(I have a somewhat uncommon name of Scottish origin, but I am American. I usually hear others with the same name go by a nickname, but I do not, so the full spelling is on my nametag. As I’m running a register, this catches the attention of a young boy.)

Kid: “Grandma, that girl has a weird name.”

Older Woman: “Yes, she does.” *to me* “Are you not American?”

Me: “Actually, I am.”

Older Woman: “Then, why do you have some foreign name?”

Me: “I think my parents just liked how it sounded. Some people go by [Nickname], but I like the full version better.”

Older Woman: *grumbling* “How hard is it to give a child a decent American name?”

Me: “You know, a lot of popular names in the U.S. have foreign roots, or are directly from another language.”

Older Woman: “Yes, it’s ridiculous. People these days just can’t use a good, old-fashioned, American name.” *to her grandson* “Let’s go, Sean.”

(I barely kept a straight face; Sean is a common Irish name.)

Several years ago, I started to receive bills at my home in Nebraska, from an insurance agency on a policy that I no longer had, denying payment for psychiatric care/services. When I got the first bill, I called the number listed for the practice — in North Carolina. It turns out that they had a patient with the same name, down to the middle initial, and the same birthday. The doctor’s office agreed that I was not their patient, but said that it was up to the insurance carrier to sort out.

Three weeks after I contacted the insurance company letting them know I was not the right person, I got a letter in the mail telling me that according to their records, I *was* the right person, and could I please pay the bill. So I contacted them again. I was assured that it would be straightened out.

Sure enough, I got another letter in the mail from the insurance company telling me that their “investigation” is complete, and that I am the “right” person after all, in spite of living half-way across the country.

This back and forth with the insurance company went on for SIX MONTHS, each time the insurance people coming back telling me that I had made these appointments for psychiatric care, and increasingly nasty demands for payment.

Finally, I contacted a college buddy who was a lawyer for [Insurance Company], where upon he taught me the magic words: Violation of HIPAA.

Finally after nearly seven months, the magic words did the trick. I later found out that the insurance billing department was looking up patient information by name and birth date instead of social security number, and that my name was apparently the first one listed, in spite of the fact that my policy had been cancelled over four years prior due to a job change.

Related:
It Takes More Than Money To Clear A Bill

(I have just finished making an iced drink for the customer. It is a blended drink with whipped cream and syrup on top. I pass it over to her but she shakes her head and slides it back.)

Customer: “Oh, no, honey. I wanted the cream and syrup on the bottom.”

(No problem. I grab another cup and use a spoon to take all the topping off and place it in the cup, and then pour the rest of the drink on top. Naturally, the weight of the rest of the drink squashes the whipped cream. Both she and my boss, who is nearby making hot drinks, watch me do this.)

Customer: “Where’s my whipped cream?”

(Thinking maybe we misheard her original order and she wanted extra, I go to add some on top, but she stops me.)

Customer: “No, I want it at the bottom.”

Me: “It is at the bottom. It’s what I put in the cup first. I can remake it, if you like.”

Customer: “No, please don’t waste food. I just want you to add some whipped cream to the bottom of the cup.”

Me: *turning to boss* “I literally don’t know how to respond to this.”

(It’s the week “Thor: Ragnarok” comes out. It’s a weekday afternoon, so far less crowded than other days, but there are still some people in the IMAX, including a mother with her toddler-aged son sitting in the row in front of us. He may be a little older, but he’s definitely not school-aged yet. A family including a son of about seven or eight comes in just before the movie starts, and they sit right next to us. Not long after the movie starts, the boy starts talking nonstop, and this continues for several minutes with no action from the parents. Finally, at a particularly quiet part of the movie, the toddler turns around.)

Toddler: “You’re not supposed to talk during a movie. You might bother other people.”

(He turns back around in his seat.)

Toddler: “Sorry, Mommy. I talked. I won’t do it again.”

(Never have I seen two parents look so ashamed, as the dad quickly grabbed his son and rushed him out. Though, who can blame them, after having their school-aged child be lectured on manners by a little boy? The dad and son soon returned to the theater, where the kid didn’t talk again the whole movie, other than asking to go to the bathroom. I really hope the little boy’s mother was proud, because that’s some good parenting in action!)

(I work in an adult store and there are no returns, for obvious reasons. We test anything that vibrates before it leaves the store. If customers are undecided on something, I offer to put batteries in it for them so they can see how it works. This happens almost every time.)

Me: “We can take it up to the counter and test it if you want.”

Customer: “You can test them?!” *obviously disgusted*

Me: “Not like that.” *trying not to roll my eyes*