(At our restaurant, which closes at 4:00 am and opens again at 10:00 am, the bathrooms close at midnight. They open again for neither love nor money, so at 2:00 am, I’m cleaning one of them.)

Random Dude: *kind of angrily* “Yo, can I use the restroom?”

Me: “Restrooms are closed. There’s a public restroom at the end of this building; it’s around the corner, on the left.”

(The guy mumbles something I can’t understand about his friend and the public restrooms, to the eventual effect of, “I don’t want to use those.”)

Me: “Restrooms are closed.”

Random Dude: “When do they open?”

Me: “10:00 am.”

Random Dude: *suddenly shouting* “Well, f*** you, too, b****!”

(I shrug and finish cleaning up the bathroom, and then come back behind the counter.)

Random Dude: *in the middle of talking to one of the managers* “That’s him! That’s the guy! He said, ‘F*** you! Restrooms are closed!’”

Me: “Sir, I did not use such language.”

(I continue to the back to put up the cleaning supplies, and when I return to the kitchen…)

Manager #1: “Did you really say that?

Me: “No, I did not.” *I relay the exchange* “—and then he started screaming profanities at me.”

Manager #2: “Yeah, I didn’t give him anything. I gave him the number to the franchising office, told him we were store number [other location’s number], and said your name was [Not My Name].”

(I nodded and continued with my shift.)

(It may sound odd, but there is a 20-year age-gap between my little sister and me. Our dad died a few years ago, and our mom has been disabled since a car crash a couple years ago, so I take care of my sister most of the time. At the time of the story, she is six, and I am 26. It should be noted, despite me looking years younger — I am frequently mistaken for a teenager — people often think I’m her mother. This happens at a parent-teacher conference with her teacher, who I have met many times.)

Teacher: “Hello, Mrs. [Our Last Name].”

Me: “Oh, [My First Name] is fine.”

Teacher: “Ah, yes. Well, [Sister] has been excelling in reading, but her math scores are very low for a child of her age.”

Me: “Yes, I’ve been giving her extra help. Difficulty with math runs in the family.”

Teacher: “About that… I was thinking it might be due to her home life; as her mother, you’d know best.”

Me: “Oh, no. I thought you knew, I’m [Sister]’s sister. Our mom couldn’t make it, so I came.”

Teacher: “It’s okay. You don’t have to play games with me. I won’t let the secret slip to [Sister].”

Me: “Excuse me? What secret?”

Teacher: “I know you are her mother and that your mother claims to be her mother to protect you from the stigma of a teen pregnancy. It’s all right; as I said, I won’t tell [Sister].”

Me: “What?! No. I’m her sister, not her mother. I was not a teen mom. I’m here to talk about how she’s doing in school, so if we could continue?”

(She continued to make insinuations that I was my sister’s mother, and even “accidentally” used the term “mom” several more times. She had no interest in really talking about how my sister was doing in school, and I found out my sister wasn’t really thriving in her class. We had her moved to another teacher who turned out to be much better, and her math skills went up, too.)

This story is part of our Parent-Teacher-Conference Roundup!

Read the next Parent-Teacher-Conference Roundup story!

Read the Parent-Teacher-Conference Roundup!

(I’m getting ready to move two hours away and need to set up electricity for the new apartment I’m moving to. The power company at my new apartment is different than the one at my current apartment, so I call the new company to get an account set up.)

Representative: “You need power turned on at [date] for [address]; is this correct?”

Me: “Yep, you got it.”

Representative: “Okay, since you have never had an account with us, there will be a deposit.”

(Several seconds of silence follow as I’m hoping there will be a followup to his last sentence.)

Me: “Is that just because I’ve never had power with you before, or can you do like a credit check?”

Representative: “If you had let me FINISH, I would have said that you would have to pay a deposit assuming you fail a credit check.”

(Yes, he yelled the word “finish” and I’m pretty angry at how much of a jerk this guy is being.)

Me: “Then run my d*** credit. Are you running it yet? Are you finished talking? Is it credit check time? I’m assuming that you not talking means you are finished with your sentence. Of course, I thought that before, when you were quiet for five full seconds, but maybe I’m wrong. Go ahead… Run my credit.”

Representative: *a little bit nicer* “Um… Okay. I will go ahead and run your credit, now.”

(A few more seconds pass.)

Representative: “Okay. You do not have to pay a deposit. Your credit score is really good.”

Me: “Didn’t think I would need to pay one.”

Representative: “Your account is set up. I’m going to send you over to a survey to rate our conversation. Remember to rate me fairly based on the service I have provided today.”

(I rated him VERY fairly based on the service he provided.)

When I was 16 years old, I worked in a children’s museum where I was in charge of the aquarium section. We had a “touch tank” where people could feel sea life. Because the animals are delicate, we had a strict policy that people could only touch animals I had put on trays at the edge of the tanks. Despite this policy, (and numerous prominent signs stating the policy) people would routinely stick their hands in the parts of the tank that were off limits.

One day, a woman came in and proceeded to repeatedly stick her hands into the tank, despite my requests. Finally, I forcefully said, “Ma’am, please don’t stick your hands into that part of the tank, as it distresses the animals.” She pulled her hands out, flicked water in my face, said, “You just need to chill,” and stomped off, cursing about “little s***s who think they know everything.”

(My boyfriend and I are sitting on the couch when my cat jumps up and lies down between us. I start petting him, when my boyfriend gets my attention.)

Boyfriend: “Ow!”

Me: “Huh?”

Boyfriend: “He lay down on my hand and when you were petting him, the static built up and discharged through me.”

Me: *starts petting the cat again*

Boyfriend: “Ow. Ow. Ow. It’s going through my pinky, of all fingers!”