Caller: *Irate* “I received this letter from [Collection Agency]. Why is that? I paid my bill!”

Me: “Let me see… I see the payment for [previous month] has not been received.”

Caller: “I did pay it! I paid it [twenty days too late]. I always pay at the end of the month!”

Me: “When did you exactly pay?”

Caller: “[Date].”

Me: “I see that payment, but it seems it’s been processed for [current month].”

Caller: “That is wrong; it was supposed to be for [previous month]. How could you mess that up?! I paid in time!”

Me: “I see you used your customer account to pay it.”

Caller: “I did. I used the link you guys generated, so this is not my mistake.”

Me: “Did you perhaps use the link for [current month], instead of [previous month]?”

I can see which month she clicked; I’m just trying to be kind.

Caller: “So? You guys should process the money with the oldest bill anyway.”

Me: “Miss, if you use that link, we clearly state which month the money will be processed with. This is an automatic process.”

Caller: “But you guys can see which month is unpaid. You should use the money for that month!”

Me: “Both months were unpaid at that moment. If you use [link A], we have to assume you want to pay [bill A].”

Caller: “Well, you guys should have checked! I just misclicked; you should know I meant the previous month.”

Me: “I’m sorry, miss, but it’s impossible to check with every client if they intended to pay the bill they clicked the link for. Let me patch you through to the collections agency; maybe they can help you.”

Caller: “But you should have known I meant [previous month]!”

I tried, but I still can’t mind-read.

The conference I was speaking at had a daycare center, so even though it was during the school summer vacation and my husband was also working, we didn’t have to arrange a babysitter. On arrival, I filled out the registration forms at the reception desk, handed the children off to the childcare worker, and went to do my presentation.

When I came to pick them up two hours later, my daughter looked sad. Then, I spotted their name tags.

We are Dutch and our children have North European names, spelled slightly different from the more usual form, but pronounced pretty much the same, like Riita and Tuomas.

On the children’s name tags were the common versions, Rita and Thomas. My son was too young to realize it, but my daughter was upset — like a seven-year-old can be — because her name was spelled wrong. She insisted, “I am not a Rita; I am Riita.”

I asked the receptionist what happened. She answered she didn’t know; the childcare workers made the nametags.

Just when we were about to leave, the worker who had taken care of the children walked up to the reception desk to grab something. The receptionist asked her why she had spelled the names differently from the names on the forms, and she answered, “I thought their mother spelled their names wrong.”

I still wonder why a childcare worker would think a speaker at a conference would misspell both her children’s names in clear block letters on a registration form. Or maybe she thought the parents had misspelled both the children’s names at birth but stuck with it and the worker tried to remedy that? And then also ignored my daughter’s protests for two hours.

I have a new student for swimming classes who is a big chatterbox. He has trouble keeping his mouth shut for, like, two minutes.

Child: “I went to the doctor today and they say I have HDD!”

Me: “HDD? Perhaps they meant ADHD?”

Child: “Yes, that, too! I have ADHD and HDD!”

Me: “Are you really sure? Not just ADHD? “

Child: “Yes, absolutely sure! I talk a lot because of HDD!”

We went on with class and another teacher joined me.

Teacher: “HDD? Is that a new kind of thing?”

Me: “No, he just has ADHD.”

Teacher: “How come?”

Me: “An HDD is an internal hard drive. I doubt he has one of those installed.”

I later found out that HDD does exist as a disorder and I really, really hope the kid doesn’t have that.

In the winter of 2020, we have snow for the first time in years. My boyfriend suggests a late-night walk in the freshly fallen snow. I like snow for its prettiness, but I severely dislike the cold that comes with it; it wreaks havoc on my rheumatism, causing severe pain in my back. But I shake it off and go with him on this walk… where he continuously throws snowballs in my direction.

Me: “Please don’t throw snowballs at me. My back in particular is really bad today.”

Boyfriend: “But snowball fights are fun! Why do you always dislike fun things? Besides, it’s very powdery snow; it can’t possibly hurt you.”

Me: “That’s beside the point. I just asked you if you couldn’t throw snow at me, please.” 

Boyfriend: “But… it’s fun!”

He continues to throw snow in my direction, telling me he isn’t aiming to hit me and calling me paranoid. Then, a snowball hits me square between the shoulder blades, and it literally feels like I’m being stabbed with a huge, blunt knife, so I yell out in pain. 

Boyfriend: “Oh, come on. That couldn’t have hurt!” 

Me: *In tears* “How would you feel if I punched you in the back again and again and again and told you to grow a pair?” 

I storm off, trying to avoid further arguments and longing for a hot shower to relieve the pain. He has the house key, however, and I don’t, so I’m forced to wait by the front door for him. I’m still shaking with rage, cold and hurt, when he catches up to me. 

Boyfriend: “So, are you done with your little tantrum? I was trying to have a nice evening out, and I can’t help if every tiny little thing hurts you. It ruins things for me, you know.”

File under reason number 2978972 why he’s my ex now.

I work at a company that offers roadside assistance insurance. We cover the roadside assistance and some additional stuff, but not the repairs at the garage. Repatriation of the car is very expensive, so it only happens if the value of the car outweighs the costs.

A client has called in, sounding very surprised.

Client: “The garage isn’t willing to repair my car!”

We take down the car information and discover that the client is on a trip and they had bought the car for the staggering amount of… fifty euros!

Me: “Sir, this isn’t worth repatriating.”

Caller: “But I have coverage!”

Me: “Sir, if someone was willing to sell a car to you for fifty euros, the seller either knew it was worthless anyway, or they were a heroin junkie.”