(I work in my campus bookstore where many of our clothing items are somewhat pricey. This customer comes to my register and hands me a coffee thermos and an expensive sweatshirt.)

Me: “Your total comes to $75.78.”

Customer: *hands me $9.00 — seven $1.00 bills, and one $2.00*

Me: “Sir, I don’t believe we accept $2.00 bills, but I can take the rest. Would you like to put the rest on a credit card?”

Customer: “Isn’t that enough money?”

Me: “No, sir, it’s $75, not $7.”

Customer: “Oh, I thought that would cover it.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but everything in our store is pretty great quality, so our items are more expensive.”

Customer: “That doesn’t make sense.” *pays with a credit card and storms out*

(I work at a retail chain as a cashier. A woman buys a few things and we have a pleasant transaction. A few minutes later, she gets back in line to buy a bottle of water. They’re 99¢, but after tax, they’re $1.12. As I’m finishing up with the customer ahead of her, she asks me how much the water costs.)

Me: “After tax, it’ll be $1.10.”

(Canada doesn’t use pennies, so $1.12 rounds down to $1.10.)

Customer: “Oh, I don’t want to break this toonie…”

(Meaning she doesn’t want to get back 90¢ worth of change, which would consist of at least five coins instead of a tidy loonie.)

Me: *thinking that means she’s decided against buying it* “Oh, okay. Sorry about that!”

Customer: “No, I’m still getting it. Just give it to me for a dollar.”

Me: *taken aback by her presumption* “I can’t.”

Customer: *suddenly angry* “Fine! My God, only ten cents’ difference!”

(My present customer is almost finished by now; the PIN pad is just processing her payment. The woman buying the water bottle apparently doesn’t realize it’s not her turn yet, and gets angry that I’m not scanning her water bottle.)

Customer: “Well, go ahead!”

Me: *gesturing towards the customer ahead of her* “I’m still on this transaction.”

Customer: “Ugh!”

(She was very grumpy for the rest of the transaction. I know it’s frustrating to have to deal with a bunch of change instead of a single coin, but please don’t be rude to people over it!)

(I spend a semester working as an unpaid intern for a charity organization in late 2007. Early on during my time there, the boss arrives after I am already working to meet with a big wig representative of a potential corporate sponsor. It’s important to note that my car has handicap plates due to some minor mobility issues, but I only park in handicap parking spaces if I think I really need it. Today is not one of those days and I parked in the back. My boss starts making odd jokes and seems to be implying that I should be donating money to their organization such as with the following comments.)

Boss: *chuckling* “Boy, I bet you could afford to feed the whole center lunch.”

(Later:)

Boss: “I bet [My Name] could afford a luxury bus to get us and our equipment to [School].”

(Now, my family is fairly well off, although we didn’t used to be, and I’ve been lucky enough to go to school full-time without working for the first couple of years of my education. However, I have not made any mention of my family’s income at all, let alone given any implication that I am quite wealthy.)

Me: “You seem to be implying that I have a lot of money and I have no idea where this is coming from.”

Boss: “Isn’t that your new Lexus in the handicap spot in front?”

Me: “What? No, I drive that slightly dented 1993 T-Bird out back. It’s under a salvage title and worth about $1,100.”

Big Wig Representative: “That’s my car.”

(I am visiting my family in the USA. I normally live in a country that doesn’t tip, so I don’t really understand how tipping culture works. My mother takes me out to lunch while we’re sightseeing. Our waitress is absolutely wonderful and extremely helpful, even going as far as giving us information about local attractions and the weather forecast. At the end of the meal, we receive the bill. It’s for 35 dollars.)

Mother: *hands me 10 dollars, a dime, and her credit card* “[My Name], could you put this into the bill?”

(For whatever reason, I put the 10 dollar bill and the credit card inside the bill, but place the dime on top of the bill.)

Waitress: “Hi, guys.” *brings us refills for our drinks* “Need anything else?”

Mother: “No, we’re fine for now. Thank you, though!”

(The waitress notices the bill and her eyes suddenly bulge in total shock. However, she quickly composes herself and then politely excuses herself from our table.)

Me: “Wait, did she think that the dime was our tip?”

Mother: *notices the dime sitting on top of the bill* “Oh, no. That’s probably what happened, but once she opens the bill, it’ll be okay.”

(Still, I feel guilty, so I pull out my own wallet and add a 10-dollar bill to the inside of the bill. However, I assume that the space on the receipt that says “tip” is where we write the total amount of the tip we’re giving in cash, so I write $20.10 there. In reality, this is actually for tips given through CREDIT CARDS. After we leave the restaurant, I mention writing the tip total on the receipt to my mother.)

Mother: “That actually means that we just gave her a tip of $40.20.”

Me: “Oh… crap.”

Mother: “And you owe me $20 dollars. I’m not paying that much for a tip!”

Me: *embarrassed, I take a 20-dollar bill out of my wallet and hand it to her* “I suppose that’s fair. My bad…”

(This was about a year ago, but I still feel terrible for making the waitress think we were tipping her a dime after the outstanding service she gave us. I hope that she enjoyed the big surprise thanks to my ignorance, though!)

(My grandmother is incredibly stubborn and refuses to listen. She is also in serious debt because she has proven time and again that she cannot handle her money. She had to move in with us because she ended up filing for bankruptcy. Money is also tight for us at the moment, so we rarely splurge on things like eating out. This happens at dinner one night.)

Grandma: “You know what I want for dinner sometime? I want you to go to [Italian Restaurant] and get a big thing of their salad and bring it home.”

Me: “Just the salad?”

Grandma: “Yes.”

Me: “And what would the rest of dinner be?”

Grandma: “What’s wrong with salad?”

Me: “Nothing, it just doesn’t fill me up.”

Mom: “I can buy a Caesar salad kit and some [Italian Restaurant] dressing at the store for you when I go shopping. Actually, I might have some here.” *gets up to look*

Grandma: “No, I want the salad from [Italian Restaurant]!”

Dad: “Mom, [Italian Restaurant] is all the way on the other side of town. We are nowhere near [Italian Restaurant].”

Grandma: “How far away is it?”

Dad: “Half an hour to forty-five minutes, depending on the time of day and how you hit the lights.”

Grandma: “No, it’s not.”

Dad: “Yes, it is! A lot has changed since you left the area twenty years ago! Besides, [Italian Restaurant] is really expensive and there’s nothing worth getting there.”

(My dad only says this because he hates Italian food.)

Mom: *returning with dressing* “Look, [Grandma], I have the dressing. I will buy a Caesar salad for you and you can put this on.”

Grandma: “No. I want a salad from [Italian Restaurant]. I’ll pay for it myself.”

Dad: “With what money?”

Grandma: “My money.”

Dad: “You don’t have any money!”

Me: “If you really want to go to an Italian restaurant, we can go to [Local Independent Italian Restaurant]. It’s just as good as [Italian Restaurant], but it’s only ten minutes away.”

Grandma: “No! I want salad from [Italian Restaurant]! It’s the best!”

(My parents told her no several more times. She ended up pouting in her room the rest of the night and all of the next day.)