(I bring a pair of pants to the tailor to get the legs shortened. The lady at the counter is clearly foreign, but I’ve been to this shop a year or so before and have seen her there, so I know she’s been in the country for a while already. I therefore assume she knows enough Dutch to at least communicate well with customers.)

Me: “Hi! I’ve got these pants I need shortened. “

Tailor: *blank stare*

Me: “So, yeah, uh, just a few centimetres off the bottom, I guess. Can you tell me what it is going to cost?”

Tailor: *unintelligible mumbling*

Me: “I’m sorry, could you say that again? Didn’t quite catch that.”

(She takes out an appointment note and writes a figure on it, before handing it to me. I see she wrote down the costs.)

Me: “Okay, so [amount]? That works for me.”

(Cue another round of blank stares, while I’m hoping she picks up a professional demeanour somewhere.)

Me: “I assume you need to know how much you have to trim off, right?”

Tailor: *blank stare, then silently nods*

Me: “Okay, so, I go to the dressing room now, so can put it on and you can measure how much you need to trim, all right?”

(I do so, and once I emerge from the dressing room she almost jumps on me, taking the measurements and marking where she needs to trim. When she’s done, she gives me another stare, which tells me I can go change into my own pants again. Once I’m done:)

Me: “So, when can I pick it up?”

Tailor: *slides appointment note at me, still only with the costs scribbled there*

Me: “Tomorrow?”

Tailor: “Wednesday.”

Me: “Today is Thursday. So… almost a week? That can’t be right, can it?”

Tailor: *points at Friday on the appointment note* “Wednesday.”

Me: “That’s Friday. So, tomorrow then?”

Tailor: “Yes, Fri-desday.” *or something else resembling a Dutch mix of Wednesday and Friday*

Me: “Cool, see you tomorrow, then!”

(I hope that everything goes all right, and come back the next day. I show her my appointment card, which also contains a reference number. She says nothing but proceeds to get a pair of jeans from the rack that is clearly not mine.)

Me: “I believe you have the wrong one.” *spots my jeans on another rack* “I see it! The one with [number] is mine.”

Tailor: “[Different number]?”

Me: “No, [right number], the black jeans, third from the front on that rack there.”

(She gets it right and folds up the jeans.)

Tailor: “[Higher amount than we agreed upon], please.”

Me: “Hold on. You said [lower amount] yesterday. It’s even on the appointment card, see?” *I hand her the card*

Tailor: “Oh, silly!” *taps in amount on register* “[Incorrect, higher amount], please.”

Me: “I don’t think so.”

Tailor: *huffs* “[Correct amount], please.”

Me: “That’s more like it!”

(Surprisingly, my jeans were done just fine. But I swore I’m not going back there if I don’t have to! The other day I did have to, though, and she was still there — two years after the described incident — and her Dutch hasn’t improved in the slightest.)

(My mother has recently divorced my step-father.)

Man: “Hello, this is [Debt Collector Office]. I’m looking for Mr. [Ex-Stepdad].”

Me: *tired of explaining to every single caller* “Sorry, there is no one here by that name.”

Man: “Oh, isn’t this [my phone number]?”

Me: *sighs* “Yes, it is, but the man you are looking for doesn’t live here… anymore.”

Man: “Do you happen to have his contact details? I really need to get a hold of him. You know, he really is in huge debt, and it can cause a lot of problems if I can’t find him.”

Me: *now intrigued, as we never knew in how much financial s*** he actually was in* “Huge debt, you say?”

Man: “Yes, it really needs to be handled! Do you have any idea how to get a hold of him?”

Me: “Well, I don’t know his exact address, but he lives in [City] now. There are two under that name over there, as his father lives there, too, and he has the same first and last name, so you need to have [Ex-Stepdad] Junior. And do me one favour: make sure you find him. I’ll be laughing my a** off if he goes bankrupt.”

Man: “Don’t worry about that. Trust me, this debt is huuuuuge. Thanks a lot for the help! We might be able to find him now!”

Me: “My pleasure!”

(I have an uncle on my father’s side of the family who is fairly self-important, demanding, and bashful. I tend to just ignore it, but my mother has some trouble dealing with him and can get annoyed by his persona. We are sitting in the living room, the phone rings, and my mother picks up.)

Mom: “Hi, this is [Mother].”

Uncle: “Hi, [Mother]. Listen, I have just one question.”

Mom: “Okay, what is it?”

Uncle: “Is [Dad] there?”

Mom: “Yep.”

(And with that, my mother hangs up on him. We later heard that he was furious about it, but his wife, my aunt, was rolling on the floor laughing about it!)

(I live in a small town that’s right next to a larger city where I work. It’s only 15 minutes from my home to work on my bicycle. A posh-looking couple comes in and the man walks towards the counter with book.)

Customer: “I got this as a present, but I already have it.”

Me: “That’s no problem. You can either pick out another book or receive a gift card from our store if you can’t find anything right now.”

Customer: “I want a gift card.”

Me: “Okay, may I have the receipt?”

Customer: “I don’t have that; I got this as a present!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I need to have the receipt to be able to proceed. Without it, I’m not allowed to do any return actions.”

Customer: “That is ridiculous! No other store ever demands something like that. If I go to [Other Bookshop nearby], they just hand me another book, no questions asked!”

(I find that very hard to believe, but leave my sarcasm in my head and just keep on smiling.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s our store policy.” *points at the sign next to me that has our policy printed on* “Maybe you could ask the person who gave you the book for the receipt and come back with it later.”

Customer: “Then I have to go all the way to [Town] to get it. Do you know how far that is to go all the way up there?!”

Me: “Yes, I live there.”

Customer: “I just want a new book right now! I’m in my right to get a new book! I have a real job and don’t have time to go get a stupid receipt!”

Me: *trying my hardest to keep my frustration out of my voice and stay polite* “Sir, I’m sorry, but I need it as proof that the book was bought here, and the barcode on it to trigger my register for a return action.”

Customer’s Wife: “Honey, let’s go before you start making a fuss.”

Customer: *yelling* “I’m not making a fuss; I’m defending my rights!”

(The wife drags him away after some more yelling from the man. The next day they return, the man looking smug. He passes me the book with the receipt on top of it.)

Customer: “There, happy now? I went all the way to [Town] to get this piece of paper for you.”

(He sounds as if it was a trip that took hours to get there, and he clearly wants me to say something about it. I just stay neutral and make him a gift card for the price of the book. The man keeps on complaining how he had to travel all the way to get the receipt while I make him the card. Fifteen minutes later, he is back at the counter with a new book and pays with the gift card instead of just exchanging for that in the first place. After they leave, I turn to my coworker who lives in the same town and witnessed both encounters.)

Me: “I really, really, wanted to say to him, ‘Bravo, we do that everyday.'”

(The main exit looks like an automatic door, but it doesn’t open when you approach it; you need to press a button. This confuses a lot of people, despite the fact that the button is giant, right next to the door, with red and white stripes and a large “PUSH TO OPEN DOOR” sign.)

Visitor: *walks up to the door and stands there, silent, confused*

Me: “There’s a button, ma’am.”

Visitor: “This one?” *presses the tiny light switch two steps away from the door*

Me: “It’s the big button, right next to the door.”

Visitor: “Oh, here it is.” *places her hand on the button, looks expectantly at the door, nothing happens*

Me: “That’s the one. You just, um, need to press it now.”

Visitor: “Oh, you have to actually press it?” *finally presses the button*

(Not sure what else buttons are for, if not pressing them.)