(My dad and I are at a movie when we notice that a group of six girls and two boys of about thirteen are having an argument with three other boys of about seventeen. My dad, annoyed that they’re being loud, goes over. Note: he’s six foot three and looks very intimidating.)

Dad: “Is something wrong?”

Girl #1: “They’ve taken our seats!”

Boy #1: “No, they’re ours!”

Girl #2: “We booked the whole middle row so we could sit together. See?”

(She’s clearly on the verge of tears as she shows my dad her ticket.)

Dad: “This says she’s meant to be sitting where you are. Where’s your ticket?”

Boy #1: “Uh… we threw them away.”

Dad: “That’s the best lie you can come up with?”

Boy #2: “Come on; let’s just move.”

(The boys get up as the group of eight thanks my dad. What my dad doesn’t see is that they move over to the three seats next to me, one of which belongs to my dad. I block his seat with my legs before they can sit down.)

Boy #3: “These are our seats.”

Me: “You’re really f****** stupid.”

Boy #1: “Excuse me?”

Me: “F*** off back to your actual seats.”

Boy #2: *sighs* “Come on, then.”

(The group walked to the back to what were probably the worst seats in the cinema. I get why they wanted to move, but trying that bull not once, but twice, was ridiculous.)

(Our English teacher told us rules at the start of the year that he expected to be followed, one of which was that he’d never give us permission to go to the toilets during class. Ever.)

Teacher: “There’s no reason any of you can’t go before the lesson or hold on for an hour.”

(One day I start getting the horrible cramps that mean I’m getting my period and I HAVE to leave the lesson to go put a pad on pretty much ASAP, else I’ll make a mess. I’m fourteen and have very heavy, painful periods. So, I stick my hand up and say I have to go to the toilets RIGHT NOW.)

Teacher: “And why should I just break the rules for you? Hmm? Just hold on”

Me: “Sir, I can’t. It’s a ‘women’s-issues’ thing. It’ll only take a few minutes to sort.”

Teacher: “Periods? No. No, you’ll just have to hold it in like an adult.”

Me: “But—“

Teacher: “But NOTHING! Grow up! Just hold it in for ten minutes till the end of this lesson! You should have more control!”

(I ended up actually just getting up and leaving the room with a sanitary towel out of my bag clasped in my hand and my teacher yelling at me to “GET BACK IN HERE.” I still wasn’t fast enough to avoid a stain on my skirt, so I got one of the other teachers to send me home to change clothes after. My parents have complained about our English teacher now, but nothing seems to be happening because the school has said that he was right and that I should have just waited the ten minutes, and that young girls don’t have heavy periods.)

(I’m the idiot customer in this story. When I am 18, my dad takes me to Scotland for a vacation. While there I decide I want a kilt because they look awesome. We go into a clothing store.)

Me: *looking through a rack of tartan skirts on hangers* “How much are these kilts?”

Sales Lady: *looking at me like I’m insane* “I’m sorry, sir… but those are ladies’ kilts.”

Me: *confused* “But… what’s the difference?”

Sales Lady: “Ladies may buy their tartans off the rack if they choose, but gentleman’s kilts are always custom-tailored. You choose your tartan pattern and have a fitting, and then a tailor makes it for you. It usually takes several weeks, and 100 or 150 pounds.”

Me: *amazed* “150 pounds of wool?!”

Sales Lady: *disgusted with this ignorant American* “No, sir. 150 pounds sterling. That’s our money.”

(The worst thing is, I knew the British used pounds as money. I just got confused!)

(I’m working the graveyard shift: it’s just my colleague, our duty manager, and me. A customer comes to us with a request. Downlights refer to the spotlights that are installed into walls and ceilings.)

Customer: “I was told that you had downlights for the bathroom?”

Colleague: “I’m not sure which ones they would be.”

Me: *coming onto the shop floor to count some stock* “You want any downlight marked as IP65, [Colleague].”

Customer: “Do you have any adjustable ones?”

Me: “No, the moving parts would allow steam in and risk frying the circuits.”

Customer: “Fine, I’ll get these ones.” *picks out an adjustable one which is in no way, shape, or form suitable for the bathroom* “And some of these.” *picks some IP65 ones* “If my electrician agrees with you, I’ll bring them back.”

Me: *praying that her electrician isn’t a cowboy* “Sure, as long as they are in saleable condition. Also, we can order more if we’re short, but they’ll arrive in two days because the centre to process the orders is closed.”

Customer: “All right.”

(Two nights later, the same team is closing and we see the woman collecting the downlights we were short on. As we’re closing, my colleague turns to me.)

Colleague: “That woman returned the adjustable downlights while you were in the back, [My Name].”

Me: “Did she say anything?”

Colleague: “She said you were right, and her electrician wouldn’t install them in her bathroom. I couldn’t not laugh at that.”

Barista: “Okay, and which size would you like?”

Me: “Uh… the larger one, please.”

Barista: “Ugh, we don’t have a larger one, we only have small and medium. Why can’t anyone understand that?!”

Me: “…”