(I have had platinum blonde hair for all of my childhood and right into my mid-late 20s. In this story, I am sixteen and my friend is fourteen. We are travelling to school on the bus one morning.)

Friend: *randomly* “You know, your hair isn’t blonde. It’s too pale.”

Me: “Okay, if you say so. What colour is it, then?”

Friend: “I don’t know, but it isn’t blonde.”

Me: “Well, if it isn’t blonde, what is it? Is it black?”

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Is it red?

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Is it brunette?”

Friend: “No.”

Me: “Are you saying you think my hair is white?”

Friend: “No, it’s not that pale.”

Me: “So, it must be blonde.”

Friend: “No! I told you! It’s too pale!”

Me: “Soooo, what colour is it, then?”

Friend: “I. Don’t. Know. It’s just too pale to be blonde.”

Me: *smirking* “Okay, whatever.”

(I didn’t bother arguing with her anymore since I was familiar with her intransigent nature. However, being only a mere teenager, I did have a giggle with mutual friends about her claim later on.)

(I work in a food court. Someone in a different store has the same name as me, and we often work the same shift. We look nothing alike.)

Me: “Hi. What can I help you with today!?”

Customer: *noticing my name tag* “Hey, that girl over there has your name!”

Me: “Yep, she sure does.”

Customer: “You’ve got the same name! Are you sisters?”

Me: *after a pause* “Yes, our parents gave us the exact same name.”

(My spouse is the more organized one, so he is kind enough to pay all the bills and since most are a predictable amount, my half is set to transfer from my account to his every month. One month I have some financial complications. I call my bank’s 1-800 line to figure something out.)

Me: “Hi. I have an automatic transfer set up, sending $467 to my husband on the fifth of each month. This month I was short on funds and we weren’t sure how to temporarily pause these transfers, so he transferred the needed money to me so I wouldn’t get an NSF fee. However, the monthly transfer never came out, and I am calling to find out why.”

Rep: “Don’t worry; it did go through! I see a transfer of $467 on the fifth! Do you need any other help?”

Me: “No, the money did not come out. I have my account open in front of me; nothing came out.”

Rep: “Yep! Right here on the fifth, as you said, to another account held with our bank, probably your husband, as you said, for $467.”

Me: “So, on your version of my transaction history, you see one $467 from him to me, and one from me to him?”

Rep: “No, just the one transfer.”

Me: “Okay, that is the same thing I see, then. And it’s a transfer to me. What I wish to investigate is a transfer from me that failed to happen. It’s gone through every month for ages, so I know it was set up properly.”

Rep: “I get you. Hmm, yes, I see a transfer of $467 on the fifth of last month, the month before… and again this month, so you’re all good! Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Me: “As I said, there was no such transfer this month. My spouse loaned me the money to cover it, but it didn’t get taken; it is still sitting in my account. The $467 transaction in my records is that loan, to me. But there should be another transaction of it going out, automatically.”

Rep: *still all perky, showing no doubt or confusion, seemingly unable to even realize she is failing to grasp something* “Yes! The payment took place; you have nothing to worry about!”

Me: “But it didn’t!”

Rep: “Yes, $467, on the fifth!”

Me: “So, you’re a phone rep who refuses to listen to callers, and a bank employee who doesn’t see a difference between incoming and outgoing money? Seriously?!”

(I let out a window-rattling groan of frustration and misery and hung up on her. If you’re curious about the missing transaction, it turns out that we’d set the automatic transfer to run for two years, not forever, so it had simply reached its end and shut off. It’s now set to run forever. And if we do any other shuffling of money between our accounts, we choose any number BUT $467, to avoid confusing any slow-witted bank employees!)

Patron: “I would like to transfer all of my money, please, to my new bank — a bank that actually treats its clientele with dignity and respect.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear you are unhappy with our services. If you could please—“

(She interrupts me with a rant about how unfair we have been with her, and how she has never been so disrespected and publicly humiliated. I apologise several times and try to steer the conversation back to the transfer. After nearly fifteen minutes of her wailing on me…)

Patron: “Well, what are you waiting for? Transfer my money and close your shameful excuse for an account!”

(Another rant follows.)

Patron: “I’ve been here for nearly half an hour. How long is this meant to take?!”

Me: “I haven’t been able to start. I need your name and the details of your new bank and account.”

Patron: “Why on earth do you need that?!”

Me: “How else am I meant to know which account you’re referring to, and where to send your money?”

(She grunted, looked around for a second, and left. To my knowledge, she has never been back, and even if she went through HQ to close her account, we would have received the instruction from them, as our policies mean only the branch can close the account. It’s been five months!)

(Two classmates and I are chatting and waiting for class to finish. The topic of leap years comes up.)

Classmate #1: “I have a friend who was born on leap day. He’s only had like three birthdays.”  

Me: “I heard about a family that had three kids born on consecutive leap days.”

Classmate #2: “Twelve years apart? That’s quite a gap.”

Me: “No, it’s eight years apart, which is not that weird.”

Classmate #1: “A leap year is every four years. Three kids, that’s twelve years. You need to check your math.”

Classmate #2: “Yeah, that’s right.”

Me: “No… Okay. You have a kid in 2000. Four years later, you have another kid. Four years later, you have a third kid, and it’s been eight years.”

(It dawns on them that I am correct.)

Classmate #2: “This never happened.”