(I’m working for a company acting as the middleman for event organizers, selling gift vouchers for different events. Part of our policy is that customers get contact details for our event organizers after purchasing their vouchers, for obvious reasons. At least that’s what I thought…)

Customer: “Hello. I found [event] on your website and would like to know the organizer’s exact address and phone number.”

Me: “Sure thing, ma’am. To receive the organizer’s details, all you have to do is redeem your voucher via our website, which I can gladly walk you through.”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t have any vouchers. I just want to know the contact details.”

Me: “I see, but unfortunately, access to contact details is only granted if you already own a voucher.”

Customer: “Well, this is not exactly great service, you know?”

Me: “Please understand that we can not just give out contact details without redeeming a voucher.”

Customer: “Why’s that?”

Me: “See, we are the middleman. There’s no need to buy from us if we simply display our organizer’s details, because then you could just buy from the organizer himself, which would make us go out of business.”

Customer: “Oh. Yes, I see. So, can you give me the contact details so I can directly buy from the organizer?”

Me: “…”

(I work as a cashier in a small eatery. A customer comes up and orders wiener sausages, which come with bread or potato salad, depending on the customer’s choice.)

Me: “Would you like bread or potato salad with your sausages?”

Customer: “What’s the difference?”

(I am a broke university student, driving almost every weekend to my parents house to do laundry as it is cheaper than laundromats. My old car is so rusty I am sure it will fail its next biannual mandatory safety inspection. I’ve just gotten into my car, searching the USB drive with my music on it, and I hear someone honking. I know parking spaces are sparse in my neighborhood, so I quickly continue searching as I presume he only wants to let me know he’s there waiting for my parking spot. Not a minute later the driver, a man from my house, is knocking on my window.)

Me: *cranking down my window* “Hi. I’m driving away in a minute. I just need to search something quickly.”

Man: “Hurry up! I don’t have all day.”

(This angers me, so I take my bag, get out of the car and lock it.)

Me: “You know what? I think I’m just going to drive tomorrow morning. Have a nice evening.”

Man: “WHAT?! No, there’s no other parking space right now! Get back in your car and get lost.”

Me: *looking at my watch* “Considering the time of day I don’t think there’s going to be another one soon, either. You better search elsewhere. Bye!”

(I go home and cool down. The next morning I get to my car and find it with profanities scratched into all four sides of it, and quite a few dents ranging from small to almost a hole. I call the police and tell them what happened. They come quickly; I show them to the neighbor and they confront him about it.)

Man: *grinning* “Oh, no! I’d never do such a thing.”

Police: *pointing at his key visible at a table near the entrance* “Do you mind if we take a look at that key right there?”

(He reluctantly handed them the key and, sure enough, it still had visible traces of my car’s paint on it. They took our statements and I continued my day. A few days later the guy’s lawyer contacted me, asking if I’d be willing to drop the charges if he paid for the repairs. I told him the damages are too severe for partial repairs and my mechanic thought the car needed a full bodywork and paint job to rectify the damages. He agreed and I took the car to my mechanic who, besides repairing the damages, also did some smaller, necessary repairs for free as they don’t add up considering the amount of work involved. My car passed its next safety inspection with flying colors. So, thanks for being a d**k! It really helped.)

(My girls’ soccer team is having a trip to Munich for some sightseeing and visiting the famous soccer arena located there. Our families are invited to come along, too, and my family goes with us since none of us have ever been to Munich. We are on a tram to our next location, when suddenly my seven-year-old sister exclaims:)

Sister: “Mama! There’s a purple banana; I want one, too!”

(We all turn around to see what she is pointing to, and sure enough, it is billboard of a campaign against AIDS, featuring a bundle of bananas in brightly colored condoms. All of us teenage girls turn beet-red when we realize that the whole car has heard us, but my mom is unfazed.)

Mother: “Sure, sweetie, but it’s not really purple. It’s just protection to make sure the banana doesn’t get sick.”

Sister: “Aw, that’s boring. Then I don’t want one.”

(I’ve considered getting my sister a banana in a purple condom for her 16th birthday, just to remind her of it.)