(I am in a sandwich shop waiting in line while the customer ahead of me orders.)

Customer: “Can I get a six-inch gluten-free bread?”

Employee: “Sure, no problem. Do you want me to toast the bread before I put the toppings on?”

(This is a standard offer for their gluten-free bread.)

Customer: “Yes.”

Employee: *after toasting* “So, what kind of sandwich are you having today?”

Customer: “Scrape off the gluten.”

Employee: “Ma’am?”

Customer: “I can see the gluten. The dark bits. Scrape them off.”

(The employee scrapes off the toasted bits of the bread.)

Customer: “I want [Sandwich].”

Employee: *puts the first type of meat on the bread*

Customer: “NO! Ham goes on the other side.”

Employee: *puts ham on the other side and starts putting on salami*

Customer: “No! Salami goes on last!”

(This goes on for each and every single thing the employee puts on the sub. The entire time he’s smiling like she’s the best customer in the world.)

Me: *after she makes her purchase and leaves* “Doesn’t she know it’s all going to the same place anyway? It tastes the same however you put it together.”

Employee: “Yes, it does.”

Me: “How do you put up with customers like that?”

Employee: “She’s a secret shopper. [Nearby Branch of the same company] told me she might come by today.”

This story is part of our Celiac Awareness Day roundup!

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(My roommate, her friend, and I are attending a very small gaming event, and we are immediately drawn in by a table that is giving out samples of snacks and beer, and which features game designers promoting their newest projects. My roommate, an avid gamer, is constantly on the lookout for fun new games to play, and as such, gets sucked into one that a designer has brought with him. She seems to have cleared the first level all right, but is struggling with the second.)

Roommate: “UGH! This level is so hard! Are there cheat codes?”

Designer: *laughing* “No, sorry.”

Me: “Oh, no, Kirk! There are no Kobayashi Maru codes! Whatever will you do?”

Roommate: “Shut up, Spock. It is illogical to mock a gamer when she’s losing.”

(Our dishwasher is having issues, so we call our landlord to have it looked at. The repair place calls my husband’s cell phone instead of mine. He can’t answer at work and I have to call back the next day. As usual, my call back means dealing with their ridiculous receptionist.)

Repair Place: “Hello, this [Business]. [Name] speaking.”

Me: “Hi, this is [My Name] from [Address] calling to schedule a time to have my dishwasher looked at.”

Repair Place: “How does Thursday look?”

Me: “Thursday is fine as long as it’s before 3:45.”

Repair Place: *indignantly* “What?! That’s far too late! We do deliveries in the afternoon!”

Me: “That would work out fine because I can’t be here late in the afternoon.”

Repair Place: “Is it that you both work? Is that the problem?”

Me: *I am so confused* “No, I’m a stay-at-home mom but I have an appointment at 4 pm so they have to be here earlier in the day. I have to leave the house by 3:45.”

Repair Place: “Okay, so they’ll come out Thursday morning. We call before we show up so you’ll have to answer the phone. We won’t come if you don’t answer the phone. You have to answer the phone this time! If we leave a message we won’t come out.”

Me: “Then you need to take down my phone number because you’ll need to call me on Thursday. You called my husband yesterday and he’s in Anchorage right now.”

Repair Place: *sounding hysterical* “What do you mean you’re in Anchorage?! You can’t call and schedule an appointment when you won’t even be there! You have to be there. Why are you even calling if you’re in Anchorage?!”

Me: “I’m not in Anchorage; my husband is. That’s why you need MY phone number.”

Repair Place: “You’re in Anchorage? How are we going to look at your dishwasher?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m NOT in Anchorage. I will be here on Thursday. But you need my phone number.”

Repair Place: “We have it. It’s the [area code] number.”

Me: “No, you don’t have it. You have my husband’s number. Mine is [my number].”

Repair Place: *sounding confused* “That’s a different number than what we have.”

Me: “Yes, so you’ll need to take my number and make sure they call ME on Thursday because the other number won’t be answered.”

Repair Place: “You really should just have a landline and one number.”

(She finally took down my number but who knows if they’ll call me or my husband on Thursday. What’s worse is that every… single… time… we deal with them, that’s how it goes. Their receptionist really is an airhead!)

(I’m highly articulate, but not especially emotional. This sometimes causes problems where I am misunderstood. My roommate and good friend has recently related to me that she had been uncertain whether or not we were friends until one evening, when it came to her like a revelation.)

Roommate: “We had chatted for a while and hung out together. It wasn’t until that one night when you were off work earlier than I was, but you stayed after to talk to me until I was done working. Then I knew that we were friends.”

(This is a strange concept to me, as I had thought it was more obvious who I did and did not like. One day, I am asked to drive a mutual friend to run an errand. This is a new friend, and we laugh and talk about things that we have in common. I later talk to my roommate about the trip.)

Me: “I really like [New Friend]. We should hang out more.”

Roommate: “Oh, good. I was just talking with [New Friend] about that. It seems she had no idea you guys were friends until you took her to run that errand, and you had a good time.”

(I may start issuing cards that say, “Congratulations! We are friends now!”)

This story is part of our Making Friends roundup!

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(I am shopping at a thrift store. A customer barges up to me with a dress in her hand and waves it in my face.)

Customer: “Excuse me, do you work here?”

Me: “No… sorry.”

Customer: “You look like you work here. I can’t find this dress in a small.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s the problem with these thrift stores. Not always the right sizes.”

Customer: “Where can I find it in a small?”

Me: “I don’t know. You may have to pick another dress.”

(The customer stares at me a minute, suspiciously, as I’m going through a rack.)

Customer: “Where are the size-eight shoes?”

Me: “I don’t know. Normally, they’re over there, but they just rearranged everything so I don’t know. You’ll have to ask someone who works here.”

Customer: “I need shoes to match this dress in a size eight!”

Me: “Good luck!”

Customer: “You are NO HELP AT ALL!”

(The customer flung the dress at me and stormed over to the shoes. She started scattering them all over and demanding to the room in general that she needed a size eight. One of the poor employees ended up getting stuck with pampering her the entire time I was there.)

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