(I work for an Internet service provider, as a tech support operator.)

Me: “Welcome to [Company] support. You’re speaking with [My Name]. How can I help today?”

Customer: “Yeah, mate, I can’t get into my computer.”

Me: “Do you mean your Internet? Are you having trouble accessing websites?”

Customer: “No, my computer is asking for a password and I can’t remember what it is!”

Me: “What else do you see on the screen?”

Customer: “It’s all blue with a picture and a box asking for my password.”

Me: *realising what’s going on* “Okay, that sounds like you’re having problems with your operating system. It might be better for you to call [Computer Company], as they are better equipped to handle these kinds of problems.”

Customer: “Why? I’ve called you guys before and you’ve fixed this for me! I want you to fix it!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that’s outside of my power.”

Customer: “This is pathetic; you have to be the worst employee [ISP] has. I have the CEO’s personal number; I’m calling him now to get you fired!” *click*

Me: *stares at my coworker, dumbfounded*

(Six months on, I still have my job.)

(In our store we have three tills, side-by-side, on a reasonably long desk. The regional manager doesn’t allow us to use the left-hand till for transactions, so we only use it to search inventory. We are mid-sale, and the queue for check-out is as long as the store, and a coworker and I are frantically working away. I am on the right-hand till, and my coworker is on the middle.)

Me: “Next, please!”

(The next customer in line approaches the left-hand till, despite the fact that it was no more effort to side-step right instead of left.)

Me: “Can I just get you to come to this till for me, please, sir?”

Customer: “No! You’ll come to me, because that’s service!”

(It’s a tight squeeze behind the counter, especially with random bits of product from returns, holds, and such lying around while we’re busy, but I edge behind my coworker and take the first item the customer is holding up. I return to my till, and scan it, before edging past again to take his other item he is brandishing in my face. Again, I go back to my till, scan the item, and squeeze back to the customer)

Me: “That totals [amount]. Do you have a loyalty card?”

Customer: “[Amount]?! How much was [first item]?”

(I sigh, and my coworker stifles a giggle. I push past again and check the amount. Having lost patience, I shout to the customer remaining at my till. He agrees and shows me his bank-card before sliding it in the scanner at the non-functioning till.)

Me: “Sir, I’m going to need you to use this one, please.”

Customer: “Why? What’s wrong with this one?”

Me: “It doesn’t work.”

(The customer’s face dropped, as if he had lost the victory he thought he had over me. He quietly paid and left.)

(There has been a disease outbreak amongst a lot of prawn suppliers around the world. Because of Australia’s strict bio-security laws, the government bans all imports of prawns into the country until further notice, to prevent the disease crippling the local populations. Of course, this has left a lot of businesses without prawns to serve. My family are regulars at one of the local Italian cuisine restaurants. Our server is lovely, and has a sharp sense of humour which leads to a number of amusing interactions. She has already explained why there are no prawns available, but that two dishes that contain a variety of seafood are still on the menu, just without the prawns.)

Dad: “I’ll have the spaghetti marinara, please.”

Server: “Not a problem, sir, but just to remind you that there will not be any prawns in it due to disease outbreak.”

Dad: “Do you honestly get people who kick up a fuss about not having prawns after you’ve explicitly told them why?”

Server: “At least one a shift, sir. Makes me wonder if they’re listening to me.”

(Our food eventually arrives and we start eating. About five minutes later our server comes to check on us.)

Server: “How is everything so far?”

Dad: *with a serious expression* “I’m really disappointed. There’s no prawns in my meal.”

(It takes a moment for the server to catch on that he is kidding, and then she promptly cracks up.)

Server: *grinning* “Tell you what, sir, how about I get them for you to go as a doggy bag? I’ll provide the empty box, and you can jump in the marina and catch them for yourself?”

(The entire table cracked up laughing. Needless to say, she made our night!)

(My colleague is seven months pregnant. She’s quite petite so it’s obvious that she’s carrying a child, and most of the customers she’s helped out have noticed and congratulated her. It’s currently summer and our store can get quite hot, so our boss has allowed her to sit on a stool behind the checkout and have a small fan on her counter. I am working at the counter next to her when a customer approaches her.)

Customer: “There’s a product on the very top shelf that I need you to get down for me.”

Colleague: “Of course, ma’am. [My Name] will be happy to find a ladder and help you out with that.

Customer: “What?! How dare you try and just palm me off onto somebody else! Why can’t you just do it yourself?!”

Colleague: *gesturing to her bump* “Well, as you can see I shouldn’t really be climbing up on ladders in my current condition.”

Customer: “You lazy cow; what’s that supposed to mean?”

Colleague: “I’m sorry, but I can’t get up on a ladder because I’m preg—”

Customer: “No, I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. Clearly you think you’re in some sort of privileged position with your fan and stool behind the counter while your poor colleagues slave away in the heat. Go and find a ladder right now or I’ll call and complain to your manager.”

(Overhearing the entire conversation, I decide to step in.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my colleague has been trying to tell you that she’s obviously quite pregnant and for medical reasons cannot put herself in a position where she risks a fall.”

(The customer looks at Colleague’s bump, the light bulb clearly switching on in her head.)

Customer: “It’s not very high up! She’s still supposed to be helping me. She should go and fetch it!”

Me: “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for the death of an unborn child, would you? Now, if you show me what you need from the top shelf I’ll happily get it down for you.”

(The customer glared at me and started barking orders. At least she left my poor colleague alone after that.)

My step-mother owns chickens and has for a while, as it saves money on the few eggs they eat weekly. At some point, she got into the habit of sharing the extra eggs with our neighbour, and they became friendly because of it.

Not too long back, my step-sister came down with something, and my father and step-mother had to leave the state, which left me with the task of stopping by their house after work each night and feeding the chickens, as well as other things.

Whenever my step-mother checked in with me, she couldn’t understand why I wasn’t finding eggs. She was certain there were some hidden somewhere in the coop, even though I thought the chickens were maybe stressed from the sudden lack of attention, causing them to not lay.

Upon her return, we searched the coop high and low and found nothing. My step-mother was furious. She had apparently purchased pre-fertilised eggs for her chickens and marked them with big red crosses. We couldn’t work out what happened, as there weren’t any eggs shells around, either.

Later that night, I received a text from her stating that her neighbour had come over to complain that some of her eggs made him sick. It seems that during the day, before I arrived, the neighbour had been jumping the fence (not taking the side gate but climbing over the fence) and helping himself to eggs.

She still can’t figure out how he managed to cook a fertilised egg without noticing.

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