(I am on a family vacation to New Orleans. My parents buy tickets for a rock concert, and we go to the venue, only to come across the most unhelpful staff I’ve ever seen.)

Dad: “Where are we supposed to meet for the show?”

Security: “Over there.” *points to an area near the entrance of the venue* “May I see your tickets?”

(My dad shows him the email on his phone, and I can already tell from the guard’s reaction that we’re in for a rough experience.)

Security: “These aren’t tickets. There’s no barcode on these. You’ll have to go to the ticket office and have them try and print them for you.”

(While my dad and mom are visibly annoyed, we decide to go to the ticket office, anyway. In front of us is a man whose tone and annoyance only exacerbates my fear that we aren’t going to get much help. I don’t recall the conversation, but the man proceeds to leave with a very angry look on his face. Then it’s our turn.)

Dad: “We have tickets here, but the security guard said we can’t use them?”

(The worker looks at the email on my dad’s phone, and her confused look doesn’t really quell my fears.)

Worker: “We don’t support this company.”

Dad: “But we bought them!”

Worker: “Let me get my manager.”

(The workers calls over her manager who is waiting in the back, and she also has the same confused look.)

Manager: “We don’t support this company.”

Mom: *interjects and raising her voice* “What are you talking about?!”

Manager: “We only support [Company # 1] and [Company #2]. Not [Company #3]. I’ve never heard of [Company #3] in my life, and I don’t recognize this logo.”

Mom: “But it was on your site!”

Manager: “That may be, but we don’t support this company. There’s no barcode on this, either, so even if we did support it, we couldn’t print it, anyway.”

Me: “So, what do you recommend we do?”

Manager: “Take it up with the owners. I’m not at fault if you bought from a company that we don’t support.”

Mom: *begins to pretty much yell* “WELL, WHY DOESN’T THE F****** WEBSITE SPECIFY ANYTHING ABOUT COMPANIES THAT YOU SUPPORT OR DON’T SUPPORT?!”

Manager: “That’s not my problem. I didn’t design the website.”

Mom: *still yelling* “THIS IS THEFT, I TELL YOU! WHY DO YOU EVEN ALLOW COMPANIES YOU DON’T SUPPORT TO BE ON THE WEBSITE, ANYWAY?! CHECK THE SITE!”

Manager: “Again. Not my problem. You failed to read the policy.”

(We begin to walk away, but the manager interjects once again.)

Manager: “Take it up with the owners. It’s not my problem if people can’t comprehend basic instructions.”

Mom: “WHAT PART OF ‘IT’S NOT ON THE WEBSITE’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?! THIS IS F****** THEFT, I TELL YOU! WHY WOULD YOU NOT BOTHER TO FILTER OUT THE ILLEGAL COMPANIES ON YOUR OWN SITE?! YOU MADE IT! THE POLICY ISN’T EVEN IN THE MOST CONVENIENT SPOT, EVEN IF IT’S THERE!”

Me: “Mom, stop, stop, stop. It’s not worth it anymore. I don’t care who’s at fault, so long as we get the h*** away from this place.”

(We ended up bailing, and my mom called our bank to dispute the charges. What baffles me the most is that the website had no indication of this policy of ticket companies that they supported, nor did they make any attempt to check the site to verify our claims. In the end, I ended up writing a negative review on the website and got an apology from the owner.)

(I’m in the early stages of dating my partner, and one night he falls asleep while we are watching television. It’s the first time he’s ever fallen asleep with me present and I almost immediately notice that he appears to stop breathing in his sleep for LONG periods at a time between heavy snores and gasps for air. It’s so long that it scares me, and I go to wake him up, but his own snort/gasp wakes himself up before I can.)

Me: “Did you know that you stop breathing in your sleep?”

Partner: “What are you talking about? I just snore really loudly is all.”

Me: “YES. It freaked me out.”

(He dismisses my concerns and we go back to watching television. Shortly after, he falls asleep again and I pull out my camera to record this time. It’s the weirdest and most horrifying thing to watch his back and neck muscles strain while he stops breathing for up to 45 seconds at a time — yes, I timed it. He wakes up again, and I’m prepared.)

Me: “You have to watch this. You need to go to the doctor to get this checked out. Of the three minutes I recorded, you didn’t breathe for 170 seconds!”

Partner: *after watching* “That’s probably not good.”

(Two months later, he has just finished doing the at-home sleep assessment which is required before the official sleep study at the hospital. Note that he has complained significantly about the test. He had to wear a device on his face and a band on his chest to check his breathing. They also put an “annoying pulse monitor” on the finger, so he complained that he had too many wires going to too many parts of his body for him to sleep at all during the test. Regardless, he meets with the doctor two days later to discuss the results.)

Partner: “Guess what they found out. I stop breathing in my sleep. We went through a lot of hassle to prove what we already know.”

Me: “Ha! You stop breathing while you sleep? I never would have guessed. I thought that the 30- to 45-second breaks in breath sounds were just your lungs taking a nap.”

Partner: “My record was 82 seconds. Champion!”

Me: “Woohoo! Winner! Some people can’t hold their breath that long when they are trying to.”

Partner: “I can do it in my sleep.”

(I work the fitting rooms. The door to both restrooms is in the entrance to the hallway leading to the men’s fitting rooms. I often have customers that get the signs confused and try to go down the hall, but once you get past the initial door, you’re in a hallway with nothing but two doors that say “Men” and “Ladies.” The initial door is also locked, so I have to push a button to buzz customers in. One day, I’m working on a project a little way away from the fitting room — though still within sight — and I see a man approaching the area and reading all the signs, so I jump up to assist him.)

Man: “Where are the bathrooms?”

Me: “Just behind the door there.”

Man: *starts going down the hall to the men’s fitting rooms*

Me: “No, the door. Sir? Sir! SIR!” *I have to follow him and bring him back* “It’s this door right here.”

(I physically touch the door, then go back to the button to buzz him in. The man looks at the “Restrooms” sign on the door, then back down the hallway he’d come from, then around the corner to the rest of the store.)

Me: “It’s just behind the door.”

(The man finally opens the door, pokes his head inside, then looks down the hallway to the fitting room again.)

Me: “You got it. Right there behind the door.”

(The man finally goes through the door. At this point, he’s in a hallway with nothing but two doors that say “Men” and “Ladies,” so I go back to the project I was working on. After about a minute or two, he comes out of the door again, and I see him talking to his wife near the entrance to the fitting rooms. He’s already been in the bathroom and they’re not holding any clothing, so I don’t think much of it. After a bit, someone else approaches the fitting room, so I come back to count her in. When I’m finished, the couple approaches me again.)

Woman: “Bathroom?”

Me: “Okay, I’ll buzz you in.” *pushes button*

(The man looks very confused. The woman looks around at the signage.)

Me: “It’s just behind the door there.”

Woman: *hesitantly puts her hand on the handle*

Me: “Yeah, that’s it.”

(The woman opened the door, poked her head in, and then held the door open for her husband. He went in and she waited outside. I went back to my project. The man came out again fairly quickly and went talk to his wife. I came back to the fitting room and he asked to be let into the bathroom a third time. I buzzed him in yet again, and again he came out fairly quickly, but this time they left. I’m pretty sure he never did figure out how to use the bathroom.)

(My Latin teacher is a massive know-it-all and knows that he’s smarter than a vast majority of people.)

Classmate: “Didn’t you say you didn’t do well on the ACT?”

Teacher: “No, that sounds way too humble for me to say.”

(At the very end of my English class, my teacher lets us get up to gather at the door a couple of minutes before the bell rings. I notice she has a few Easter-themed gel stickers on the door’s window.)

Me: “Why does that one rabbit have a bunch of little holes in it, but none of the others do?”

Friend: “I don’t know. Maybe it’s hunting season?”