(I am ordering a pizza from the local pizzeria. I am over seven months pregnant with weird cravings, and I’m moody after a tough day at work, not to mention very hungry. None of these are good excuses for my behavior.)

Me: “Yes, I would like to order a large mushroom, anchovy, and pineapple for delivery.”

Pizza Guy: “Umm, could you repeat that, please?”

Me: “Yes, I would like to order a large mushroom, anchovy, and pineapple for delivery.”

Pizza Guy: “Seriously?!”

Me: “Yes.”

Pizza Guy: *says with a laugh* “What are you, pregnant?”

Me: *half yelling, half crying* “YES! YES, I AM! AND YOU BETTER HAVE IT HERE IN THIRTY MINUTES OR SO HELP ME—“

Pizza Guy: “Yes, ma’am!” *hangs up*

(Of course, I feel bad about yelling almost immediately. By the time the delivery guy shows up, I have my apology ready and a good tip. As I am trying to apologize through tears, he stops me and asks me to eat a slice in front of him. I am so hungry that I do as he asks.)

Delivery Guy: “Lady, we had a bet that this was a prank call. None of us thought anyone would eat it. The pizza is free.”

(I tried to insist he take the money and he even refused the tip. I ordered — and paid — for several more of these pizzas about twice a week. Even now that my kids are in their teens, I still love mushroom, anchovy, and pineapple pizza.)

(I work at a local retail store where we carry a variety of fashion items; some have those little beige things called gators that cause the alarms to sound. I have just finished taking a gator off a purse for a woman, and she has not yet paid for it.)

Customer #1: “Do you mind if I swing that through the door really quick?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

([Customer #2] and I exchange a look.)

Customer #1: “You know, just to make sure the alarms won’t go off.”

Me: “Go ahead.”

([Customer #1] proceeds to take the purse over to the door and swing it wildly in front of her through the alarm doors.)

Customer #1: “Sorry, it’s just so embarrassing when the alarms go off!”

I went to a private school from second through seventh grade. Each year, my school and the nearby private schools held a competition called Math Olympics. Basically, it was a Saturday where you took a math test against people in your grade, and people got ribbons for the top five scores.

I placed second in third grade, and was all prepared when the time came around in fourth grade. Like a spelling bee, there was a qualification round during class one day, where two “olympiads” and two alternates would be chosen.

The teacher passed out our tests during math time, but as people started getting to the last problem, she found that many people were asking for help. She went around just repeating, “Number 20 is a pattern,” to anyone with their hand up, dealing with other questions if they were on a different problem.

By the time my tablemate got to problem 20, I had already turned in my paper and picked up my book to read. He put his hand up, having been too involved in the first 19 problems to catch what the teacher had been saying, but there was a note on the board saying that she’d give a hint about it.

After what felt like a long time without the teacher coming over, he started waving his hand, trying to get attention. Eventually, he made small sounds when she walked by, which she did at least three times after I started paying attention. It was annoying, so I just leaned over and said, “Number 20 is a pattern.”

That, the teacher noticed. She snatched the boy’s test off the table before he could even pick up his pencil again, and told us both to stay in the room while everyone else went to lunch.

We sat there, alone, long enough to take our lunch boxes from the backpack area, eat lunch, and throw away our trash before our teacher brought back the principal.

The principal took us one at a time to tell her what happened, and I told her the truth of the situation — that the teacher had promised everyone a hint, but was ignoring my tablemate, so I told him exactly what she had been telling everyone else.

Despite explaining myself as best I could, it was deemed cheating, so neither of us were allowed to compete. I went on to win first place in later years, but I still find it unfair that I got labeled a cheater for that.

(My brother and I go to a [Popular Fast Food Chain] for lunch one day. The place is rather empty. We place our orders and then sit at a booth until it is ready. We get our milkshakes and drinks pretty quickly, but it is about 15 minutes before we get the rest of our order. We aren’t in any hurry so it doesn’t really bother us. After we get our order, we start to eat, but then the manager came to our table.)

Manager: “Excuse me for a minute, but I would like to apologize for it taking so long. Normally, we have food out within a few minutes. Since you had to wait so long, I would like to refund your meal.”

Me: *stunned* “Oh, no, really. It’s fine. We weren’t in any hurry; a refund’s not necessary.”

Manager: “Please allow me to refund you, anyway. It’s an issue for me when our service isn’t prompt. Our new employee was in back talking and there was no excuse for this. We don’t mind, and you’re getting a free meal out of it.”

(I ended up getting the refund after all. It’s wonderful to know that there are people who truly care about the quality of the service!)

I am working in a vet clinic one morning and a client comes in with her cat for an appointment. I look down at the book and notice her appointment is actually for the following day, Saturday. I mention this to the client and the blood drains from her face as she proceeds to yell, “Oh, s***, y’all! I’m supposed to be at work!”

The client had somehow gotten an entire day ahead in her own mind. She came back the following day on her actual appointment day and told us that, thankfully, her boss just laughed the whole thing off!