(This happened to my sister who runs a dance studio that also offers aerobics, Zumba, and other workout classes. One of her longtime clients and friends is a model who tends to draw attention to herself due to her oversized breast implants. This happens when my sister is teaching a Tae Bo class which is about half first-timers. Ten minutes before class starts:)

New Girl #1: *points to the model* “Hey, slut, this isn’t the strippercise class. This is for people who actually want to exercise.”

Model: “I know what class this is; I signed up because it compliments my boxing lessons.”

New Girl #2: *sarcastically* “Sure, whatever you say. Just don’t complain if you get tired and can’t keep up; you look like you’re carrying a bit of extra weight.”

(The model just stares at them quietly. According to my sister, variants of this joke have been levied at said model at least a dozen times before.)

Sister: “All right, girls, let’s get to it! First break isn’t for forty-five minutes.”

(Both new girls are absolutely exhausted by break time; neither one of them looks like they can even stand.) 

Model: *feigning worry* “Oh, dear! You seem beat. But how can that possibly be?! I mean, I’m carrying so much more extra weight and I still feel fine.”

(Both girls just glowered at her and tried to get up to finish the class. They lasted about ten minutes into the second half before they finally couldn’t take it and ducked out early.)

(I’m waiting for a flight and grabbing a bite to eat at a well-known Canadian coffee chain. While I’m in line, I see a new menu item, but I don’t know what’s in it.)

Me: “Hi, what’s in [item]?”

Cashier: *punches in item* “That’ll be [price].”

Me: “What’s in it?”

Cashier: “Pardon?”

Me: “I don’t know what is in the [item].”

Cashier: *points to the sign overhead*

(I can’t see very well without my glasses, so the sign is only slightly helpful and I had seen it from the line to decide to ask about. In particular, there’s something on top of the wrap that looks like it could be potatoes, which I like, or eggs, which I hate, and I have no idea if there are small vegetables like diced onions, or any sauces.)

Me: “I can’t tell what’s in the picture.”

Cashier: *looking at the sign* “Lettuce, tomato, sausage, cheese, and vegetables.”

Me: “Vegetables? What vegetables?”

Cashier: “Lettuce and tomato.”

Me: “Okay… What about that thing on top?”

Cashier: “Vegetables. They’re… fried potatoes.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll get that.”

(It had sauce. No idea what kind. It was quite good, but I hate to think of if I’d had a food restriction.)

(I am going through the carry-on security scanner at the airport and one of my bins is flagged. It contains only my laptop, my shoes, and my earbuds, and I have no idea what the scanner took issue with since they should all be fine.)

Me: *jokingly referring to the machine* “What did it get mad at?”

Security Dude: “I’m not mad at it. I’m just mad that I have to be here on a Saturday morning.”

(Fair, but should you really be telling me that?)

(Throughout university, I work in a health-food store. The supplement section of the store sells hydrogen peroxide for cleaning purposes. In order to buy it, you have to submit your name, phone number, and driver’s license number, as Canadian law dictates this information must be acquired for concentrations of 30% or more. Ours is 35%.)

Customer #1: *drops a bottle of hydrogen peroxide on the counter* “Just this, please.”

Me: “Okay, sir, but I’m going to need to grab some information before I complete the transaction.”

Customer #1: “What, why?!”

Me: “Hydrogen peroxide is regulated by the federal government; we need to collect information for concentrations 30% and above. It’s just your name, phone number, and driver’s license number.”

Customer #1: “That’s bulls***! I can go to [Home Improvement Store] and buy as many as I want and they don’t ask me for s***!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m legally required to collect this information in order to sell this to you. If you don’t give me the information, then I can’t sell it to you.”

Customer #1: “F*** you. This is a stupid f****** policy and I’m not giving you my f****** information. No one else ever asks for this information. I’m never coming back to this f****** store again!” *storms out*

(I turn to the next customer in line to apologize, and she has a look of utter bewilderment on her face and then looks at me.)

Customer #2: “What the f*** was his problem?! Does he not understand that it’s the law?!“

Me: “Apparently not, but this is not the first time people have gotten upset.”

Customer #2: “Well, f*** him. Good for you staying so calm; you handle yourself very well!”

(We both laughed at how [Customer #1] had acted, and I thanked [Customer #2] for her patience. While I have since left that job for something in my career field, it still baffles me that people would be so rude to someone following the law, let alone asking for just some very basic information.)

My mobile provider had a Cyber Monday sale. The offer was only valid online. I had some questions, so I tried to log in to the chat function. I had two mandatory fields: name and contract number.

I finally figured out my contract number… and the field wouldn’t accept it. Frustrated, I turned to Twitter to get help. It took a couple of minutes, and then I was informed that it was “contact number,” not “contract number.”

Oops!