(In the early 90s, my parents get their first home computer. The learning curve is rather steep. I’m in the middle of doing something when my father confronts me.)

Father: “You were messing around with the computer and you deleted Windows!”

Me: “I didn’t delete Windows.”

Father: “It’s not there anymore.”

Me: “There’s a tab that says, ‘Exit to Windows.’ Click that.”

Father: *leaves and comes back* “It’s not there! You deleted Windows.”

Me: “I’ll have a look in a second, and don’t bother Mom; she’s asleep.”

(Seconds later, I hear him in the bedroom, waking my mother up.)

Father: “[My Name] deleted Windows!”

(I took him to the computer and clicked on the “Exit to Windows” tab. Lo and behold, I hadn’t deleted Windows.)

(I work in the drive-thru, and at our restaurant, we give discounts to the employees of the hardware store we’re located in front of. Unfortunately, we don’t give them out through the drive-thru, only inside. I’m female, and the customer who just pulled up to my window is also female.)

Customer: “Oh, and I have my employee ID for the discount.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t give the discount for orders in the drive-thru, only inside.”

Customer: “I’d have to come inside? Why can’t you just give it to me? Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, it’s only for the inside, but I’ll ask a manager for you to make sure.”

(I call over my — male — manager by his name and ask him. He tells me what I already know and walks away.)

Me: “Yeah, he said I can’t give it to you.”

Customer: *begins shouting my manager’s name* “[MANAGER]! HEY, [MANAGER]! That’s his name, right? Can you go get him?”

(I get him, and he goes over to talk to the customer. I can’t hear their conversation, but I can see it. My coworker walks over to me and watches, too.)

Coworker: “Why is she tilting her head like that?”

Me: “She thinks she can flirt her way into getting a discount.”

Coworker: *bursts out laughing and walks away*

(Their conversation ends, and my manager leaves without saying anything. I walk over to the window and the customer looks very dejected. I look at the order screen and see that no discount was given.)

Me: “Okay! That’ll be [price].”

(I’ve just broken up with my boyfriend of two years, and I rebound into a pretty unhealthy relationship. He raises a lot of red flags on our first date, including the ultimate crime on this site of being rude to the waiter, but I don’t care. Two weeks later, I get laid off and go to his apartment, distraught and seeking reassurance.)

Me: “[Boyfriend]?”

Boyfriend: *muffled* “Oh, s***.”

Me: “Uh, it’s me, [My Name].”

Boyfriend: *opens door, sweating* “[My Name], what are you doing here?”

Me: “I just got fired… Who’s that?”

(I point to a shirtless man clearly trying to hide behind the couch.)

Boyfriend: “He’s, uh, my new roommate.”

(He lives in a pigsty that no one would pay to inhabit.)

Me: “Are you f***ing cheating on me? How could you?”

Boyfriend: “I’m not cheating!”

Me: “You were just having sex with another guy! How is that not cheating?”

Boyfriend: “We weren’t having sex; we were just [engaging in sexual act of sorts]! That’s not cheating; it’s microcheating.”

Me: “What the f*** is microcheating?”

Boyfriend: “[Popular National Tabloid] says it’s microcheating it you don’t have sex and just [engage in sexual act].”

Me: “First of all, that’s bulls***, and secondly, how is that not cheating?”

Boyfriend: “It’s microcheating! “

(Needless to say, I think I dodged a bullet there. The kicker? I looked at the article, and his interpretation of “microcheating” was way off.)

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(My aunt works at the pharmacy in a CVS, and often comes home with hilarious stories about customers or doctor offices. This one in particular I find incredibly stupid.)

Aunt: “Hello, this is [Aunt] from CVS. I need to order a refill for [Medication] for [Patient].”

Doctor’s Office: “Where are you calling from?”

Aunt: “CVS.”

Doctor’s Office: “Can you spell that?”

Aunt: “Um… C-V-S.”

Doctor’s Office: “Where? Spell it?”

Aunt: “C as in ‘cat,’ V as in ‘Victor,’ S like in ‘Sam.’”

Doctor’s Office: “Where?”

(According to her, this went on for five minutes before she finally got the medication ordered. The customer even warned her that the office was awful before she made the call.)

(I work as a hostess and cashier at a popular casual restaurant that serves breakfast all day. The customers are mostly older and middle-class, and usually pretty friendly. I am cheerful with them and make small talk as they pay their bills on their way out. On one occasion, a couple of seemingly pleasant older ladies come up to pay, and we get to talking about how I am also trying to make money doing commission artwork.)

Guest: “That sounds lovely. So, you do paintings?”

Me: “Yes, I’ve taken all kinds of commissions. Usually people give me a photo or something, and I’ll make a painting out of it. But I can do all sorts of things.”

Guest: “I’ll tell you what I’d like to see: Obama, swinging from a tree.”

Me: *speechless*

(The ladies finished paying and left, while I stayed silent, completely caught off-guard. Sometimes you never can tell when good ol’ southern racism will rear its ugly head.)