(I’m the owner of a small local garage situated in a pretty popular area in Oslo. In Norway, about 80% of us go on a common summer holiday this weekend, and the last weeks before that are always the busiest weeks of the year. The phone rings:)
Me: “[Garage]. It’s [My Name]; how can I help you?”
Customer: “Hi, it’s [Customer]. I’m originally a customer at [Local Competitor], but they can’t help me as they are going on holiday on Friday. Can you help me? I need a check on my car.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but the situation is the same here. We are also closing on Friday for the summer holiday.”
Customer: “Okay, do you know of anyone who can help me?”
Me: “Sorry, my best advice is to pick up your phone and the [Phone Book] and start calling around.”
Customer: *explodes* “WHY THE H*** IS IT SO DIFFICULT TO GET SOME HELP WITH MY CAR? IT’S NOT A F****** HUMAN RIGHT TO HAVE A HOLIDAY IN JULY!”
Me: *getting really pissed, as I don’t like to be yelled at* “Why is it so important to get your car checked this week?”
Customer: “We are going on holiday on Monday!”
I work as a bouncer in a pub.
Two guys Come up to the entrance with two girls behind them.
I ask to see their ID, the two guys andre the first girl show there and all three are a few months over 20 (the legal age for hard liquor in norway) the fourth are making a show of her rambling trough her purse before she say’s this: my purse is to crammed so I can’t get my ID out but I’m old enough, while I can see her ID laying lose in her purse trough the whole conversation.
(I am checking one of my sites, a domestic parking area. One car has been sitting here for a while, license plate shows it’s actually up for “clipping.” EU regulations demand a bi-yearly checkup or they lose their plates. Although this area doesn’t have time limits, the car is unsightly and currently hindering new paving work. I call the owner, telling him to move his car or it will be towed. He immediately throws a fit.)
Owner: “I am allowed to stay here as long as I want. Besides, this car is in use all the time and I live here, in [address]!”
Me: “Sir, the car is not in use, and it’s in the way. You need to put it somewhere else.”
Owner: “How can you claim my car is not in use? You need to prove that!”
Me: “Your steering wheel is moldy.”
Owner: *pause* “I’ll have it moved by Friday.”
(Working in a cell phone provider’s store, I often get customers asking about their bills. I get one such customer: a lady in her thirties complaining she hasn’t received the email invoice this month. This is a common occurrence, and something that often happens is that the email has been picked up by the mail client’s spam filter. I attempt to ask her about this.)
Me: “Have you checked your sperm filter?”
(I immediately realized I’d said a bad word instead of “spam,” but decided to keep the conversation going, hoping she hadn’t noticed. She never said anything, the rest of the conversation was very awkward, and to this day I still don’t know if she heard what I really said or not.)
(In Norway, the legal drinking age is 18 years for alcohol up to 21%, and 20 years for higher. Different bars have different age admittances based on what age groups they want and are set up for. When my best friend, roommate, and I are 18 we start frequenting this bar that is conveniently located for us, because they happen to have our favorite beer on tap, which is unusual to come by. We usually come in and have a few calm beers a couple of times a month. I even celebrate my 19th birthday party there, with fifteen friends about the same age. We are never a rowdy crowd. We stop going there because we move. A year later, on my best friend’s 20th birthday — my birthday is a month after hers — we decide to go back there for good old times’ sake. The following conversation ensues with a new bartender.)
Me: “I would like a [beer], please.”
Bartender: “Let me see some ID.”
(My best friend and I both give him our cards.)
Bartender: *turns to my best friend* “You are old enough.” *turns to me* “But you are not, so I have to ask you to leave.”
Me: “What?! Your age limit is 20?”
Bartender: “Yes.”
Me: “When did that happen?”
Bartender: “It’s been 20 since it opened.”
Me: “Are you kidding? This was our favorite bar for over a year! I celebrated my 19th birthday here.”
Bartender: “Please leave.”
(I have never gone back there. I can’t believe we never knew… or that they never carded us before. It’s been ten years and it still baffles me.)
