Some years ago, the city I live in was inundated with screaming God botherers — no, not Christians; there are profound differences between the two — who made it a point to stop anyone who entered the city center.

Having no idea that these oxygen thieves were around, I went into town to do some shopping. As I wandered through the pedestrianised area, one of them rushed up to me and thrust a Bible into my hands.

I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a pen.

I signed that Bible, handed it back saying, “Always nice to meet a fan,” and sauntered off.

(I work in a fish and chip shop. Because they are such a staple of British culture, most regions have different ways of ordering. As I’m in a tourist town, we get a lot of customers from all over the UK, which can cause problems.)

Customer: “One of each, please.”

Me: “A fish and chips?”

Customer: “No, one of each.”

Me: “One fish and chips?”

Customer: “One of each!”

Me: “One fish, and one separate portion of chips?”

Customer: *rolls eyes and tuts* “Jesus Christ, two fish and chips.”

Me: “Okay, sorry. That’s £13.20, please.”

Customer: “How much?!”

Me: “Fish and chips at £6.60, twice. £13.20, please.”

Customer: “No, I want two fish and one lot of chips.”

Me: “Ah, okay. Sorry again.”

Customer: “Whatever, you don’t deserve to work here if you can’t f****** get orders right.”

(My supervisor then defended me. The customers called the owner later that day, and my supervisor got a letter of concern for condoning my “rudeness.”)

(I work in a small family-run hotel in the tourist town of Saint Andrews.)

Caller: “Hi. I was wondering what rooms you have available for Monday and Tuesday night.”

Me: “We have one room left for Monday, but unfortunately, we’re fully booked on Tuesday.”

Caller: “What? What is going on that you are fully booked?”

Me: “It’s just busy with the summer tourists and golf.”

Caller: *laughing* “Umm, no. It’s not summer. It’s definitely autumn. But you wouldn’t know that because you’re British.”

Me: “Actually, I’m American.”

Caller: “Well, you live in the UK so that doesn’t count! So, if I give you all of my information, could you call around and find a hotel for me for these two nights?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

(I heard what she said, but I really just want her to repeat her ridiculous request.)

Caller: “If I give you my name and phone number, will you book in a hotel for me in the area and then call me back with the confirmation number?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not a booking agency; I only work reception for my own hotel.”

Caller: *sigh* “I can’t believe how terrible British customer service is!”

Me: “Again, I’m not British, but I hope you find something somewhere else!”

(I work in a car insurance call centre. I really don’t understand how people can make a conscious decision to call a call centre and have no identifying information ready. The following is a typical example:)

Me: “Can I take your policy number?”

Caller: “I don’t have it; I’m at work.”

Me: “Can I take your vehicle registration?”

Caller: “It’s a Mitsubishi Shogun.”

(Yeah, because with as many customers as we have, this guy is the only one with a Mitsubishi Shogun.)

(A couple of years ago, I moved to the UK from another country. At that point, I thought I had cancelled all my running costs, but about six months ago I learned that I still had insurance running. Mea culpa; emails went back and forth, and I cancelled it. Or so I thought. This month I see money being taken from my bank account by a different insurance provider I’ve never had dealings with, so I call.)

Agent: “[Insurance Provider], how can I help you today?”

Me: “I am being billed for insurance, but I don’t think I ever contracted with you. Could you look into that?”

(Basic details and security checks are exchanged.)

Agent: “Ah, yes, we bought out your account from [Old Provider] a couple of months ago.”

Me: “I cancelled that. What are you billing me for?”

Agent: “From what I can see, that particular service package was split in two in the takeover, as we treat them as separate services.”

Me: “How was I supposed to know this?”

Agent: “You could have checked your online account page.”

Me: “The account page with a company I didn’t know I was insured with and which, by the way, requires an [Old Home Country] postcode to even get in?”

Agent: “It is your responsibility to do that, yes.”

Me: “Is it even legal for you to insure me across borders like that?”

Agent: “Many people have insurance for places they don’t live.”

Me: “As of my cancellation, do you have any other address on file for me than my current one?”

Agent: “No.” *pause* “I have cancelled your insurance; is there anything else today?”

Me: “Can you refund the last six months when I was clearly illegally insured?”

Agent: “No. Have a nice day.” *click*

(It was about £40 total so I felt it not worth making a fuss, but some people are just blinded by their own procedures.)