When I was a stroppy teenager, still not financially independent of my parents, my mother used to accompany me on my shopping trips for clothes. This was consistently one of the most acutely embarrassing experiences of my life because she never understood men, particularly teenage boys.

It was bad enough that every time we were buying trousers for me, she would announce in a strident voice that “he’s rather big in the bot,” but the stupidest ever was shoe shopping.

My mother found one of the ugliest shoes I’d ever seen and decided she was going to buy it for me. She thrust it at a young man who was not much older than me — this was a Saturday, and in those days, practically the entire staff of a shop in our town was school students earning their pocket money — demanding that he find the other one.

The poor guy was already overwhelmed by being one of a very few people in a heaving shop, he was being run ragged, and he was not having a good time of it. He rushed off to find the matching shoe, and when he came back I could see that, while similar in shape and colour, the details were different; the trim was different, the treads were different, etc.

Me: “It’s the wrong shoe.”

Mother: “It’s perfectly adequate; stop fussing.” *To the worker* “We’ll have these, then.”

Me: “But they don’t match; they’re not the same shoe!”

Mother: “They’re close enough, you silly boy. Stop making a fuss and upsetting the staff.”

By this time, the shop worker has noticed that yes, indeed, perhaps the shoes don’t actually match, so he really shouldn’t be selling them as a pair. Overwhelmed as he is, he thrusts the shoes in the direction of a colleague, who happens to be female.

My mother crows in her posh, overbearing Karen voice.

Mother: “Oh, don’t go giving them to a silly girl. Just sell me the shoes!”

Fortunately, the girl is on top of her game and competent, and she asks ME which is the shoe I want.

Me: “I don’t really like either of them, but this one was the one we were getting.”

Female Worker: “Don’t worry; it gets better.”

And she twirled off to go and get the proper mate for the shoe.

I wondered at the time what she meant when she said, “It gets better,” but I got my head round it a few years later, when I finally was able to do my own shopping.

I work in a hospital. A mother brings her daughter into the emergency room.

Nurse: “Hi there. Could you describe the nature of your medical needs?”

Mother: “My daughter stepped in dog poop and I’m afraid she might have an infection.”

Nurse: “Okay, does your daughter have any open wounds, blisters, warts, etc., near where she came into contact with the dog poop?”

Mother: “No.”

Nurse: “Did you wash her foot afterward with warm water and soap?”

Mother: “That’s disgusting! Why would I do that?”

Nurse: “To protect your daughter from infection?”

Mother: “No, I just threw it out.”

Nurse: “Wha…” *Lightbulb moment* “Was your daughter wearing shoes when she stepped in the poop?”

Mother: “Yes! Of course.”

Nurse: “So, you’re telling me that your daughter stepped into dog poop wearing shoes and socks, and she has no open wounds on her feet, and you are worried she has an infection?”

Mother: “Yes, of course, I’m worried.”

Nurse: “No offence, but this is an emergency room. It is very unlikely she got an infection, and since this is obviously a very low-priority case, you may be waiting here for up to six hours to see a doctor. I recommend you go home and make an appointment with your regular doctor in a couple of days’ time. If your daughter does take any severe turns, you can always bring her in or call an ambulance and she will be seen immediately.”

Mother: “Oh, no, you don’t! I want you to get my daughter to see a doctor as soon as you can!”

Nurse: “Very well. Please be aware that you could be waiting a very long time as we assign cases on a priority basis. Also please be aware that, whilst we make every effort to remove the risk of infection, this is a hospital and there is a chance that infected blood or bodily fluids may be present. Also be aware that, since this is a walk-in center, we do get a lot of homeless men and drug addicts coming in to get out of the rain.”

It is clear that the nurse is doing everything in her power to dissuade this mother from trying to see a doctor.

Mother: “Whatever. Those infections probably aren’t as bad as the ones you can get from dog poop.”

Nurse: “Actually, blood and bodily fluids might be contaminated with any number of infections, including HIV.”

Mother: “Oh, don’t be silly.”

The woman and her daughter moved on to the waiting room and were sat there for approximately four and a half hours. The woman was told by the doctor to do exactly what the nurse had advised and left looking overly smug.

I’m working at a closed beach advising people against swimming since the water quality is unsanitary. There are signs, but most people are shocked when I tell them they shouldn’t swim since they ignored the signs; others just don’t care.

I approach a woman with three little kids — between three and five years old — and give her my usual spiel.

Me: “Excuse me! Hi, I’m with [City] Parks and Rec! I’m just here to let you know that the [County] health department determined the level of bacteria in the water is unsafe and is advising against wading or swimming.”

As I’m speaking, she turns away like she’s only half interested in what I’m saying; meanwhile, her kids are splashing around in the water.

Mother: “Okay, thanks.”

Realizing I’m being brushed off, I move to a pair of kids in the water. I give the same spiel and they start asking questions, as kids do.

Kid: “Why can’t we swim?”

I can’t really enforce anything.

Me: “Well, it’s not that you can’t swim, but there’s gross stuff in the water and it’s better if you don’t.”

Kid: “Like what, though?”

Me: *Pause* “Sewage.”

The mother from before sees me talking to more people and approaches me, her kids still in the water.

Mother: “So, what is it that’s going on with the water?”

Me: “Well, there’s a sewage leakage nearby that frequently affects the water quality here.”

Mother: “So, when did they decide that it wasn’t safe to swim?”

Me: “I think the decision was made sometime last week.”

Mother: “Oh, well, we were here four days ago and it was fine.”

Me: “The health department decided that it’s not ideal for swimming at the moment.”

She kind of just nodded and walked off. Later, I looked over and noticed she had joined her kids in splashing around in the sewer water. She even dunked one of them under. The internal facepalm was real.

We’re immigrants. My parents aren’t fluent in English so they still make some mistakes with words and grammar. My dad gets a new phone and it keeps calling me on its own.

Me: “Hello? Hello? Huh. I guess he pocket-dialed me.”

I hang up and send him a text.

Me: “Your phone called me again.”

Dad: *Texting back* “Sorry I booty-call you.”

Me: *Texting back* “OH, GOD, FATHER, NO! YOU DID NOT BOOTY-CALL YOUR OWN DAUGHTER! CALL IT POCKET-DIAL!”

He says bum-call now, which I consider a huge improvement. I also got him to reduce the number of pocket-dials by making him add an actual screen-lock so that his pocket can’t swipe his phone open.

My husband and I are visiting my family’s home along with my sister and her husband. The conversation has turned to what we are eating tonight.

Sister: “[Her Husband] doesn’t even like potatoes, which is strange, because he has Russian ancestry!”

Mom: “The Russians didn’t really eat potatoes, though.”

Sister: “Yes, they did! The Russians literally made alcohol from potatoes. Even the Irish never did that!”

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