(It’s December 20th, 2018. Almost every movie for Christmas Day is already sold out and it’s shaping up to be the longest, busiest day of the year. I’m helping a woman at the box office.)

Customer: *incredibly irritated* “It’s just shameful that you’re open on Christmas! Shameful!”

Me: “Well, it’s the busiest time of the year for us.”

Customer: “I just can’t believe people are coming in when they should be spending time with their families! It’s unbelievable! Nobody needs to see a movie that bad!”

Me: *not sure what to say* “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Are you working Christmas?”

Me: “Unfortunately. I have to work a double because it’s going to be so busy.”

Customer: “Pfft! Just shameful!”

(She continues to rant about it for a good, solid minute before I finally manage to divert the conversation to what tickets she wants.)

Me: “So, what can I get for you?”

Customer: “I need tickets for Christmas Day. But it’s just shameful that you’re open! People should be home spending time with their families! I can’t believe you’re open! You guys really should be ashamed of yourselves for being open!”

(I don’t think she understood the irony. So many people get so angry with us for being open or play the “I feel so bad for you” card without realizing that the reason we’re open and giving up our Christmases is that they want to come in. Personally, I’d rather people just not even acknowledge the holiday when they come in. Having had to work every Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Year for six years now while having to deal with long, hard shifts with really rude customers has just kind of made the whole season depressing.)

(My husband and I are doing Christmas shopping at a department store at which he used to work. He knows all of their sales speeches, credit card pitches, and protection plan details by heart, even though he hasn’t worked for the company in years — barring minor changes in the fine print, of course. We finish our shopping and head up to the register. The cashier doesn’t even greet us.)

Cashier: “You want to sign up for a credit card? You could get 5% back on—”

Husband: “Let me stop you there. I already have a store credit card, thanks.”

(The cashier throws a brochure at us and jabs at it with one of her incredibly long, neon green acrylic nails.)

Cashier: “No, there are two cards now. You don’t have them both.”

Husband: “What I had was the store’s original card, and a few months ago they mailed me an offer to switch it from the store brand to the Mastercard labeled card.”

Cashier: *rudely* “They don’t do that.”

Husband: “Yes, they do. I worked for [Company] for a while and I’ve had this card for years. I received the offer in the mail about six months ago and switched because it had a better interest rate. I don’t want to apply for a second card from here.”

Cashier: “They don’t switch people! It’s one or the other!”

Husband: “Okay, well, I have some membership points in my account that I’d like to apply to this purchase.”

(He holds out his phone with the correct QR code already displayed on the screen for her to scan.)

Cashier: “We don’t do that here.”

Husband: “Okay, then.”

(We stand there waiting, because she has got a hold of our receipts and seems unwilling to hand those over. We have to specifically ask for them before she’ll let them go. At this point, I’m pissed. I don’t think my eyebrows could climb any higher on my face without disappearing into my hairline. As we turn to leave…)

Cashier: “I ain’t never heard of no switching people to the Mastercard!”

(This happens close to Christmas. I come home to find a yellow card from [Delivery Company] taped to my door. It says that an item I ordered is being held at a nearby facility. I drive there right away to pick it up. Because of the time of year, the facility is very busy, and there are several customers ahead of me.)

Customer #1: “I’m here to pick up my item.”

Employee: “Do you have a yellow card from our company indicating that it would be here?”

Customer #1: “Uh, no.”

Employee: “Then it’s not here yet. Wait until you receive the yellow card. Next!”

Customer #2: “My item should be here, but I don’t have that yellow card.”

Employee: “Then it’s not here. Wait until you receive the yellow card. Next!”

Customer #3: “I don’t have that card, either–“

Employee: *growing visibly irritated* “Your item isn’t here until you get that card! NEXT!”

Me: “Hi–“

Employee: “YOUR ITEM ISN’T HERE!“

Me: *holds out card*

Employee: “WAIT UNTIL YOU GET THE CARD! NEXT!”

Me: “But… I do have the card.”

Employee: “What? Oh. One moment, please.”

(She had my sympathy.)

(I work at an offsite location that takes inbound calls for pharmacies.)

Me: “Hello, this is pharmacy technician, [My Name]. May I please have your first and last name?”

Caller: “Hi, my daughter’s prescriptions are ready at your location? Could I have them transferred to another pharmacy?”

(As protocol, we have to transfer the caller to the preferred location if the prescription is pending at another.)

Me: “Certainly. Could you please tell me the address or crossroads of the pharmacy you want it transferred to?”

Caller: *gives crossroads*

Me: “I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with those. Could you please spell the names for me?”

Caller: *says the street names again*

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I need the spelling.”

Caller: *repeats the street names*

Me: “I’m sorry. I need the spelling.”

Caller: *repeats the street names*

Me: “No, sir, the spelling. Could you please spell those out for me?”

Caller: “Hang on.” *in the background* “What are the crossroads here?”

Me: “Sir, are you at the location you want the prescriptions transferred to?”

Caller: “Yes.”

Me: *convinced that I misheard* “You mean you’re there, in the pharmacy where you want to pick up your daughter’s medicine?”

Caller: “Yes.”

Me: “Sir, please talk to them.”

(I didn’t even say my closing and hung up. Our standard time for being on the phone is ninety seconds. It took four minutes to realize that his call was completely unnecessary.)

(It is just before Christmas and my parents and I have flown interstate to spend the holidays with my sister. We are all heading down the highway back to her house, with my sister and mum in the backseat chatting away and me sitting shotgun, leaving my dad driving. We end up taking an exit too soon. Had my dad taken the correct exit, the speed limit we are traveling at, 100km/h, would have continued for some time. But instead, the speed limit for the exit we do take rapidly drops down to 80, and my dad, in his flustered state at having gotten lost, misses all the speed signs. Lo and behold, there are the cops. We get pulled over.) 

Officer: *to my dad* “You were doing 96 in an 80 zone.”

Dad: “We are visiting my sister, and I am unfamiliar with the roads.”

(When my flustered dad ends up starting to repeat himself, the officer cuts him off saying that he will be back after checking his license. In Western Australia, if you’re found speeding at up to 9km/h over you only get a $70 and no demerit points; however, at 10 to 19 over it’s $330 and two demerit points. Considering it’s just before Christmas, it’s double-demerit point season, leaving my dad facing a $660 fine and four demerit points. My mum is now having a go at my dad, getting him worked up, and he proceeds to enter what we call “the bombastic mode,” and as such, all information will go in one ear and out the other.)

Officer: *returns to the car* “Because you are travelling interstate and visiting family, and it’s the holiday season, I’m going to be lenient with the charge and only book you at the lower offence: $140 and zero demerits.”

(Bombastic Mode Dad proceeds to not take a word of this in and starts arguing with the officer, again saying how we had gotten lost etc. I lean over, grab his arm, look him dead in the eye, and say:)

Me: “Shut the f*** up.”

(I then look over at the officer, smile, and say:)

Me: “Thank you, officer. My dad really does appreciate you only fining him for a minor offence and not the higher offence, for which—” *death glares my dad* “—HE IS 100% AT FAULT. I hope you have a Merry Christmas and a pleasant day, and don’t have to deal with any more morons today.”

(I release my tight grip on his arm and sit back. My dad then sheepishly takes the ticket and his license and thanks the officer, and the officer walks back to the patrol car.)

Mum: “You’re a f****** idiot.”