(Our charity shop has a café in it, so people are extra sociable — even non-regulars — and so am I. On this particular morning, the shop is empty except for me and an occasional customer.)

Me: “Good morning. I hope you’re having fun today! Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find, okay?”

Elderly Man: *looking shocked, eyes brimming with tears* “You have no idea how much I needed to hear a happy voice; the lady at the shop down the road was so rude and cruel to me just now!” *blows his nose on a handkerchief*

Me: “Oh, no! Do you need a hug?”

Elderly Man: *after a pause* “Yes.”

(I gave him one. He stayed for a cuppa, and he comes in to put a few quid in the donation bucket from time to time.)

(I work at a general convenience store where, on occasion, it can be quite noisy; the doors open to the street, so we have the sound of traffic coming past, and a slush machine is right next to the counter, so the whirring from that can also be a slight distraction now and again. I haven’t long been at the store — a matter of weeks — when one Sunday afternoon two gentlemen come in.)

Customer: *approaching the counter, in a rushed tone* “Tampax.”

(I am thinking, “Okay… He’s a modern gent, out shopping for intimate items for his wife or partner… but it is quite noisy in here, so I’ll just double check that is what he said.”)

Me: “You are looking for Tampax, sir?”

Customer: “Yes.”

(I direct him to where the said items are in the shop. A few minutes later, after scanning the shelves, he comes back to me and says that he can’t find them. Alarm bells are starting to tinkle gently in my mind, so again I ask:)

Me: “What is it again you are looking for, please?”

Customer: *again the hurried reply*  “Tampax.”

(I come out from behind the counter and point at said items. He takes one look, and he and his friend burst into laughter. By now, I’m very confused.)

Customer: *looks at me and, wiping tears of laughter, says* “No, dear… not T… er… those. I am looking for TENT PEGS!”

(Don’t you just wish the floor would open you up and swallow you at these moments?)

(I’m working in a store one Sunday afternoon, behind the counter, when I see a young lad of about eight or nine enter the shop along with his father. No one else is in the store at the time. On seeing me, the young lad rushes in front of his dad and says to me importantly:)

Young Lad: “My dad is after some Golden Vagina Tobacco, please.”

(The father approaches counter; he obviously didn’t hear what his son said.)

Me: *to the father* “I understand you are looking for some Golden Virginia Tobacco?”

Father: *totally unaware of why his son is now blushing furiously* “Yes, please.”

(I served him and off they went, and then I giggled quietly to myself.)

(My mother, my younger brother, and I are staying with my aunt and uncle while on holiday in the UK. The three of us are preparing to make an outing for the afternoon, while my aunt and uncle are going out somewhere else. Mum is disorganised at the best of times, so she is rushing about trying to get ready while also chivvying along my fifteen-year-old brother. I get ready straight away, so I sit down to read while I am waiting. My aunt and uncle are leaving.)

Aunt & Uncle: “We’re off now. See you later.”

Me: “Okay, bye.”

Mum: “What are you doing reading? Get ready.”

Me: “I am ready. I’m just waiting for you two.”

Mum: “That’s not helping. Put down the book and help me get ready.”

Me: “Okay. What should I do?”

Mum: “I don’t know. Just help.”

(I have no idea what she wants me to do, but I try to help expedite the process, anyway. Everything I try to do isn’t what Mum wants, but she won’t tell me what she actually wants, just that I have to “help.” Eventually, I give up. I am forbidden to read, as it is “not helpful,” so I end up just loitering by the front door. Eventually, it opens, and my aunt and uncle walk in.)

Uncle: “Oh, hello. Are you back already?”

Me: “No. We haven’t left yet.”

One summer I fell over quite badly, resulting in a severely sprained ankle. For about two months I was on crutches, with my lower left leg encased in a solid, bulky, black boot for support and protection. I had physio appointments at the city centre hospital, after which I usually went to the food court in the shopping centre on my way home.

This shopping centre has two main levels with stairs, escalators, and lifts between them both. The food court is on the first floor, overlooking an entertainment and display area on the ground floor. I couldn’t handle stairs at that time, for obvious reasons, and I was wary of trying to go up the escalators on crutches, as well. This meant I had to use the lifts, an experience I usually try to avoid.

One time, I went to the lift nearest the entrance where I came into the shopping centre. I was tired and wanted to sit down, and I knew there were seats near the lift upstairs. There were about half a dozen parents with pushchairs waiting to use a lift that can carry four at a time, so I knew I’d have to wait. The first group went up, and while waiting for it to come back down another pair of pushchair-wielding mothers joined us.

When the lift opened again, these new arrivals physically pushed me out of the way in order to get in the lift first. “Mothers before cripples,” one announced, with the other rebutting, “She’s probably faking it, anyway.” The lift was gone before I could get back up off the floor.

On another post-physio visit, I decided to use the lift nearer the food court. Like the other lift, it can hold four pushchairs with accompanying adults. There was only one pushchair waiting when I limped over. The lift arrived, disgorged its occupants, and the man with the pushchair got in and immediately turned the pushchair sideways across the entrance. He was completely blocking it, preventing me from getting in the lift myself. He didn’t explain himself or say anything; he just blocked me from getting into the lift so he could have it to himself.

After those two incidents, I started coming into the centre via the street entrance of one of the shops, and using their lifts to get up to the first floor instead of hoping that the centre lifts would be usable first time.