(I am a teller at the bank on a very busy Friday. We have a line around the lobby, and we are short-staffed. The phone rings.)

Me: “Hello! Thank you for calling [Bank] in [Location]. My name is [My Name]; how can I help you?”

Caller: “…”

Me: “Hello?”

Caller: “…”

Me: “Hello? [Bank]. Can I help you?”

Caller: “Hello? Who am I speaking with?”

Me: “[My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “My son has a problem with his account.”

Me: “Okay, are you on his account with him?”

Caller: “No, he’s an adult; why would I do that?”

Me: “Well, if you are not his account with him, I cannot give you any account details. Can I speak with him?”

Caller’s Son: “I’m here; you’re on speaker. My name is [Caller’s Son].”

(I have to ask security questions when assisting customers on the phone. I tell him this.)

Me: “Okay, I just need you to verify your full address and—”

(The mom interrupts:)

Caller: “Hold on a minute. Can I get a mocha frappuccino with extra whipped cream, a caramel macchiato, and… what do you want, hon?”

(I can’t believe I am being put on hold — while the lobby is extremely busy and we are short staffed — so the customer can order coffee.)

Me: “Would you like me to transfer you to customer service? You have called a branch location and I am one of the tellers, so I need to be available to the customers in my bank, as well.”

Caller: “Oh, no, we’ll just talk to you; we already have you on the phone.”

(I am sixteen years old, and I just moved from New York to South Carolina. I still have a heavy New York accent, and I’m a fast talker. I work in a restaurant with coupons for free souvenirs: a cup, a lighter or a koozie.)

Customer: *with heavy southern accent* “This coupon here says I get a free gift. What’s my free gift?”

Me: “A cup, a lighter, or a koozie.”

Customer: “What’s a cupalighter?”

Me: “No, a cup, a lighter, or a koozie.” *trying to speak slower*

Customer: “I know what you said; what’s a cupalighter?”

Me: “Sigh. A cup. OR a lighter. Or a koozie.”

Customer: “Oh! You ain’t from around here are you?”

Me: “No.”

(I am at the first window of a popular fast food restaurant, taking orders for people who are in the drive-thru and taking money from those who have already ordered. As soon as a car comes to the speaker, a chime from our headset will let us know. As soon as she pulls up to the speaker, before the chime could finish:)

Customer: “Hello! Hello! HEEELLLLLOOOO! I am ready to place my order, please!”

(She continues to scream for another ten seconds, and then she finally quiets down. I am actually taking money from the customer who is currently at the window. They are speaking to me, as well. She finally stops.)

Me: “Hi, thanks for holding. May I take your order?”

Customer: *very loudly* “Let me get a ‘Feel It’!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, a what?”

Customer: *louder* “A ‘FEEL IT’!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you are referring to.”

Customer: “A ‘Feel It’! A ‘Feel It’! A ‘FEEL IT’!”

(We get new items quite often, and I think I might have missed a new item, so I’m scrambling to find the item on the register.)

Customer: “A ‘Feel It,’ ma’am, a ‘FEEL IT’! The number twelve! The ‘FEEL IT’ FISH!”

Me: *looks at number twelve* “Ma’am, do you mean the filet fish?”

(I’m working on a programming project with my uncle, and we’re using a program which neither of us is very familiar with. The details of how the program works aren’t important, but it involves creating and editing “branches” with different versions of a project.)

Uncle: “Were you able to make that new branch I asked you about?”

Me: “No, I got an error message saying I didn’t have permission. I think you need to invite me to join.”

Uncle: “But then you’d be able to change my branches, too, and I don’t want you to do that. Do you know how to make it so you can only edit certain branches?”

Me: “No, but I’ll research permissions and see what I find out.”

(The next day, he calls back and I walk him through protecting a branch so only he can edit it.)

Me: *after hanging up, to my stepdad* “Did he just delegate, to me, the job of protecting his branches from me?“

(I am 19 and have bought a truck that is about ten years old. It looks bad on the outside, but I know it is sound mechanically. I take my mother with me to pick it up. On the way home, she insists on taking it to a national chain oil change store where she will pay to have it done, even though I already know my way around cars, and have done major engine work on previous vehicles I have owned. I think she just doesn’t want to take the chance I will spill oil on her new driveway. While in the waiting room, the mechanic comes up to us.)

Mechanic: “Okay, I am very glad you brought this in. It is in bad shape. It is not safe to drive.”

(My mother is visibly upset.)

Me: “Excuse me. What are you talking about? It is fine mechanically.”

Mechanic: “Listen, son. I know my business.” *he turns to my mother* “This thing is a death trap. I am surprised it even got here without crashing. The front end is totally shot. Your steering—”

Me: “Hold on. I do know quite a bit about cars. I have been working on them with my father since I was old enough to hold a wrench, and there is nothing wrong with the front end. It drives just fine.”

Mechanic: *ignores me and continues talking to my mother* “Listen. If you want to endanger your son’s life, you go right ahead and listen to him. I can give you a great deal and redo the front end for around $700. Be a mother and protect your son.”

(At this point, I about lose it. My mother is about to do it when I tell her they are lying. I tell the mechanic the car is in my name and I refuse to allow them to do any work on it. We pay for the oil change and leave. My mother is terribly upset, so I drive out of my way to a mechanic’s shop that is owned by a man I know my mother would trust. I do not tell him about what we were told, but ask him to do a quick check on the lift.)

Friend: “Oh, man. You got a good deal on this. She looks great underneath the hood.”

Me: “How about the front end?”

Friend: “Oh, it looks great. I can tell it was rebuilt less than three or four months ago. You really did good with this.”

(The other business closed within a year as their reputation quickly spread through the town for being dishonest and continually — accidentally, of course — leaving the oil caps off the engines after oil changes. You would think a national chain would be smarter and more careful in who they hire. Guess not.)