(I’m on a medication which, unfortunately, has some side effects like body pains and exhaustion. Most days are fine, but on this day the pain is in my back, making it difficult to walk around. When I’m done grabbing my groceries and head over to check out, there is only one lane open and there is a huge line. There are four self-checkout lanes, three of which have long lines; the fourth is empty so I walk over and start scanning my groceries.)

Rude Lady: *very passive-aggressive* “It’s not like we were waiting in line or anything.”

(This lady was in line at one of the other self-checkout lanes before I even got to the lane. If she wanted to check out, she could have. I’m already irritable and just want to get home and lie down, so I reply.)

Me: “Yes, you were and are still in line for that checkout line; I went to this empty one that no one was in. Maybe you should have been looking for an open lane instead of a reason to complain.”

(I’ve finished scanning my last item and am about to pay when the rude lady lines up behind me.)

Rude Lady: “Well, at least you didn’t take your time.”

(As soon as I’m out of the way putting my items in my cart, she starts scanning her items. Before I leave, I figure I can at least be a little helpful.)

Me: “By the way, since you have trouble noticing things, this is a card-payment-only lane.”

(She stopped scanning her items and looked at the sign I was pointing at. She then glared at me, grabbed her scanned items, and got back in line for one of the other lanes.)

My husband has worked for his employer for over twenty years and is currently in charge of shipping and receiving. I stop to visit, parking in the usual visitor area. A large freight truck has arrived and appears to be having difficulties maneuvering within the allotted space. The driver flies out of the cab, arms flying, and begins to yell at me for parking where I did, calling me names and ordering me to move.

Rather than possibly have the family car hit by such an inadequately trained truck driver, I move the car.

As I approach my husband within the warehouse, the truck driver is loudly complaining about some b**** in the parking lot who was in his way. I simply smile, kiss my husband in front of the truck driver, and apologize for being late, telling my husband that apparently my usual parking spot is inconvenient for beginning truck drivers.

That driver was never allowed on company property again.

(When I walk my dogs, one of them wears a “halti,” basically a horse-style halter for dogs. This lets us tug on her chin instead of her neck, perfect for a dog who would otherwise spend every moment of a walk with her nose to the ground. We’re sitting at the park and a guy walks by on the way to the restroom.)

Guy: “I see your dog’s wearing a muzzle. I was a dog trainer in the army for ten years, and I’m used to dealing with aggressive dogs. Maybe I can help.”

Me: “Thanks, but we’re good.”

(The guy sort of shrugs and continues on his way. The way a halti fits around the dog’s face, it DOES look a bit like a muzzle. It’s an honest mistake that many people make. However, they’re common enough that I’d expect a “professional” dog trainer to be well aware of their existence even it if wasn’t something they used themselves. Assuming the interaction is over, my companion and I continue our conversation. However, when the guy comes out of the bathroom, he approaches us again.)

Guy: “Now.” *staring at my pup* “What seems to be the problem?”

(The words seem innocuous in writing, but his tone was, for lack of a better word, aggressive. Not wanting to embarrass him, I’d refrained from correcting him before, but since he insisted on butting into our business, I explain:)

Me: “Actually, this isn’t a muzzle; it’s a halti.”

(That’s when my dog — the sweetest, most lovable little lab mix anyone could ever want, a dog who’s all wags and licks when she meets new people — starts snarling. Her teeth are bared, hackles raised, the whole shebang. I’ve never seen her behave like that in her entire life. She clearly wants nothing to do with this dude, who now has a smug look on his face.)

Guy: “See? I knew your dog was vicious.”

(Finally, after standing there staring for what felt like forever and causing the dog to stress out more and more, he took the hint and left, but I wonder… was he just a blowhard trying to impress strangers with his “dog training expertise”? Or was he an actual dog trainer who gave off such a bad vibe that he couldn’t even approach a sweet-tempered family pet without freaking it out? If that were the case, no wonder he was used to working with “aggressive” animals. Either way, I agreed with the dog. Grrr.)

(My friend and I are traveling together through Mexico. We are sitting in an outdoor cafe on a square in a beautiful Mexican city when I am approached by a young woman. She engages me in conversation. I am nervous. She does not speak English, and I only speak basic high school Spanish, so the conversation is going slowly.)

Woman: “¿Cómo te llamas?”

Me: “¿Me llamo [My Name], y tú?”

Woman: “Gabriela… ¿Y cuantos años tienes?”

Me: “Tengo 23 anos.”

(She leaves quickly. My friend starts laughing.)

Me: “What did I say?”

Friend: “You told her you have 23 a**holes.”

(The Army National Guard Field Band is holding a concert in my town, and as some students from my school are playing with them, the band director says that he will get a bus for those who want to go and aren’t playing. I go, along with some of my friends. Throughout the concert, I make comments to the girl next to me about how the music is really good, and at one point, the audience is invited to sing along. After that part of the concert is intermission, and I stand up to go to the bathroom.)

Older Woman: *two rows behind me* “Excuse me, young man. How old are you?”

Me: “I’m seventeen.”

Older Woman: “Well, you don’t act like it. All of that talking that you do — you can’t sit still through anything, can you?”

Man Sitting Next To Me: “At his age, I wasn’t able to sit through anything, either. How about you grow up and stop trying to parent other people’s children?”

(If it wasn’t for that man, I probably would have lost my temper and yelled at her. She didn’t say anything else and walked off in the opposite direction. I thanked the man, and I learned that he was in the Marines. After the concert, I made sure to shake his hand and thank him for his service.)