(I get a phone call from an 800-number I don’t recognize. Every now and then, these are legitimate calls, so I answer.)

Recording: “Hello, this call is in regards to the interest rate on your Visa or Mastercard credit card account. To speak to a representative, please stay on the line.”

(As I only have one credit card, which is a secured card through a company that always identifies themselves on the phone, I know that this is a scam. I’ve got time, so I figure it’ll be fun to mess with the scammer, and I stay on the line.)

Scammer: “Hi, this is a call in regards to your Visa or Mastercard credit card. May I have your name, please?”

Me: “Sure, but first, what credit card company are you calling from?”

Scammer: *pause* “This is about your Visa or Mastercard credit card.”

Me: “Right, I gathered that. But which [Company] is the credit card through? Visa and Mastercard are typically issued by another company. So, which company is this?”

(He hung up on me. Rude.)

(I am in college studying geology in my second year. I’m involved a trip to Italy to see the famous volcanoes Vesuvius and Etna, and to study the volcanism both on the mountains themselves and in the nearby areas. Etna is experiencing mild activity when we visit which prevents us from climbing the last 500 metres to the crater itself; however, whilst roaming the upper slopes, one of our group comes across a large, hardened slab of lava that was ejected during a previous eruption. For better or worse, such projectiles are known as volcanic bombs. Both of our teachers think this particular bomb is a great find and decide it has to come back to England with us; however, it weighs quite a bit, and the teachers don’t have the luggage weight left to carry it, so one of the students who travelled light volunteers himself to get it home. Fast forward three days. We’re leaving Italy via plane, and just as we walk into the airport one of the teachers looks around and says:)

Teacher: “Who’s got the bomb?”

Everyone Else: “DON’T SAY THAT!”

(In spite of three further mentions of the B-word, we somehow made it home without being arrested.)

(I have worked at my store for close to three years while in college to help pay for my degree. This lady comes in to the drive-thru, and I am at the first window taking cash. I notice she has three ten-piece nuggets on her order, at four dollars each, and the twenty-piece we have is on special for five. I decide to try to explain it to her. I genuinely want to make it more affordable for her.)

Me: “Ma’am, are you interested in our twenty-piece nuggets? It’s three dollars cheaper to do that instead of the three ten-piece—”

Customer: *interrupts me* “They are going to different places.”

Me: “The twenty-piece comes in two ten-piece boxes, so the only difference is—”

Customer: *cuts over me again* “Look, I already said I wanted three ten-pieces.”

Me: “It’s going to be so much cheaper; are you sure?”

Customer: “Ring me up or get a manager.”

(At this point, the manager shows up anyway.)

Manager: “Is everything okay?”

Me: “Yes.” *takes the customers money*

Customer: *addressing manager* “This dumb high school dropout can’t even take money correctly. Is she slow? Like, in her brain?”

Me: *addressing manager* “I just told her about our twenty-piece promotion. She said she wants three ten-pieces in separate boxes, so she wouldn’t let me change it.”

Manager: *trying not to laugh, gets the nugget boxes from the grill and holds them up, and shows the customer* “Two ten-piece nuggets.”

(She holds them far apart. Then she brings them together.)

Manager: “One twenty-piece nugget. It’s three dollars cheaper. This girl is not a high school dropout; she is six credits away from her Associate’s, is on the dean’s list, and is majoring in engineering. What was your degree in?”

(My eyes were wide. I mutely handed the customer her change with her receipt. She glanced at it and asked why I didn’t change the price. My manager stepped around me and closed the window. She was easily the most difficult customer I have ever worked with.)

(I am sat outside a restaurant, waiting for my friend. I notice a guy in his 50s walking up to a car. He tries to open the passenger door, but it is locked. He then looks inside, and tries the door again. Again, he has no luck opening the door. I’m wondering if he owns the car or if he is trying to break into it. He then tries to open the driver’s door, and it opens. He only opens it a couple of inches and then closes it. He does this three more times, and then his wife comes out.)

Man: “Do you have the keys?”

Woman: “No, where are they?”

Man: *checking his pockets* “I don’t have them. The driver’s door is unlocked, and the car won’t let you lock it if the keys are still in it.”

Woman: “Well, they must be in the car. Did you look?” *on the passenger side* “I can see them; they are still in the ignition.”

Man: “Oh, I didn’t think to look there.”

(They got in the car and drove off, leaving me to wonder if he should have been driving at all, if he A: couldn’t remember to take his keys out of the car, and B: didn’t think to look in the ignition, knowing the door wouldn’t lock if the keys were in.)

(I have just locked up the small store I work at to grab lunch, and I put a very big sign on the door saying, “Back in five minutes.”)

Customer: *walks up to door and shakes it less than a minute after he saw me leave*

Me: *stops walking and looks back at him, but doesn’t say anything*

Customer: “This sign says you’ll be back in five minutes. Will you be back in five minutes?”