(When I am a kid in the 70s, my mum sets me up with a Post Office Savings Account with her as a trustee. Just after I turn sixteen, my mum and I go in to switch it into my name only. My mum is asked to sign something, and then it is my turn. My full name is quite long; let’s say it’s Elizabeth Suzanne MacKenzie.)

Cashier: “I need you to sign this signature card to put in your Savings Book.”

Me: “Okay.” *signs card*

Cashier: “No, I need you to sign your name.”

Me: “I did.”

Cashier: *sighs* “You signed ‘E MacKenzie.’ The name on the account is ‘Elizabeth Suzanne MacKenzie.’ That’s what you need to sign.”

Me: “But…” *pointing* “…that there is my signature. Do you want me to just write my name?”

Cashier: “You need to do your signature, but with your full name.”

Me: “But… my signature, that I use all the time, is that: it’s just my initial and surname. My signature doesn’t have my full name in it.”

Cashier: “Well, we need you to sign your full name.”

Me: “I can write my full name, or I can do a signature, but they’re completely different things. What one do you want?”

Cashier: “You need to sign your full name.”

Me: *totally fed up at this point* “Okay, fine.”

(And that’s why, until I got married ten years later and changed my name, I held an account where my signature was just my name, entirely printed in bold capitals. Yes, apparently that was perfectly acceptable as a “signature.”)

(Today, my mom has stopped by my house and is watching while I tidy the kitchen. I work two jobs — one from home in the evenings — and have two preschool-aged children at home with me. My husband works long hours but his only daily household responsibility is to put the kids to bed and tidy up the kitchen after dinner.)

Me: “Sorry about the mess; [Husband] had an appointment yesterday evening and didn’t get anything done.”

Mom: “Well, why didn’t you do it?”

Me: “I was working like always.”

Mom: “You should still do it, instead.”

Me: “When?”

Mom: “I used to manage when you and your brother were little. Your dad would put you to bed and I would do the washing up and get the kitchen clean.”

Me: “Well, that’s fine for you, but I start work as soon as we finish dinner.”

Mom: “He deserves a break; you have time. I always did!”

(She didn’t work!)

Me: “What about me? Don’t I deserve a break? Should he put the kids to bed and sit and relax at 8:00, while I work until 9:30 and then get up and clean the kitchen?”

Mom: “You could do it during the day; you have time.”

Me: “What time do you think l have? I clean every other part of the house and look after my kids. I’m a mom, not a maid! It’s his only job in the house!”

(The kids distracted her at this point, but for someone who claims she believes in equality she certainly doesn’t think it applies to her own daughter.)

(This is a conversation I had with my friend and our senior over dinner. We are discussing hobbies and [Senior] mentions that he likes playing badminton.)

Friend: “Why aren’t you part of the badminton club if you play every week?”

Senior: “They wouldn’t let me in.”

Me: “Why not? Did you ask them?”

Senior: “I didn’t bother. I know they won’t.”

(I’m a bit puzzled as the badminton club isn’t competitive or anything. It’s more for learning how to play.)

Me: “Why not?”

Senior: “The thing is, back when I was a kid, I had this weirdo for a badminton coach and she taught me to play badminton completely wrongly.”

Me: “Wrongly? What did she do?”

(I’m thinking that my senior was maybe taught to hold the racquet wrongly or something minor like that.)

Senior: *looking slightly embarrassed* “Well… let’s just say I only found out last– Oh, wait. Two years ago now — that you were only supposed to use one racquet in badminton.”

(I trade incredulous looks with [Friend] and simply say the first thing that comes to my mind.)

Me: “What?”

Senior: “I’m serious.”

Me: *struggling to comprehend* “So… you play by dual-wielding racquets?”

Senior: “Yes.”

Friend: “I’ve seen him play. He’s actually really good.”

Me: “But– but two racquets?”

Senior: “Yeah. I hold the right one in reverse grip and hold the left one normally.”

(I’m completely and totally befuddled at what he told me, my mind struggling to comprehend what I have been told. Incidentally, my friend is still completely fine and not weirded out.)

Friend: “Have you tried using just one?”

Senior: “Yeah, but I always wind up slapping the shuttlecock with my other hand. Muscle memory.”

Me: *somewhat absently* “Ah, yeah. That’s understandable.”

(I’m wondering how the h*** his badminton coach became a coach in the first place, how the h*** she got hired by my senior’s parents, and how the h*** my senior, a straight-A, highly intelligent, mature, and sensible eighteen-year-old, didn’t notice that badminton was meant to be played with only one racquet until he was sixteen. When I asked him on a later date his answers were, “I’ll tell you when I find out,” “She was a family friend,” and, “I’m an idiot.” respectively.)

I was working in a school uniform shop one summer and in the heat, we were all a bit drowsy; the fan had broken and we were about half an hour away from closing time. 

A lady, the mother of someone I knew, came into the store to buy two school ties for her daughter and was served by my colleague. 

About two minutes later, she walked back into the store with her receipt out, her daughter right behind her, and explained that she’d been charged for 21 ties rather than 2! Our shop has a reputation for being expensive, but I don’t know how she thought we were charging over £100 for two ties; the price should have been around £12!

(The company I work for changed its refund policy back in May. We have made a point of informing every customer that purchases sale items that they now only have fourteen days to return and sale items can only be exchanged for another item or store credit. A customer comes to my till and gives me three things to return, along with the receipt.)

Me: “As one of these items is on sale, I can only exchange it or give you refund vouchers.” *item is £4*

Customer: “Why? I have my receipt; I want my money back.”

Me: “It’s company policy, as stated on your receipt.”

Customer: “But I didn’t buy them for me. I bought them for a woman I care for, so I need the money back. I don’t need to buy anything today.”

Me: “I can get you a manager? They will tell you the same thing.”

Customer: “Yes, this is ridiculous.”

(My manager tells her exactly what I tell her and she gets huffier.)

Customer: “I don’t understand why you can’t do it for me. You should be able to change the policy for things like this?”

Manager: “There is no point in having a policy if we don’t stick to it.”

Customer: “Fine.”

(My manager leaves and the customer decides to start again.)

Customer: “I don’t understand why you can’t just do this for me.”

Me: “As my manager said, it is store policy and I have no control over that.”

Customer: “Fine, I’ll take the vouchers even though they are no use to me. I was going to do lots of shopping here today, but I will never shop here again; this will lose you customers.”

Me: *in head* “You have just contradicted yourself completely, saying you have no use for the vouchers today but in the same breath saying you were going to purchase items today, whereupon you could have used them.”

(I finished the transaction with her going on and on — I think she thought if she did this I would give in and just do it for her — and she went off without a goodbye, let alone a thank-you! This is just one of many in the past few months. It can be such a joy working in retail… not!)