(I am in the mall with my kids, hurrying to drop them to a movie at the cinema in the mall. I see a product I have heard a lot about but not seen in a shop at a pop-up kiosk, and I stop. My plan is to go shopping while the kids are watching their movie, so I want to know if the product is reasonable, and then I will come back and look at the options.)

Me: “How much are these?”

Salesperson: “Well…” *launches into a spiel about benefits of the product, which I already know*

Me: “Yes, but how much is it?”

Salesperson: *repeats spiel, does not give price*

Me: “Right… I have to go.”

(Surprise, I didn’t buy it, but the kids had fun at their movie. A week later, the shop was gone when I went past again hoping to talk to someone else. Maybe it’s just me, but if you refuse to answer a simple question, I am not going to buy anything from you!)

My girlfriend and I and our flatmate decided to pop in for a pizza. It was a quiet night, and we decided to eat in. A round of drinks was ordered and delivered, and a pizza was ordered. Then came the waiting…

And the waiting…

After about thirty minutes, in a quiet restaurant, only three other tables occupied, still no pizza. We called over a staff member and asked politely about the whereabouts of our meal. He said that he would look into it.

Five minutes later, he returned to our table to tell us that our pizza was “lost”! Apparently, somewhere between the kitchen and our table, our pizza had mysteriously vanished into another dimension or something. It may have made its way to the pizza buffet instead of being delivered to our table as ordered. That’s cool — mistakes happen — so he tells us that another pizza is being made and will be delivered as soon as it’s ready. Meanwhile, more drinks are ordered, and we are told that our pizza will be free of charge.

Fair enough, mistake made, rectified, compensation of free pizza, and we’re in no hurry, so we settle down and wait…

And wait…

And wait some more…

Another twenty minutes pass, which is a long time to wait for a pizza that is being made especially for us to replace the earlier lost pizza, so again, we inquire politely of our waiting staff, paraphrasing Oliver Twist, “Please, Sir, may we have some?” A look of horror crosses his face, and he beats the well-worn path to the kitchen.

He returns very swiftly, and sadly empty-handed. He comes straight to the point and says, “I don’t really know how to tell you this, but we’ve lost your second pizza!” He then tells us that a third pizza is being made for us, and that he is going to physically stand next to it, and that as soon as it is ready, he will personally grab it, and deliver it to us.  

Which he does. It’s taken over an hour for one pizza to be successfully delivered the twenty or so feet from the pizza oven to our table! As he delivers the pizza, he is accompanied by the manager of the restaurant. The manager apologises for the apparent black hole in his kitchen, and asks that at the end of the meal we ask for him at the counter.

So, we eat, finally, and at least the pizza is fresh and hot, and quite tasty. After the meal, we go up to the counter and ask to see the manager. The manager comes out to us and apologises again. He asks the cashier for our bill, which he then just tears in half, chucks in the bin, and thanks us for not being d**ks about it.

Still not sure where the pizzas went!

I’m on a flight to New Zealand; it’s a 30-hour flight that stops in LA to refuel and change the crew.

The first leg of the flight is literally hell for me. I am a fairly large person and the seats in economy are quite cramped. This would be tricky enough, but the person in front decides to recline his seat — which is entirely his right — but it stops when it hits my knees. He notices his neighbor’s seat goes further back, and so decides that force may help the problem; he slams himself backward whilst holding the recline button. After doing this twice, he notices nothing, and turns around to ask me if there is something blocking his seat… at which point he sees that it’s my knees and sheepishly turns around.

Then, the fact that my shoulder pokes slightly into the aisle means that I am constantly hit by people walking past. The solution is to hold myself in a very uncomfortable position that results in my arm going numb. I practically limp off the plane 12 hours later.

Fortunately, a stewardess notices my discomfort and asks if everything is okay. I explain that I was just so uncomfortable and that it’s no ones fault, but I’m just a little too large for economy. She promises to talk to the handover crew and try and sort me out. Feeling a bit cynical at this stage, I don’t expect much.

To my surprise, when I reboard for the next leg of the journey, a stewardess approaches me and explains that she heard from her colleague how much trouble I had on the previous flight and wants to move me to a seat that has opened up. I get moved to a new seat where there is no one beside me or in front, and during the meal service I get an extra dessert. I pretty much sleep for the next leg of the flight and feel much better when I get off in New Zealand.

To the stewardesses out there who saw my plight and did something for me, thank you!

As a side note, that airline actually changed its economy seating not long after this, giving passengers a few extra inches of width and legroom.

This year’s English teacher is a nice lady, but she’s very strict about quiet time. When the class is supposed to be doing “individual activities,” e.g. writing down instructions or notes, if she hears a single word, she’s on the case of the student responsible.

Sometimes, my neck has a tendency to crack loudly as my head, of its own accord, jerks to face in the other direction. This happens just as “quiet time” begins and I hiss in pain, and from the other side of the room, the teacher hears.

“Did you not just hear me?” she says, glaring. “I said silent!“

While she may be good at spotting troublemakers, she didn’t seem to notice that my head was briefly facing in the wrong direction.

(This takes place in a very small town. There’s only one school, and everyone knows everyone. There is only one supermarket for the whole town, and I’m working there during the school holidays. A customer approaches, and he’s someone I vaguely recognize from school, a few years younger than I am.)

Customer: “I’m looking for a drink.”

Me: *working in the drinks aisle, stocking up the drinks* “Sure, our juice and water are here, and our soft drink is at the other end of the store.”

Customer: “It’s a juice.”

Me: “What kind of juice?”

Customer: “It’s red.”

(I’ve got a sinking feeling; this is not going to be easy.)

Me: “Well, as you can see, our drinks are over here. Why don’t you look at them, and grab the one you’re after?”

(He goes away and stares at the shelves for a few minutes, then comes back to me.)

Customer: “I can’t see it.”

Me: “Well, this is the only juice in the store. Are you sure it wasn’t a soft drink? They’re at the other end of the store.”

(The customer wanders away for a few minutes, then comes back.)

Customer: “I couldn’t find it.”

Me: *beginning to lose the ability to sound friendly, but the customer doesn’t notice* “Well, these are the only drinks we have. Are you sure you got it here?”

Customer: “I don’t know. My mom bought it.”

Me: “Do you remember what it’s called?”

Customer: “No. It’s red.”

Me: *having completely lost the ability to sound professional, but the customer hasn’t noticed* “Look. I don’t know what you want. I don’t know the name, and these are the only drinks we have. If it’s not here, we don’t have it.”

Customer: “Oh.”

(He wanders away for a few minutes, then comes back again. I glare at him.)

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “I remembered something. It makes this noise.” *taps his fingernail against the metal shelves* “But not this noise.” *taps his fingernail against a plastic bottle* “It’s a bit like this.” *taps his fingernail against a different plastic bottle* “But not like this.” *taps his fingernail against a THIRD plastic bottle*

(I glare at him for a moment, then take a look at the bottles. The “a bit like this” bottle is very rigid, but the other two are soft. I take a wild guess, and find a glass bottle.)

Me: “Do you mean it had a bottle like this?”

Customer: *goes over and taps the glass bottle* “Yeah! Just like that. Except it was red.”

(This narrows it down a lot, as we only stock two kinds of red juice in a glass bottle.)

Me: “Then you probably want this–” *points to one bottle* “—or this. *points to the other*

(The customer goes away and looks at the bottles, while I try and finish stocking the shelves as fast as possible. But he comes back.)

Customer: “It’s not those.”

Me: “Those are the only red juice in a glass bottle we have. If it’s not one of those, we don’t have it.”

Customer: “Mom got it here, I think.”

Me: “If it’s not one of those, then I can’t help you. Can’t you remember anything useful? A name?”

Customer: “She put water in it.”

Me: “Wait. You mean cordial? A concentrate?”

Customer: “She put water in it.”

(I sigh, and go to the cordial aisle. I point him at the bottles.)

Me: “Here. If it’s not here, we don’t have it, and I can’t help you.”

(I’m trying not to shout, and not entirely succeeding. If my supervisor had heard me, I’d have been suspended. I go back to my shelf stocking, and a minute later the customer returns holding a bottle.)

Customer: “I got it.”

Me: “Congratulations.”

(He seems to want to talk, but I ignore him and get back to work. He leaves, and comes back a minute later.)

Me: “What is it now?!”

Customer: “Can you buy this for me?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Please?”

Me: “NO! I am not buying you a drink!”

Customer: “I can give you the money.”

Me: *confused* “Then why do you need me to buy it?”

Customer: *looking nervous* “But… there are girls over there!”

(Having spent twenty agonising minutes dealing with this idiot, this was the final straw. I walked away as fast as I could, and hid in the back room for the next quarter of an hour until my shift ended.)