Student: “Nowadays, we call it TikTok.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A few weeks ago, my car was totaled by a drunk driver. I am borrowing my mom’s car while I wait for the insurance payout to replace it. I notice that the oil needs to be changed, so I take it to a shop from which I have a coupon for a $17 oil change.

The mechanic is inside a department store. I go through the main entrance to get on the list and show the clerk the coupon.

Clerk: “What type of car and color is it?”

I give a description.

Clerk: “What year?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t know. It’s my mom’s car; I’m just using it for a bit. I can go check and see if that information is in the car.”

Clerk: “No, that’s all right. We will figure it out. You can look around the store, and we will call you when it’s ready.”

About fifteen minutes later, I am paged to the auto department.

Me: “Hi. I was just called. I believe my car is ready.”

Clerk: “No, not yet. I just wanted to inform you that, during the inspection, we discovered that there was [issue I don’t remember] with the car. We are going to have that fixed for you, so with the oil change and repairs, your total is $700, and it will take about four hours.”

Me: “No, just the oil change, but I will let my mom know and I’m sure she will get it to her mechanic soon.”

Clerk: “This needs to be fixed, or it could continue to wear down and destroy the motor. You need to have it done.”

Me: “Like I said, it’s not my car, and I do not have $700. Plus, I need to be at work in two hours, so I can’t wait that long. Is it something that will cause issues within the next week?”

Clerk: “No, but we already started the repairs.”

Me: “Well, I did not agree to anything but the oil change. It sounds like a problem I did not cause, and I am only going to pay for the oil change.”

Clerk: “You need to pay us to fix it.”

Me: “No.”

Clerk: “But it—”

Me: “NO.”

The clerk lets out a frustrated growl and storms out to the back. She comes back about five minutes later. While I am waiting, I place a few items I had intended to buy on the counter.

Clerk: “They are putting the old parts back on, but [part] was damaged when we took it off, so you’ll need to pay for the replacement. Your total is $200.”

Me: “No, I am only paying for the oil change. You caused damage doing work I never agreed to. You need to repair it since it was your error, and I would like to speak to the manager.”

Clerk: “He is unavailable, but fine. We will just lose money on the parts. It will be $38 for the oil change.”

Me: “No, I have this coupon for a $17 oil change.”

Clerk: “That coupon is only for the oil change; the disposal fee, extra oil, and air filter are priced separately.”

Me: “Isn’t that all included in an oil change?”

Clerk: “Most places lump it all together, but we charge for everything separately. You would know that if you bothered to read our sign.”

She gestures behind her to a partially obscured sign with strange, nearly illegible lettering.

Me: “Fine. Whatever.”

Clerk: “Would you like me to ring up these other items, as well?”

Me: “No, thank you.”

I pay for the oil change and leave the items on the counter. About two minutes later, the mechanic comes in with my keys and tells me the car is ready. I head out the door.

Clerk: “You forgot your items here.”

Me: “No, the oil change cost more than it was supposed to. I no longer want them. Have fun putting them back.”

Clerk: “You need to take them back to the correct departments.”

Me “No.”

Then, I walked out and never returned to that store again.

My mom took the car to her regular mechanic two weeks later, and they charged her $200 for everything that needed to be done.

Many years ago, a couple in my church was fostering to adopt. One afternoon, they got a call about the placement of a little girl, maybe four or five years old.

When the social worker arrived with the girl, she looked her new foster parents up and down and pointed at the wife.

Girl: “You’re Mommy.”

Then, she pointed at the husband.

Girl: “You’re Daddy.” *Pauses* “Where am I sleepin’?”

All three of them cracked up. Points for efficiency!

I was in an electronics store browsing through laptops when I noticed a young man standing near me. He looked to be somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, neatly dressed in a dress shirt and tie with polished shoes, hair slicked and gelled back, and he was wearing a name tag that said, “Steven”. (Name has been changed.)

Me: “Hi. Would you recommend the AMD or Intel processors for graphics design?”

Steven: “Is this for like a commercial setting? Home office?”

I explained exactly what it was I was looking to do. He launched into a very thorough and detailed explanation of what sort of computer hardware was appropriate for what. He brought me to a couple of display laptops and gave a well-formulated recommendation of what he’d personally go with. He ended it by taking out his phone and directing me to some tech websites that would further help. I was so impressed with his professionalism and courtesy that I decided to buy the laptop to make it worth his while.

Steven: *Smiling brightly* “Great! Let me know how it works out, or if you have any questions or whatever; here’s my Twitter and Facebook.” *Scribbling them down and handing the note to me* “Gotta run now, though. Take it easy!”

Thinking his shift was over and that he’d helped me more than enough, I smiled and thanked him.

I bought the laptop and later left a five-star review, specifically mentioning Steven and praising his excellent job. The store responded to the review.

Store: “Do you have the right business? We don’t have anyone named Steven who works here.”

Oh, it gets better. I checked out his Facebook… and discovered that he was only fourteen years old!

I am in my first class in culinary school. A few weeks into the semester, a girl in my class is talking to a few of the guys in our class. She annoys me, so I try to ignore the conversation, but she talks very loudly.

Girl: “I am so glad my new kitchen shoes came in. I couldn’t find anything cute in my size, so I had to order them online since my feet are so small.”

I glance down at her feet since I also have a terrible time finding shoes that fit properly.

Me: “Where did you order them from, and how much were they? The only ones I could find are not very comfortable”

Girl: “[Website], and they were only $175.”

Me: “Oh, okay, thanks.”

Girl: “When you order them, it takes four weeks to get them.”

Me: “That’s out of my budget, so I’ll just stick with what I have, but thanks for the information.”

She rolls her eyes, turns away from me, and talks to the guys again. Her body language makes it clear that I am not supposed to be a part of the conversation, so I go back to what I was doing.

Girl: “My feet are so small, it was all that was available. Everyone always comments on how small they are. Like, every day, someone is commenting on how cute and little my feet are, but it is just so hard to find shoes that fit.”

I leave the area to do something else.

A few days later, we are in class again.

Girl: “It’s just so hard to find shoes in my size. All anyone ever talks about is how small my feet are. Some people just don’t understand how hard it is to find small shoes, and they are so expensive when I can.”

During this statement, she glances at me and gives me a dirty look before droning on and on for about fifteen minutes about her shoe struggles.

The next class, she goes on again about her shoe size, this time bragging like it’s something to be immensely proud of, and the following class, she starts in again. This time, it’s about how unfair it is that all her friends share shoes but she can’t because no one has feet as small as hers.

It’s been two weeks of her shoe size dominating the conversation in the kitchen. I’m not much for chit-chat in general, so I don’t particularly care that I am left out of her group conversation, but she talks so loudly that it’s hard to discuss anything else or ask questions about the assignment. This, combined with the nasty looks, has me just about done.

I look at her feet again to confirm my initial observations.

Me: “Hey, [Girl], what size shoes do you wear? I’m always looking for someone that wears the same size as me. I would love to be able to trade or borrow shoes instead of having to buy them all the time, especially since many stores don’t carry shoes that fit me, so I find myself buying shoes that are a bit too big.”

Girl: “Well, I only wear a size seven and a half, so I doubt we wear the same size.”

Me: “Oh, you’re right; I need a size five, so your shoes would be way too big on me. I didn’t even realize that seven and a half was considered small since the average shoe size is an eight, but I guess that is slightly smaller than an eight. Thanks, anyway.”

I walked away as she gave me the most murderous glance ever. It may have been a bit petty, but I just wanted to be able to hear myself think. Since she did not say a single word for the rest of class and never brought up her shoe size again, I’m okay with it.