I work at a Student Accounts office at a university, which means I spend a good amount of time dealing with students and parents coming in to pay tuition and any fees they’ve racked up. One day, a student calls and asks us if we’re open, which we are, so I tell him he can come in and make a payment. He shows up about ten minutes later:

Student: “I’m here to make a payment to remove my hold.”

Me: “Okay!”

I get his info to look up his account.

Me: “It looks like you owe [amount], so you’d have to pay that in full for the hold to be removed.”

Student: “No, you told me I had to pay [way less amount] for it to be removed.”

Me: “I did not say that.”

Student: “Yes, you did, over the phone.”

Me: “Sir, the only thing I told you was that we were open.”

Student: “No, I spoke to you yesterday and you said I only had to pay that amount.”

Me: *Pauses.* “You didn’t speak to me yesterday.”

Student: *Confidently.* “No, I did speak to you, I’m sure of it.”

Me: *Also confident.* “Sir, you did not. I wasn’t here yesterday, I was out sick.”

Student: “Oh, uh, Friday then, I spoke to you Friday.”

Me: “You also didn’t speak to me then, I don’t work Fridays.”

Student: “Monday, it was Monday, I spoke to you Monday!”

Me: “…Are you sure?”

It’s my first experiment in science for year ten. My teacher so far seems nice enough and has told us not to hesitate to tell her about any issue concerning the class.

Me: “Since the experiment involves sulfur, can I sit out? I have an allergy to it.”

Teacher: “No, you can’t. You have to participate and help your classmates!”

Me: “But I have an allergy to sulfur! I’ll start reacting!

Teacher: “No, you don’t. You’re lying and just want to get out of the lesson!”

At this point, I am very upset and leave. I’ve reacted to things such as paint, medicine, my year eight injections, and even sunscreen!

I talk to my mother about it, and she calls the school, who says I’ll be allowed to sit out. Relieved, I head to science happily the next day.

Teacher: “What are you doing? You have to help your team!”

Me: “The school says I can sit out because of my allergy.”

Teacher: “No, you can’t. Go and help your group!”

When I refuse, she goes over to my group, looks at what they are doing, and signals for me to come over. Knowing that I have no choice left, I go over.

Teacher: “Now, [My Name] will do this part and you guys can observe.”

The task involves handling the sulfur. As I am lifting the eye dropper of sulfur, the teacher goes to another group, bumping me in the process, causing drops of sulfur to land on my arm. I stop what I am doing and head to the sink to wash it off before returning and trying again, this time with success.

By the time my part is complete, a rash has spread over my arm, and it hurts badly. I’ve never had a reaction this bad before. I know I need to calm it down, but I can’t leave the lesson. I explain to my groupmates what’s happening and why I need them to call my doctor. I give them my phone to find the doctor in my contacts while I try not to start crying and find a flannel to soak in cold water to decrease a bit of pain.

Teacher: “Why aren’t you all working? [Girl], who are you calling?

Girl: “[My Name]’s doctor. Sulfur got on her arm, and now she has a painful rash, and we need the doctor because that’s what she’s been told to do if it gets bad.”

The teacher looked at us in disbelief before seeing the spreading rash and agreeing to let us call.

In the end, my mother had to pick me up to take me to the doctor, where I was prescribed pills and listened to the doctor remind the school that I had an allergy, and it should not be dismissed.

The teacher was made to apologize and left the next year!

A young man comes up to me and shows me something on the screen of his phone. It looks like a school assignment.

Patron: “Can you help me with this? Our teacher said that we couldn’t use ChatGPT and that we should go to the library for information.”

Me: “Sure, if you come with me, I’ll show you where to find some good books.”

Patron: “Can’t you just give me the essay? I thought the library was like ChatGPT but like, with real people.”

Me: “My dude, I can write a waaay better essay than ChatGPT ever could, but then *you* wouldn’t have learned anything, would you?”

Patron: “Aw, come on!”

Me: “Sorry, I can’t do your homework for you. But we have a free study group on Thursday afternoons with volunteers who can help out.”

Patron: “So they’ll do it for me?”

Me: “Nope, you still have to do it yourself, but they can give you advice on how to do it. Now let’s go find you some books, okay?”

Patron: “Man, when I got into this program, no one told me I would have to read!”

It’s the late 2000s, and some friends and I have saved up for a trip backpacking around various parts of Europe for a month of our summer break. We’ve just arrived in Barcelona, checked into our hostel, it’s getting late, so we decide to see where there is to eat that’s within walking distance.

I should note, two of us speak Spanish, two don’t.

We find our way to a hole-in-the-wall place advertising tapas and wine and decide to poke our heads in and look at a menu, but we immediately have to leave – it’s FILLED with smoke, and one of my friends has asthma.

Some regular steps out into the road to ask us what’s wrong, and the two of us who know Spanish explain about the asthma problem and he says:

Regular: “Oh, but I come here all the time and know the owners – I bet they’d let you eat in the back room, let me ask!”

The “back room” quickly proves to be a living room, belonging to the family that owns the place. It is, indeed, smoke-free, so we sit down and ask for a menu. One of the owners says with a smile:

Owner: “There’s no menu. We just have things.”

We order a bottle of the house wine, and they proceed to show us a sequence of tapas and serve us whichever ones we like, and go out into the main area with whichever ones we decline. The wine arrives, and one of my friends, who’s just completed a wine certification course back home in the States, says:

Friend: “This is the best sparkling wine I’ve ever had.”

At that, two people drop their forks. One says:

Other Friend: “Guys, I think this is a scam where they charge you some inordinate amount, and we need to get out now before the bill gets any worse.”

On the next round, they top us up with some sausage we had enjoyed earlier, and I flag them down and ask about the bill.

Staff Member: “Oh, don’t worry!”

He hurriedly leaves. Now we’re worrying even more, frankly.

The next time she enters, I explain:

Me: “We are students, we don’t have a lot of money; we will happily pay what we need to pay, but it would help us be less worried if we can see the prices.”

Staff Member: “Thirty euros.”

That one didn’t need translating.

Other Friend: “Thirty euros each?”

Staff Member: “No. Thirty euros, total.”

The other Spanish speaker at the table, the one who had taken the wine class, says”

Friend: “Good, and how much for the wine?”

Staff Member: “Thirty euros… for the food and the wine.”

Then she served us the next course of tapas.

And that is the finest hospitality I’ve enjoyed anywhere on the planet. 

In the years since then, we’ve all racked our brains and searched Google Maps to try to find exactly where that place is, so we might recommend it to others. Unfortunately, we have never been able to. I hope they’re still around after all this time.

Some girls in my dorm are planning a party. They don’t seem to care that they’re loudly discussing underage drinking, but that’s not what makes their interaction memorable:

College Girl #1: *Scrolling her phone.* “Oh my god! One bottle of vodka is, like, 40% alcohol. So… if we mix two bottles together, that’s, like, 80% alcohol!”

College Girl #2: “Awesome!”

Since they’re literally talking next to me, I can’t help but add in:

Me: “If you make it five bottles, that’s 200% alcohol!”

College Girl #1: “Oh my God, she’s right!”

College Girl #2: “This party is gonna be soooo lit.”

College Girl #1: *To me.* “Are you like, a math major?”