(I work in a movie theatre. It is reasonably busy today, and we have three lines operating: a line for just tickets where I am the cashier, a line for online pre-bookings, and a line for tickets and candy bar. The line for just tickets is significantly shorter than the other two.)

Customer: “Hi! I’d like one ticket to [Movie].”

Me: “Here you go; you’ll be in [cinema]. Have a nice day.”

Customer: *in hushed tones* “Dear, would I also be able to have a small Coke Zero?”

Me: “I’m afraid you will have to queue in the line on the far side.” *gesturing*

Customer: “But it’s so long!”

Me: “I know, but all those people over there are also wanting tickets and candy bar. It would be unfair to serve you before them, from the incorrect line.”

(She disappears, and I serve the few people left in the queue. Then I go to assist with the candy bar and online pre-bookings queues. I notice she has stepped in the front of the online bookings queue, which has also thinned out, to have a go with another cashier. I intercept.)

Me: *leaning over the counter near the online pre-bookings queue* “Hi, was it just the small Coke Zero?”

Customer: *she thinks she’s hit the jackpot, and smiles gleefully* “Yes, just the Coke, no ice.”

Me: “Great, just in the candy bar queue there. Thanks.”

(She finally moved into the correct queue, grumbling.)

(I am in the office with my store manager who has had to ask another manager about a discrepancy in the banking. This woman has the annoying habit of adding, “Yeah, Yeah,” or, “No, No,” to just about every sentence she utters.)

Manager #1: “Hey, [Manager #2], we’re having trouble getting this to add up right. Did you do this?”

Manager #2: “Yeah, yeah, no, no, yeah.”

Manager #1: “You did it?”

Manager #2: “Yeah, yeah, no, no, yeah, no.”

Manager #1: “I just need a straight answer: yes or no.”

Manager #2: “Yeah, yeah, no.”

Manager #1: “Oh, for f***’s sake. Is it yes or no?”

Manager #2: “Yeah, no.”

Manager #1: “IS ONE WORD TOO HARD? YES OR NO!”

([Manager #2] finally uttered the word, “No,” on its own, but it looked like she was fighting not to say, “Yeah,” afterwards.)

(In Australia, lemonade is a clear, carbonated, lemon-flavoured drink, like Sprite. Lemon Squash, or Pub Squash, is a yellow, carbonated drink with a stronger lemon flavour. Traditional, non-carbonated lemonade is pretty rare here. I’ve just pulled up to the speaker box at the drive-thru and am finishing placing my order.)

Me: “And a [combo], with a lemonade for the drink.”

Worker: “Sorry?”

Me: “A [combo] with a lemonade for the drink.”

Worker: “And what for the drink?”

(I am being very clear, and I haven’t said a brand name because I can’t remember which soda company’s products this restaurant has: Coke or Pepsi.)

Me: “Lemonade.”

Worker: “Lift?” *this is Coke’s brand name for lemon squash in Australia*

Me: “No, lemonade. Like a Sprite or something.”

Worker: “Oh! We have Sprite!”

(Awkward silence.)

Me: “Yeah… A Sprite.”

(When I drove up to the window, she handed me my food and drink. She looked about 16. I knew from the accent that she was Australian, so she shouldn’t have been confused. I have no idea how she got this far in life not knowing what lemonade was.)

(I decide to get my Bachelor’s at the same university that my siblings went to, and I end up at the same on-campus residence. For the most part, this is fine, except for one thing: one of the residents was also at the residence with my older sister, and she keeps assuming that my sister and I like the same things, since we’re related. I keep trying to emphasize that we’re different people, but she never seems to clue in. Then, one night at dinner…)

Resident: “Hey, [My Name]! I’m putting together a volleyball team. Would you like to join?

Me: “No, thanks. I’m not interested in sports. Besides, I have the coordination of a drunk panda.”

Resident: “Really? I thought you’d love volleyball. After all, your sister played on the state team!”

Me: “All right, clearly I need to reintroduce myself.” *I lean over the table to shake her hand* “Hi! My name is [My Name]. I like horses, Doctor Who, reading, and the occasional Dungeons and Dragons campaign. You seem to have me confused with [Sister], the volleyball player, painter, and singer. However, despite the fact that we’re related… and I can’t stress this enough… WE ARE NOT THE SAME PERSON!”

(To [Resident]’s credit, from that point on, she made an effort to learn what I liked, and she got much better about not comparing me to my siblings.)

(I am a manager of a kid’s play area, and during weekdays we have minimal staff in the afternoons, as it gets rather quiet. We each have our own specific closing duties like tills, cleaning kitchens, toilets, etc. but we have a great team and any of the workload we have that is non-managerial is shared so no one is left behind. We also have high school students join us for a week here and there for work experience, and they are mostly a pleasure to deal with. I am about to clean the toilets when the work experience girl says she is finished with her tasks and asks what she could do next.)

Me: “Well, I know [Coworker] is on time with her tasks, and I need to get a wriggle on with the tills, but I have to do the toilets first. I know they’re not everyone’s favourite task, and since you’re on work experience I’ll go easy on you; do you think it’s something you’d like to tackle?”

Work Experience Girl: “Yeah, I don’t mind at all. I haven’t done it before; can you show me what to do?”

Me: “No problem.”

(I explained what to do and where to find gloves, buckets, and other cleaning supplies. Just in case it isn’t super obvious, it only involves cleaning the bowls, basins, and mirrors, sweeping, and mopping. There are only seven toilets, and my coworker and I are on top of cleaning them throughout the day, so they’re pretty clean already and it usually takes ten minutes. Since she’d never done it before, I imagined it might take longer. She seemed cheerful enough and set to work. After ten minutes, she was done and asked me to check them. They were spotless and I was impressed. I told her so and she beamed. Since there were only my own managerial duties to go and I was nearly finished, I said she could take the last ten minutes as an early mark and gave her a lemonade on the house. I finished up the night’s tasks and I thought nothing of it. The next day, I got a call from the owner, who told me that the work experience girl was not coming back. Apparently, her father had called the school complaining that she was distraught. She was incredibly upset that we would lock her in the toilets and not let her out until they were spotless. She had to clean toilets with her bare hands and wasn’t allowed to wash her hands after. The school decided they would no longer offer our play area as an option for work experience kids. I was too shocked to reply.)