One evening, while preparing dinner, I sliced my finger really badly. My husband drove me to the emergency room, where I got six stitches in my middle finger. Due to health crisis restrictions, my husband couldn’t be in the room with me and had to stay in the lobby.

After the doctor finished, I had an enormous bandage on my swollen, numbed finger to keep everything in place. I walked into the lobby, where my husband jumped to his feet.

Husband: *In a very soothing, hushed tone* “Hey, how is everything? How are you feeling?”

I showed him my bandaged middle finger.

Husband: *In the same soothing tone* “Oh, that’s really rude.”

I’m a male stylist in my friend’s hair salon. Her last name is a man’s first name — for example, Michael. The name of the salon is Michael & Company.

One morning, I have an appointment at 9:00 and I’m in early to get myself ready for the day. I’m also the only one there at the time. About fifteen or twenty minutes before 9:00, a woman comes storming in.

Me: “May I help you?”

Customer: “I’m looking for Michael!”

Me: “We don’t have a Michael here.”

Customer: “Well, I know Michael and I thought you were him. You’re not Michael & Co?”

Me: “I’m [My Name]. Do you need an appointment or something?”

Customer: “I want a haircut now!”

Me: “Well, I have someone on her way, and right now I’m booked for the next month. I can book you then. Otherwise, you can check back in an hour or so to see if the others can get you today.”

Customer: “No, I want you to do it today!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m booked for the month. There’s no way I can get you until then.”

Customer: “Well, in the time we’ve stood here talking, you could’ve already washed it!”

Me: “That’s true, but then my client with an appointment would have to wait. So, I can book you next month, or you can check with one of the others in about an hour.”

She stood there for a couple of seconds, staring at me, and then she left, slamming the door behind her. Then, she SAT IN HER CAR waiting to see if I really had someone coming.

Of course, my client was two minutes late!

I’m working in a mall pet store. It is my first day and I encounter a very harried older woman who needs a question answered.

Customer: “Excuse me. Do you have condors?”

Me: “Do you mean ‘conURES’?”

Customer: “No, conDORS.”

Me: “Unfortunately, ma’am, we don’t. California condors are critically endangered, and so much as harassing one is a felony offense. Andean condors aren’t as endangered, but they’re not available for sale, and we definitely couldn’t get one.”

Customer: “Well. My neighbors have one, and I want one, too.”

Over the next two months, she came in nearly every day, insisting that we just HAD to have condors “in the back.” The store shut down years ago when the chain collapsed, and I suspect she’s still going back, swearing that “the store was going to sell me a condor, and it was here just yesterday.”

I sell carnivorous plants at local shows and events, including science fiction and comic conventions. It’s not a real convention unless I’ve had this conversation at comic and anime conventions, which is why I’ve mostly stopped doing either:

Rando: “Hey, I came by earlier, and the other guy here at this booth told me that I could [get a discount on this incredibly rare and expensive plant] or [take it for free] or [I could pick it up and take it now since I’ve already paid].”

Me: “The Other Guy?”

Rando: “Yeah, the other guy at your booth. I talked to him about a half-hour ago.”

Me: “I’m the only guy here, and I’ve been here all weekend.”

Rando: “Oh. So, can I still have it?”

The terrifying part? It’s watching the same man going from booth to booth, trying the same routine at each booth in the hope that it eventually works.

I was working the front register.

A woman came inside with no mask on (no longer required at my job), stood back from the register to put it on, stepped forward to place her order, and pulled her mask below her chin the entire time she spoke.

I will never understand her thought process.