(My husband’s brother moves in with us as he is unable to work due to medical issues. I have been joking with my friends that it is like I have two husbands, and one pretty much demands to know where I am going, who I am going with, etc. Basically, it’s like 20 questions if I go out, even when I’m working. My husband has never been like that. One afternoon, I get home from work after doing a task that was very dusty. I quickly shower and get changed before I head to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. Usually, I have tea first. My brother-in-law enters the kitchen and demands:)

Brother: “Where have you been all day? You said you were working; you aren’t dressed for work, so where did you go?”

Me: “What the h***? I changed my clothes!”

Brother: “Oh… Okay.” *leaves the room*

(I speak to my husband and ask him to talk to his brother because I am getting fed up with it.)

Husband: “It’s not just you; he does it to me, too.”

(A woman somehow manages to tip her glass of wine over, and it smashes onto the floor. I go over to make sure she’s okay and clean it up. Thankfully, it is easy to clean as it was mostly empty, so I don’t need to contend with a puddle of wine.)

Customer: “Thanks for that.”

Me: “No worries; it happens. There we go, all cleaned up! Hope you enjoy the rest of your meal.”

Customer: *pretentiously* “What? Aren’t you going to replace my glass? I was drinking sav blanc.”

Me: “That’ll be [price] for the new glass, then, please.”

(I work at a really casual restaurant where you have to pay first at the counter, rather than pay after your meal, although for things like this we can take cash or card and get it for them.)

Customer: “You actually want me to pay? My glass just broke!”

Me: “You want us to replace your mostly empty drink for free after a glass just smashed? I’m not going to do that, sorry.”

Customer: “Seriously? Can I speak to a manager, please?”

Me: “The manager’s not in at the moment, but I’m the supervisor for tonight.”

Customer: “Well, I think you’re being really unreasonable! This is ridiculous!”

Me: “Sorry you feel that way, but you’re free to contact our manager or corporate if you want. Is there anything else you need?”

(She left in a s*** mood, but not my problem. Maybe if she had been nice rather than demanding, I would have replaced it.)

(An old lady was seen stealing some diaries from our discount bookshop recently, so our manager has warned us to keep an eye on her next time she comes in. She comes in a couple of days later, so I go up to her and hover really obviously to let her know I am watching her. She starts to take one of the diaries out of its wrapper, and this is the conversation that ensues.)

Me: “What are you doing?”

Old Lady: “What are you doing?”

Me: “I’m cleaning the diaries.”

Old Lady: “I know your boss! I come here all the time! I buy lots of diaries!” 

Me: “Okay.”

Old Lady: “There’s not many here.”

Me: “Well, that’s because someone keeps stealing them.”

Old Lady: *nervous laughter* 

(I intimidated her so much that she bought four diaries.)

(I am on holiday with two of my friends. Two of us are the same age and of similar height and build; the third is three years older than us and a bit taller than we are. We head to the hotel restaurant one morning.)

Older Friend: “Just three for breakfast, please.”

Cashier: *looking at the three of us and clearly taking the older friend to be our mother* “How old are the girls?”

Me: *annoyed because we’re probably older than the cashier* “Twenty!”

Cashier: “…”

(The thing is, I checked their menu options and they didn’t seem to have a children’s menu, so to this day I don’t understand why she even asked. Maybe we looked cute?)

(When I am twelve, we move to Australia for about a year for my dad’s job. As a twelve-year-old boy, I naturally love to get fast food at a particular burger chain. Unfortunately, I am a bit of a picky eater as a child and only like my burger to have ketchup and pickles on it. But, for some reason, when I am in Australia, I can never get the right toppings on my burger. Maybe it’s my accent?)

Me: “Hi, I’d like a [Kids’ Meal] with a burger but just ketchup and pickles on the burger.”

Worker: *looks at me strangely* “Do you want the bun?”

Me: “Um, yes, I would like it with a bun.”

(I get my burger and unwrap it. There is a bun, there is ketchup, and there are pickles. But there’s no meat, no burger. I take it back to the counter.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I asked for a burger with just ketchup and pickles and I seem to have gotten a burger with no burger.”

Worker: “Oh! I’m sorry about that. I’ll replace that for you.”

(This time I got my burger and unwrapped it to find that it did, indeed, have a burger but it also had all the toppings. I really didn’t want to make a fuss at that point, so I just ate the fries and drink. I was still hungry but I was too embarrassed to go back to the chain, so I went across the food court to an independent burger place. I decided not to risk custom ordering this time and just asked for a plain burger, figuring I could add ketchup to it from the dispenser. I got my burger and unwrapped it only to find that it had ketchup, mustard, pickles, onions, tomato, lettuce, and beetroot on it. At that point, I gave up and went home to eat. I told my dad about it later and he said that a plain burger probably meant one without egg on it. Aussies are weird. From then on, I was very precise in my orders. “I’d like a burger with just ketchup, pickles, meat, and the bun, please.”)