I used to work at a popular clothing store that had pretty much everything you could need at a reasonable price. Just like every other clothing store, we had a store credit card that we were encouraged to have customers sign up for.

The rule was three “No”s per transaction, which no one really followed because that’s a little ridiculous. And, of course, corporate and managers gave us weekly goals that we had to meet.

Because I was usually working the sales floor and therefore couldn’t enter cards into the computer, I was never really close to my goal. This became a problem for me, but management preferred me on the floor, so they were cool with just keeping me there.

But then, one day, I went into work to see a bright notice on the cork board. It read, “ALL EMPLOYEES WHO DON’T MEET THEIR WEEKLY CREDIT GOALS MUST ATTEND A CUSTOMER SERVICE CLASS. SEE MANAGER FOR DETAILS.”

I did exactly that. When I spoke to a manager, she told me I had to attend the three-hour, mandatory class on being a polite but pushy employee or face “consequences.” When I asked what day it was, she said, “Next Friday morning.”

I was a college student who had morning classes, so I quickly told her that I literally couldn’t attend because of class. I was told that it was fine for me to skip classes, since college kids do that all the time. When I told her I didn’t want to skip classes that I paid $30,000 a year for, she then asked me what was more important to me: college, or my minimum-wage job?

I got a new job that week. I’ve never been so happy to hand in a letter of resignation.

My college friend called me one day asking for advice. A few days before, she was hit by a car making a right turn across a crosswalk. My friend was on her bike but had the right of way. At first, the driver didn’t stop, and instead started off down the street before wisely deciding to return to the scene. My friend suffered no injuries, but her bike was badly damaged. A cop was called to the scene to take a report. My friend decided that she didn’t want to press charges as long as the driver paid to repair the bike, my friend’s main method of transport around the city. The cop agreed not to issue a ticket, but gave my friend his contact information and told her to let him know if there was any trouble.

The reason my friend called was that after taking the bike to her local bike shop and getting an estimate on repairs, she called the driver up to arrange payment. The driver didn’t want to pay, claiming she couldn’t afford it. She pleaded with my friend, saying that she just couldn’t do it.

My dad is a lawyer, and often gives free advice to my friends, so she was wondering what suggestions he had. My dad laughed when he told her the story. He knew exactly what to do, and wrote it all down for her in an email to recite when she called the driver back.

She called the woman back and politely told her that the agreement was to pay for the bike repairs in exchange for no ticket or summons being issued. If the driver was now reneging on that agreement, my friend would call the cop who came to the scene and request he issue the summons. The driver would have to pay a fine, and her insurance company would likely raise her rates.

My friend’s bike was repaired within the week.

To this day, my dad can’t believe that driver was so dumb as to try to weasel out of what was literally a gift from my friend of not letting her insurance company know what she did.

(My mother-in-law wants a party for a milestone birthday. My husband and I are in charge of getting sandwiches, so we decide to order from the deli counter at our local grocery store to save some time and money, rather than buying ingredients and making them ourselves. The store offers two types of meat: ham and turkey, or you can order a mix of the two. My mother-in-law’s family has ham for every family get together, but some of my husband’s generation doesn’t eat it. It’s not a strict dietary requirement or religious thing; they just don’t like it. I order two batches — one ham and one turkey. When I go to pick it up, the deli worker brings two boxes, one almost comically huge, and one regular-sized donut box.)

Me: “These were supposed to be the same size orders.”

Deli Worker: “All of the sandwiches are there. They didn’t all fit in the big box, so the extras went in the little box.”

Me: “They were supposed to be separate. There were two orders: one turkey, one ham.”

Deli Worker: “Oh, we always mix them together unless you add a note that you don’t want that.”

Me: “Why would I add a note when I ordered them separate? There’s an option to have them mixed, and I didn’t order that; I ordered them separate.”

Deli Worker: “No, you ordered them together.” *pulls out my order* “See? One ham and one turkey, on the same order.”

Me: “That’s one order, so I only have to pay once. That’s not ordering them mixed together. I have people who won’t eat the ham; I didn’t want them to have to dig through to find the sandwich they want.”

Deli Worker: “You know, I’m having a really hard day, and you’re making it worse. Do you just want a manager?”

Me: “I do now.”

(The manager comes, and I try to explain. At this point, I’m more upset that the deli worker blamed me for not being specific enough, and then for making her day harder, and I’m near tears from frustration.)

Me: “I don’t have time for you to fix the sandwiches here; I have to go. I’ll deal with it. I just want to make sure that in the future they don’t just get mixed unless they’re actually ordered that way. And I definitely don’t think it’s okay to blame me for making her day harder.”

(I left and went to the front to pay, where the manager caught up to me and gave a discount while apologizing.)

(I am working at a national chain office supply store. There is a rewards card that gives points for each purchase, which earns special coupons, gift cards, etc. that are sent to the customer’s account. In order to use the rewards, customers have to either print the email or show it on their phone. Customers can look up their accounts on the website and they get email notifications when rewards are sent. It is against company policy for employees to access rewards accounts for customers. A customer is at the checkout, about to pay for furniture she is buying.)

Me: “…and your total is [amount].”

Customer: “Oh, no, I have my rewards card.”

(She hands me her card, and I scan it to apply the points to her account, then hand it back to her. She just stands there for a bit, so I repeat:)

Me: “Your total is [same amount].”

Customer: “What? I gave you my rewards card. Why didn’t the discount apply?”

Me: “Oh, sorry for the confusion. It’s not a discount card. When I scan it, the points from this purchase go to your account.”

Customer: “I know, but I think I have rewards to use.”

Me: “Do you have them with you?”

Customer: *getting annoyed* “NO! You SCANNED the CARD!”

Me: “Right, but the computer doesn’t read what rewards you have available. It just gives you the points from this transaction. If you got an email saying you have rewards to use, you can print it off, or show it on your phone if you have a smartphone.”

Customer: “No, thanks. You can just look it up for me.”

Me: “I’m not authorized to access your account.”

Customer: *smiling like it has suddenly become clear* “OHHH, okay! I authorize you.”

Me: “I mean I’m not allowed to because corporate says so; I could lose my job. And even if I was allowed, this computer isn’t able to do that.”

(It’s a computer that is only connected to the store’s internal network, not the Internet, and it is basically a cash register.)

Customer: “Fine! I’ll just go to [Competitor]!”

(A coworker and I had taken the furniture, which was very heavy, off of a high shelf from the back room and carried it up to the register at this customer’s request, so after she stormed out without buying it, we had to put it back.)

(I am working front desk at a hotel on a relatively busy Sunday night. I have already had a couple of walk-ins, and this older gentleman comes in asking about room availability for the night. I give him rates, and he decides to stay, so I am inputting his information and making small talk. Note that I am in my twenties, but some people mistake me for a teenager.)

Guest: “Are you from here?”

Me: “Yeah, I grew up here.”

Guest: “It’s a nice place. Do you get a lot of tourism?”

Me: “We get some, depending on the season. When [Big Festival] was still in town the whole town got very full for about a week, but since they moved the festival, it’s been a little quieter in the summers.”

(I’m finishing the check-in process at this point, handing the guest his keys, etc.)

Guest: “And are you happy here?”

Me: *a little confused* “Yes, it’s a good place to be.”

Guest: “Aw, too bad. We were thinking of adopting you! But if you’re happy here—”

(I laughed politely — and awkwardly — as the guest went to get his wife and head to their room. I still don’t quite know what that was about, or how old he thought I was! I’m used to guests saying funny things, but this was the strangest one I’ve heard in a while.)