(Wildfires have become an increasing problem in my area every summer. This year, even though the fires are nowhere near where I live, a weird weather pattern traps a thick smoke cloud here for several days. I have asthma, so I am unable to leave my apartment during this time. Once the smoke clears, I go to the hardware store to buy the kind of face mask that blocks smoke so this won’t happen again. Since I have no idea where to find masks, I ask an employee. I explain to him that I need it because of my asthma and the smoky conditions, just in case some masks are unsuitable for that.)

Employee: “Face masks… Face masks… Those would be on an end cap on [aisle], I think. But I’m not sure. Let’s go look.”

(He starts leading me through the store to look for the masks.)

Employee: “Have you heard of the [Family] family?”

Me: “No, I haven’t.”

Employee: “Well, they had all sorts of health problems. Always dealing with something. But then one time, the day after Halloween, they found little [Son] passed out next to a pillowcase full of candy. Took him to the doctor, and it turned out he had diabetes.”

Me: *wondering why he’s telling me this* “Was he all right?”

Employee: “Yeah, but the mom, see, she was a nurse, and she’d seen people die from insulin. So she didn’t want her son taking that. The whole family changed their diet, instead. Organic, raw, vegan.”

(We haven’t gotten to the face-masks yet, but the employee stops in the middle of an aisle. He’s no longer looking for them at all.)

Employee: “So, yeah. The diabetes cleared right up! And the daughter, she had asthma. It went away, too!”

Me: “Ah.”

Employee: “Really, you should try it. Go on a green juice cleanse for a couple weeks. It’ll take care of that asthma.”

Me: “Um… I’d rather just find that mask, thanks.”

Employee: “Oh, right.”

(He finally showed me where the masks were, and I found the right one. Before leaving, he made a few more comments about changes I should make to my diet and what wonderful effects it would have on my health. All of this was despite me not showing one bit of interest in his claims about diet. Also, I’ve been a vegetarian who eats mostly vegetables for over a decade, and I still have asthma.)

(I am the customer in this story. I’ve had my car shipped across the country to me, but the transport truck can’t get close enough to my house, so I meet them in a nearby parking lot. It is a fair distance, and not wanting to leave my or my husband’s car in the lot, I take an Uber. After making sure the car is still in one piece, I receive the keys, and the two drivers go off to get coffee. I quickly find I cannot turn my car on! I try for nearly half an hour. I am almost in tears, thinking I’ll have to call for a tow. By that time, the two drivers come back.)

Driver #1: “Is everything okay, ma’am? We thought you’d be long gone.”

Me: “I can’t turn the car on! The ignition won’t even turn.”

Driver #1: “Mind if I take a look?”

(I hand him the keys and he looks puzzled.)

Driver #1: “Um… These are the wrong keys.”

Me: *frustrated and slightly angry* “What do you mean, the wrong keys? Did you give me the wrong set?”

Driver #1: “No, ma’am. You’re our last delivery. Those are the only keys we had.”

Driver #2: “We had to have had the right keys in order to get the car off the truck. We gave you the right keys, but these ain’t them.”

(I then looked closer and realized I had been using my husband’s car keys! The drivers had a good laugh as I shamefully turned my car on with the right set.)

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(My husband is an extremely laid-back, no-nonsense man. He is intelligent, but dislikes hypothetical questions and “what if” situations. When he is summoned for jury duty, I am certain it will be an interesting experience for the court. This happens when he is called upon to answer questions for jury selection.)

Prosecutor: “How would you know if someone is lying to you?”

Husband: “Depends on who they are.”

Prosecutor: *smirks* “Okay. Say it’s a stranger.”

Husband: “Then what am I doing talking to them?”

Prosecutor: *blinks twice then moves on to next juror*

(My husband was informed that his services were not needed. He seemed very pleased with the outcome, especially since he only had to be himself to get out of jury duty.)

(In our state, it is illegal to sell alcohol past 2:00 am. It is 1:59 am, the point at which we tend to refuse the purchase of alcohol so that we don’t accidentally break the law, through whatever plethora of delays can happen at the register. If we mess up, there’s a fine to both the store and the employees involved. Also, our hard liquor, vodka, rum, and whatnot is locked up so that an employee has to get a bottle out if you want anything.)

Announcement: “Guest assistance at the liquor cabinet.”

Me: *walks over to the register to grab the liquor key, while checking the time* “It’s 1:59; I’m going to let them know we can’t sell.”

Cashier: “I told them no alcohol. So, yeah.”

Me: *walks over to the aisle where two people are waiting* “I’m sorry, but we can’t sell alcohol at this time. It’s 1:59 am and it’s illegal to sell past 2:00 am.”

(It’s a guy and a girl, but the guy does all the talking and IMMEDIATELY gets whiny.)

Customer: “What? But we just ran all the way here! Isn’t there anything you can do?”

Me: “No. I’m sorry, but we can’t sell any alcohol at this time.”

Customer: “We’ll be in and out before you even know it!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we can’t take that risk. The cashier already told you no alcohol, too.”

Customer: “Please? What would you do if you were in my shoes?”

Me: *a little curtly, but I’m serious when I say he’s whiny* “I wouldn’t be asking the person in front of me to lose their job over a drink.”

Customer: “You wouldn’t lose your job over this!”

Me: “I’d have to pay a $300 fine and get a significant write-up, though. I’m sorry, but we cannot sell to you.” *turns to walk away*

Customer: “So, you can’t do anything? We can’t get anything?”

Me: “Nothing alcoholic!”

Customer: “B****!”

(The two left without getting anything. Sadly, he’s not the first to try this, but certainly the most whiny.)

(I am at the Department of Licensing, transferring the titles to a pickup, a trailer, a four-wheeler, and snowmobiles to my name after the passing of my grandfather. I have the “Inheritance” form filled out and a copy of the death certificate laid out on the counter.)

Worker: “Hello. What can I help you with today?”

Me: “I am here to transfer these titles after the passing of my grandfather.”

Worker: *looks at how many titles I have* “Well! Aren’t you lucky?!”

(I let her have it, instead of doing the whole, “No, I’d rather have more time with my granddad instead of his truck.”)