My husband and I were walking down the Las Vegas Strip. We were coming back from a show that was much farther from our hotel than we’d expected, so my feet were killing me and I was completely exhausted. I was just concentrating on putting one blistered foot in front of the other and getting back to the hotel so I could collapse.

The Vegas Strip is home to all sorts of fun and strange discoveries, and outside a shop, we spotted a Zoltar fortune-telling machine that looked like it had come straight out of the movie Big. We stopped to admire it for a moment, and I stepped forward to get a closer look.

The machine suddenly burst into life, moving dramatically and speaking loudly. I emitted some sort of strangled scream, jumped about a foot, and, in my exhausted and startled state, implored the machine, “PLEASE DON’T!”

My husband about fell over laughing at my reaction. When he had almost regained his composure, he noticed a pair of strangers that had passed us. The strangers were also laughing their heads off at me, which my husband was kind enough to point out to me.

Now that I’m far, far away from that stupid machine, I can laugh about the incident, too. And “Please don’t!” has become our reaction any time an object behaves in an unexpected way.

(I help a lady ship something internationally. We have a global shipping reference guide to what paperwork needs to go with what items to which countries. She is shipping to a country where only the shipping information is required for documents. For any other item, you have to fill out a commercial invoice, even if it’s not a commercial product. The woman is shipping a dog DNA test so she can adopt a dog from this country. I ask what that consists of and she says it is only documents, and it fits in our standard 12-by-9 envelope so I believe her. She pays around 100 dollars because she wants next-day delivery to another country. This incident occurs the next day.)

Me: “Hi, ma’am, how may I help you?”

(I don’t immediately recognize her because yesterday she was pleasant and today she looks ANGRY.)

Customer: “I WANT MY PACKAGE BACK, AND I WANT MY $100 BACK!”

(My manager is helping someone a few feet away from me as it’s a small store so she, along with everyone else, hears the customer.)

Manager: “[My Name], please help this customer; I’ll help her.” *to the irate customer* “How can I help you, ma’am?”

Customer: “I WANT MY MONEY AND I WANT MY PACKAGE!”

Manager: “Okay, when did you give us your package?”

Customer: “Yesterday.”

Manager: “We don’t have your package any longer; every day our packages get picked up by drivers so they can be delivered to where they need to go. May I ask why you need your package?”

Customer: “THEY’RE NOT SENDING MY PACKAGE! THEY SAY I NEED AN INVOICE AND NOBODY TOLD ME THAT! I NEED THAT PACKAGE TO BE THERE TODAY!”

Manager: “Let me call the station.”

(The manager calls and has a short discussion with a manager at the station and then puts her on hold.)

Manager: “Okay, it seems like all you need is to fill out a commercial invoice. You can fill it out right now and I’ll fax it to her and it will be on its way.”

Customer: “NO! I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO FILL THAT OUT. I’M NOT SELLING ANYTHING! NO ONE TOLD ME I HAD TO FILL IT OUT!”

Manager: “[My Name], can you speak with the station manager on the phone, please?”

Me: *picks up the phone* “This is [My Name].”

Station Manager: “So, it says here that it’s only documents.”

Me: *recognizes the customer by this point* “That is what she told me, and the SRG states that if it’s only documents, it doesn’t need a commercial invoice. In fact, that was the only thing for [Country] that doesn’t require a commercial invoice.”

Station Manager: “If that’s what she told you, you did nothing wrong. However, she lied. I have the package in my hand and I clearly feel swabs. If these are clean, we just need a commercial invoice, but if they are used samples, that’s a whole different story. I just wanted to make sure we’re in the clear. You can go back to work.”

(My manager takes the phone and backs up my story, because she helped me out with that lady yesterday.)

Manager: “All right, ma’am, so we have a few options here. You can either go down to the station and pick up your package, or you can call the 800-number and request that it be sent back here and you can pick it up tomorrow. Unfortunately, we cannot give you back cash as this occurred yesterday and we’ve already given the bank drop. There’s no way to refund cash if it’s not the same day. You’ll get a check in the mail in six to eight weeks.”

Customer: “YOU F****** HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! GIVE ME MY F****** MONEY AND GIVE ME MY F****** PACKAGE!”

Manager: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but neither your money nor your package is here. You’ll get your check in six to eight weeks and, as I said, you can pick up your package right now or have it delivered here tomorrow and pick it up then.” 

Customer: “THIS IS F****** RIDICULOUS! I’M GOING TO GO TO THE POST OFFICE! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU F****** B****** WON’T JUST GIVE ME MY STUFF! I NEED THAT PACKAGE TO BE DELIVERED TODAY!”

Manager: “Well, you still have the option to fill out a commercial invoice right here. I’ll fax it over as soon as you complete it, they’ll attach it, and it will leave today.”

Customer: “NO! I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO DO THAT!”

Manager: “That’s actually a requirement of customs, not of [Company I work for].”

Customer: “NO! I’M GOING TO SHIP WITH THE POST OFFICE! WHERE IS MY PACKAGE?!”

Manager: “It’s at [address of facility]. Have a nice day.”

(The best part of this whole thing is that the post office will also require a commercial invoice because, as my manager said, it’s a customs requirement and not my company’s. Plus, they don’t have next-day international shipping. I would have given my paycheck to see her face when the post office asked her to fill it out.)

(My friend who is a grade above me was recently hospitalized with pneumonia. After returning back to school some weeks after treatment and waiting in the locker room for P.E. to end, she complains that she still is bothered by the infection)

Friend: *coughs*

Me: Still bugging you?

Friend: Yeah, my lungs are hurting me. *Points to side below her breast*

Me: *confused* You said your lungs are bothering you?

Friend: That’s what I just said. *Points to same spot*

Me: (Friend’s name) Your lungs are up here *Points to the right spot*

Friend: *Looks at me wide-eyed* It’s not here. *Points to same spot again*

(I shook my head…then I burst out laughing. I teased her about that for quite a while.)

(It is around the holiday season. I’m at the mall, and you can imagine that it’s pretty packed with a bunch of people doing some last-minute shopping. I am roaming around the parking lot and can’t find any free spots for a good thirty minutes. Lo and behold, I see a large SUV backing out of a parking spot. In my wimpy Civic, I turn my clicker on to signal that I’m claiming this spot. As soon as the SUV completely backs out, I swerve in fast before anyone can see the empty spot. Of course, as I’m about to turn my car off, some Karen lady comes up to me with her car right behind mine.)

The Karen: “You took my spot!”

Me: “But you were nowhere in sight when I was waiting for it!”

(She keeps yelling and I honestly don’t have time for her bulls***.)

Me: “It’s the holiday season and I’m literally going to be in and out of the store; this isn’t something to be arguing about.”

The Karen: “That wasn’t the point of coming to you! You get out of the parking spot or else I’ll call security to remove your car!”

Me: “Maybe you should call Santa and his reindeers to hitch my car out of the spot.” *locks the door and walks away*

(I’m sitting at the front of a double decker bus just staring outside. This was my first time riding on one of these, so I decide to make the most out of the experience.)

Man: So are you a VIP?

(I turn in the direction of the voice, startled, since I was the only one on the top part of the bus. Also, I’m not used to having strangers talk to me.)

Me: Oh…um…no.

(The man takes a seat across from me and as he sits down, I decide to take off my ear buds I had on earlier for listening to my music just in case he tries to talk to me so that I don’t appear rude.)

Man: So where are you going? (I immediately stiffen)

Me: Um…what? Oh I’m going to school.

(I wasn’t lying but I wasn’t going to say the name of the college I was going to either.)

Man: Are you going to art school?

Me: No…

Man: I speak 11 languages and I can write in 9 of them.

Me: (nodding my head, a little confused) That’s cool.

Man: Looking at you, I can tell you’re a pretty smart kid.

Me: Oh, thank you.

Man: So what are you studying?

Me: (I can’t think of a lie so I end up telling him upfront) Sir, to be honest with you, I don’t tell people what I study or what I do for that matter. But out of curiosity, what languages do you speak? (I mentally cringe because I know I made a stupid mistake)

Man: (stares at me)…You’re a sick woman, you know that?

Me: (I stare at him, perplexed)

Man: You’re a sick woman. (Repeats several times before making a phone call)

(Over the phone)
Man: Yeah…yeah…these bus patrons are very rude…So how’s the baby going along…10 days…ohhh…I hope it is a baby boy because if it is a baby girl, I’ll send her in a box for thirty cents in pennies…Ok…

(Once he finishes his call, he falls asleep)

*By the time I got off the bus, I was really questioning if I actually went through all that and heard everything on the phone correctly.

**To this day, my mom still teases me about riding double decker buses.