(I have a limp; four years ago I cut my leg open with a framing blade while working, right down to the bone. A year ago: I am paying my Internet bill online when there is a hiccup. The paid page does not display, but it says it’s safe to reload. Basically, it says, “Oops! We had a problem. Reload and try to pay again,” so I do so, and attempt to pay again. I write the charge down in my notebook, determine my balance, and go grocery shopping at a few places. It turns out the first charge DID go through, even though the website explicitly said it did not. I end up paying my bill twice, leaving me with around $20 in my account before going out to food shop. I end up getting hit with FIVE separate overdraw penalties the next day, totaling $100 plus the actual food purchased. My bank tells me they can contest two overdraws yearly, and the other three will need the Internet company to admit the mistake before they can contest the fees. So, I call the big company:)

Day #1:

(I call, and a person picks up. I explain what happened.)

Employee #1: “I see the two charges, but it will take up to a week to clear before I can refund you. It’s just a precaution in case the bank issues a chargeback in the meantime, or you would be in trouble for theft over a mistake.”

Day #8:

(I call, explain it all again, and the employee admits the notes are on my record.)

Employee #2: “I see the charges. Whoever told you a week should have told you up to two weeks. Give it another week.”

Day #15:

(I call AGAIN. I’m starting to panic; the month is halfway through, and my account is still overdrawn. A person picks up.)

Employee #3: “Oh, well. We are seeing only one charge here. We never got the second payment.”

Me: “Excuse me? Two people told me they saw two charges, and I’m looking at my online statement. You guys double-dipped. The money was withdrawn on the third.”

Employee #3: “Well, I only see one charge on our end. But if you take your bank statement into a local branch as proof, they can fix it.”

(I limp up to my bank — I don’t own a car — for a printout, and they happily highlight the two charges. I then limp two miles, one way, to the local office in 90-degree temperatures. THE LADY REFUSES TO LOOK AT THE STATEMENT. She pulls up my account, and keeps stating:)

Branch Employee: “I only see one charge.”

(Then, she looks away when I hold up my statement. She also REFUSES to turn the monitor towards me to show ME proof, and even turns her back to me when I slam my statement down on the counter after the seventh repetition of:)

Branch Employee: “We only have one charge. It does not matter what your statement says, or what they told you on the phone.”

(I am admittedly VERY angry that someone, somewhere, has lied, maybe more than once. So, I limp the two miles home, grab my phone, and call them again.)

Employee #4: *goes into normal greeting spiel*

Me: “I am sorry to rudely interrupt, but you cannot help me. I am very angry, and I want to talk with a supervisor as of right now, if not five minutes ago.”

Employee #4: “I am sorry you are upset, and I am motioning for a supervisor. Are you sure I cannot help?”

Me: “I have been through this for the last two and a half weeks, and I will only repeat myself once more, to a Super. I am sorry if I am giving you attitude, but I am livid.”

(A supervisor picks up:)

Supervisor: “I see the records here that you have contacted us three times and—”

Me: *in a cold, low voice, as I do not yell at people when really angry* “Yes, and the first two times, I was told, and I quote, ‘I see the two charges.’ The third time, I was told, ‘I don’t see a second charge,’ and, ‘Go to a local office to fix it.’ I. Have. A. Limp. I walked two miles, one way, in 90-plus-degree weather, only for the lady in the office to flat out refuse to help me, refuse to say anything except, ‘We only see one charge,’ and refuse to look at my bank statement. Now, I am back home, in pain, and you are bearing the brunt of my wrath when you had nothing to do with this. I suggest you figure out just who lied to me, because you dealing with me is their fault. Now, I am saying this once, and once only: It’s Tuesday. If the second charge is not in my bank account by Friday, I will get a lawyer and go to court over the mental stress this has caused me worrying about next month’s rent and groceries due to overdraft fees I can’t dispute without your input, plus the physical stress over walking four miles with a bad leg on what may have been a g**d*** lie. Okay?”

Supervisor: *clearly floored* “I… well… I will see what I can do.”

Me: “Thank you. And for any record: the lady who took my call today, and you, were courteous.”

(I then hung up to have a VERY good scream. Come Thursday, my bank called me to let me know the second charge was back in my account, and all overdraw fees could be, and had been, returned, as well. I hate when people scream, “SUE!” but after over two weeks of BS, I was 100% ready to do just that.)

(I work in a busy fast food restaurant located in the middle of town. As with most fast food places, it is cheaper to buy a meal deal than to buy the items separate.)

Customer: “Hi, I’ll have the [burger].”

Me: “Okay, would you like that as a meal? It comes with French fries and a drink.”

Customer: “No, thank you. I’ll just have the burger.”

(I ring in the burger and give the customer her change. A few minutes later she comes back to my till and asks for a drink. After paying, she sits down for maybe two minutes, then comes back to my till.)

Customer: “Can I have a medium portion of fries to go with that?”

Me: “Yes, that will be £1.”

Customer: “My total is almost £6; I thought the meal was only supposed to be £4!”

Me: “Yes, but in order to get the meal, you must order all your items at the same time so I can ring it through the till.”

Customer: “This is an outrage! You are robbing me; I demand a refund! Get me your manager!”

(Luckily, my manager was listening the whole time and repeats the same information I have given the customer.)

Customer: “You shouldn’t be falsely advertising your prices! I’m never coming here again!”

While I never really got on with school as a whole, there is one lesson I had that really stuck with me. It was set up as a game. The class was split into teams; each team was a country. Each country started with $500 of their local currency and some materials such as paper, scissors, or rulers. The countries had to create shapes and sell them to the world bank for profit. The trick was that countries like the USA or UK had lots of scissors and rulers, and even compasses and Protractors — curved shapes were worth more — while the poor countries had lots of paper but not much else.

The game started with the world bank taxing each nation $100 to be collected by the USA. Unsurprisingly, my team’s Ethiopian Dollars weren’t worth much and were all taken, and the US got to keep 10% of the tax. Occasionally the teacher running the game would make up arbitrary rules that more often than not benefited countries with wealth and the tools, such as closing the border to Europe so only the wealthy nations could sell to the world bank, or rejecting certain shapes which had been overproduced while still allowing the wealthy nations to sell their excess stock

Eventually I got sick of being on a losing team, took all my country’s money and materials, and bought my way into the United Kingdom. We raked in the money mass-producing circles. My best friend started to cheat, himself, by stealing from other teams; he even tried to steal from the world bank. At the end of the lesson I asked the teacher why he let us cheat, since he obviously saw me buy my way into the UK. He went on to explain that very often people in poor nations do just what I did, exploiting my nation for personal gain, or, like my friend, steal from other weak nations to improve his own all the while the richer nations reap the benefits.

The class really stuck with me as a great way to explain a lot of how the world economy works, if very dumbed down.

(I am a dog trainer at a large chain store. While I do offer group classes, I also do private lessons. One night, a man calls the store while I am in a class. I ask the person taking the call to take a message, but the man refuses. I apologize to my class and send them to break early to take the call.)

Me: “Thank you for holding. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Man: “Private lesson.”

Me: “You’d like to sign up for a private lesson? Okay, they are [$] for half an hour, [$$] for an hour, or we can do four one-hour sessions for [$$$].”

Man: “I’m not paying [$$] for an hour. I’ll do [$].”

Me: “Okay, so, that’s the half hour—”

Man: “No! I want the hour.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I misunderstood. So, the hour is [$$], and we just go over—”

Man: “My dog won’t stop pissing in the house.”

Me: “Okay. We do have some behavior skills we can work on for that.”

Man: “Like what?”

Me: “Well, that’s what we would discuss in your lesson. When would you like to come in? I’m available [time #1], [time #2], and [time #3].”

Man: “You can’t just tell me how to make him stop f****** pissing?”

Me: “No, sir, unfortunately, I can’t. That’s why we have private lessons, for one-on-one time to discuss these issues.”

Man: “Okay. I want [time #2], the hour, for [$].”

Me: “I am sorry, but the hour is [$$], not [$].”

Man: “So, you’re rented by the hour? Like a prostitute?” *he laughs*

Me: “No. Not like a prostitute, and not by you. Goodbye, sir.”

(I hang up the phone, furious. The next day I am home when my boss — a very large, intimidating-looking, but actually quite nice man — calls.)

Boss: “Hey, [My Name], just wanted you to know, we have a thirty-minute private lesson signed up today at [time #2]. He said you spoke last night?”

Me: “Really? That a**hole called back?”

Boss: “[My Name]! I know you know better than to talk about a customer like that.”

Me: “He equated me to a prostitute, being rented by the hour. I’ll call him whatever I want.”

Boss: *silence… then:* “Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet with him. But come in at that time, anyway.”

(I go to work that night, anxiously awaiting this man’s arrival. When he comes in, he makes a beeline for me and stands so close I can feel his body heat radiating.)

Man: “So… Are you ready for our hour together?”

Boss: “Actually, I’ll be helping you, sir.”

Man: “I didn’t rent you. I rented her!”

Boss: “We are people, not things to be rented. You can have your lesson with me or you can leave.”

(He left.)

A few years ago I answered the door to a man who was trying to sell ironing board covers for an extremely high price. I didn’t want to turn him away, so I called my dad to the door. My dad bought one for £20, said thank you to the man, and shut the door. I was very confused why he bought the cover, and he told me that he was worried that the man was going to key his car — a sports car that my dad loved a lot — because it was not in the garage. I thought that that was pretty reasonable, and took the cover and put it on the counter.

A couple minutes later I was curious to see if the man did key the car, so I went out and checked. My dad’s car was in the garage the whole time.

We still mock him about the time he brought a £20 cover to save his protected car.