(I work at an Asian restaurant that has counter service and sauces on a table where patrons can go and serve themselves. We make our own ginger garlic sauce that contains bits of garlic in them that sometimes get stuck in the spout of the squeeze bottle. We usually cut the tip off of the bottles to avoid this problem, but I forget to use the correct lid with the cut-off tip. An adult man whose order I have just served comes over to me holding the bottle, sans lid, with his shirt covered in ginger garlic sauce.)

Me: “Oh, my gosh, sir.” *laughs slightly* “It’s okay! That’s my bad. Sometimes the garlic gets stuck in the lid. I’ll go run and grab you a bunch of napkins!”

(I go and run to the back of the kitchen telling the kitchen staff I may be a minute before I can run orders because there’s a huge mess all over the place. Before I can get to the man and hand him his napkins, an older lady, presumably his mother, stops me.)

Old Lady: “Laughing was not an appropriate reaction to what happened.”

Me: *a bit confused* “Um, okay. Sorry, I just wanted him to know everything was okay and it wasn’t a problem.”

Old Lady: “Well, laughing was not the appropriate thing to say!”

Me: “Okay, but I need to go clean up now, so he’s not just covered in sauce.”

(I basically have to push past her, as we are in a narrow hallway, in order to give her son some napkins and proceed to clean the mess up that is all over the floor and the sauce table.)

Man: “I am so sorry; let me help you. I didn’t mean to make such a mess!”

Me: “No, no worries! I forgot to put the right lid on this sauce, it’s my fault. People tend to squeeze hard and this can happen. Nothing this big, but it’s no big deal!” *smiles, trying my best not to give even a friendly laugh*

Man: *proceeding to help me clean up* “Really, I am so sorry.”

Me: *smiling* “No problem! I’ll go get some extra sauce for you since this one is now out!”

(The whole time, his mother was standing to the side, tsking and shaking her head in disapproval at the situation. She proceeded to ignore me, even though her son was clearly unaffected by it, even when I smiled and walked past her to my counter station.)

(When my son is eight, our family goes to a certain theme park with a mouse mascot. We have long had the rule that when we’re at amusement parks, one souvenir may be picked and it must wait to be picked up at the end of the day; for this trip, the former is amended to “one souvenir per park segment.” One day, my son picks out a hand-sized plush of a certain alien character and while he’s clearly eager to take it home, he patiently waits while enjoying all the rides and attractions we go on. After picking up his older sister’s souvenir, we head for the exit near the cart where he spots the plush and walks up to the staff member manning it. Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that there aren’t any of the small plushes out anymore, but we ask the staff member anyway.)

Me: “Excuse me; do you have any of the small [Character] plushes left?”

Staff Member: “Sorry; they’re all gone.”

(My son looks absolutely heartbroken but doesn’t complain. We start to leave, but then I stop us and turn to my husband.)

Me: “We’re getting him the next size up.”

(We did, indeed, get him the next size up of the plush, and he still has it to this day.)

(I’m going to a train station with my mother to sort out an issue of me losing 50 dollars in one of their machines. Unfortunately, we’ve come in on a day they’re closed, so my mother decides to talk to a man at a nearby information desk.)

Company Representative: “Hi, can I help you?”

Mom: *before I can say anything* “I sure hope so! My daughter lost fifty dollars in one of your machines!”

Company Representative: “Unfortunately, I am not affiliated with [Transit Company]. All I really know is [gives some basic information on which lines go where]. If you want their number to call, it’s—”

(I am going to say that I have their number but would rather know the times the station is open, but once again, Mom butts in.)

Mom: “She’s been calling you people all week! This is an outrage.”

Company Representative: “Well, you might not have the right number; you can find it on their website.” *starts pulling it up for us*

Mom: “Yeah, you’d better tell us the f****** number, Mr. Expert!”

Me: *mortified* “MOM!”

Company Representative: “Ma’am, please calm down or I’ll call security.”

Me: *tries to apologize, but Mom cuts in again*

Mom: “FINE! Call security! Go ahead!”

(I went to wait in the car out of embarrassment. Later on, she blamed me for the situation and called me “A Stepford Wife” for not standing up to the man like she was. If you’re reading this, rep guy, I do apologize for that. She overreacted big time.)

(I work for a government-run alcohol store in Finland that has a monopoly to sell alcohol here. Finnish law says that if you look under 30 years old and are buying age-restricted items like alcohol or cigarettes, the cashier is required to ask ID. One evening, I am at the register and have a customer who is buying a bottle of wine. To me, she looks under 30 so I ask for ID.)

Me: “Can I see your ID?”

Customer: “Excuse me?”

Me: “May I see your ID, please?”

Customer: “But I have these here.” *pointing to her two children in stroller*

Me: “Yeah, but I still need to see ID.”

Customer: “But I don’t have ID with me.”

Me: “Then I can’t sell this to you.”

Customer: “Why?”

Me: “Because you look under thirty and don’t have ID with you to prove your age.”

Customer: “But I have these!” *again pointing at her children*

Me: “Children are not an acceptable form of ID, you know?”

(After a while, the customer left without her wine.)

(My husband and I decided to buy a new house. It is a showhome, and because of that, the builder insists that it has to stay “on show” until a certain date, even though it is now ours. This date is roughly six weeks from the day that we have to vacate our old house. That leaves us scrambling to find somewhere to live for ourselves, our very small daughters, and our two cats. We find a motel that is fairly cheap and will allow us to stay for the entire six weeks, and luckily, we have friends who agree to look after the cats. We still have to get our girls to and from daycare, and ourselves to and from our jobs. Needless to say, though, this is all fairly complicated and stressful. Add to that the fact that our daughters are only four and two, and I am working two jobs. Fast forward to when our new house is finally ready. My parents fly in from their city to help us move in. A few days later, I need to return some books to the library, so I invite my mum to come with me.)

Librarian: “You realize that these books are overdue?”

Me: “Really? Oh, dear. My life has been a bit crazy lately. How much do I owe?”

Librarian: “$6.”

Me: “Yikes. I guess it’s people like me who keep the library funded, though, eh?” *laughs*

Librarian: *takes my money without changing expression*

(As we are leaving…)

Me: “I guess he’s heard that ‘joke’ before.”  

Mum: *silent*

Me: “It wasn’t all that funny anyway.”

Mum: *coldly* “It’s more likely that he couldn’t believe anyone could be so stupid as to accrue $6 in library fines. What on earth were you thinking?”

Me: *stunned and hurt* “Mum, have you any idea how nuts it’s been for me over the last few weeks? Some things were bound to slip through the cracks.”

Mum: “Whatever. You should have been more careful.”

(I was very thankful when she and Dad flew home a couple of days later.)