(I work on a museum ship in the United States. While I am at the front desk:)

Woman: “So, what exactly did this ship… do?”

Me: *has a canned response for this* “Well, ma’am, that’s a great question. The ship entered service with the US Navy in 1943 and was deployed to fight in the Second World War—“

Woman: “Oh, right. This is one of the ships they used to transport the Jews.”

Me: “Err… what? Uh, no, ma’am, this ship was in the Pacific—”

Woman: “Right, fighting the Chinese.”

Me: “Uh, no, ma’am, China was on our side in World War II.”

(It went back and forth like this for several minutes before she asked where the bathrooms were and wandered off.)

(We build and sell software to submit financial reports online. In order to send the reports, our customers have to first register their accounting firm with the federal tax office. One day we get a phone call.)

Me: “This is [Company]. How may I help you?”

Tax Office: “Hi. This is [Federal Tax Office]. I’d like to talk to you about the account registration for the financial reports.”

Me: “Yes?”

Tax Office: “We received more than forty applications for registration, where tax advisors registered with ‘sample accounting firm.’ They all use your software.”

Me: *confused*

Tax Office: “Do you prefill the registration form with that name?”

Me: “No. We do not prefill the registration form. However, attached to the form we have an image with generic data as an example for how to fill in the form.”

(Turns out, more than forty customers had just copied the generic data from the image into the form and mailed it to the federal tax office for account registration.)

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 2

My gas light just came on, so I pull in to a gas station. I pull my car up to a pump, right behind the only other car at the pumps. In the car in front of me, there is a woman in the passenger seat. The man she’s with is using his debit card at the pump on the driver’s side, with the driver’s door open. He turns toward her to say something, and I notice a lit cigarette in his right hand! I hope for the best and try to assume he’s not a complete idiot and is about to put it out. Because I read stories on this site, though… I stay in my car and pretend to use my phone for a few minutes and observe… just in case.

No such luck. He is a complete idiot. He gets his debit info put in and grabs the pump handle with his thumb, pinky, and ring finger of his right hand… the same hand that has a lit cigarette between the middle and index fingers. He somehow manages to squeeze the handle before the nozzle makes it into the gas tank, causing gasoline to spray all over the side of his vehicle and the ground around him! He hollers a little just from the surprise of it, and somehow, nothing ignites, but I have never left a gas station so quickly in my life!

It is pretty clear that the woman in the car saw what had happened and realized the man was holding a lit cigarette as I am making my exit. She gets out of the car and rips into him, Jerry Springer style; she whoops him all the way around the four pumps. And she is at least six months pregnant!

(My manager hangs up the phone and starts mocking a customer he was just talking to about faxing prices. Note, we are in Canada.)

Manager: “SIX DOLLARS TO FAX TO THE STATES?!”

Me: “No, it’s two bucks; it’s only long distance to the States.”

Manager: “But it’s a different country. It’s out of our nation, so it’s international.”

Me: “But we have the same country code, so it’s long distance. I’ve also helped people dial to the states before and they didn’t have to put 011 in first. If it was international it wouldn’t have worked without dialing 011 first.”

Manager: “It’s still international. It doesn’t matter if it needs the 011 or not; it’s a different country.”

Me: “But I think it does matter. Just like the fax machine won’t dial a long distance number without the 1, it won’t dial an international number without the 011.”

Manager: “The 011 is needed when you’re sending to different continents. It still counts as international to send to the states.”

Me: *not wanting to argue anymore* “Then yes, it’s six dollars to fax to the states.”

(After he leaves, I Google it because I’m sure it’s only long distance. Another coworker starts to defend my manager.)

Coworker: “But what about my phone plan? I have unlimited Canada-wide calling. So, if I called the states, it would count as international.”

Me: “It would count as long distance. You can call long distance numbers within Canada for free, but if you call outside of Canada then it’s long distance unless your cell phone company just has an extra charge for outside of Canada.”

(I find it on Google and it says it counts as domestic long distance. My manager comes back out and I start to tell him I was right but he cuts me off.)

Manager: “I was actually coming out here to tell you that I called my old store, and they actually have a pricing break down of all the different types of faxing…” *long pause while he stares at me* “Aaand it’s long distance.”

Me: “HA! I knew it! I’m sorry that you’re wrong, but also I’m not actually sorry.”

This story is from the 1990s, back when I was at university. Certain exams went like this: there would be a few people at a time in a professor’s study, each would draw a ticket from a tray and had to speak about whatever was on the ticket. One person would be speaking, while the others jotted down notes on their own topics, organized their thoughts, or otherwise prepared for their turn.

This particular exam was in general linguistics and was taught by a guy everyone feared, because it was common knowledge he failed people for the tiniest mistakes, took his subject extremely seriously, and expected the same from everyone else. He was also a bit of a giant, physically; he was very tall and bulky, had a permanent stony expression, and spoke with the coldest voice all the time, and was generally quite intimidating.

In his exam, each ticket also contained a couple of languages we were supposed to say a few words about. I was in the study, busy writing down notes on whatever I drew from the tray and waiting my turn, while a girl started speaking about the first language in her ticket, which happened to be Latin.

“So, Latin… Well, obviously it is spoken in Latin America…”

The professor went bright red, leaned over the desk, and basically — the huge mountain of a man that he is — loomed over her like he was going to drop on her and squash her at any moment. Or explode. I mean, I could see him literally shaking as he yelled, “What?!”

She wasn’t even allowed to start on her topics; he ordered her to leave immediately and wouldn’t hear another word from her. He calmed down a bit after she left, and to be honest, he was completely fair with the rest of us that day, and I passed with top marks. The story about the girl with “Latin in Latin America” is now told as part of the local academic “dumbest things students have said” folklore, and some people think it’s made up until I mention that I actually witnessed it.