My local doctor’s practice does biennial health checks on men when we pass forty years of age. The checks are part of a government initiative, so they aren’t done with much enthusiasm — or, with mine yesterday, any enthusiasm at all.

After running through some basic stuff, which includes asking about my sexuality, with the answers I give resulting in the nurse ticking a box on her computer without paying attention to what I said, she asks:

Nurse: “Do you use birth control?”

Me: “No.”

She clicks a box and reads what comes next in a bored voice:

Nurse: “Do you want advice on family planning?”

Me: “No.”

Nurse: *Reading the screen* “Ask the patient why he doesn’t use birth control.”

Me: *Sarcastically* “My husband and I use the rhythm method.”

Nurse: “So, you do use a form of birth control. I’ll have to go back and change your answer.”

Me: “Honestly, you won’t.”

Nurse: “Perhaps, Mr. [My Name], I need to speak to you and your husband about the importance of… Oh.”

Me: “There we go. Next question?”

I’m currently covering a reception desk whilst trying to get a more permanent job. It’s worth noting that I’ve got ten years of office experience and a university-level education, so I’m not stupid.

My director sends me an email with the subject, “Cancelled: [important meeting]”.

Director: “Can you book [meeting room], pls?”

Me: “Hi, [Director]. This meeting is already booked in [meeting room]. Regards, [My Name].”

Director: “Hi. This is a cancellation for that meeting. Thanks.”

Me: *Out loud to an empty office* “What the actual… Why did you ask for me to book it, then?!”

I’m still confused as to how this person, with multiple letters after his name, expected me to understand his request to book a room was actually him cancelling the meeting, but I guess my psychic abilities are getting a little rusty…

Customer: “This milk says it’s full fat, but it’s only 4% fat!”

Me: “Yes, sir, that’s the standard fat percentage of whole milk, which has the highest fat content of the milk that we sell.”

Customer: “But my wife told me to get full fat! Full! I can hear her now: ‘Where is the other 96%, Gerald?! You f***ed up again, Gerald!’ I need your 100% fat milk!”

Me: “Sir, a 100% fat milk wouldn’t be milk… It’d be fat.”

Customer: “Not according to my wife!”

I step to the other side of the aisle and grab an item for him.

Me: “Sir, here is some lard. It’s 100% fat. Good luck pouring that over your corn flakes.”

Pause.

Customer: “…that being said, my wife was never any good at maths.”

It is summer 2020, the height of lockdown in the UK, and mask-wearing in public spaces is mandatory. My job is based in the City of London, and I am tasked with going to the office once a week to do all the Things that keep it ticking over and allow everyone at home to keep working. I don’t mind because there’s hardly anyone on the trains, and the streets of London are eerily quiet.

At my train station, there are two entrances/exits, one on each side of the tracks. The opposite side is accessed via a covered bridge, and there are stairs and lifts (elevators) to get up to the bridge. I am on my way home one evening and have just gotten off the train. I need the exit on the opposite side and, as I have a heavy bag with me, I decide to take the lift. The lifts are small, designed for a maximum of four people. It should be noted that I am female.

Just as the lift doors are closing, a man forces his way inside. There’s a sign outside the lift indicating that only one person at a time should use it, but the doors have closed now, so it’s too late to protest. And who reads signs, anyway? BUT as if his presence in the lift weren’t bad enough, the man is not wearing his mask.

Me: “Can you put your mask on, please?”

The man starts patting his pockets, looking for his mask.

Me: *More urgently* “Sir! Put your mask on!”

Man: *Irritated* “I’m looking for it!”

Me: “It’s under your chin!”

By now, the lift has (thankfully) reached the upper level, and the doors open. As the man turns to leave, I hear it: the perennial cry of the man who knows he’s in the wrong but can’t possibly admit it to a member of the opposite sex.

Man: “Stupid woman!”

And he walks away.

I used to work in a bookstore in the early 2000s.

Customer: “Do you have a copy of [Book] in stock?”

Me: *Checks the system* “It looks like we have a second-hand copy in our bargain section.”

Customer: “Oh! Oh, no. No, not second-hand. I don’t want to think about how many other dirty hands might have touched it. You don’t have a new copy?”

Me: “I’m sorry, no. It looks like it’s out of print.”

Customer: “Ugh, fine. That’s a shame. Can’t stand the thought of other people touching the pages. I’ll go to the library and see if they have a copy.”

He bolted out the door before I could say anything else. My coworker was staring at me, having heard the interaction. 

Me: *To my coworker* “Should I have told him?”