(I man the front reception desk of a medium-sized local museum, take bookings, greet visitors, man the gift shop, and so on. I’m in my late 20s, but I look younger, and I’m a lipstick-wearing girly-girl at work. On one quiet day, an elderly man walks in.)

Me: “Hello! How can I help you today?”

Customer: “I want to come here with a large group next Wednesday. We’ll be twenty or thirty people, so we want the group discount. We want to see [Exhibition] and we want [Male Colleague #1] or [Male Colleague #2] to show us.”

Me: “We’ll be very happy to welcome you! However, I’m sorry, sir, we do not give group discounts. Also, I can not guarantee which guide you will be given, as I don’t know who will be here on that day. Most likely, I will be your guide.”

Customer: “What? But I got a group discount last time! I only want to pay half price!”

Me: “I am sorry, but as I said, we do not give group discounts. When was the last time you were here?”

Customer: “Fifteen years ago! And they said I could have a group discount then!”

Me: “Well, we have new owners now, and no group discount.”

Customer: “This is an outrage! I’ve never been so offended in my life! I want to talk to the person responsible for bookings!”

Me: “That would be me.”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand. I want to talk to the person who is responsible for bookings!”

Me: “Sir, that is me. I am responsible for the bookings.”

Customer: “I want to talk to your manager!”

Me: “Do you mean my director? She is not here today, but you can call her.”

Customer: “I’ll make sure you never get to work here again! And you will not be guiding us, I want [Male Colleague #1] or [Male Colleague #2]!”

Me: “Would you not rather prefer [Female Colleague], who actually designed the exhibition?”

Customer: “You are so rude! I want to talk to the person in charge of this!”

Me: “As I said, sir, that is me. I am in charge of this. I am in charge of bookings. I am in charge of entrance prices. If you ask my director, that is what she will say, too. If you wish to bring your party somewhere else, you are of course free to do so. We will be happy to receive you, but at the standard price and with the available guide.”

Customer: “Well… why didn’t you just say that?! And you can’t expect people to take you seriously, not when you’re wearing that lipstick!”

(In the end, he came back with a party of thirteen. They paid the full price, I showed them the exhibition, and they were all really happy with their day out. One of the ladies even complimented me on my lipstick!)

I am a customer in this story, browsing in an Asian market. Like most others this has a LOT of different types of rice, in anything from small plastic bags to 20+ kg sacks. I overheard a young man talking to a member of staff:

Young man: Do you have any rice?
Staff member: What kind of rice?
Young man: …Regular rice.

I would have been facepalming by this point!

This happened a few years ago when I was still very new in the city. We always took the same bus route to and from the city centre, and one of the bus drivers on that route was the sweetest, happiest bus driver I have ever met in my life. He would always be humming some catchy song and when, for example, a couple — like my boyfriend and me — got off the bus, he would say through the PA system something like, “Have a romantic evening, you lovely couple,” or, “Treat that pretty girl right, sir!” or, “Have a fabulous day,” and if he found out that someone had their birthday, he would definitely get the whole bus to sing “Happy Birthday.”

He would also always stop and wait if he saw someone — like me, on multiple occasions — running towards the bus stop. One time I even saw him get out of the bus to assist an elderly lady getting on the bus. He was, all in all, a wonderful person.

Unfortunately, a few years after we had already moved to another part of town, we found out that this wonderful bus driver had died. Apparently, his kindness and cheerfulness were so well known throughout the entire city that the news of his unexpected death warranted a whole article in the newspaper.

The article was titled, “Oslo’s favourite bus driver has died.” He touched many, many lives.

I’m standing at the till in the bookshop where I work. There are a few customers walking around, but no one seems to need my help. To my right, between the till and the door, are several displays with cards; we call it the jungle.

I’m pricing books when an unexpected sound comes from the jungle. I turn my head to witness a woman with a head of iceberg lettuce in her hand, browsing the cards. As I watch, this deer in disguise tears off a good chunk of lettuce and eats it, chewing matter-of-factly, causing the sound I wasn’t expecting to hear in the bookshop. I slowly turn back to my pricing, too surprised to even ask if she wants help.

I am convinced that she was a hardcore vegan, and that was her version of a snack.

(I work in a warehouse in Norway. I am doing my usual rounds when suddenly my cellphone rings. I notice on the caller ID that it is a very long number from a foreign country. I answer and, lo and behold, it’s a “your Microsoft Windows has a virus” scam. I am somewhat multilingual; I speak Icelandic and Norwegian, can scrape together Danish and Swedish, and have the bare basics in German. I also speak English, of course, but I decide the unlucky SOB has called the ONE person in Norway who doesn’t speak a word in it.)

Me: *automatically speaking in Norwegian* “Hallo, this is [My name]”

Caller: *very foreign accent but speaking English* “Hello. I’m calling from Microsoft because we have detected a virus on your computer.”

Me: *realizing what it is, does not switch to English and continues to speak Norwegian* “I’m sorry? I don’t understand you.”

Caller: “Ah, do you speak English?”

Me: *switches to my mother tongue, Icelandic* “Is this English? I’m sorry; I don’t speak English.

Caller: “English. Do you speak English?”

Me: *in my absolute worst Danish* “I’m sorry; I still don’t understand you.”

(I quickly whisper to my Danish coworker nearby what is happening and they nearly fall down laughing.)

Caller: “ENGLISH! DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?!”

Me: *pretends like I’m thinking about it, then exclaims in utter joy, in my bad German* “Deutch? Ja, ich sprechen Deutch!”

(“German? Yes, I speak German.” He hung up for some reason.)