(I work at a popular music retailer. A rather snippy elderly gentleman is looking for a ridiculously specific guitar part.)

Customer: “Y’know, I went to [Other Store] before coming here, and you know what? I’m never going there again!”

Me: “Oh, what happened?”

Customer: “I went there and they were closed! They’re never getting my business again!”

(Oh, how I wished we had been closed.)

(I answer the phone for the umpteenth time this morning. Everything’s been normal and boring so far, just how I like it.)

Me: “Good morning, this is [Business]. My name is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Hey. Can I speak to [Dining Manager], please?”

Me: “Let me see if he’s in. May I ask who’s calling?”

Caller: “Yeah, this is [Caller]. He’ll know who I am.”

Me: “Okay, just a moment, please. Let me see if [Dining Manager] is in.”

(He is; he’s just walked in the door and is listening. He motions for the phone and I take it off hold to hand to him.)

Dining Manager: “Hello, this is [Dining Manager].”

(He says, “Uh-huh,” and, “Okay,” and other general murmurs of agreement as the caller speaks.)

Dining Manager: “That sounds great; what company are you from again?”

(He listens some more and then his face screws up, and he makes a “WTF” face.)

Dining Manager: “Well, I think if you’re looking to sell me some cleaning chemicals, you could tell me what company you’re selling for.”

(He listens some more.)

Dining Manager: “No, if you can’t tell me what company this is, I think… Huh, he hung up.”

Me: “What the heck was that all about?”

Dining Manager: “It was a scam. They basically offer you a box of free chemicals and then when you eventually get them, they charge you. Idiots.”

Me: “So, I’m guessing you didn’t know [Caller], huh?” *laughing*

Dining Manager: “Nope.” *also laughing*

(I work in an assisted living facility. Part of my job is taking care of a small beverage station in the front lobby that is self-serve, although I tend to make the hot drinks for the residents or anyone else who needs the help. In front of the station is a wooden box with different kinds of tea and packets to make hot chocolate. Most people — in fact, everyone I’ve seen except for this one woman — takes one packet, tea bag, or whatever they need for the one drink they’re having at that moment. But this one woman is family of one of the residents, in her 30s or 40s, looks very well-off — expensive brand-name clothing, Coach purse, drives a BMV — and looks fit and healthy. She doesn’t understand the concept of “take one.” She takes ALL of them every time she comes in. She cleans us out. My boss won’t let me directly call her out on it, either. I have finally had enough, so when I see her the next time parking her car and coming in, just after I have unlocked the door, I walk over to the beverage station while she signs in and fuss around straightening it up. I hide the tea bags and hot chocolate packets in the cabinet underneath. She comes up to do her daily “shopping” and…)

Woman: “Oh! Where are the tea packets and the hot chocolate?”

Me: “I’m sorry, we’ve gotten rid of them because someone keeps stealing them all at once and it’s costing us too much money.”

(The woman’s eyes widen and she huffs.)

Woman: “They’re for everyone, aren’t they?!”

Me: *still entirely polite* “Yes, everyone was welcome to take what they needed to make one drink at a time. But someone was taking everything at once, so now no one gets tea or hot chocolate. I’m sorry.” 

(I smiled at her. The woman stomped her foot like a child, got a single cup of black coffee, and stalked off. Petty? Maybe. But the next couple of times I saw her come in, she got her single cup of coffee and went about her visit, ignoring the tea bags and hot chocolate packets I had put back out. Feels like a victory to me.)

I go to the grocery store to pick up a few items, including two loaves of bread. I take the two loaves to get them sliced and the girl who comes to help me has to ask someone to tell her how to run the machine. Fine, maybe she’s new; maybe she’s never done it before.

She comes back and finally gets it started and it gets stuck a bit. I look past the counter to see what’s going on… and she has the bread in the long way; she’s trying to slice it vertically. I probably could stop her there, but my brain has broken a bit and I cannot form words.

Then, she takes the loaf out when it’s done… and actually turns to me, holding it, and asks if it’s all right. I look at the vertically-sliced loaf and I must be making one h*** of a “WTF” face because she looks at it and looks back at me with a worried, puzzled look on her face.

I manage to restart my brain and tell her, “No, I’d… like it sliced like… normal. Like normal bread.” She still looks confused so I tell her to turn it around and I have to mime the way the loaf should be turned because she is still confused.

She finally gets the two loaves sliced correctly, after having to get me a new loaf to replace the one she… hot-dog sliced, I guess. She doesn’t have an accent, doesn’t seem like she is from anywhere but here, and doesn’t look like she has any reason to not know what a sandwich is… or toast. Has she never seen a sliced loaf of bread before?!

(I work in a retail pharmacy in a popular US drug store chain. I’m the pharmacist, so I’m used to answering drug information questions specific to certain meds or recommendations for what products to buy. It’s a busy day, with phones ringing nonstop and a huge backup of prescriptions to process. I hear the phone ring and pick it up.)

Me: “Hi, thanks for calling [Store] pharmacy. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Do you have gloves? For kids? That will fit kids?”

Me: *in pharmacy/medical mode* “Hmm, how big is the child? Most latex or plastic gloves are for adults. Did you need latex gloves?”

Caller: “No, I need kid gloves!” *yells at a child in the background* “For a kid!”

Me: “I’m sorry, we have lots of gloves and I need to know what kind you need in order for me to tell you where to get them.”

Caller: “They’re for kids!”

Me: “I don’t think we have medical gloves for children. What do you need them for?”

Caller: *yelling* “KID GLOVES! Jesus! I always have these problems every place I call! NEVER MIND!”

(It dawned on me after the call that she was probably asking about fabric gloves for cold weather. If she had said that, I would have transferred her to someone who handles our floor stock. Don’t call the pharmacy looking for clothing unless you want to really confuse the pharmacist! It was my mistake, but please help me out with more adjectives than just “kid-sized!”)