(I work in a lemonade stand inside of a college football stadium, so, therefore, most of our customers are drunk college boys. We have two flavors: regular and sugar-free pink lemonade.)
Customer: “What kind of lemonade do you have?”
Me: “Well, we have regular and pink, which is sug—“
Customer: *cuts me off mid-sentence* “That’s gay! I’m not drinking pink lemonade. That’s gay!”
(I am at the zoo with my family looking at the tigers. The lions are on the other side of the zoo. A woman in her 20s walks up holding an 18-month- to two-year-old child.)
Woman: “Look, honey! See the lions?”
(I am at the head office today. We manage an outlying clinic, open two days a week, that is due for a fire safety check. It’s late in the afternoon when I answer the phone.)
Fire Safety Rep: “Yeah, I’m at your clinic to do the check and no one’s here!”
Me: “I’m sorry, where are you calling from?”
Fire Safety Rep: “I’m here at your clinic to do your fire safety check and there’s no one here! Our office was told you’d be here on Tuesdays and Thursdays, your sign at the front says you are open Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I’m here waiting and ready and there’s no one here!”
Me: “Today’s Wednesday.”
Fire Safety Rep: “Oh, s***!” *hangs up*
(I am employed as a station assistant for the London Underground — metro system. A train pulls in when a customer approaches me.)
Customer: “Excuse me? Does this train go to Richmond?”
(My station is a transfer station for services to either Ealing Broadway or Richmond. The train pulling up is for Ealing Broadway, meaning the train is the wrong one for him to take.)
Me: “No, I’m afraid not; this train goes to—“
Customer: *interrupts* “That man there—“ *points to a complete stranger* “—said it does!”
Me: “Well, it doesn’t. You can board it if you like, but it won’t take you to Richmond.”
Customer: “But that man said it did!”
(Despite the fact that I’ve told him otherwise, the man boards the train. I also board the train, as I have been called to Ealing Broadway for another matter. The moment the train announces it’s arrival to Ealing Broadway, the man returns to me.)
Customer: “What are we doing here?! I thought this train went to Richmond!”
Me: “I told you twice that it didn’t.”
Customer: “But the man said it did!”
(I have been experiencing undiagnosed depression and severe anxiety caused by a serious accident while I was in the military. As such, after being let go from my job for something I didn’t do, I end up getting admitted into the psych ward at the Veterans hospital. Before admittance, you have to get your blood drawn to test for drugs.)
Screening Nurse: “Okay, hon, this is the nurse that is going to take your blood.”
(The nurse tries to insert the needle in the crook of my arm and misses.)
Nurse: “Oh, darn! Let me try again.”
(He tries again and misses.)
Nurse: “Let me try on the top of your wrist.”
Me: “Umm… Isn’t that going to be harder? I am a very easy stick; maybe you should try on my right arm.”
Nurse: “No, I can get the vein on the top of your wrist.”
Me: “Um, okay.”
(The nurse proceeded to miss twice more on the top of my wrist. The third try, he wiggled the needle around to try and catch the vein — don’t ask me why he thought that would work — and as a last-ditch effort and with no warning, he went vertical with the needle and rammed it straight down into my wrist. I darn near hauled off and punched him, but I settled for cursing. Miraculously, he did manage to get blood… which lead to another problem. He never put the cap on the end of the tube, so instead of the blood stopping at the end of the tube, it just spewed all over me, the chair, the nurse, and the floor. Once we stopped all that nonsense and got my test results back, which were clean, I finally was admitted into the psych ward where I had to explain to the nurses that, no, I did not try and cut my arm off, their nurse just sucks at blood draws, and that’s why my arm was covered in bandages. Welcome to the VA, folks.)
