(I work at a supermarket that only offers organic products. We have regular automatic sliding doors. I am ringing up customers when I hear someone entering, and immediately after this a child, maybe around two years old, starts to cry. I turned to see what’s wrong as a woman dashes into the store, holding her crying child and giving me a death glare. Even before I can even ask what happened, she starts yelling at me.)

Woman: “My son’s hand got stuck in that stupid door!”

Me: “Well, that’s unfortunate. Will he be all right?”

Woman: “Of course not! I bet it’s going to swell!”

(I already am puzzled at how it would be humanly possible to get your hand into that tiny slit at the side of the door, but I know that she is going to blame me for whatever happened. I apologetically look at the customer I was ringing up.)

Me: “Would you excuse me for a second? I need to get something to cool his hand.”

(Luckily, they are very understanding and I hastily get up, leaving the already insane amount of customers in the line to wait. Luckily, a coworker hears me talking and goes to get a cool pack before I can. I get back to what I was doing before, to see that this woman has already snatched a popsicle out of the freezer next to the registers to cool the kid’s hand. He seems to be better now; he’s stopped crying, and looks around as my coworker hands them the cool pack.)

Woman: “That was about time!”

(She then snatched it out of my coworker’s hand but continued to cool her son’s hand with the popsicle. My coworker gave me an annoyed look. Just a few minutes later the woman rushed out of the store and I saw her son eating the popsicle; she never paid for it. A few days later the same coworker told me that she came back the day after to complain about me to our manager. I “never apologized” to her and acted completely rude. What should I have apologized for? For her not telling her kid to not stick his hands everywhere they fit? Luckily our manager took my side and I never saw her again.)

(I have recently passed my 48th birthday. My mother has been demanding that we do something to celebrate. I am very low-key and like to keep to myself; my mother prefers to draw attention to herself and “embarrass” me by behaving outlandishly or telling strangers stories about me, and she is disappointed that my personality is not more like hers. For these reasons, I have been reluctant to celebrate with her. This occurs shortly after my birthday when I am helping her run errands.)

Mom: “I have something to tell you and you’re not going to like it.”

Me: “Okay…”

Mom: *launches into a long story about how Disneyworld is putting on a big celebration for Mickey Mouse’s birthday this year* “And Mickey Mouse’s birthday is the same day as yours!”

Me: “Oh. Hm. Okay.”

(As we are out and about, my mother manages to slip into conversation with several total strangers that I recently had a birthday and was upset that it was the same day as Mickey Mouse’s birthday. Some people wish me happy birthday, but all seem as confused as I am about why I would be mad about Mickey Mouse. Later, we are out for lunch with a neighbor, and my mother, of course, tells this story both to the neighbor and our server. During a lull in conversation…)

Mom: “So, how old are you, little girl?”

Me: “What?!”

(I heard her, but I am surprised that she would publicly ask me my age, and that she called me “little girl.”)

Neighbor: “I was always told that you can ask a lady what day she was born, and what month, but never what year.”

Me: “Thank you, [Neighbor]; that was my understanding, too.”

Mom: “But we have to ask you, so you can be reminded that Mickey Mouse has the same birthday!”

(I am just tired of hearing about Mickey Mouse, so I Google his birthday on my phone.)

Me: “Mickey Mouse’s birthday is November 18. My birthday is [date that is NOT November 18].”

(My mother went silent for a moment then, but a few times as we conversed, she interrupted me by belting out, “M-I-C! K-E-Y! M-O-U-S-E!” She is still annoyed with me that I didn’t celebrate my birthday with her.)

(I am an elementary music teacher preparing for our K-1 winter concert. This is the third slip sent home with information regarding the performance.)

Slip Sent Home: “Our K-1 Winter Concert will be at [School] on Thursday, December 6th, at 6:00 pm. Please have students wear their winter best, be it a nice long sleeve shirt or a nice dress.”

Parent #1: “Where is the winter concert?”

Parent #2: “When is the winter concert?”

Parent #3: “This is the concert for chorus, right?”

Parent #4: “What does [Child] have to wear?”

Parent #5: “When will the third-graders be singing that night?”

Parent #6: “We’ll be about 45 minutes late. Is that okay?”

(I get a call from an employee about a child who is causing some issues, and has been wandering unsupervised for a half hour. The kid is about two or three years old, no parent around. The child has taken makeup samples and is smearing them on the floor and on himself, “finger painting,” and making a huge mess. Besides this, the kid seems dirty and his clothes are torn.)

Me: “Hey there. What’s your name? Where is your mommy?”

(The kid doesn’t answer. One employee talks to the kid and get his name out, but when asked where his parents are, the child shakes his head and starts crying loudly. Security for the store comes down, and we take the kid behind the counter where it’s quieter and give him a promotional plush toy to calm him down. Security starts making an announcement.)

Security: “One of our smallest shoppers seems to have lost his adults. Please report to any cashier if you need help.”

(No one responds, and mall security shows up and says the police are on their way. It’s now been over an hour since my initial call, and because of all of the circumstances, we are worried the child was abandoned at the mall. Store security takes the child to their office. I get a call that police have arrived with a CPS officer, and I go down to meet them and take them to the office. Halfway down to the door, a well-dressed woman stops me.)

Woman: “Hey, where did you take [Son]? I’m ready to go now.”

Me: “I… What? We’ve been paging you for a while.”

Woman: “Oh, I thought those were for someone else. I knew where he was. I left him to play by the makeup while I bought a purse. I saw he even got a free stuffed animal! But it’s time to go now. Where did you put him?”

Me: “Ma’am, wait right here. There’s some people you have to talk to.”

(The police and CPS found her story to be as weird as I did, and I spent the next month receiving angry phone calls from her and threats of lawsuits because CPS investigated her.)

(While visiting my family, the conversation turns to how well-meaning people can still say ugly things.)

Dad: “You know, at a party back in college I was chatting with this attractive Asian woman. I told her I was really impressed with how good her English was, since I was still struggling with my own accent. She gave me a look, and said, ‘My family has lived here for two hundred years, and we run one of the largest ranches in the state.’”

Me: “Ouch, you were That Guy.”

Dad: “It gets worse. A month later I was at a party chatting to an attractive Asian woman…”

Me: “Oh, geez, same person?”

Dad: “Yep.”

Me: “Seriously? I should be glad you’re so inept with women; otherwise, you’d have found someone before Mom, and I wouldn’t be here.”