(I have been on a call with an angry customer who lost his previous mobile number when moving networks, because he didn’t request the PAC number. I have been trying to tell him that, as his current network, we are unable to do anything without the number. I have been on the call for nearly half an hour, and he has been growing steadily in hostility, when out of nowhere he stops mid-sentence. I hear some ruffling.)

Woman: “Thank you very much for your help.”

Me: “Oh, uh, no problem?”

Woman: “I’m going to end the call now—“

Man: *shouting* “YOU’RE F****** NOT. I WANT MY NUMBER BACK!”

Woman: “SHUT IT! YOU ONLY WANT IT BECAUSE IT HAS ‘BOOB’ IN IT!” *to me* “Thank you, ever so much.” *hangs up*

In his early twenties, my brother went through a rough patch. Although I say, “brother,” he was technically my cousin but was adopted as a small child as his mum — my aunt — was a heroin addict. My brother started to go down a similar path.

Upon returning home one day, my mother had found that he had taken every item of jewelry or value in our home. He had also stolen my engagement ring and TV. He had been stealing for years, but my mum refused to believe it until he went crazy one day and literally stole everything in sight.

We took him to court, and as my mother sat waiting to be called in front of the barristers, a police officer came to inform us that his trial wasn’t going ahead that day.

My brother, being an idiot, had been unable to find a lift to court. Instead, he walked up to the local police station, five minutes after the trial was due to start. He asked them for a ride to the courthouse.

They immediately arrested him for missing his court appointment.

(I work in an IT support role for veterinary practices as we build their software and computers. I have a five-minute phone call setting up a machine, and during the call, I hear two things every ten to twenty seconds: a parrot squawk followed by the Samsung message alert whistle.)

Me: “I’ll just need a couple of minutes to finish this off.”

(Whistle!)

Me: “It should install quite quickly.”

Customer: “No problem. I can wait.”

(Squawk! Whistle!)

Me: “Sounds quite busy over there today!”

Customer: “I have ten minutes until I leave, and I am so looking forward to it.”

(Whistle!)

Me: “Oh, that’s good!”

Customer: “Yeah, the parrot is in for observation and will not shut up.”

(Whistle!)

Customer: “It’s not a phone you are hearing. It’s this d*** bird.”

Me: “Oh, my God…”

(Squawk!)

Customer: “Yep…” *sigh*

(Whistle!)

Customer: “He’s been here for two days! We’re about close to—“ *whistle* ”—KILLING HIM!”

(I couldn’t hit my mute button fast enough to burst out laughing!)

(My cousin is cursed and blessed with a very young-looking face. Despite the fact she is 35, she sometimes still gets asked for ID. I am 21 and have also inherited the family baby-face. We’re walking round a well-known mother-and-baby store chain. She is pushing her oldest child — still a toddler — in a pushchair, whilst I have her younger baby in a papoose on my back, to make things easier for her whilst she shops. We get everything she wants and join the line for the tills. Behind us are a pair of older women who start to make snippy comments about us.)

Old Lady #1: “Look at those two. Can’t keep their legs shut!”

Old Lady #2: “Ridiculous. Our generation didn’t fight in the war so that ungrateful girls like them could sponge off our war pensions.”

Old Lady #1: “I hope their mothers are ashamed.”

Old Lady #2: “I bet they’re not married. Probably no father in sight!”

Old Lady #1: “Probably a [racial slur] who slept with them for drug money.”

Old Lady #2: “Disgusting.”

(Finally, my cousin has had enough of this and turns around to speak to them.)

Cousin: “Excuse me, were you talking about me and my cousin?”

Old Lady #2: “Your ears work as well as your ovaries, then, love?”

Old Lady #1: *sniggering* “As if they know what ovaries even means!”

Cousin: “Not that it’s any of your business to judge who would and who wouldn’t make a good parent, but I’m 35, I’m married, I have a biology-based PhD, and I’m the head of Science at [Local Large Secondary School]. [My Name] here is my cousin and is just carrying my youngest daughter for me so I don’t have to use the bulky double pram on what I’d only planned as a very quick shopping trip. You’ve done nothing but make hateful assumptions, which, whilst we’re on the subject, reminds me, if – unlike me, obviously – you look your own age, then there’s no way you’re from the WWII generation. This would make you baby boomers, who’d be relying on my and [My Name]’s generation to foot your whopping NHS bills. I suggest you think before you open your mouths next time.”

Old Lady #1: *massively backpedalling* “Well, I didn’t mean my generation; my father…”

Old Lady #2: “We didn’t mean you, dear, we meant…” *looks around hoping to see a legitimate teenage mother in the store* “I… uh…”

Cousin: “Come off it! I don’t want to hear it. But I seriously hope you think before spouting any of your nonsense to your children or grandchildren without being sure of your facts!”

(They didn’t quite have the good grace to apologise, but did at least look a bit ashamed of themselves.)

(I’m on my lunch break at a shopping centre. As per my company’s uniform policy, I am wearing a jacket over my work shirt so it isn’t visible at all. Occasionally, a regular customer at my shop will see me elsewhere in the centre and ask for help, usually directions or recommendations. Then sometimes, this happens:)

Customer: “Where are the shopping carts?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Well? Aren’t you going to get me one?”

Me: “A… What?”

Customer: “I need a shopping cart! I can’t carry it by myself.”

Me: “Well, you’d have to look in the shop you’re buying from. They have their own.”

Customer: “But aren’t you going to get me one?”

(I try to walk away, thinking that I have more than enough on my plate as it is. The customer then attempts to grab my arm; fortunately, I move away fast enough.)

Customer: “This is outrageous! I am going to report you to [My Company].”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m not at work right now. We don’t have shopping carts in our shop, and I don’t know where you are going or what you want to carry.”

Customer: “The vase. I said I wanted the vase!”

Me: “And where is this vase?”

Customer: “[Shop a few feet away], obviously! Can’t you see the vase?”

(I had noticed a window display featuring a collection of ornamental pots, so again I suggest that she asks an employee of that shop to help her. Then, I speedily make my way into the staff-only part of my own shop. Later that day…)

Manager: “[My Name], I had a rather weird complaint about you earlier.”

Me: “Was is a lady who wanted me to get a shopping cart so she could buy a vase at some other shop?”

Manager: “Uh… Maybe. A lady came in screeching that one of our employees refused to help her carry her purchase to the car. She insisted that it was you and waved this bag from [Other Shop], and I just said that our policy wasn’t to carry things for people unless they had particular needs. Then she screamed and asked why we didn’t have any carts.”

Me: “I was on my lunch break. I think she might have seen me working at some point but I wasn’t in uniform.”

Manager: “We got security in the end. She wouldn’t stop shouting that we needed carts and better staff. But I think one of the big security lads did manage to carry her vase for her.”